“Please, have a seat,” the headmaster told me and gestured at the lone chair facing his work station. I went over and sat down wearing my full dignity as a Cardinal Mage, not wanting to disrespect the man with any pretenses.

  “It is an honor to meet you, sir.”

  He forced a smile in reply, his wrinkled fingers crossed on the table.

  “My apologies for calling you here so suddenly,” he began, “but I thought I'd handle your interview in person, knowing the…knowing there are certain things that cannot be spoken in the presence of civilians. Not that I doubt any of my staff, mind you! Every man and woman in Belmesion enjoys my full confidence. I’d trust them with my life. But—How should I say this?—there is such a thing as knowing too much, as I'm sure you’ll agree with me, Miss. There are secrets out there the weight of which cannot be known until it's on you. After which it'll be too late to...un-know it.”

  It didn't seem like a line asking for a comment, so I sat silently.

  I watched the nervous wriggle of his bony fingers. He kept deflecting eye contact, only twisting his lips, and then nervously uttered,

  “You’ve grown.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I saw you, once before,” he continued. “It was in Boleria. Four years ago now, if my memory still serves me. Yes. Late August, 1824. A stampede of hellions threatened the city there, Weymill, chased out of the Cerulean Gorge by the Tarachians. Mages near and far were called to the city’s protection, it being a very prominent trade node between the strait and inland. Losing it would’ve meant a shortage of many goods that were perhaps not strictly necessary for survival, but very pleasant to have all the same. Yet, very few heeded the call. Nobody believed Weymill could be saved anymore and the city was lost. We were dealing with a horde of frenzied cobalt drakes, a native species of the Gorge. Large, strong, their dense hides would shrug off low-tier spells like dove feathers repel water. Fencers were of no use before such a flood of scales and claw. It was going to take great, concentrated power to stop the beasts. I’m not a man of war, but I accepted this request, since it was hellions threatening innocent people. It was my duty. I thought I could help tip the scales, at the very least. And…and you were there.”

  Boleria? Weymill? Those names said nothing to me. Over the years, most of the battlefields in my memories blended into one chaotic, blurry mess lacking anything to remember them by. Did you remember every breakfast you’d ever had, or every time you scrubbed the toilet, or every time you clipped your toenails?

  Only repetitive, menial work, nothing more.

  “A rockslide on the way delayed me,” the old man said. “I had to stop to clear road for others to follow. So I was late to arrive, and the first unit of volunteers was already fighting in the mountains. I was too tired after the long journey to join the fray straight away, but decided to rest that night in the city, and go with the second unit in the following morning. Fighting was expected to go on all week, if we survived that long, necessitating continuous rotation of members. But—by daybreak, it was already over.”

  A trail of smoke-dressed men and women descended from the high cliffs bordering the city at the rise of an ashen morning, wearing bloodless faces of shock, horror, and apathy, as though in a crushing defeat. Had they given up? Were the hellions going to break through?

  But only silence hung over the dark peaks, and carrions circled in the sky. And there, behind the rest, the strange sight of a frail teenage girl marching alongside an apathetic High Mage.

  Konoron continued,

  “The witches and wizards I spoke to...said they never got their turn. That you killed all the hellions by yourself. With a force they couldn’t fathom. What they saw then wasn’t human and the sight scarred some of them for life, making them swear off magic altogether. And you simply went away, on to the next field of death. But I climbed up there, after it was over, and I laid my eyes on the many corpses filling the canyons…That long, long sea of drake bodies, an endless stream of blue and red and pink, from the mountain slopes down and on, and on, as far as the eye could see…”

  The Archmage shuddered and fell quiet.

  He held his silence for a lengthy, heavy moment, but then forced a small smirk.

  “Forgive me. Returning on topic, might I know…Why is it that the army chose to send you here, at this specific time?”

  I wondered what had been the point of that little anecdote. It was only with a generous delay that I realized, to my dismay, that the world's greatest wizard was afraid of me. Stunned by the absurdity of the concept, it took me time to find my voice, and I shook my head.

  “I…don't know, sir.”

  It didn’t seem the interview was going to be about my student qualities.

  Come to think of it, it was a good question he asked.

  Did the higher-ups really want me to study and hone my skills for future skirmishes? Probably not. I’d already reached unprecedented heights as a magical tool of murder. There was no need to make me any deadlier than I was, or educate me on things I’d never need to do my duty.

  I did suspect there was an ulterior motive all along. Was it the General's personal agenda then? Did she truly want me to have a shot at normal life among the youth of my own age, and pulled the strings to make it happen? No, that didn’t seem plausible. General Ruthford was the figurehead of the RA, but there were names who outranked her in the Kingdom, the King himself obviously included, and they wouldn't have approved sending me to Belmesion only for private reasons.

  My reasons never interested those people one bit.

  So why then?

  I didn't know. What did it matter? All I could think about was how disappointed I was.

  People feared what they didn’t understand. And how could they understand you if they knew nothing about you? When the fear grew great enough, they no longer even wanted to understand, but only reject and shut out. How could you blame them for it? It was a simple protective mechanism that saved them.

  But I thought the Archmage, of all people, would be different.

  I thought he alone would be beyond fear. I thought he, as the sole other magician standing in the same heights, shared my experience and could recognize the real me behind the deliberately distorted and exaggerated myth. The real me, who was really nobody special without my magic. A mortal human like any other. Just as stupid and lost and confused as those peasants who had no power at all. Magic was only something I could use, it wasn’t my identity.

  I’d learned to deal with being alone, but—who among us didn’t want to be recognized?

  Merely having someone who knew what it was like would’ve been enough.

