《The Hermit: A Covens of Midnight Story》 Prologue: Five Years Earlier 50th of Kalborae - 8th Isharil, 2019 BBI Today, I, Seretra Crowfoot, received this journal as a Darkened Veil present from my father, Jek Crowfoot in honor of the new year to come. I will be 13 this coming year and my father says that I am old enough now to think about expanding my education. Up until this point, both my parents have taken my home schooling very seriously and it helps that my mother, Lyzein, is a professional alchemist in the area. I have long since learned letters, reading, and figures from her. Most of my time is usually with my father, though, since it was discovered that I inherited some of his magical aptitudes some years ago. This discovery was one of the unfortunate kinds before it was decided that I learn at home in our cabin outside the port city of Tranmere, instead of at the city¡¯s school for reading, writing, and arithmetic. Well, I suppose it was because of the incident at the school and not so much before it. I didn¡¯t do anything wrong, though! Nothing bad and Father believes me that it was an accident. I was just so excited to meet other people my age. People like me, excited to learn, and Tranmere is so much more busy and bustling than our little home by the woods. So when I was invited to skip rope with some of the other girls in my class, I was so eager to fit in with them, to make friends, that I might have gotten carried away. I only wanted to show them a light spell I had been figuring out on my own, but it just wasn¡¯t quite ready yet. I had seen my father do it so many times, just an orb of light in your palm, nothing fancy or intricate. It¡¯s just like a bitty yarn ball of strings made of light and light strings are everywhere in the day time, even on cloudy days. Even on rainy days! But not so much at night time. Except on full moons, which now that I think about it is fairly often when all three moons are in the sky. In any case, I could see them all clearly, milling about in pools of sunbeams, drifting through the sky light bright fuzzy eels, and called them to me like my father had taught me. I focus on the string I want and imagine a line, like a tether, to my finger and tell it to ¡°follow¡± in my mind. It¡¯s a simple trick but it took me a solid year to get good at it and this particular mishap happened before then. Well, instead of focusing on just one fuzzy strand, I thought it would go faster if I called lots of strands to me at once. So when I told them to follow, they all converged at once, colliding with one another in a jumbled mess. A huge flash of light burst into being, covering me and my new friends in glowing strands of light. They are harmless, of course. It¡¯s only light. But the strands were all stuck to us all, making us glow like lamps. I found it quite funny, honestly, but the other girls were not so keen on the idea and a few of them cried, running to the Head Mistress. It was all downhill from there. I tried to unstick them, but it¡¯s much more difficult to create the same kind of tether on a piece of mana that has already materialized. I did not know this at the time so, needless to say, I could not get any of them to budge off our clothes or skin or hair. I was taken out of class immediately by the Head Mistress, who was appalled to find her students all lit up. She took me to her office, but I was made to sit and wait outside while both my parents were sent for to pick me up. While I waited, she scolded me for daring to use magic in her school. She stressed that this was a place of learning, not flashy, dangerous parlor tricks, but I wasn¡¯t listening too closely at this point. What kind of school didn¡¯t teach magic? Magic is everywhere! Mana threads float in the skies, whether it be light or water or air and makes the rains come and clouds gather or blows them all away. It courses through the ground, helping things to grow in our gardens and in the woods. And of all places, the people of Tranmere should know that all ships in and out of the Thieves Coast baring food and goods and people rely heavily on the flow of mana within the waves and winds. What about magic was so detestable? When my parents finally did arrive, Father was furious. Not at me, but at the school and I think he is still mad at them since he grumbles under his breath whenever its brought up. He dispersed the static-y light strands on all the affected students, proving that the fuzzy light threads were, in fact, harmless, but the Head Mistress was insistent that they were not that kind of school. Whatever that meant. On the way home, I asked Father if what I did was really wrong. He told me it wasn¡¯t wrong, but that I should not have practiced in front of my peers. Naturally, I wanted to know the difference as it sounded like he was telling me I actually was wrong. I was surprised to know, and this still surprises me, that not everyone can see mana before it is manifested. This still boggles my mind. How can anyone perform magic without seeing it?! So that was that. No more school and no more friends. Mother took up my studies with reading and writing in between my house work with her and my weaving practice. Weaving in a loom is just as important as weaving threads of mana, so my father always says, treating it like magic practice. Which it¡¯s not. Sometimes it feels like more of a punishment, as I would much rather be outside, tending the garden with Father or foraging in the woods. Mother always needs fresh herbs that are sometimes not available in her modest herb garden for all the different kinds of potions she makes. So I always make sure to bring back plenty of things I know she will appreciate whenever I go on my own. Father still admonishes me for it but it¡¯s not nearly the scolding I would get if I came back empty handed. Mother sells her concoctions to most every apothecary in Tranmere and on special days, like today, we all spend the night in town at an Inn on the waterfront called, the Broken Tree. It¡¯s one of the largest Inns in town and my parents are good friends with the owner, Misses Candy, who offers us a room whenever we are in town. Mother¡¯s potions helped her husband, Mister Dreadflower, a few years back and they have been super grateful ever since. