Dawn painted Eastford in shades of amber and rose as Edge stood with his family at the village's eastern edge. His single trunk—a weathered container that had once held his father's military equipment—waited beside him. The morning air carried a chill that belied the summer heat to come.
When the Academy caravan appeared over the horizon, it wasn't the modest transport Edge had expected. Six carriages approached, their polished surfaces catching the early light like black mirrors. Each was pulled by a pair of midnight-blue horses whose hooves struck sparks against the packed earth of the road.
The lead carriage bore the Arcanum Academy's crest—a silver tree with seven branches, each bearing a different colored fruit representing the elemental affinities of magic. As it drew closer, Edge noticed with unease that the horses' eyes glowed faintly blue, and their breath fogged the air despite the warming day.
"Enchanted," his father murmured beside him. "They can travel for days without rest."
The caravan halted before them with supernatural precision. The door of the lead carriage swung open, and a woman descended. She wore the same crimson and gold robes as yesterday's testing mages, but hers were embellished with intricate silver embroidery at the sleeves and collar.
"Edge Regius?" she asked, her voice cultured and accent-free. The neutral tones of the Imperial capital.
Edge stepped forward. "Yes, ma'am."
She assessed him with a swift, evaluating glance. "I am Magister Lyselle Veren, Deputy Head of House Drakescale and your assigned faculty escort." Her attention shifted briefly to his family. "The Academy appreciates your contribution to the Empire's magical future. Your son's stipend will be delivered monthly by imperial courier."
The formal words fell like stones into the awkward silence. Edge's mother stepped forward, her farm wife's hands rough against the fine fabric of the magister's sleeve.
"Please," Lienna said, "watch over him."
Something in Magister Veren's expression softened momentarily. "Every student at the Academy is a precious resource to the Empire, madam. He will be well cared for." She turned to Edge. "Your trunk?"
Edge gestured to the weathered container. A man in crimson livery appeared from the second carriage, approaching the trunk. He made a simple gesture with his hand, and the trunk rose from the ground, floating smoothly toward the rear carriage.
Miri gasped beside him. Even Edge, prepared as he was to enter a world of magic, felt a jolt at seeing mundane objects manipulated so casually.
"We depart immediately," Magister Veren announced. "The journey to the Academy takes three days, even with enchanted transport."
Edge turned to his family. His sister threw her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest. "Don't forget us when you're famous and powerful," she mumbled.
He hugged her tightly. "Never."
His mother was next, her embrace fierce and quick, her whispered "Be safe" carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid words.
Finally, his father clasped his forearm in the traditional warrior's grip. "Remember your training," Darien said. "Not just with the sword." His eyes held Edge's for a meaningful moment. "A keen mind is a greater weapon than any magic."
And then it was time. Edge climbed into the lead carriage, finding the interior far more spacious than seemed possible from outside. Plush velvet seats lined both sides, and magical lights hovered near the ceiling, adjusting their brightness automatically as the door closed behind him.
Magister Veren seated herself opposite him, her posture impeccable. With a slight motion of her hand, the carriage began moving, the transition from stillness to motion unnervingly smooth.
Edge pressed his hand to the window, watching as his family shrank into the distance. Eastford—the only home he'd ever known—receded with each passing moment, until all he could see was the dusty road behind them.
"First time leaving your village?" Magister Veren asked, breaking the silence.
Edge nodded, pulling his attention away from the window. "Yes, Magister."
"You'll find the world considerably larger than you've imagined." She extracted a slim folder from a compartment beside her seat. "I've reviewed your testing results. They're... unusual."
Edge tensed. "The mages seemed surprised."
"'Surprised' is an understatement. In standard testing, the ink reveals a dominant elemental affinity, occasionally with a secondary trace. Your results showed significant resonance across multiple affinities, with an unclassified central signature."
"What does that mean?"
"That remains to be seen." She studied him with renewed intensity. "Your family history contains no recorded magic users?"
"None that I know of."
"Hmm." She made a notation in her folder. "Spontaneous manifestation is rare but not unprecedented. Late manifestation even more so. Have you experienced any unexplained incidents? Objects moving of their own accord? Unusual weather around you? Dreams that come true?"
Edge hesitated, remembering the shimmering air around his hands the past two nights. "Nothing significant."
If she noticed his careful phrasing, she didn't comment. "You've been assigned to House Drakescale based on your testing pattern. We specialize in combat applications of magic, protection enchantments, and martial mana manipulation. Your physical conditioning is excellent, which will serve you well. Many students arrive with magical aptitude but lack the physical stamina to properly channel it."
