Mazran checked the list. Then he checked it again.

Today was an important day and not because it was his eleventh nameday. He couldn't afford to make mistakes.

It was all here. Bread, beans, vegetables fresh from the farm. Not their farm but a trusted one nonetheless. Some pickles, some jams. All the herbs and spices his father could get his hands on. That is to say 2 dozen barrels of salt and 50 pounds of pepper. Wagons full of cheese and butter. Even a box of cinnamon and another three of nutmeg. Bags full of bay and clove. Not much, but for a medium income trader like his father, this was everything he could muster and more. He had even undercut entire guilds for this, staked his reputation on it. All for one thing and one thing alone. To get him admitted to the Saint Illyrius Academy. The premium magisterium of the state of Rhail. Famous for its mutant magi, the institute was a bulwark of the region, standing as the ruling power of the southern state since nearly the beginning of the Beqepan age over a thousand years ago.

And while its admissions had just ended, it wasn't too late to appeal for a spot in their new term. And that is exactly what his father had intended.

Even as Mazran tallied the inventory, his father was out there by the pearly columns adorning the canopy at the academy's doorstep, begging for a chance. A chance for Mazran to be tested.

And while his father wanted to get him into a magisterium, he reminded Mazran that it didn't have to be this one. There were other magisteriums. Smaller  regional ones. But therein lay the other problem.

The smaller magisteriums didn't have the resources to raise too many students. Thus, they accepted only the best of the best. No room for cannon fodder.

Paradoxically, the best talents would never pick those ratty little schools in a thousand years. And so their fate was sealed. Most smaller magisteriums lasted only for a couple hundred years at most. With that being the case, they wouldn't even consider someome like Mazran.

And that brings us here. Even if he didn't get into this particular academy, at least he would know his talent grade. Then they could choose another institution based on that.

Or at least that's what his father had told him. But Mazran knew better. There was no other choice. Not truly. If he didn't get admitted here, there was no way his father's competitors would allow his admission into another institute. His father had leveraged a lot on this, even to the point of incurrimg massive debts. If he was admitted into the academy, his father could use Mazran's new status to renege on the debts and even profit off of his name. After all, who wouldn't want to get in the good graces of a future magus. On the other hand, if Mazran failed here, it would be the end of their business, family and even freedom. The both of them would be enslaved to work off their debt till the day they died. This had to be it.

"Mazran! Come." His father called out.

Mazran put down the ledger and took a deep breath. It was time.

He straightened the creases on his chalk white shirt and light brown pants as he stepped off the wagon, and took a deep breath.

The chill of the early morning had yet to give way to the searing heat of the midsummer sun. Rhail being the southern tip of the continent, had the gift of hot and humid summers. Supremely uncomfortable and extremely sweaty. Mazran's least favorite month.

He frowned. Perhaps it was this heat that had convinced his father to go forward with his crazed plan. It sure drove Mazran mad with frustration every year. Not that he could do anything about it now. It was too late. This was an all or nothing gamble. He looked to his father, and began walking over nervously.

Suddenly, a voice rang out behind him.

"Berkenshire! I have come to take my revenge! You stole my bride on the day of my wedding, you defiled her in front of my eyes, and then you tore her apart limb from limb! Today I have come to collect my dues! To return the favor! Come out and face me like a man!"

Mazran turned around to look at the source of the disturbance. It was a magi with a face in the likeness of warped fungi, blotted with pus filled sores all over, some even openly bleeding. He looked hideous. The female acolytes by the gate even began to retch at it's sight.

The old white haired magus talking to his father raised a hand, hushing him and addressed the wandering magus.

"Welcome friend, to the Saint Illyrius Academy. I'm afraid the man you're looking for is already dead. Any grievances you may have had died with him. Now I must request that you cease your rabble rousing and slander, and leave our premises, lest we be forced to take action against you."

Mazran's frown deepened. While the elder magus had a polite tone, but beneath the gentlemanly demeanor lay a threat only too real.

"Wha.....how..."

The wandering magus stuttered in shock, his lips pursed, eyes wandering in thought. Guess he was hedging it all on a final showdown with his destined rival. A battle for the ages. The dashing, heroic avenger defeats the obviously evil villain, reveals the truth, and saves the day sort of thing.

Unfortunately for him, life didn't play by fairy tale rules.

The wandering magus gathered his composure and raised his hand in the air, the pus from his sores evaporating as a ball of corrosive acid formed above him, fumes leaking, staining the marble gates of the academy.

"If he can't pay for his crimes, then all of you shall bear the cost!" He screamed, his expression contorting into one of extreme rage.

"Fuck!" Mazran cried as he made a mad dash to the main door of the academy and dragged his shocked father behind one of the many sparkling pillars.

He was not going to die like this, melted into a puddle of flesh and blood.

Watching him take cover, an acolyte beside him chuckled disdainfully.

Mazran shot the acolyte a questioning look as the acolyte began explaining.

"Sometimes these small time acolytes find long lost arcane inheritances and begin to think of themselves as untouchable. Then they wander about, seeking revenge, redressal, even sometimes pity for the smallest of things. I've even heard about some of them slughtering entire cities for some vague disrespect dealt to them by a random passersby. It's his misfortune though. He picked the wrong tree to knock down today and now it's going to fall right on him." He said pointing at the man.

The wandering magus was soon finished with his spell and began to aim it at the crowd of acolytes gathered at the doors.