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She is really nice when we stay and always offers me a piece of whatever pastry is fresh out of the oven. Today it was a wintergreen berry tart, which I was skeptical of at first as the berries are usually a bit minty and sour, but she had made the berries into a jam which was only faintly sour; tart even, but pleasantly so. My reaction must have pleased her because she said I could have as many as I wanted during our stay! Unfortunately, not everyone in this port of sailors and merchants, mages and scientists are as welcoming or as kind as Mister and Misses Dreadflower. While helping Mother with her deliveries today, I watched as a gaggle of kids around my age laughed and chased each other around the square. A few of them I recognized, but most of them I didn¡¯t. One of the boys stopped, lagging behind the rest, staring back at me. He waved. I waved back. And just as he started a gesture to include me in their fun, another girl stalked up from behind him, catching his hand and pulling it down roughly. She glared at me shaking her head and I recognized her then. Her name is Liddy and she was one of the girls I made glow all those years ago. I turned away from them, back into the Main Square Apothecary shop my parents were in. This was just how things were since that day. It doesn¡¯t hurt as much as it used to, being excluded. I¡¯ve gotten used to it now, but I used to weep and ball like a baby. Mother is always there in those instances with a warm comforting hug and Father generally helps me calm down by talking through it. I didn¡¯t used to find his kind, yet candid words very reassuring until more recently. Like when Liddy and her group of friends called me and family cursed after making her glow. It¡¯s not true, of course. I¡¯m just clumsy. Like with the light spell, I feel like I know what to do, but when I try it, things just tend to go a bit wrong. The real answer seems so obvious, too, after the fact. Of course if I call all the light strands to me at once, they will all come at once! It¡¯s so simple, but I didn¡¯t think of that beforehand. These kinds of things happen to me all the time in the woods with Father. That is where we practice most of the time. I would say about half of the time, things tend to go sideways, but Father is always very patient with me. He always asks me what went wrong and I usually know it right away. Don¡¯t be demanding with wind threads, water threads need to guided, earth strings need to be drawn out, and fire threads, well, I still have problems with fire threads. It¡¯s the reason why when we are in town, I¡¯m not allowed to start, stoke, admire, or think about the hearth, the fireplace, or the candles in the Inn or any of the shops. I tend to agree with Father that it is likely better this way, lest I accidentally burn down the lovely Broken Tree Inn. Tonight, though, there will be firework in the bay and I could not be more excited to see them burst to bring in the new year! I just know that next year will be better than the last! I can feel it, somehow. Maybe it is all just wishful thinking, but one day, I know I will find where I belong. 1st of Sifdras - 1st Kaldros, 2020 BBI I wake in Mother¡¯s arms, a cold sweat on my skin making it feel clammy to the touch. I realize that Mother is crying and I hug her to try and comfort her as she has done for me so many times. I see Father there just behind her and he places a hand on my head as he joins us on my bed in the Inn, smoothing my hair behind my ear. ¡°What happened?¡± I ask, pulling away from her. ¡°You had a nightmare, darling.¡± There is a small shake in her voice and the dread in her eyes has me shaken even though I feel more or less fine. ¡°That¡¯s strange,¡± I muse, ¡°I don¡¯t remember anything bad. Or good¡­¡± My thoughts trail off as I wipe my forehead and am surprised to find sweat there. ¡°That is likely for the best then. You were wailing like a bansidhe.¡± Mother must see the alarm on my face as she lovingly brushes my hair back away from my face and neck. ¡°Really? My throat isn¡¯t rough or anything¡ª¡° She stops suddenly and I look up at her to see she has gone stark white, staring blankly at my neck. She touches it gently, the left side of my neck, just below my ear. ¡°What is it?¡± I ask and wince as she touches a rather tender spot and I squeak out an ¡°ouch!¡±. Did I thrash in my sleep and hit my head? But I feel fine. Actually, I feel better than I had when falling asleep after the fireworks. But this sentiment does not, in any way, match the horror on Mother¡¯s face. In Mother¡¯s hesitation to answer my question or say anything, Father went to the bedside table to retrieve my small hand mirror and hands it to me. I take it from him, a slight tremble in my hand. What could it be to have Mother so speechless, so fearful? I hold up the glass and turn my head to see what she had touched a moment ago. It takes me a moment to find the right angle, but even before I can see it clearly there is a dark spot there, like a bruise or a birthmark. I doubt the latter. It finally comes into focus as I find the correct angle of my head and the mirror. Two small, ink black, bird-shaped marks, no larger than an acorn in total, has simply appeared, on my neck just below my left ear. One of the birds is slightly larger than the other, but they are facing one another in flight, creating an almost circular pattern. The marks are too symmetrical, too perfect to be a bruise. In fact they are so detailed that I can see the blanks of the eyes on each one. My hand wanders up to them but my neck is still tender when I touch it. Even still, I rub as if trying to rub off dirt or soot, but the dark midnight birds remain intact. Picking up on my idea, Father wets a rag from