Emissary of Nothingness - Chapter 61 - Number Thirteen
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Arien waited nearly an hour before the assistant finally called his number. He had no idea whether registration was moving quickly or slowly, but for once he wasn’t complaining. The delay gave him time to recover from the earlier disaster.
He knew he had gotten off lightly. Efie had stepped in before he could make a decision that might have followed him for years, and for that alone he was grateful. Even so, a small, irrational part of him remained annoyed by the way she had treated him afterward.
She hadn’t even bothered introducing herself. Basil, while attempting to manipulate and bribe him, had at least managed that much.
Fortunately, Efie had been number four. She disappeared through the examination doors not long after registration began and emerged barely three minutes later.
Whatever had happened inside, it apparently hadn’t troubled her. She crossed the waiting room without looking at anyone and left. Arien sincerely hoped they wouldn’t end up in the same class.
The applicants who followed were less predictable.
A few came out looking as though they had just received terrible news. One girl had tears running silently down her cheeks, while a boy several numbers ahead of Arien practically ran for the exit without speaking to anyone.
Watching them did absolutely nothing for his nerves.
“Number Thirteen!”
Arien was on his feet before he consciously decided to move and crossed the room toward the assistant waiting beside the open doors.
Without the mountain of books she had been carrying earlier, she looked much more composed, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with dark eyes behind thin spectacles and a severe black Academy robe that made her look like an unusually young librarian.
She glanced at the metal token in his hand. “Inside.”
Apparently conversation wasn’t part of her duties. Arien stepped past her.
The examination room was larger than he had expected, roughly the size of the waiting room itself. Tall windows covered much of the far wall, filling it with summer sunlight, yet the air inside was noticeably cooler than the corridor.
Magic, presumably.
Bookshelves covered the remaining walls from floor to ceiling. Between them stood cabinets filled with rolled parchment, folders, and stacks of documents arranged with the kind of precision Arien associated with people who became genuinely upset when someone returned a book to the wrong shelf.
Most of the volumes looked nearly identical: regulations, records, legal codes, perhaps. Nothing remotely interesting, in other words.
A single wooden chair waited in the center of the room, facing three enormous desks pushed together into something resembling a tribunal. Three Masters sat behind them.
The man on the left possessed a wild mane of grey hair and had his fingers steepled against his chest. He was staring at the ceiling with such concentration that Arien wasn’t entirely certain he had noticed anyone enter.
The man on the right was the opposite: much younger, perhaps not even thirty, and furiously writing on a sheet of paper with the tip of his tongue sticking slightly from the corner of his mouth.
Neither acknowledged Arien.
Only the woman seated between them appeared interested in the newest applicant.
Brown hair streaked with grey had been pulled neatly away from her face. Her expression was severe without being openly unfriendly, and something about the way she sat reminded Arien immediately of the strictest teachers he had known on Earth.
She studied him for several seconds. Arien resisted the urge to wipe his palms against his trousers again.
“Name.”
“Arien.”
The woman’s expression barely changed.
“Full name.”
“Arien Terryson, Master.”
The faint scratching of a pen came from behind him.
Arien glanced over his shoulder. The young assistant had taken a seat at a small desk beside the door and was recording the proceedings with impressive speed.
“Place of origin?”
“Ribenne.”
“Age?”
“Eight.”
The younger Master stopped writing and looked up for the first time since Arien had entered. The grey-haired man didn’t so much as glance away from the ceiling.
The woman merely studied him for another moment.
“Has your System awakening been officially verified?”
“No, Master. Ribenne doesn’t have the equipment for it, and I happened to be away when the Guild last came through.”
Once again, Arien silently thanked Malbek for preparing him. The rules had been simple: answer only what was asked, keep it brief, and use Master whenever necessary.
“Ribenne…” The woman frowned slightly. “That’s in the east?”
“Near the Tyranian border, Master.”
“Ah.” Her expression suggested that explained the lack of official documentation. “No matter. A copy of your registration will be forwarded to the appropriate office.”
