Now that the test had officially begun—his students having disintegrated into fine violet ash—the classroom had descended into undisturbed silence. Good, he liked it that way. Less noise meant fewer distractions, creating an ideal environment for a structured seminar or perhaps a moment of contemplative reading. However, Allan couldn't indulge in such inviting alternatives. As a professor, he was tasked with delivering results, with transforming these rookies into Professional Sorcerers.

  Allan's darkened eyes scanned the array of violet-colored, translucent screens of magical energy hovering in front of him. Each screen—a magiscreen—displayed a live feed showcasing a different student navigating the terrain of the Sunken Labyrinth, and there were a total of twenty-three to monitor. A decent number, he supposed, considering the unpredictable nature of their placements. Most of the students hadn't advanced beyond their starting points yet—the sectors where they had materialized were entirely random, enigmatic in their design. Not even Allan himself had the foresight to know exactly where they would manifest. They would need to take decisive action soon, however, unless they wanted to cement their fate as failures. He noted that several of the more adept students, those with quicker magical prowess, had already begun their explorations.

  His gaze settled on Adeline Griffith on a bottom magiscreen to his left. She had conducted a swift yet thorough investigation of her surroundings, her head spinning in a rapid whirl as she assessed the daunting labyrinthine walls. After a fleeting moment of contemplation, she confidently chose her path ahead. That Ice Magic of hers, while potent, was in desperate need of refinement, but Allan was confident in the capabilities of the Glacial Girl. It was her tenacity and talent that had earned her such an admirable reputation, far from being just a run-of-the-mill beginner sorcerer. Yet, he understood the limitations of his own Observation Magic. His powers were not all-encompassing; there were certain angles, hidden behind the labyrinth’s twisting corridors, that would remain shrouded from his view. As such, Allan resigned himself to the reality that a handful of his students would inevitably slip through his watchful gaze. This would complicate the task of assessing their performances later on, but what could he do? Magic couldn’t solve all the world's dilemmas, even in a realm dedicated to the arcane.

  Abigail Bovine had disappeared from him entirely, but the ill-mannered girl did specialize in Earth Magic. Perhaps she had procured a method of burrowing underneath the labyrinth itself or concealing herself within its constructions. She might be blunt and rather hostile, but so it appeared she possessed a certain level of ingenuity when it came to casting magic. Then, some preferred a more direct approach. Jack Durge had chosen to face off with one of the "obstacles" Allan had captured as a part of the test.

  What did he specialize in again? he thought to himself. Ah, yes, that's right. Never would have imagined such a magic suited someone as abrasive as him.

  Allan could acknowledge that he wasn't the best at remembering each of his students' names and faces, a habit he remained optimistic would improve as the semester progressed. He was committed to making an effort, consciously observing their interactions and checking in with his fellow professors to gather insights on how their first days had unfolded. Yet, even now, he found himself struggling to accurately account for each one of them, their distinctive personalities beginning to blur in his memory. The situation was compounded by the fact that he hadn't dedicated much time to assessing the students who had participated in the Entrance Exam; that responsibility rested squarely on the shoulders of the Exam Coordinators.

  However, he couldn't help but notice Jack's impressive display of skill during the practical evaluation. The young sorcerer seemed to be in command of his magical abilities, conjuring a tremendous wave of murky water that surged forward with a fierce intensity, threatening to overwhelm and displace his opponent with a violent torrent. Yet, he would need to practice caution as even the strongest spells required precision. If Jack was not careful, that very wave could sweep him away, leaving him caught in the chaotic undertow of his own magic. The balance of control was critical, and in the world of magic, one miscalculated move could easily turn triumph into disaster.

  Lyra complained on his shoulder with an annoyed squeal.

  Fine, Allan thought. I'll find them next.

  "Find who?" a voice beside him said. "Uh oh. Another of your insanely difficult tests? And here I was thinking you'd go easy on the newbies this year. Guess I was setting myself up for disappointment on that one, huh?"

  Allan sighed dryly. "You're early, Founder. I wasn't expecting you until next week. Typically, you spend the first three or so days in Spellcasting or Magihistory."

  "Well, yeah! Those professors know how to have a good time, unlike you!" she teased. She carried an echo with whatever she said, as if her voice was constantly striving to catch up with the words she had already spoken. "Honestly, you can be such a drag. Makes me wonder how poor Lyra has put up with you for as long as she has."

  "Not that I don't enjoy your visits," Allan said, diffusing a subsequent sigh, "but might there be a purpose for your blatant intrusion on my lesson? You know, other than to spew your usual complaints."