the ewer and basin in our room and hands it to me. I accept it and scrub with the rag as roughly as I dare. I let out a growl of discomfort, but when my skin is red from the abuse, the birds are still jet black. Mother retrieves something from her bag, bringing back with her a small bar of lye soap. Trying not to panic in the silence of our room, I wash the mark with their help. The suds sting my irritated skin and I suck in my breath to keep from complaining too much, but once the suds have been wiped clean, the birds remain. I choke down tears of trepidation, my lip quivering with the effort and I cover it with a hand. What does this mean? These little birds appearing out of nowhere. Should I be scared or is this a blessing from a dream, or nightmare, that I cannot recall? A tear rolls down my cheek as I wonder what the future brings. Mother takes my other hand and Father gives me a reassuring smile, touching my cheek fondly to wipe the wayward tear away. He tells me that it will all be alright. Strangely, I agree with him somehow. I didn¡¯t before he said it, but something deep within me is saying that his words are true. That everything will turn out for the better, like I had hoped for the night before. I feel a comforting warmth radiating from the birds on my neck and in that moment, I don¡¯t feel so alone. Moving In 7th of Sifdras - 1st Ivora, 2025 BBI As the coach drives down the main thoroughfare of the Midnight Court, I cannot help but fidget in my seat, trying to get a better look at all the building and spires; any a glimpse of my new home for the next six months. I move from side to side, window to window, in the coach not wanting to miss a thing! Father tells me to pick a side and stay there, complaining about rocking the boat. I apologize absently, doing as he says, but unclasp the shutter to get a better look instead, hanging my head out the window. ¡°Seretra!¡± Mother exclaims, ¡°Close the window! You will catch your death in this northern wind!¡± ¡°I have a coat on.¡± I protest, still taking in my first views of the Court up close. The dark, frost crusted, rune-carved, stone walls of the ancient buildings still look polished and well kept. I squint in the midday light, huffing a puff of icy breath, my head still poking out of the window as I search for a specific building; our destination just ahead. It isn¡¯t hard to spot the Great Hall, marked by a tall clock tower in the center of a stories high and seemingly endless corridors long building. I have seen depictions of it before, but I had no idea any building this large could exist! Nothing this grand exists in Tranmere. It¡¯s so surreal, I pinch myself just to make sure I¡¯m not dreaming. A giggle burbles out of me to feel the dull sensation. I am really, truly here. I breathe in deep as we reach the entryway of the Great Hall and exit the coach to join other milling scribes and staff in a beautifully grand, if chilly, courtyard. I can taste the mana in the air here and a quick survey of the outside of the Hall reveals all kinds of aether drifting lazily about. The threads are more densely populated here than in the woods outside our country home and that place is always rich with them. I would have expected less in the cold of the mountains in northern Mesym compared to the forests outside of Tranmere, which are much warmer being hundreds of miles south of here, but apparently temperature doesn¡¯t seem to be a factor. With such an abundance of mana, and bits of aether floating everywhere, it¡¯s no wonder mages can perform any and all magic here. If my memory of the acceptance papers is correct, the Court¡¯s location is the cause as we are now perfectly centered in the cross hairs of two intersecting leylines of the World Tree. I help Father unload my trunk and the few bags I brought. It isn¡¯t long after that one of the Court staff comes around to check me in and give me my temporary lodging assignment. I am momentarily stunned when I take in the sight of staff member helping me. He is tall, but that isn¡¯t saying much at my diminutive height. I have long since come to terms that I will always be the smallest of whatever crowd I¡¯m in. The scribe before me has lustrous, long blonde hair that frames his beautiful, pale face and while his smile is mesmerizing, I am more taken with his pristine, white feathered wings folded behind his back. He wears what looks like a gray blazer with the multicolored emblem of the Midnight Court on the front breast panel, but I can¡¯t help but wonder how he can wear such a garment. ¡°Why is it temporary?¡± I ask him, not recalling this part from my acceptance papers. He looks down from his clipboard to focus on me and blinks in surprise. ¡°Oh, well, uh, Seretra,¡± he stammers to start, but even his voice has a melodious tone, ¡°each Coven has their own dormitories. In a few days, all the new scribes will choose which one to join and they will assign you a new room.¡± He smiles placidly and I find myself smiling back coyly. ¡°Thank you, for the help.¡± I respond meekly as my things are tethered together by a couple other young men. I watch with interest as they place a small stone in the ropes and I see it shimmer with traces of mana. One of the men, an elf with long brown hair, activates it with a wand in his hand and the whole thing lifts off the ground for the other to easily push the large parcel toward its destination. I quirk my head at the now fully glowing rune on the stone as it passes me by, glancing for a moment at the wand with a similar glow at the tip. My attention drifts back to my Father, who hasn¡¯t moved but has a knowing smile on his face. He glances back at the coach driver who is just about done feeding and watering his team of two horses that brought us here. I heave a sigh, releasing a nervous excitement that flutters inside me. It was time for me to take on this journey that I have always dreamed of. I can only hope to succeed in this to make them proud and finally find where in all of Akeroth I belong. I hug my parents farewell tightly, seeing what I hope to be pride welling up in their eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t forget to eat well, darling.