Chapter 2
I stepped into what felt like the lobby of an enormous hotel. A fountain bubbled in the center of the grand space, and the walls were adorned with classical oil paintings. I watched for one to move, but none ever did.
The far side of the building featured an ornate wrought iron gate, beyond which was what looked like the quad for a fancy private college.
“Welcome to Farrun University,” Hartell said proudly. “Most students call this ‘the lobby.’ Only approved visitors are allowed on campus, and travel spells are blocked everywhere but here.”
“Did he just casually place a gate spell, or was that an existing gate with an illusion?”
“I don't know.”
“I am aware. He might.”
Aloud, I asked, “Did you open that portal on the fly or was that always there?”
“A bit of both actually. Travel magic is one of the more dangerous schools to specialize in. A small mistake in your math, and you teleport yourself inside a brick wall. The university distributes an item that manages navigation automatically, but I still cast the spell.”
“What about like set points for permanent teleporters or gates?”
Hartwell slowly cocked his head. “What made you choose to call it a gate instead of a portal?”
“Be more careful.”
“You fucking asked me to ask, so I asked.”
To Hartwell, I answered, “Some games call them gates, I guess. I didn't really think about it.”
“Yes, of course. Those exist. But your tour begins here. These paintings are all student-produced, by the way. Dreadful things, aren't they?”
I didn't know how to answer that.
“To enter or exit campus, you must sign in or out with the gatekeeper. We restrict student travel when class is in session, and in unique cases, we bar specific students from traveling whatsoever. You are one such unique case.”
“You lock me inside, and I can't leave even if I want to?”
Hartwell pinched my sleeve and pulled me aside as if the lobby was bustling with people. It wasn't. An older couple sat on a bench, and they were both either sleeping or dead.
“In our world, David, trust is a dangerous thing. If you trust a mage to draw the spell circle correctly and don't check it yourself, you put your life in their hands. You trusted me when I gave you that necklace, and you had no idea of what it did or how it worked.”
I could feel Byron gloating even if he didn't speak.
Hartwell continued, “Pursuing magical studies makes you a target for all manner of beings, ranging from the opportunistic to the vile.
They prey on young wizards for all manner of reasons and are perpetually challenging our wards.
My recruiter gave me this advice when I was a young man: Never trust a wizard.
Don't ever say shit to fae. Not a word. And never commit to a pact or other form of unbreakable contract.”
“Fae are real?” I asked.
“Very much so.”
“What are fae?”
“A race of fairy people that live in a parallel world. Known for being exceptional with magic and also perpetual tricksters. Like elves but more sparkly.”
“What are elves?”
I didn't have the patience for this.
“Thank you for your guidance,” I said to Hartwell. “I still don't understand why I'm not allowed to leave.”
“Students using travel magic unsupervised typically get themselves killed, and the lobby staying open to travel indefinitely is problematic. That's kind of like building walls around your village but not closing the gate at night.”
When Hartwell confirmed I had no more immediate questions–even though Byron had several–he led us past a man in a tollbooth and onto campus.
Farrun University looked like how Hollywood portrays Harvard, a wonderland of tidy landscaping and grand, imposing brick buildings.
“You'll spend much of your first year in Vesper Hall. Once you pick your school in your sophomore year, you will have most classes in that building for the specialty, but gen eds and electives will take you pretty much everywhere on campus at one point or another.
“Schools are like majors in non magic universities,” Hartwell added. “Your career counselor will go into all those in greater detail.”
A male and a female student passed us on the sidewalk, going in the opposite direction.
The boy wore khaki pants, a maroon vest, a white button up, and a maroon tie with a black stripe down the middle.
His cape was silver and emblazoned with an embroidered crest depicting a dragon cyclops holding up a white shield with maroon squares.
The dragon's one massive eye was closed.
The girl was dressed the same except she had a charcoal skirt instead of pants.
“I'm intrigued.”
Of course Byron would be into school girls, but then again, I was too. Who wasn't into school girls, really?
“Epiphany dragons can open their one eye for 3 years in total before they go blind,” Hartwell said, referencing the crest on the capes.
“They open that eye for only seconds at a time for important occasions. The idea is that wizards should be like epiphany dragons. When your eye is open, drink in everything you can.”
“Are dragons real?” I asked.
