It was not until James decided to check the top rankings posted on the grand marble board in the main hall. A crowd of new students pressed around him, a constant murmur of nervousness and anticipation filling the space.
"Azrael, you will not believe this! You are ranked first in the entire academy!" James said euphorically, jumping with excitement as he pointed at his friend's name written in golden letters at the very top of the list. His voice echoed between the hall's columns, drawing looks of admiration—and envy.
"James, you also ranked second, just a few thousandths of a point behind," Azrael replied with a shy but genuine smile, feeling a heavy sense of responsibility mixed with immense pride. His eyes scanned the parchment until he found his companion's name, right beneath his own.
"You did great too, James. Things will get difficult during the practical portion of our specialities. You are very talented and already master complex aspects of alchemy. As for me, as a swordsman, I only handle the basics," Azrael confessed, his tone lowering slightly as he thought about the challenges ahead. For a moment, the noise of the crowd around them seemed to fade away.
"Do not worry, Azrael. You will pass the practical exam with points to spare," James said, a bit nervously, knowing that it would be much harder for him. He patted his friend on the back, trying to instill confidence, though a shadow of doubt crossed his own mind.
The practical exam would take place tomorrow. Today, they would go find their dormitory to rest. The afternoon sun began to stain the academy's stained-glass windows with shades of orange.
"Hey, James, the food here is really good. Just eating helped me recover from all today's exhaustion," Azrael commented as they left the grand dining hall, feeling a pleasant sense of fullness for the first time in hours. The rich, unfamiliar flavors still lingered on his palate.
"Yeah, Azrael. They only serve properly inspected meat here," James nodded, recalling the strict speech from the head cook about provisions free of magical contamination.
Azrael and James spent the entire night searching for their dormitory, unable to find it, lost among endless identical stone corridors and staircases that seemed to change direction. Flickering torches cast long, confusing shadows. Eventually, they encountered a noble descending a majestic spiral staircase. He introduced himself as a duke of the Kingdom of Enigmara. His dark blue velvet robe shimmered subtly with silver threads.
"Hello. A pleasure. I am Oliver, the most powerful mage in ancient magic. If you wish, I can guide you to your rooms. Follow me," he said with a cold, calculating smile, not truly waiting for an answer.
Oliver began guiding them without even asking their names, but he led them along the same path they had used to enter the academy—a long side corridor bordering the inner gardens. The cool night air, scented with strange flowers, drifted in through the open arches.
"Here you are. There is no better place than the academy's exit for you—two mannerless, tasteless peasants," he announced with disdain, pointing at the massive oak-and-iron main gate leading outside. His laugh was brief and sharp, like the edge of a blade.
"No, Azrael, do not hit him. He is stronger than you," James whispered urgently, gripping his friend's arm as he saw Azrael's hand clench into a trembling fist.
"I cannot stand him humiliating us like this, James," Azrael muttered through clenched teeth, his body tense like a coiled spring.
Azrael and James swallowed their pride, knowing they were not even half as powerful as that mage. They lowered their heads in silence, staring at Oliver's polished shoes. Oliver then left, looking at them with contempt—pure contempt—before disappearing into the corridor's darkness with the soft whisper of his cape.
Powerless, Azrael and James swore revenge on that spoiled brat, an eloquent silence filled with rage and determination passing between their exchanged glances. As they retraced their steps through the same places again—so many turns, so many identical corridors—they finally found their rooms at the end of a poorly lit, forgotten hallway. The state of the rooms was terrible; the door creaked, plaster peeled from the walls, and the air smelled of dust and dampness.
"Hello, excuse me. You are the ones who ranked first and second, right? I am your next-door neighbor," said Sara, a student who placed third in the theoretical ranking—a mage. She appeared in the doorway of the adjacent room, holding a candle that illuminated her kind, curious face.
"Yes, nice to meet you! It was pure luck that we got those ranks. What is your name?" James said casually, brushing some dust off his robe, while Azrael felt a sense of fear toward women and took a small step back, trying to hide in the hallway's shadows.
"My name is Sara. And you?"
"I am James, and this is Azrael. As you can see, we are not from here—from the kingdom's capital," James replied, gesturing vaguely with his hand.
"Oh, I am not from here either. I come from somewhere else. I arrived here thanks to the savings of my family and my village. I am the only mage my village has seen in centuries. Still, I did not expect accommodations this unpleasant," Sara shared with a sigh, looking disappointedly at her own room's chipped door.
"Yeah, Sara. I cannot believe the kingdom's academy has rooms this neglected," James said, agreeing as he pushed his door open, which let out a long, sharp creak.
James thought for a moment and decided to leave his friend alone with the girl, a sudden—and perhaps slightly comical—idea crossing his mind as he noticed Azrael's discomfort.
"Sorry, I have to go. I forgot something at the academy entrance. Wait here, Azrael," he said quickly, turning around and walking down the corridor before his friend could protest.
"That is fine," Sara said calmly, tilting her head with a gentle smile.
Azrael, thinking: 'We just came back from there, James. You idiot,' remained standing in the doorway, feeling the stone floor beneath his feet especially cold. The light from Sara's candle cast dancing shadows on the neglected walls, stretching the awkward silence that began to grow between them.