¡± Mother whispers to me, a sob in her voice. ¡°Are you kidding, Lyz? Seretra might miss a lot of things, but food isn¡¯t one of them.¡± Father jests with her in a cheerful tone and winks at me to play along. ¡°I definitely won¡¯t be skipping meals, mama.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t skip class either! Get up early and do your work, just like at home.¡± ¡°Yes, mama.¡± She lets me go reluctantly and it¡¯s Father¡¯s turn to say his final goodbyes for almost a year. ¡°No matter what happens, I¡¯m proud of you for just getting here.¡± He pauses to give me a squeeze, ¡°But I know you are more than capable. Just remember the loom, right?¡± I roll my eyes, nodding reluctantly. ¡°And don¡¯t be too eager. You will get there, love, just take all the steps that you need to.¡± He puts his hands on my shoulders when I start to fidget. It sounds too much like one of his lectures now to be a pep talk. I refocus when he points an index finger in the air leaning in slightly. ¡°Do me a favor, though,¡± he glances back at the gorgeous, winged Adaphaen scribe with the clipboard and Father¡¯s expression is oddly disgruntled, ¡°don¡¯t get involved with boys.¡± My eyes go wide with outrage, ¡°Dad!¡± He continues candidly as if I said nothing, ¡°I know it¡¯s a tall order, but boys your age have a pretty one track mind. You remember when you were about 10 and you asked me what the rabbits were doing in the woods?¡± ¡°Please stop.¡± I shield my face from view with my hands, but I can feel my ears starting to grow red. Father heaves a sigh, a defeated look to go with the gesture he makes to Mother. ¡°I had to try and warn you, anyway.¡± He gives me a kiss on the forehead, Mother following suit as they both tell me ¡°I love you¡±, before getting back in the coach that brought us all from Tranmere by way of Kornik. I am left to wave at the retreating coach and once I can no longer see them, I turn around and stare up at my new home. As I enter the Great Hall for the first time, I am struck again by the almost tangible essence of magic. My elated smile slowly returns to my face as I wonder idly what awaits me in this new chapter of my life all the way to the temporary dormitory, which will be my home until I choose a Coven; a place to belong. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. 8th of Sifdras - 2nd Emder I wake the next morning in the large, open bedchamber in one of the temporary dormitories. There are six beds in total in this room and it still doesn¡¯t feel quite real to me that I am here. It feels more like visiting the Broken Tree Inn with my parents, except, instead of my parents, I am with strangers. I suppose they aren¡¯t really strangers anymore after yesterday though. As I look toward the other stirring figures in the low light of another chilly morning in northern Mesym, I start to believe that this isn¡¯t just a pleasant holiday. I have never been much of a morning person, but this, being surrounded by fellow scribes¡ªmy peers¡ª makes me smile all the same. Yesterday afternoon, I was able to meet my other temporary roommates in this rather large room on the 5th floor of the Great Hall. The 5th floor! Even the Broken Tree Inn is only 3 floors and it¡¯s the second tallest building in Tranmere. I found all of my things and similar trunks and travel cases set up at each of the beds when I arrived, but I was the first. I was admiring the splendid view of a courtyard and shockingly, green gardens past it from one of the four windows in the apartment when my first roommate arrived. They are a dwarf with fluffy, red-orange hair and a strong, stocky build. They nod to me in greeting, voice thick with an accent I can¡¯t place but I make out that her name is Sigrid Stonefellow. I introduce myself, being mindful to not be too eager as Father had suggested. We make small talk, though, and I ask where she is from, noting her accent. She shrugs stating that my accent is just as strange, but tells me she is from the mountains of Erstone. My eyes bulge, I almost fear they will pop right out! Erstone is only a place I have ever seen on the large hanging map in Mister Dreadflower¡¯s study and is on the other continent to the east. Not only is it on the Eastern continent, but on the very far side, all the way to the east of the map at that! In my stunned stupor, she joins me at the window and comments that at least these mountains make her feel a bit more at home. I look out past the buildings of the Court and the strange green garden among the frost toward the horizon and see the rocky peaks Sigrid spoke of. As she starts to describe the differences between her mountains back home and these, it occurs to me that there are so many different places and peoples in the world that I never considered or even knew about to consider. When every other place was just a name on a map, it was hard for me to really think about who lived there or how their lives were different than mine. But now that I am here, talking to someone from half a world away, it occurs to me that all those other places are real and very different from anything I know. The prospect is just as exhilarating as it is terrifying. As we chat, two more of our roommates join us and I am even more excited to learn about these strangers. While Sylphra Galestrike and Ilythia are both from Hyhill, they are not from the same area. In fact, we all come to find out that they are from nearly opposite ends of the region known as Hyhill, which is just to the west of Erstone and they are about as different from each other as their origins. Sylphra, or Syffy as she likes to be called, is only half human and part air elemental, a race known as Elementai. I have never heard of such a thing even existing before and, of course, it was out of my mouth before I could stop to think about how that might make her feel. Syffy just laughed though, saying