The carriage glided past farmland and small hamlets similar to Eastford. Occasionally, peasants working the fields would stop and stare at the imposing procession.
"There will be five other new students joining House Drakescale this term," Magister Veren continued. "The House admits sparingly, only when exceptional candidates present themselves. You will be the only commoner."
Edge's jaw tightened at her blunt statement. "Will that be a problem?"
"It will be a challenge," she corrected. "The Academy officially recognizes merit above birth, but centuries of tradition don't vanish with policy changes. Some of your peers will dismiss you outright. Others will resent your presence. A few may see your unusual testing results as threatening."
"And you, Magister? How do you see me?"
Her lips quirked slightly—not quite a smile, but a crack in her formal demeanor. "I see potential raw material. Whether you become a finely honed blade or shatter under pressure remains to be seen."
The carriage fell silent again. Outside, the landscape began to change as they entered the province of Westmark. Rolling hills replaced the flat farmlands of Edge's home region. In the distance, the first mountain peaks of the Thronespine Range cut jagged lines against the sky.
Around midday, the caravan stopped at a roadside waystation—a sturdy stone building with the imperial crest above its door. Edge expected they would rest the horses, but remembered too late that enchanted mounts needed no such consideration.
"A brief respite for refreshment," Magister Veren explained, leading him into the building.
Inside, Imperial attendants had prepared a light meal. As Edge took a seat at the table, he noticed two other carriages had stopped beside theirs, bearing different crests.
"Other Academy faculty?" Edge asked as he selected a piece of bread from the offered basket.
"Yes. Magister Coen of House Stormcaller and Magister Wynn of House Lightkeeper. They're escorting their own candidates." She nodded toward the door as two robed figures entered, each followed by a young person approximately Edge's age.
The first student was a tall, willowy girl with hair so blonde it appeared almost white. She moved with practiced grace, her expensive clothes marking her as nobility even without the confident set of her shoulders. The boy who followed was shorter, with olive skin and dark, curly hair. His robes, while fine, lacked the embellishments of the girl's attire.
Both cast curious glances at Edge before taking seats at the far end of the table with their respective magisters.
"Sera Vandrian of House Stormcaller," Magister Veren murmured, following Edge's gaze to the blonde girl. "Fourth generation mage from a prominent Northern family. And Darius Keen of House Lightkeeper, second son of a merchant guild master from the coastal cities."
"You know all the incoming students?" Edge asked, keeping his voice low.
"I make it my business to know. Information is as valuable as magic at the Academy." She took a sip from her goblet. "They're assessing you as well, you know."
Edge could feel the weight of their sidelong glances. "They look unimpressed."
"Good. Let them underestimate you. It will be the first of many advantages you'll need."
The meal concluded swiftly, and they returned to their carriages. As Edge climbed in, he caught Sera Vandrian staring openly at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and disdain. He met her gaze steadily until she turned away.
The journey continued as afternoon stretched into evening. Magister Veren produced a slim volume bound in red leather and handed it to Edge.
"Basic principles of mana theory," she explained. "You'll be expected to understand these concepts before formal instruction begins."
Edge opened the book, finding dense text and intricate diagrams that made his head spin. Words like "thaumaturgical resonance" and "aetheric transference" jumped out from the pages. He swallowed hard.
"I'll do my best," he said, uncertain if he could absorb such complex material in just three days.
"Your best is the minimum expectation." There was no cruelty in her tone, only stark reality. "The Academy does not coddle its students, regardless of background. If you cannot keep pace, you will wash out. The stipend to your family would cease immediately."
The threat was clear, if unspoken. Edge gripped the book tighter and began to read.
As night fell, the carriage's interior lights dimmed automatically. The landscape outside vanished into darkness, occasionally broken by the distant lights of a village or manor house. Despite the comfortable seats, Edge found himself fighting to stay awake, the events of the past two days finally catching up with him.
"Sleep," Magister Veren advised, noticing his struggle. "We'll continue your orientation tomorrow."
Edge didn't need to be told twice. He closed the book, marking his place with a finger, and allowed his eyes to close. The rhythmic motion of the carriage lulled him toward sleep, but just before consciousness slipped away, he felt it again—that strange shimmer in the air around his hands, like heat rising from summer stones.
His last waking thought was a question: What power lay dormant within him, waiting to be unleashed at the Arcanum Academy?