  I thought this man would receive me with a clever smile and say something like, “Oh, child! The world is a big place and you still have a ways to go! You’ll see!”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  But facing me across the table there was not a wise old grandfather. Not the omnipotent, omniscient Sage rising above all whom I’d unwittingly conjured in my imagination. No, Archmage Konoron was indisputably wise. And he was old, and he was a grandfather too. But above all that, he was too human. A natural, home-grown, mortal man who had a lot to be afraid of, including death and the death of his students and me.

  Yes. There was my one critical misunderstanding. This old man was someone who had things, a great many things, and so he could never fully relate to the viewpoint of a person whose hands had never held anything.

  What little remained of the starry-eyed child in me fell quiet when I realized that, and my heart grew immeasurably cold and dull.

  What a letdown.

  “You don’t suppose,” the headmaster spoke, “that I have given His Majesty, or the military heads any sudden reason to...disapprove of my management of the academy?”

  “I doubt that, sir.”

  I shouldn’t have even said that. Not when I had no proof. For all I knew, orders could come tomorrow to terminate the Archmage. What else could I then, but do it, or die trying, and become a liar? It wouldn’t have been the first time I was given orders I couldn’t understand. But I pitied the aged wizard and was mumbling consoling words before I knew it.

  “My instructions are only to attend normally, for now.”

  “I see,” he mumbled, looking a little easier. “I hope that, in case any problem points come up, your people would contact me first, and we could negotiate how to best proceed. I was granted liberty to run Belmesion as I see fit since the previous King’s generation, by my wealth of experience and foresight, but I am always amenable to...other solutions. Yes. Times change, and we people must change along with it. I would not wish to stall progress due to being too rigid in my old ways. I am sure we can reach a common ground and a...path that all the prominent factions in the nation may be content with.”

  “That is a very commendable attitude to have, sir.”

  “Thank you. Ah, regarding your exam results, Ms Ruthford.” He set the subject aside in haste and picked up a sheet of paper. “I have been informed you are well and clearly above the passing line on all fronts. Except general education—but who cares about the Pact of Corsairs, or the birthday of Alvar Melison, the author of the most beautiful and famous novel ever written in our crude language. Even I’d struggle to recall those on demand. Separation of powers refers to the vesting of legislative and executive authorities, by the way, and is not a measure of maintaining battery lifetime. But trifles!”

  Damn it, no wonder those felt off.

  “I have no doubt you have much to give to the Magic course. Your, um, handiwork with Old Ben, in particular, has been a hot topic in the faculty office. Professor Klomvir was quite shocked by the state of the golem. It was made to last. Dwarven technology at its finest. Naturally, your enrollment was never in dispute, as per our agreement with the good General. Would you like to review the scores yourself? If you wish me to adjust the results in the name of national security, or request a specific class placement, I will make the arrangements.”

  My enrollment was fixed from the start?

  That damn General. What did I even study half the summer for?

  “No, that’s quite all right,” I said and sighed. “You may leave the scores as they are…”

  “Very well.” The old man nodded. “Then, is there anything else I may do for you at this juncture, Miss?”

  Konoron may not have been my ideal Archmage, but I began to think he would’ve made a fine butler. That humble attitude came so naturally to him. I didn’t plan to bug him any further, as evidently uncomfortable as it was for him, but...since he asked.

  “…Might I know how Emily Troyard performed?”

  “Troyard?” His bushy brow scrunched up in a frown, Konoron began to browse the document stack on the desk, his old fingers flying along the corners of the papers. “Hm. Hmm. Ms Troyard...Ms T...Ah. Here we are. Ahem, General Studies: 73/100. Magic Theory: 68/100. Mana intensity: Tier 3 minor. Practical application: three doors opened in six hours. A most valiant effort, to be sure, and would undoubtedly take her far in any other academy. Alas, results of this level don’t bode well for her here, I’m afraid. The competition has been particularly fierce this year, and we have many applicants very strong at theory. Moreover, House Hallant has filed a formal complaint regarding Ms Troyard’s behavior on Tuesday. Picking a fight on the premises, behaving disrespectfully and aggressively, as several witnesses may attest. Oof. Ms Troyard’s interview is still pending, but it does not look good. Not at all. Is she one of your people, perhaps?”

  “No. She’s a civilian. I only talked to her briefly before.”

  “I see.”

  I had no real reason to intervene on behalf of a stranger.

  If Emily didn’t have what it took to get into the academy by her own merits, then she deserved her rejection. A foolish result for a foolish person.

  That should’ve been the end of that. But…

  “…Disregard the complaint. Make it so that she passes.”

  What good was having power and influence if you didn’t use them? Nobody in the world made it solely by playing fair.

  “May I inquire why?” A sudden, intense gleam appeared in the headmaster’s eyes. No matter how subservient he played, I guess he still didn’t appreciate others walking over him. Maybe I owed him an answer.

  “Troyard survived an acute mana overload in her youth. As a consequence, her channel capacity is unnaturally expanded. It won’t show in her output yet, but it will, given time and training. She has some temper issues, but if she learns to control her emotional energy, she can still be an outstanding mage. Do I need to say more?”

  Rationally, shutting an adept of such potential out of education could cause more damage to her and others than bending the rules a little.

  The old man was nonplussed.

  “You said you only spoke to her briefly...?”

  “Yes.”

  What about it?

  “…Very well. I shall take care of it.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  I got the feeling the headmaster had nothing else left to talk about, or even if he did, his will to see me gone was stronger, and I had nothing in particular to tell him either. Glad to wrap up this interview short, I got up and let myself out of the office.