she gets that all the time, adding that her specific type of people are actually pretty rare. She has a very long, thin frame and her white-gold hair is so light that it wisps around her like a cloud, unimpeded by any force. Even her voice is a little bit raspy while telling us she is from the northern part of Hyhill. Ilythia, on the other hand, is a fawn type fae creature, but she swears she is at least part something else. What kind of ¡°something else¡±? She wouldn¡¯t say. It is hard to tell if she wouldn¡¯t tell us because she wanted to seem mysterious or if she just didn¡¯t know. Lytha, as she goes by, has large, beautiful doe eyes and soft, tan and white fur tufts peppering her tanned skin. Her adorable white spotted brown ears peak through a head of human-like golden hair and has the same white splotches throughout! She tells us in a slightly nasal tone that she is from southern Hyhill, south of the High Forests. At that moment, a rather intimidating Infernai with deep purple skin, devilish, black horns, a whip-like tail, and hooves for feet enters the room! She smiles wickedly showing dangerous fanged teeth, throwing back her long, midnight black locks as she approaches us. Her voice is deeper than I expected but her tone is surprisingly jovial when she addresses the group of us. ¡°Yo, am I late to the party?¡± ¡°No, not at all!¡± Lytha exclaims. ¡°Come and join us.¡± Sigrid adds in her slurring accent of odd inflections. ¡°Don¡¯t mind if I do.¡± The tall woman¡ª she must be a woman with that curvy frame, joins us at the long table in the center of the room. ¡°So what are we talking about?¡± ¡°Just where we are from. Introductions.¡± I answer meekly. ¡°Oh! Sounds fun! I¡¯m Vespera, then, but no one calls me that. Except for my mother. Vesa is fine.¡± I smile and join in with the rest of the group, giving Vesa our names. She pauses at mine and adopts a pondering expression. ¡°Seretra¡­¡± She muses slowly, as if tasting my name and I am suddenly alarmed by her scrutiny. ¡°Yes¡­?¡± I respond with the same slowness. She shakes her head, her face reflecting as if she does not particularly enjoy the flavor. ¡°No,¡± she starts slowly again, ¡°it¡¯s too long and sounds like you¡¯re a grandma.¡± Syffy giggles lightly and I feel my cheeks turning pink. ¡°I think it sounds fine.¡± She coos, trying to comfort me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. ¡°Yeah, it sounds fine,¡± Vesa retorts, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t match this adorable little creature.¡± She gestures to all of me, waving a violet colored hand with sharp black nails up and down at me. Yes, it¡¯s true that I am quite short for my age and I still have a girlish mien in my face. And my chest. And, well, all the rest of my body. I stare at Vesa¡¯s chest as she crosses her arms under her ample, round cleavage and attempt to keep a disheartened expression from showing. A snap of her fingers puts an end to my brooding as she makes an announcement, ¡°Serea.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± the confusion plain on my face now. ¡°I will call you Serea. It¡¯s much cuter and suits you better.¡± I blink in confusion as the rest of the girls give their own approvals to my new name. A nickname. I have been given a nickname, I realize, and a goofy smile spreads over my small face. We all talk the afternoon away, asking each other questions about one another or the group as a whole. Vesa tells us that she is from Horora, a port city in southern Casian and I am excited to actually know exactly where that is. Not only is it the closest of all the places I have heard of today, but it is also the most notorious. Most people from Tranmere, sailors primarily, call it a "hive of thieves and ner-do-wells". Despite that, though, it is the most popular trading hub for merchants getting their goods from the west side of the Western Continent to the south or east side of the continent; a halfway point. Unsurprisingly, we learn that Vesa is the oldest of us all as she is turning twenty this year. Sigrid is next in line, turning twenty a few months later. Both the Hyhill girls are eighteen, turning nineteen this year. So it isn¡¯t surprising that I am the smallest, for a human at least, and also the youngest as I won¡¯t be turning 18 for a few months yet. As we are chatting and carrying on, the last of our roommates joins us. She is Ciradyl Dawnspire, a High Elf from Ambervale in Mayfalls, another region on the Eastern Continent, just northwest of Hyhill. Like Lytha, she is thin, but not to the same, wiry extent. She is tall and has a more athletic build where as Lytha looks a bit frail. Her long chestnut hair is half in braids around her head like a crown, the rest of it framing her comely face of a peachy hue. She is rather shy especially around Sigrid, oddly. When she comes to join us, the awkward feeling between them is quite noticeable, and I am not the only one to take note of it. But as I found out earlier today, I am unfamiliar with the customs of other peoples of Akeroth. New Friends, Old Habits 9th of Sifdras - 2nd Isharil This morning all of us in the 5th floor dormitory received appointments with Magistrate Nightshade, one of the Faculty here at Court, to talk about our classes and career path. I am the one who answers the door to receive our appointments by hand delivered letters from an eccentric staff member. She looks human, even though she is only a little bit taller than me, with a mess of shocking red hair held up by a pair of shaded goggles on her forehead. She wears a dirty, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and a heavy leather apron that is obviously well used. If her appearance isn¡¯t shocking enough, her accent is crazier than Sigrid¡¯s with missing letters, dipping inflections, and delivered at such a fast pace that I have to ask her several times to repeat herself. I can tell she is frustrated by the punctuated slowness in her speech, ¡°This are from Mis-triss Nigh-shay. Dun be leat!