She indicated the crystal resting near the edge of her desk. “Come forward. Place your hand on the artifact.”
Arien stood.
What if it doesn’t work? Worse, what if it worked far better than Malbek claimed?
What if instead of confirming his age and mana, it cheerfully announced that the eight-year-old standing in front of them was already a level fifteen Mage?
Arien placed his palm against the crystal. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then he felt the artifact draw a thread of mana from him. Blue light bloomed deep inside the crystal.
The woman watched the crystal carefully while Arien watched her.
No alarm. No sudden shouting. No accusations of impossible System levels.
Excellent.
“Eight years old,” she said, making a mark on the parchment. “And mana confirmed. You may sit.”
Arien returned to the chair considerably more relaxed than when he had left it.
“I assume you’re applying to the House of Magic?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Will your family be paying tuition, or are you applying for the King’s Scholarship?”
“The King’s Scholarship.”
The first time Malbek had told him what a year at the Academy cost, Arien had converted the amount into ordinary money.
Then he had done it again, convinced he had made a mistake.
He hadn’t.
Fortunately, students who couldn’t afford tuition could apply for royal funding. In return, they accepted an obligation to serve the Crown if called upon after graduation, particularly during times of war or other emergencies.
It was a practical arrangement. Wealthy families and foreign students paid enormous fees, talented children from poorer backgrounds still gained access to the Academy, and the Crown received a steady supply of trained specialists who owed part of their education to the King.
“As you are no doubt aware, possessing mana is usually enough to guarantee admission to the Academy.” The Mistress glanced down at the parchment in front of her. “Before we conclude, is there anything else you wish to declare? Any Skills, Aspects, or particular field of study you intend to pursue? It will be taken into consideration when assigning your First-Year Master.”
“Yes. There is, Master.” Arien straightened slightly. This was the part that mattered. “I’ve already assigned the Life Aspect and reached its first Specialization. I’d like to continue developing as a Healer while studying the other branches of magic as well.”
The Mistress raised an eyebrow. The younger Master stopped writing and slowly set down his quill, while the grey-haired Master finally looked away from the ceiling and turned his attention to Arien.
Three pairs of eyes settled on him.
“You understand,” the Mistress said, “that a Specialization is easily verified. If you’re lying in an attempt to influence your placement, your admission will be revoked.”
“I understand, Mistress.”
“And you’re eight years old.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re claiming you raised your Life Aspect to level twenty-five in only a few months?”
Arien had expected that question.
“A little over a year, Mistress.”
The younger Master leaned forward. “A year?”
Arien nodded. “I unlocked the System shortly after my seventh birthday.”
Silence.
“You’re claiming to be a Seven?” the younger Master asked.
“As far as I know, there’s no simple way to prove exactly when my System awakened, Master. So officially, I suppose I’ll be treated as an Eight.” Arien gave a small shrug. “I only mentioned it because otherwise it sounds as though I reached my first Specialization in a matter of months.”
“It can be proven.” The grey-haired Master spoke for the first time. His voice was quiet, with the tired patience of a man who had spent the morning listening to children explain things they barely understood. “With sufficient preparation.”
The old man studied him for a moment.
“Preparation I neither have the time nor the inclination to arrange for an entrance registration.” He shrugged. “It hardly matters. Your Specialization will be verified during the first week of classes.”
Arien tried not to look too relieved.
“For now,” the old Master continued, “show us the Life Aspect.”
“Of course, Master.”
Arien glanced around the room. Nobody appeared to have so much as a visible scratch.
“Could I perhaps borrow a knife?”
“A knife?”
“Or anything sharp, Master.”
The old man blinked, then burst out laughing.
“Boy, just release some Life mana. The Masters of this Academy have not yet deteriorated to the point where we require someone to bleed before we can distinguish one Aspect from another.”
There was enough sarcasm in the remark that the younger Master shot him a quick, irritated glance. Arien pretended not to notice.
“Right.”
Arien extended one hand and released a small amount of Life mana. The familiar energy gathered around his fingers, and the old Master’s amusement faded into interest.
