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After many dreaded days, the hour had finally arrived. In adjusting to this new semester, I had forgotten all my immediate concerns. One hour after the other, I had told myself that every class was as important as the last. Too slowly, I realized that that wasn’t true… that that was all a lie… that that could not and should not be the case. But after months of self-assurance, a revelation crawled up from the pits of Hell. I was scared.
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"Arcane Admonitions, our first step on the road to incantation. Beginner's course." Sweating in my seat, a thousand thoughts raced across my mind. For one, I had never heard of the instructor for this class. I suppose it was no surprise. No magister of note would be caught mentoring the kittens, which is what I was. No one among the freshman students had yet scratched the surface of the arcane.
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"Good afternoon, s-students,” drawled the young fellow poking his head through the doorway. The man surveyed the room carefully as he trudged on through. He was young, blonde and like deer in the eyes. Vibrant blue eyes. "I am Maister Rorke, and this isss"—staring at the board, he pulled a piece of chalk out from underneath his sleeve—Arcane Admonitions: An Introduction to Incantation."
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There was an immature sting in his voice, particularly when he muttered introduction." But hold on... Did he just say he was a maister?
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"In this course, I will shepherd you into the world of applied arcanum. What that entails is…
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Maister? Maister? Who was this beardless man with a woman's skin? What was he if not boyish, awkward, stumbly, and stalky, yet the man called himself a Maister. A maister? Either I misheard, or he misspoke. There was only one way to find out.
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The man’s introductory monologue was high-pitched and ongoing, but I raised my hand anyway. His face curved in confusion and fell to the side, but he paused and, motioned me to speak.
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"Yes?"
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"Apologies, just… just to clarify. I have trouble hearing sometimes. Did you say you're a Maister?"
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"Yes, I did. Your hearing is fine."
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Are you lying? "Okay, thank you."
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"What was I saying..." He resumed.
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Was I the only one confused? No, I wasn’t. About the room, there were many quizzical faces who seemed to be in desibelief. They were wondering the same thing as me. How old is this man? 13? 14-years old?
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Hey...
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Was that warren over there? Yes. Yes, it was. That was Warren. That made this my third class with Warren. What was I saying before? I did not plan my courses so meticulously as to make make this pairing happen. No, it was purely coincidental. But, I was distracting myself with a pretty face.
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"Provided you excel in thy Crata curriculum," Rourke continued, "thou shalt achieve proficiency in the basic application of the arcane. Be warned; mystical energies ought never to be taken lightly. Powers of life and death are innate in the incantation, and so shall become innate in thee. Therefore, the scales of assessment are inflexible, and all grades are final. Any questions?"
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"How old are you?" a girl from across the room hollered.
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Thank the gods.
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"Ah." The Maister known as Rourke began tapping his foot. "I see where this is going." Judging by his timidness, he really was young and not the byproduct of some de-aging magic. "Five winters have passed since my graduation. I was fourteen years old. I entered the Maister's School after my fifteenth year. I graduated two years ago. I then spent nearly two years abroad in the Ionian peninsula and archipelago. I returned, having assumed my new station on the recommendation of fellow scholars and the Archcouncil. One does not reject a recommendation from the council." That last sentence he uttered with resentment.
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"Hmph." He was in his twenties. My mind reeled from that realization, a man so young, barely a man! He would be our teacher? A maister at that. Unbelievable… I raised my hand yet didn’t bother to wait for him to call on me. "In what year did you graduate, if I may ask, Maister?"
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"So curious,” he smiled meekly with his pale dimples. “That would be Virgo, 4129 of the Astral Calendar, miss..."
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"Lux."
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"Lux..." He squinted. "Huh… No relation to the renowned Artorigas Lux of the Ordo Procellas?"
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"No."
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"Ah, well, we all succumb to our fancies in some realm or another..."
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Ah, my Goddess, he's twenty-one years old...
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He eventually collected himself with a listless sigh and one final glance about the room. "Dear students, if you’ll bear with me during these early trials. It is one thing to master the arcane elements, another to hand them down. Our headmaster"—gritting his teeth—"and I are in accord on that matter."
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I nodded. If I was eager before, I was excited now. The promises of this course were something else, a ladder outside of earth and toward new secrets. It would be a far-cry from the life I’d left behind, or so I hoped. Only… would I botch the curriculum? Time would tell if I had the arcane acuity.
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Once I had made peace with our teacher's age, I began to notice who my classmates were. The boy next to me was picking his nose. On my left, there was a girl from the gothic. I couldn’t tell if she’d smeared charcoal on her lips or if that was their natural tone. The eyeshadow was a little more palpable. Early on in life, I learned that a student who covers themselves in cosmetics blacker than ink is tributing the religion of the Old Ones. They’re the kinds of students that don’t speak but stare quite vigorously.
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Suddenly, even as my eyes straightened to the blackboard, I was distracted by one of the largest boys I'd seen. His shoulders extended to the corner of my vision as he hunched forward. Exactly the sort of boy I'd peg for a squire. He lacked the demeanor, though. I bet his face was super frowny with a square jaw. In my trivial curiosity, I forgot about taking notes!
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Core memory. The very first session of Arcane Admonitions began with nothing more and nothing less than a quick demonstration. Boldly, Mr. Maister Rourke rolled up his sleeve and, in the breadth of two finger snaps, mounted a fireball. The spell astounded me less than the speed. I barely caught his incantation. I didn't know an incantation could be uttered so quickly. ‘Twas as if he spat the words. Goodness, gracious.
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"Great balls of fire," he exclaimed, "are but elementary arcane feats.” As quickly as he’d summoned the flame, he quenched it in a sleight-of-hand manner. “And that shall mark the threshold of our lesson. Over the course of the semester, we shall go over the nature of magic and the essence of control. Fire... fire is a spark in a vast expanse. A wizened maister can spend their twilight days submerged in mighty secrets, only to scratch the surface.
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