¡± She shoves a packet of six letters in my hands and storms off to the next room down the hall. I frown at the letters, a heat of both frustration and shame is written on my face as I close the door. Each letter has a handwritten name on the envelope in a neat, delicate script. I pass them out to everyone and Vesa asks who they are from. My brow furrows in irritation. ¡°I¡¯m not too sure, honestly? But I think she said, Nyshay?¡± my pitch is high with uncertainty. ¡°Must be Magistrate Nightshade.¡± Ciradyl, the soft-spoken elven girl notes as she opens her letter and reads quietly to herself. I chew my bottom lip at the correction, but find upon opening my own letter, that she is right. The letter is an introduction to the Court and the purpose of their prestigious school: to train and equip the next generation of mages with all the skills and tools needed to thrive within society, for the good of all. Magistrate Nightshade invites me to her office on the 6th floor in the morning of the 10th of Sifras (Kaldros) to discuss my talents and desired line of work. That¡¯s tomorrow and it occurs to me that I have no idea where I would fit in with society. Suddenly anxious, I find myself imagining the event in which Magistrate Nightshade tells me there is no place for me. Why had it never occured to me that there would be a greater purpose to my studies here? I agonized through the process of getting here. I took the entrance exam, wrote a formal letter expressing why I would be a good candidate, and composed an essay on a magical topic. It took me weeks and so many drafts before finally completing the letter and essay. Once it was all said an done, the waiting was torture, an eternity of days waiting for the post to come in. Forever. And until I received my acceptance letter a few months ago, my only thoughts were of simply gaining admittance to be here. Now, I am starting to see that maybe that had been the easy part. My dream was to come here. To study here. But now that I am here, and that goal is more or less achieved, now what? I want to study magic, but I never considered what kinds of magic I want to study, just like I had never considered all the differing, varied peoples of Akeroth until I met some a few days ago. I let out a heavy sigh, overwhelmed. Lytha startles me with a light hand on my shoulder and invites me to go to breakfast with the rest of the girls. I happily accept and head down to the main floor with the rest of them chatting amicably. On the way, I notice that Ciradyl has not joined us and I ask the others if I should go back to get her. Sigrid makes an uneasy face at the suggestion and everyone, save Vesa, seems to think she is better off on her own. I¡¯m a bit stunned by this reaction and hang back, torn between whether or not I should go back up the few flights to invite her. Sure, Ciradyl keeps to herself mostly, even when in the group of us, but I can¡¯t think of anything she has done or said until now that would make her such a pariah. I frown piteously, my hand rubbing at the twin birds circling on my neck, knowing exactly what it feels like to be excluded. It churns my stomach to think of someone else being put through that kind of anguish. I glance up at Vesa who has lagged behind with me, a comforting, warm smile on her face. Wordlessly, she nods back up the stairs, her eyes darting back the way we came, and tells me to go get her. My indecision eases at this simple gesture and I have a feeling that Vesa and I might be thinking much the same thing. I nod with determination and bolt back up the stairs to include our last roommate. When I enter our apartment, I find Ciradyl at the central table practicing a spell, making small gestures and muttering softly to herself. I see the draw of aether with her words and am shocked to find them forming something on their own. A prism of color manifests in her hands, expanding and contracting with a slight rotation as threads are enveloped and compacted into a tight ball of light. How is she manipulating the threads?, I wonder. There was no gesture but the first one, but the threads around us are responding as if being molded. Is it something to do with the words she spoke? My mind races for answers to all the questions that pop into my head. Curious, I mentally reach for one of the threads on its way to her spell. I only want to look at it for a moment as it goes. I just have to see why the threads are acting this way, when a sudden jolt of energy discharges where I connect my imaginary line. A surge of white hot, lightning quick pain shoots up my arm, stopping at my neck and shooting back through and out; right back onto the strand. The wayward energy collides with the thread, full of potential mana, and sparks fly from the impact. The mark on my neck aches fiercely. I have no time to think about how or why the mark feels like a brand on my neck as the sparks of that energy is very real and very hot. The sparks cascade out from the thread, reigning down fiery hot embers on anything in its path. I shield my face, the wool of my sweater taking the brunt of the sparks as they fly and I take a step back from the thread, which now resembles the fireworks they set off in Tranmere Bay every Darkened Veil. Bright embers pepper my forearms, burning tiny holes in my sleeves, the table, the floor, and the carpet in the space between Ciradyl and I for a few terrifying moments. Then, as quickly as it had come into being, the energy dissipates, turning the spent strand to ash as its wake. In the stillness, Ciradyl and I look at each other, a tentative relief on our faces as the quiet stretches on. She gives a nervous laugh and I follow with one of my own, waving away the scent and tendrils of smoldering wood and clothing. Our nervousness begins to turn to mirth, until one of the larger embers on the table catches and a small fire ignites. We both stare at it wide-eyed in that split second, our mirth retreating, replaced by alarm. I see the elven girl¡¯s horror, a panicked babbling in unintelligible sounds emanating from her as she wrings her hands. She is debating how to handle it, I realize and shake myself from the whirlwind of the moment. Having dealt with these kinds of mishaps all my life, I remember my exercises with Father and reach for the loose aether around us. Calling on a few earthen strands, I pull them through the fire, intertwining water threads to manifest sand on top of the low flame. The sand piles on the flames, smothering them with the weight of it before it grows out of control. There is little more than a small scorched patch on the table before I relax. I wipe my brow in relief when the danger has passed. Before I can ask about how Ciradyl is, she is hugging me tightly, thanking me fiercely for averting a potential disaster. I suppose she has the right of it as burning down a dorm room before classes even start might get someone expelled or punished at the very least. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry to interrupt your spell like that, I was just curious about¡ª¡° ¡°Sorry?!¡± the elf exclaims, ¡°You have nothing to be sorry about! You really saved the day. And the table.¡± We both stare down at the scorched table and pile of sand with varying level of dismay. ¡°I suppose, but¡ª¡° ¡°No, no, no!¡± She interrupts me again, not letting me explain. ¡°That was incredible what you did! So practiced you only used gestures!¡± She pauses for half a heartbeat before offering her hand to me. ¡°I¡¯m Cira, by the way. I know we met the other day, but I kinda got the feeling that no one here much cared for me.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. An awkward unease settles on me and I bite my lower lip as I am caught in this crossroads between truth and kindness. I glance from her outstretched hand to her hazel green eyes, full of warmth and a longing I know all too well. I take her hand, shaking it firmly as I remember what I came here for. ¡°I¡¯m Serea and I came to see if you wanted to have breakfast together.¡± Joy spreads over Cira¡¯s face and after we clean up all the sand and she performs a small mending spell on the table, we head down to the main floor to join Vesa and the others. With any luck, no one will ever notice the slightly discolored patch on the table. 10th of Sifdras - 2nd Kaldros This morning is my appointment with Magistrate Nightshade and my stomach roils with the anticipation of it. Cira tries to make me feel better at breakfast by asking me questions about what kind of mage I want to become. While I know she is trying to be helpful, the conversation only seems to make my discomfort worse as I can¡¯t seem to answer any of her questions. I push my full plate away, feeling that if I ate anything it would come back up to haunt me. Instead, I try to distract myself by asking Cira the same questions she tried to get me to answer. Of course, she knows exactly what she wants to do here. Cira is studying to become a great Potions Master and hopes to achieve her goal in just three years. She has it all planned out and to hear her talk about it, it sounds like such a sure thing; a done deal. It might as well have already happened! While I am excited for her to know so well what she wants and how to get it, she makes my efforts seem simply abysmal. To make matters worse, she praises me constantly all morning for what I did yesterday. She goes on about how reserved and poised I was, how quickly I knew what to do, and how fantastic my silent spell casting was. She says there is nothing I can''t do and that I will definitely find my passion and path soon enough. Her positivity about it makes me think of Father and I smile ruefully at her commentary despite myself. I don''t point out that I was almost certainly the reason things went awry with her spell in the first place. Nor do I mention that this kind of thing happens to me all the time. In truth, I had never thought about things like this as anything but normal, but based on Cira''s reaction, especially regarding my spell casting, it is becoming clearer to me that I am anything but "normal". Even here with all these extraordinary scribes all learning to become great mages. All I am able to tell her is, "it''s nothing!". I part ways with Cira at the sixth floor and wander down the long corridor looking for the Magistrate¡¯s office. The hallway looks like something out of a fairytale castle with a vaulted ceiling, long windows lining one side, and paintings and tapestries covering the stone walls on the opposite side in between heavy wooden doors. The thick, red carpet under my feet is surprisingly plush as I start down it, muttering in the odd accent of the red-headed girl in a mocking tone, ¡°Down be let.¡±. I read the plaques on the doors as I pass them, thinking that these must be other faculty offices. The first one states in a bold, blocky font ¡°Dr. E. Featherspeaker¡±. What a name! I muse to myself as I pass by the wide, heavy door. I read the next several, looking for the one with ¡°Nightshade¡± on it. Along the way, I pass by ¡°T. Greenborrow¡±, ¡°K. Marblebrook¡±, ¡°E. Marblebrook¡±, and I stop. I stare at the letters on the door in front of me and then walk back to the last door to re-read the plaque there. Confirming that the two surnames are the same, I wonder if the two professors with the same names are related somehow. Continuing on, I read the door plates more carefully. I don¡¯t have to go very far, though, as only two other doors are between me and the one I am searching for. Those say ¡°S. Moonshadow¡± and ¡°O. Lighthammer¡± in the same bold lettering as the rest of them. I find it interesting to note that there is only one more door past the one marked with ¡°Magistrate Y. Nightshade¡±. Curious, I take a look at the plate on the final door which ends the long corridor. The script on this one is subtly more intricate and states ¡°Dean E. Windraven¡±. I back away from the Dean¡¯s office, hoping that the clean up that Cira and I did yesterday is enough to keep us both out of there. I push it from my mind, trying instead to focus on the previous door and what my future might bring. I knock on the Magistrate¡¯s door. After a moment''s pause, a smooth voice calls softly from the other side of the door to enter. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I open the latch and enter. The late morning sun reflects through a far window off the polished stone floor. The Magistrate stands calmly and gracefully from behind her pristine desk as I enter. Her appearance gives me pause as I have never seen such a matron before. Silky strands of long white hair frame a darkly tanned face with brilliant yellow eyes. On her forehead, slightly above and between her eyes, is a shimmering, lightning-white mandala-like symbol that hums silently with a soft pulse of mana. She is every bit as tall as Cira and wears flowing blue robes with billowing sleeves and a high collar which is only clasped at the very top buttons. Everything about her is neat and organized from her attire to her desk and filing cabinets. Papers are stacked and filed in labeled drawers and boxes in a tidy way, giving the appearance of a clean space. She picks up a piece of parchment off her desk, striding with grace to the other side of it and her strangely melodious voice rings out to me, ¡°Ah, you must be Seretra.¡± I nod, almost forgetting to speak, ¡°Yes, um, ma¡¯am, uh, Magistrate.¡± A gentle laugh passes through her smiling lips. ¡°Please, call me Mistress Yevvena. Come and sit with me.¡± Her speech has a soft slur to it that makes it both pleasing and exotic. As if her appearance didn¡¯t do that already. I approach and sit in one of the two low-backed chairs in front of her desk as she half leans, half sits on the back of her desk. She returns the parchment back to the front of her desk before folding her hands in her lap loosely, a placid expression on her face. ¡°So,¡± she starts, ¡°tell me, Seretra, how are you settling in here at the Midnight Court?¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I pause, expecting a very different question to be asked and it takes me a moment to reassess how to respond. ¡°Well, it¡¯s very cold here in the north.¡± That birdsong chuckle escapes the Magistrate again in response. ¡°I suppose the last grips of the Shiver are hard to let go up here in the mountains. It is quite a bit warmer in the town at the summit, but I would still wear a coat until the frost and snow fully melt.¡± She smiles warmly and I find myself smiling with her. ¡°How are you getting along with with your new classmates?¡± I blink, my new roommates coming to mind and my smile becomes muted, but a comfort like a warm blanket envelops me when I think about all the excitement of the past few days. ¡°I like them all just fine. Everyone is just so¡­¡± I search for the right word, but can¡¯t seem to find it so I settle for, ¡°different. But not in a bad way!¡± I add on quickly and Mistress Yevvena nods in understanding. ¡°It is good to hear that you feel comfortable in a strange place so far.¡± There is a pause as I feel the weight of her bright yellow eye on me. Her gaze isn¡¯t unsettling, exactly, but there is depth to it. It¡¯s almost as if she is looking past me, no, directly into me and I find myself fidgeting with my hair, making sure to hide the two birds circling each other on my neck. ¡°Tell me,¡± Mistress Yevvena looks away suddenly as she speaks, gliding gracefully to the other side of her desk, ¡°what is it that you are wanting to be able to do when you eventually leave this Court?¡± At first, it sounds like the same question Cira had asked me earlier, but perhaps it is her careful gaze that makes me really hear the question. ¡°Primarily, I want to be able to perform magic consistently. Um, reliably, is maybe a better word.¡± ¡°Do you have problems with your spell casting now?¡± She sits, dipping a pen into an inkwell to fill it and begins to write. ¡°No, not all the time.¡± I shift to pick at my fingernails, ¡°Strange things just tend to happen sometimes and I know it¡¯s something I¡¯m doing wrong, but I¡¯ve never had a teacher other than my dad before now.¡± I idly wonder if anyone has noticed the difference in the table from yesterday. ¡°What kinds of strange things?¡± She writes casually, looking at her work instead of me. ¡°All kinds of things, really.¡± I try to think of a good example without getting myself and Cira in trouble. ¡°Like, one time, I was helping some seeds to grow, and a few hours later the entire bed was full of fully grown herbs.¡± Mistress Yevvena stops from her writing to look up at me across her desk. ¡°That is quite a talent.¡± I frown sheepishly, ¡°It was just an accident.¡± ¡°But a fruitful one, no?¡± ¡°I guess, but not all of them are so ¡®fruitful¡¯.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°I uprooted a tree once and it just missed falling on my dad and I.¡± I pause recalling another not-so-great memory. ¡°I moved the waves too much while fishing and caused our boat to capsize in the bay. I almost drowned.¡± I cover my face with my palms in embarrassment. Why was I saying all this? ¡°And I set my loom on fire, very nearly burning down our shed.¡± ¡°How exciting and terrifying!¡± Her dulcet tones, while emphasized are still calm and endearing. ¡°You think that you are the cause of all of these events?¡± I tilt my head in wonder, ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be? I was directly using mana.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± she nods her head slowly, ¡°I think you will find that there are more forces at work in this world than just mana, Seretra. I would encourage you to dig deeper this term. Have you thought about what classes you would like to take?¡± I stare at her, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. This was not the kind of reaction I was used to when talking about my mishaps. This must be a more common story at the Midnight Court and maybe I¡¯m not so abnormal or cursed, after all. I feel the warm blanket around me once more as we discuss what classes I should take in the coming term.