“Good.”
His eyes remained fixed on Arien’s hand.
“Your Mana Manipulation is respectable as well. More than respectable for someone who supposedly awakened only a year ago.”
A flicker of unease passed through Arien. He wasn’t entirely sure how the man had determined that from something so simple, or how much else the old Master might be able to notice.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Anything else?” the woman asked.
Straight back to business.
Arien hesitated.
He had already decided to reveal Life. Fire had been less certain, but the old Master had shown no sign that two Aspects would be unbelievable. Revealing one more might help him earn a better First-Year Master.
Lightning was different. Arien intended to keep that hidden for as long as he could, something no one would expect if he ever found himself in serious danger.
“I also have the Fire Aspect.”
This time, Arien didn’t wait to be prompted. He drew out another thread of mana and changed it. The gentle sensation of Life vanished, replaced by the familiar hungry warmth of Fire.
The old Master stared at it for a moment and smiled. “What an interesting morning.” He leaned back in his chair. “Less than an hour, and already our second applicant with two Aspects.”
That had to be Efie.
“Perhaps losing that card game wasn’t such a tragedy after all.” The old man glanced toward the Mistress. “What do you think, Sonnia?”
Her expression tightened. “I think discussing your gambling habits in front of prospective students reflects poorly on the Academy.”
“So that’s a yes.”
The younger Master coughed suspiciously into one hand. Sonnia ignored both of them and turned back to Arien.
“Thank you, young man.” She made one final note. “Welcome to the Academy.”
Despite knowing the outcome should have been guaranteed, Arien was relieved to hear it aloud.
“Understand that admission is the easy part. Our standards are exceptionally high. Whatever natural advantages you possess now will mean very little if you fail to work.” Her gaze sharpened. “The gods may have opened these doors for you. They will not keep you here.”
“I understand, Master.” He stood. “Thank you, Masters, for your time.”
The expected formula delivered, he turned and headed for the door.
As he stepped back into the waiting room, he caught the assistant watching him over the rim of her spectacles with considerably more interest than before. Arien pretended not to notice.
Arien waited nearly an hour before the assistant finally called his number. He had no idea whether registration was moving quickly or slowly, but for once he wasn’t complaining. The delay gave him time to recover from the earlier disaster.
He knew he had gotten off lightly. Efie had stepped in before he could make a decision that might have followed him for years, and for that alone he was grateful. Even so, a small, irrational part of him remained annoyed by the way she had treated him afterward.
She hadn’t even bothered introducing herself. Basil, while attempting to manipulate and bribe him, had at least managed that much.
Fortunately, Efie had been number four. She disappeared through the examination doors not long after registration began and emerged barely three minutes later.
Whatever had happened inside, it apparently hadn’t troubled her. She crossed the waiting room without looking at anyone and left. Arien sincerely hoped they wouldn’t end up in the same class.
The applicants who followed were less predictable.
A few came out looking as though they had just received terrible news. One girl had tears running silently down her cheeks, while a boy several numbers ahead of Arien practically ran for the exit without speaking to anyone.
Watching them did absolutely nothing for his nerves.
“Number Thirteen!”
Arien was on his feet before he consciously decided to move and crossed the room toward the assistant waiting beside the open doors.
Without the mountain of books she had been carrying earlier, she looked much more composed, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with dark eyes behind thin spectacles and a severe black Academy robe that made her look like an unusually young librarian.
She glanced at the metal token in his hand. “Inside.”
Apparently conversation wasn’t part of her duties. Arien stepped past her.
The examination room was larger than he had expected, roughly the size of the waiting room itself. Tall windows covered much of the far wall, filling it with summer sunlight, yet the air inside was noticeably cooler than the corridor.
Magic, presumably.
Bookshelves covered the remaining walls from floor to ceiling. Between them stood cabinets filled with rolled parchment, folders, and stacks of documents arranged with the kind of precision Arien associated with people who became genuinely upset when someone returned a book to the wrong shelf.
Most of the volumes looked nearly identical: regulations, records, legal codes, perhaps. Nothing remotely interesting, in other words.