  "I mean, I could run through the motions, if that were to please you. The whole 'you're being too hard on your students' or 'give them a chance before throwing them into the deep-end' schtick, and be more than justified in doing so! I love seeing all the new students each year. Learning of their origins, the stories they've lived. The more sorcerers in these halls, the happier I'll be." Her bright smile slumped like a soggy stain, and that frown was accompanied by the hateful glare she shot at him. "Which is why I'm not a fan of your methods! Pestering these kids on their first day! How cruel can you get?"

  "You call it cruel," Allan said, "I call it being practical."

  "'Practical', is it? That's not the word I'd use."

  "If you have a problem with how I run things, Founder, then you could always just order Headmaster Valerian to change his policies. He listens to whatever you tell him like an obedient ogrehound."

  "Now what would be the purpose of doing that?" she asked, giggling. "My time has passed. I want each headmaster and each professor of any generation to create the future as they see fit. Just so long as they don't stray too far from our ideals."

  "Honor, yes, of course," Allan nodded. "Well, one could argue there is honor in sparing a fool-hearty mage the fate of dying as an ill-suited Professional Sorcerer. My mission with these tests is to distinguish merit and resolve. A student lacking either isn't fit to be in my class. Meanwhile, a student at the lower end of mediocrity is generally not suited to attend Glyph Academy. From a certain perspective, I'm saving lives in my own way."

  "Fair point," she confessed, her smile bowing, hands tied behind her. "But at least put in the effort of seeming less impartial. I can sense your emotions, your intent, your desire. Admit it, Ally. This class is different from the others. You feel it, I know you do."

  "Please refrain from using that name, Founder," Allan sighed. "It's unprofessional."

  She giggled into her hand. "I know, I know. But I just love how annoyed it makes you!"

  "Also, I find it highly hypocritical of you to accuse me of picking favorites when you have already been interfering with these students' lives, not even a week into the semester. Hound told me what you did; not very subtle of you, Founder. You want me to be honest with myself? Fine, as you wish. I only ask that you do the same."

  "Oh? Have you something you long to discuss with me, Ally?"

  "I do," Allan replied, crossing his arms. "You've taken an interest in one of my students, in particular, haven't you? Someone in my homeroom class?"

  The Founder fostered a mischievous grin. One that reminded him of an imp more than anything. "Precisely, I have."

  She wasn't a ghost; she wasn't a spirit. She was Faye Theodora, Founder of Glyph Academy, and quite possibly one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. She took the form of a young woman in her early thirties—the same age she was when she died—wearing a frilly, pinkish-white dress with a pair of laced outdoor boots. Her long, light-brown hair easily reached her calves, but it was singing in a phantom breeze, billowing in his direction. As she turned to him, Allan noticed that the woman seemed to be expecting a response, her pink eyes glistening inside her round face, dotted with freckles of the same color. Allan hadn't one.

  Through the use of a long-forgotten spell woven deep into the fabric of time, Faye had found a way to communicate with those she cherished while her physical form remained anchored within the Heart of the academy, shrouded in a deep, dreamless slumber. Her ethereal existence was known only to the higher members of Glyph Academy, and even among them, only a select few were aware of her true nature. To the outside world, she existed merely as an honorable memory, a lingering echo of the academy’s storied past. Yet this enigmatic woman possessed talents that far surpassed this solitary ability; the very fact that she was "standing" beside him in that moment served as a testament to her extraordinary magical prowess.

  Faye was the embodiment of what a sorcerer could achieve, a shining example of what one ought to aspire to be. Her presence, though intangible, exuded a warmth that filled the air, a delightful paradox of weight and lightness. With a joyful hop, she floated effortlessly towards him, her Essence shimmering with an otherworldly glow, like turquoise fireflies soaring after her. She wrapped her non-existent arms around him in a comforting embrace, resting her chin on his vacant shoulder. There was a palpable gravity to her spirit, as if imagination had been given form, pulling at the threads of reality. "Your Essence is bleeding," she murmured, her ethereal voice tinged with sorrow. "I hate seeing you like this. Whatever happened, you must understand, it wasn't your fault."

  "Yes," Allan muttered. "Yes, it was."

  "If you keep blaming yourself, it will only drive you to insanity faster," she warned, plainly concerned by how her already distorted voice shook unnaturally. "Acknowledging your mistakes shouldn't be confused with the changing of one's spirit. However, learning from the shortcomings of the past doesn't exempt you from reliving some lost destiny."

  Enough of this, Allan told himself, glaring frustratedly at the fabricated magiscreens again. I have a job to do.