“Yes.” He pointed across the quad. “That building is the newest on campus, and it's all magitech labs.
That building is elementalists, and that one is illusionists, and on and on.
Some schools are pretty niche, so there's usually one or two odd programs mixed into the buildings for the more popular schools.
“The student center has our cafeteria. Our chefs are wonderful, by the way. And across from that is the library. You will be very familiar with the library by the time you graduate. And then we have various dormitories, which I can show you if you like, but first, there's someone you should meet.”
“The library could be promising.”
I followed Hartwell up the steps to a cathedral-esque building. It featured a grand, circular stained glass window and a myriad of relief sculptures and statues.
We climbed three floors to an office, the owner of which got to enjoy the view from the stained glass window I had admired outside. I pictured Byron's Ice Temple rectory looking something like this, actually.
The stained glass seemed to be in motion, like an animated kaleidoscope.
The woman at the lone desk in the massive room stood, and I knew instantly that Byron would comment.
She wore a maroon pencil skirt, and a white button up that was a size too small for her D-cup breasts. Her light brown hair was woven into one thick braid that was a few inches short of touching her belt line.
I guessed she might be 50.
“You're going to have her bent over that desk someday, holding that braid like it's the reins for a horse you're trying to break.”
I made a mental note to have a conversation with Byron about his narration. I could tolerate the stray, ‘damn, she's hot,’ but he insisted on being so graphic that it was like he was jerking off right behind me.
“David, this is Dean Pernel,” Hartwell said.
“Wonderful to meet you, David,” she said.
My eyes looked right down her shirt when she leaned forward to shake my hand. She definitely noticed.
“Please, sit,” she added, gesturing to one of the chairs right in front of her desk.
“You're an unusual case. We recruit from new magic quite often, and they all have an experience similar to yours, but Hartwell says you are a once-in-a-generation anomaly.
Ah, right, sorry. You'll hear people describe wizards from established wizard families as ‘old magic.’ Since you are the first person in your line to pursue wizardry, you are ‘new magic.’ Now, please remove your necklace if you would.”
When I pulled the chain over my head, Dean Pernel slid her chair several inches back from her desk.
Hartwell, meanwhile, wore a giant shit-eating grin.
I guess he wasn't exaggerating about my mana pool or whatever, and it occurred to me then that he probably got some kind of incentive for being the one to scout me.
That was his job, after all.
“Are you able to show me the spell you cast?” she asked. “It's perfectly normal if you can't.”
“Byron?” I asked in my mind.
“They're already treating you as if you are some kind of god-touched noble, and they're giving you more attention and resources as a result. I say we show them all of your spells and see what free shit they offer next.”
I used the system to activate the Light spell.
Dean Pernel shot a look at Hartwell. “You buried the lede a bit on this one, don't you think?”
“I wasn't there when he cast it the first time. I didn't know he could do it without gestures or incantations.”
“Light is usually a late first year spell,” the Dean explained to me. “It looks small, but generating and manipulating light is not easy to learn. Casting it intuitively with no formal education is remarkable. But that's enough flattery. Let's talk about your interests.”
“Do you want to see my other spells?” I asked.
Hartwell and Dean Pernel exchanged curious glasses before she said, “Please. Demonstrate.”
“You have to touch her hand to activate Bless.”
“May I have your hand?” I asked the Dean.
She was suspicious but offered me her hand. It was soft, and her nails were painted red.
I triggered Bless. A faint glow flickered from within the Dean for an instant, and her eyes sprung open.
“A multi-faceted enhancement spell. Incredible.”
“Cut yourself to demonstrate Heal, but perhaps, we should keep Unholy Ray to ourselves for now. If level 1 default spells impress them this much, unholy magic might outright scare them.”
Just cut myself? He said it so casually.
But I listened. I used a fingernail to scratch the top of my wrist. The scrape wasn't deep enough to bleed, but the skin was clearly traumatized. I cast Heal, and it mended back to being perfectly healthy in a little more than a second.
Even I was impressed by that. Summoning a flashlight was cool, but healing wounds? That was nuts.
Dean Pernel cleared her throat. “David, I would ask that you only share the Light spell with other students for the indefinite future. As I'm sure Mr. Hartwell explained, you should always wear your Dummy enchantment.”