A single wooden chair waited in the center of the room, facing three enormous desks pushed together into something resembling a tribunal. Three Masters sat behind them.
The man on the left possessed a wild mane of grey hair and had his fingers steepled against his chest. He was staring at the ceiling with such concentration that Arien wasn’t entirely certain he had noticed anyone enter.
The man on the right was the opposite: much younger, perhaps not even thirty, and furiously writing on a sheet of paper with the tip of his tongue sticking slightly from the corner of his mouth.
Neither acknowledged Arien.
Only the woman seated between them appeared interested in the newest applicant.
Brown hair streaked with grey had been pulled neatly away from her face. Her expression was severe without being openly unfriendly, and something about the way she sat reminded Arien immediately of the strictest teachers he had known on Earth.
She studied him for several seconds. Arien resisted the urge to wipe his palms against his trousers again.
“Name.”
“Arien.”
The woman’s expression barely changed.
“Full name.”
“Arien Terryson, Master.”
The faint scratching of a pen came from behind him.
Arien glanced over his shoulder. The young assistant had taken a seat at a small desk beside the door and was recording the proceedings with impressive speed.
“Place of origin?”
“Ribenne.”
“Age?”
“Eight.”
The younger Master stopped writing and looked up for the first time since Arien had entered. The grey-haired man didn’t so much as glance away from the ceiling.
The woman merely studied him for another moment.
“Has your System awakening been officially verified?”
“No, Master. Ribenne doesn’t have the equipment for it, and I happened to be away when the Guild last came through.”
Once again, Arien silently thanked Malbek for preparing him. The rules had been simple: answer only what was asked, keep it brief, and use Master whenever necessary.
“Ribenne…” The woman frowned slightly. “That’s in the east?”
“Near the Tyranian border, Master.”
“Ah.” Her expression suggested that explained the lack of official documentation. “No matter. A copy of your registration will be forwarded to the appropriate office.”
She indicated the crystal resting near the edge of her desk. “Come forward. Place your hand on the artifact.”
Arien stood.
What if it doesn’t work? Worse, what if it worked far better than Malbek claimed?
What if instead of confirming his age and mana, it cheerfully announced that the eight-year-old standing in front of them was already a level fifteen Mage?
Arien placed his palm against the crystal. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then he felt the artifact draw a thread of mana from him. Blue light bloomed deep inside the crystal.
The woman watched the crystal carefully while Arien watched her.
No alarm. No sudden shouting. No accusations of impossible System levels.
Excellent.
“Eight years old,” she said, making a mark on the parchment. “And mana confirmed. You may sit.”
Arien returned to the chair considerably more relaxed than when he had left it.
“I assume you’re applying to the House of Magic?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Will your family be paying tuition, or are you applying for the King’s Scholarship?”
“The King’s Scholarship.”
The first time Malbek had told him what a year at the Academy cost, Arien had converted the amount into ordinary money.
Then he had done it again, convinced he had made a mistake.
He hadn’t.
Fortunately, students who couldn’t afford tuition could apply for royal funding. In return, they accepted an obligation to serve the Crown if called upon after graduation, particularly during times of war or other emergencies.
It was a practical arrangement. Wealthy families and foreign students paid enormous fees, talented children from poorer backgrounds still gained access to the Academy, and the Crown received a steady supply of trained specialists who owed part of their education to the King.
“As you are no doubt aware, possessing mana is usually enough to guarantee admission to the Academy.” The Mistress glanced down at the parchment in front of her. “Before we conclude, is there anything else you wish to declare? Any Skills, Aspects, or particular field of study you intend to pursue? It will be taken into consideration when assigning your First-Year Master.”
“Yes. There is, Master.” Arien straightened slightly. This was the part that mattered. “I’ve already assigned the Life Aspect and reached its first Specialization. I’d like to continue developing as a Healer while studying the other branches of magic as well.”
The Mistress raised an eyebrow. The younger Master stopped writing and slowly set down his quill, while the grey-haired Master finally looked away from the ceiling and turned his attention to Arien.