Seeing this, the academy magus lifted his hand forming a barrier stopping what he could only assume was a deadlier version of projectile vomit. It sure smelled the part. With his other hand he pointed at one of the lion statues adorning the marble gate of the academy, as a beam of light shot out of his finger.

The statue's eyes lit up with a blinding light and it swiped it's paw at the intruder, and in one swift move sliced him in four, sending his body tumbling to the ground in a mess of entrails and broken bones. The corrosive spell he had prepared to use on us, now fell upon his own corpse melting it away before dissipating.

The lord magus returned to the doors and beckoned an acolyte to get the blood cleaned, before turning to us.

"So where were we?" He asked.

"Lord magus was talking about checking  my son's talent. If it would be possible for him to enter the academy, even as a janitor, it would do. I would be eternally grateful if the lord magus could find in his boundless heart the benevolence to grant this lowly servant this request!" My father answered.

"Yes, yes. Indeed. Come here child. Place your hand on this pillar and your other, give to me." Said the elder.

As soon as Mazran placed his hand on the crystalline pillar, the elder magus gripped his hand, jerking it. All of a sudden a strange force invaded Mazran's body and words emerged on the pillar, written in shining light.

Grade Three - Non attribute.

"Hmm.." The magus mumbled.

"What is it my lord? Is he worthy? " My father asked.

"Oh .. yes. Yes he is. His talent is ... passable. He can be inducted into the fold of the academy as a novice."

"Thank you. Thank you so much my lord." My father cried, tears of joy streaming down his face, his one dream now fulfilled.

"Come. Thank the great lord magus for his kindness." He said, pushing Mazran's  head down into a bow.

"Thank you my lord!" He cried, still shocked at the results. Immense gratitude filled Mazran as he thanked his stars, tears pooling in his eyes.

The magus gave a kind smile and gestured to another acolyte, a man with dirt coloured hair and cold, teal eyes.

"Harken! Come here. Take this boy and get him settled in the dormitories." He said.

The acolyte, Harken looked him up and down as he placed a hand on Mazran's shoulder, forcing the facsimile of a smile.

"Welcome to the Academy."

Mazran flinched involuntarily at the smile.

The acolyte on the other hand just rolled his eyes as if it had happened countless times before.

"Don't mind his expressions. He doesn't mean to be hostile. An experiment with mutagens left his face stuck in a perpetual grimace. It's not his fault." Said the elder magus.

Mazran looked at the acolyte, embarrassed and apologized.

He shrugged it off and gestured him to follow.

Mazran turned to look at his father, only to be waved off.

"Just go. I'll be fine. I can always come and meet you from time to time." His father said.

Mazran nodded tearfully and followed the acolyte into the campus.

"You have a lot to learn Newbie. So don't shy away from asking questions. After all, we study the arcane to get closer the truth of the world. In this quest, there are no stupid questions. Never feel embarrassed for not knowing something. Curiosity is the mother of discovery. The only shame for a magus is wilful ignorance." He said, with pride in his eyes.

"Then... can I ask a question?"

"You just did."

"No. I meant..." Mazran began explaining when the acolyte bellowed with laughter.

"Oh loosen up a little. Of course you can ask me a question. Didn't you hear what I just said? Ask away!" Harken assured.

"What does 'Grade Three - Non attribute' mean?" Mazran asked.

"Was that your talent assessment? It's pretty standard to be honest. Nothing to write home about but overall a bit better than average." Harken replied.

"And non attribute ?" Mazran added.

"That just means that your affinity for one particular element isn't higher than 50 percent. You can get an assessment redone later to find out the exact amounts. Oh!" Said Harken, coming to an abrupt halt, "We've arrived."

They had stopped before a big grey door. It was made of a material that looked like stone but had the lustre of metal. The carvings on the door gave it an ancient feel.

Harken pushed open the ancient looking door and led Mazran into the chamber behind it.

The chamber itself had more ancient carvings, all seemingly leading up to an even more ancient altar. Upon it rested a worn out lectern, with a thick stack of bound pages yellowed by the passage of time.

Harken opened a page in the book and grabbed Mazran's hand, pricking his finger with a sacrificial knife, which he then proceeded to press onto the page.

Panic set in as Mazran struggled to escape his grasp.

"Calm down. I'm not going to sacrifice you. This is just the contract for entering the academy. Like an agreement, between you and our institution." Harken explained.

Mazran gave him a suspicious look and asked,

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Can I read it first?" Asked Mazran.

"And what good will it do? What are you going to do if it's not up to your standards? What can you even do? Are you going to leave? Can you even afford to leave?" He retorted.

"No." Mazran replied in shame.

"Thought so. Dont waste your time. Now repeat after me." He said.

""Lord of Contracts, Bringer of Silent Justice, I call upon you to stand witness to this bond. I summon thee...Blind Spectre!"

As Mazran repeated the strange summon, a cold, ancient wind swirled on the altar, the construct itself shimmering in a ghastly yellow green glow and a voice clamored.

"WITNESS!"

An ancient aura enveloped the altar, as a figure manifested upon it, wearing tattered green robes, with gold runes embroidered into the seams and collars.

In one hand, it held a balance, in the other rested a sheathed blade.

As Mazran's eyes scaled its body, his gaze came to rest upon its eyes. And true to its name, its eyes lay hollow, an unearthly, swirling, pitch black; a peek into the void. As soon as their eyes met, Mazran found himself stuck. He couldn't look away as he began to be pulled into them.

Slowly, steadily, the world began to fade from Mazran's conscious and a strange peace fell upon him.

"STOP LOOKING INTO HIS EYES YOU DUMB MOTHERFU..."