6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Bronwyn

The cold air of the mountains whips through my skirts as I hurry through the courtyard back into the second-year building. Sofarynn's office is situated where many of the staff's quarters are located, built into the stone wall that surrounds the academy. They call it the city of stone due to its sheer size.

The main portion of the academy is comprised of three buildings, each as large as castles themselves, one for each year a student spends at the academy. Within these buildings are training halls with special wards to keep deadly spells from tearing down the academy, multiple libraries for quiet studying, and all the classrooms and living quarters for both students and the teachers for that year.

As well as students and professors, the academy also houses the most prominent minds in magic and history, people known as the scholars whose sole duty it is to document and record everything within their field of interest. Their building is situated behind the three houses. There is also a grand chapel dedicated to Meruna, the goddess who created magic, for the more devout of the students to visit.

I was raised by a heretic, and while I do not serve the demigods myself, I do not know what I think of their parents, the gods.

And then there are the rooms built into the grand wall that house the staff, the cooks, the maids, and Sofarynn as well as the others who tend to the library.

I look up, squinting at the high spires of the buildings ahead of me. I catch myself heading toward the first-year building out of habit, but no, I'm a second year now. I've been completely transplanted with the rest of the students of my year. Each year the students move to the next house until they graduate after the third year as full Magickers in their own rights. I sigh slightly at the thought; well, most students will graduate. I'll be long gone with my stolen spellbook and never truly hold that title.

I am so many things, but a true magicker will never be one.

Sure, when I take my role as my father's magic wielder, I'll call myself that but deep down I'll know that I'm no true magicker.

The entry hall is empty as I shoulder open the large double doors. Everyone has probably already made it to their specific classes. I'll be late if I don't hurry. For the most part, classes in the academy are voluntary. Students choose what to focus on and which professors to sit under the tutelage of. Much of the first year was to help get a grasp on basic entry level skills. Common spells such as fireballs and healing and their applications. The different types of enchantments and how not to overstrain yourself applying them. Histories of the great magickers of yore.

For year two, we are given the opportunities to branch off into specialized fields of magic. Want to be a healer? Then you sit under a professor of the healing arts, and it goes on for every variation of magic from combative to passive magic such as enchantments. There's even a class on learning the written variation of magic: runes.

But Petrov Hansimov was known for his control over the waters and waves. He is perhaps the most renowned water magicker, but water magic, while not popular, is also not a lost art. It's taught in this very academy.

And if I am to grasp the complex spells I will find once I get ahold of his spellbook, I will need to have quite the advanced grasp of water magic. Which is why even though I'm not at this academy to earn the title of magicker, and I'm not here studying as an actual student, I have decided to attend this class in particular.

It's part of the excuse I gave my father on why I don't have that spellbook yet. I told him I'm not ready to wield, which is absolutely true. Not that I believe a man as powerful as Elwis the Eel would actually buy that excuse. I doubt he has any idea what it is like to ever feel powerless.

My heeled boots click against the stone as I make my way through the stone halls, finally coming upon the room. I slide in, taking stock of the people in attendance.

I spot Wilder almost immediately; his white hair and pale skin are like a beacon that immediately draws my gaze to him.

Next, I spot the noble lady who has a bodyguard. I'm not entirely sure what her story is, but I saw her around the halls last year. I've heard rumors that she was instrumental in revealing a plot that one of the first-year professors was performing unholy magical experiments on the students.

I had been so focused on avoiding Wilder's torments that I completely missed that.

It was kind of humiliating that something so large could take place completely under my nose.

I twist my ring around on my finger as I force myself to stop dwelling on that.

I spot one or two of the noble blooded friends that Wilder spends time with and then there are a handful of other students, but now that each of the second years are expected to prioritize, I doubt any of the classes will be as full as they were in our first year when we were just trying to soak up as much as possible.

Now we have to be picky.

And not many people will pick water magic.

After all, we live on a peninsula entirely circled by mountains. Very few people here have even seen the coast.

What precipitation we get usually freezes over, and ice magic is a different class altogether.

But still, there are some who are curious enough about water or oddly passionate about it. Perhaps, they grew up admiring Petrov Hansimov and want to excel in the magical field he was known for.

It makes me wonder what classes I would choose to attend if I actually had the liberty of doing so. I'll admit that I am very interested in this water magic. Father always taught me that people will overlook power because of inconvenience, and I feel as if this is an example of that.

Any less well-known field of magic leaves the opportunity of discovering spells overlooked by others, spells that could be the difference between life and death in a magical battle.

The professor, a man I recall is named Morozov, is standing in the center of the room. The desks are arranged on platforms in a half circle around the central podium. The professor is a Lowlander, which is no surprise, as the only human race capable of wielding magic they make up a large part of the magicker population. He has black hair that is swept carefully back at the nape of his neck and wears blue robes so dark that they almost appear black.

However, it is his pallor I find exceptionally striking. He reminds me of Wilder.

Just as I think that the professor looks up, and I catch a glint of red.

I sit up, gripping the edge of my desk. I strive to keep my face impassive even as my thoughts are racing. What does this mean?

Professor Morozov is a vampire as well.

My eyes dart to Wilder, and I shift slightly when I see that he is watching me. Why are there so many vampires in this academy?

And what exactly are they up to?