Three pairs of eyes settled on him.
“You understand,” the Mistress said, “that a Specialization is easily verified. If you’re lying in an attempt to influence your placement, your admission will be revoked.”
“I understand, Mistress.”
“And you’re eight years old.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re claiming you raised your Life Aspect to level twenty-five in only a few months?”
Arien had expected that question.
“A little over a year, Mistress.”
The younger Master leaned forward. “A year?”
Arien nodded. “I unlocked the System shortly after my seventh birthday.”
Silence.
“You’re claiming to be a Seven?” the younger Master asked.
“As far as I know, there’s no simple way to prove exactly when my System awakened, Master. So officially, I suppose I’ll be treated as an Eight.” Arien gave a small shrug. “I only mentioned it because otherwise it sounds as though I reached my first Specialization in a matter of months.”
“It can be proven.” The grey-haired Master spoke for the first time. His voice was quiet, with the tired patience of a man who had spent the morning listening to children explain things they barely understood. “With sufficient preparation.”
The old man studied him for a moment.
“Preparation I neither have the time nor the inclination to arrange for an entrance registration.” He shrugged. “It hardly matters. Your Specialization will be verified during the first week of classes.”
Arien tried not to look too relieved.
“For now,” the old Master continued, “show us the Life Aspect.”
“Of course, Master.”
Arien glanced around the room. Nobody appeared to have so much as a visible scratch.
“Could I perhaps borrow a knife?”
“A knife?”
“Or anything sharp, Master.”
The old man blinked, then burst out laughing.
“Boy, just release some Life mana. The Masters of this Academy have not yet deteriorated to the point where we require someone to bleed before we can distinguish one Aspect from another.”
There was enough sarcasm in the remark that the younger Master shot him a quick, irritated glance. Arien pretended not to notice.
“Right.”
Arien extended one hand and released a small amount of Life mana. The familiar energy gathered around his fingers, and the old Master’s amusement faded into interest.
“Good.”
His eyes remained fixed on Arien’s hand.
“Your Mana Manipulation is respectable as well. More than respectable for someone who supposedly awakened only a year ago.”
A flicker of unease passed through Arien. He wasn’t entirely sure how the man had determined that from something so simple, or how much else the old Master might be able to notice.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Anything else?” the woman asked.
Straight back to business.
Arien hesitated.
He had already decided to reveal Life. Fire had been less certain, but the old Master had shown no sign that two Aspects would be unbelievable. Revealing one more might help him earn a better First-Year Master.
Lightning was different. Arien intended to keep that hidden for as long as he could, something no one would expect if he ever found himself in serious danger.
“I also have the Fire Aspect.”
This time, Arien didn’t wait to be prompted. He drew out another thread of mana and changed it. The gentle sensation of Life vanished, replaced by the familiar hungry warmth of Fire.
The old Master stared at it for a moment and smiled. “What an interesting morning.” He leaned back in his chair. “Less than an hour, and already our second applicant with two Aspects.”
That had to be Efie.
“Perhaps losing that card game wasn’t such a tragedy after all.” The old man glanced toward the Mistress. “What do you think, Sonnia?”
Her expression tightened. “I think discussing your gambling habits in front of prospective students reflects poorly on the Academy.”
“So that’s a yes.”
The younger Master coughed suspiciously into one hand. Sonnia ignored both of them and turned back to Arien.
“Thank you, young man.” She made one final note. “Welcome to the Academy.”
Despite knowing the outcome should have been guaranteed, Arien was relieved to hear it aloud.
“Understand that admission is the easy part. Our standards are exceptionally high. Whatever natural advantages you possess now will mean very little if you fail to work.” Her gaze sharpened. “The gods may have opened these doors for you. They will not keep you here.”
“I understand, Master.” He stood. “Thank you, Masters, for your time.”
The expected formula delivered, he turned and headed for the door.
As he stepped back into the waiting room, he caught the assistant watching him over the rim of her spectacles with considerably more interest than before. Arien pretended not to notice.
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