  *

  * *

  Elaine had read somewhere that it was impossible to escape a pocket prison—unless the owner or creator willed it so. These pocket prisons were primarily designed to confine dangerous criminals, ensuring that they could neither harm anyone nor escape. However, if Professor Marsh's cryptic words were to be trusted, there existed a way out of this intangible cage. Elaine just needed to uncover it.

  This realization brought her no small amount of frustration. She quickly learned that finding the exit would not be an inherently easy task. Furthermore, she had little idea of what the exit should look like, let alone how to locate it amid the maze of her confinement. A clock that didn't exist ticked imperiously in her ears, each fleeting second a reminder of the dwindling time limit imposed upon them. They had until the end of the class to complete the task; failure came with dire consequences—those who failed, as well as the last to escape, would face expulsion. Elaine shook her head vigorously, trying to dislodge those distracting thoughts.

  Concerns about failure and expulsion were mere nuisances; what mattered most was honing her focus on the test. With determination pulsing in her heart, she propelled herself forward, her shoes splashing through a puddle of water as she rounded a corner just five paces ahead, the fabric of her shoulder cape fluttering on its own. She had been at this for what felt like eternity—fifteen minutes, she approximated—but each passing second had begun to blur her sense of progress. The disorienting sameness of this strange labyrinth seemed to conspire against her. The walls were an unbroken expanse of black, stretching infinitely into the distance. Sometimes, they curved or intersected with another narrow passageway, only to suddenly give way to an imposing barrier of weathered brick that blocked her path without warning. Every turn felt like a repetition of the last, and Elaine could feel her irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She pressed on nonetheless.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  As she went on, she noticed that the labyrinth's fog grew thicker. Once it had only ever reached as high as her ankles; now, the palish mist puffed off the floor, reaching well past her calves and closer to her thighs. A cold moistness touched her skin like frigid, wet smoke. It didn't impede her ability to see where she was going; however, Elaine fretted over just how obtrusive it could potentially grow to be. Three more minutes of advancing in a steady jog, and the passageway opened up into a courtyard expanding to be around fifteen to twenty meters wide. It was void of any discernible life or activity—it was in a lot of ways no different than the rest of the seemingly endless maze, although Elaine did spot something flickering on the floor. The fog had died down some here, so her eyes immediately landed on it not long after her arrival.

  Hesitantly, Elaine stepped toward the mysterious source of illumination, the light slicing through the dense fog that surrounded her. It gleamed atop a square stone platform in the center of the courtyard, its polished surface glistening as if it had absorbed the light of the very stars dotting the heavens. Elaine ascended the worn stone steps, each footfall echoing softly in the stillness. As she reached the platform's peak, she froze suddenly, her heart racing. The brilliance she had perceived did not stem from any conventional light source. Overhead, the darkened sky was alive with vibrant ribbons of purple and crimson, twisting and curling like an otherworldly river. These colors danced and mingled, casting surreal reflections upon the courtyard's cobblestones.

  One particular ribbon—an especially vivid crimson—had spiraled lower than the rest, creating a hauntingly beautiful loop. Its radiant glow flickered, as if consumed by an unseen force, leaving a pulse of luminosity behind. Directly below, on the ground, a tiny speck began to awaken, shimmering like a constellation. This gleam was unlike any magical artifact; rather, it was a singular, artificial golden tooth, striving in vain to catch the fragmented light that spilled from above. Unlike the jagged, ancient bones that surrounded it, this tooth was a polished treasure.

  A startled gasp sprang out of Elaine's throat, and she nearly stumbled over her feet and off the platform when she instinctively hopped back. Before her lay a skeleton, a disassembled collection of shattered bones and frames. The same purplish veins that covered the enclosing walls had slowly tangled themselves around it, a vine crawling out of one of its vacant eye sockets. Its hand—which had lost two of its fingers—was reaching towards her, as if the poor soul that perished here had Ascended to the Eternal Gardens as they were begging for help. Elaine was unaware of how long she remained gaping at the skeleton, utterly motionless, but a sudden click! from somewhere nearby shattered that paralyzing spell. Elaine spun around to hear the rapid, unnatural footsteps approaching. They didn't belong to a human, she could tell.

  Springing off the platform, Elaine swiftly retreated behind a vine-infested boulder nestled in the shadowed corner of the courtyard; the rough surface pressed against her back as she crouched low. A distinctive and sharp click! shattered the silence, followed by the ominous scraping of rock. Holding her breath, she exhaled softly into the palm that covered her mouth, steadying herself before peeking cautiously around the jagged edge of the boulder.

  What she saw sent her heart racing.

  The creature before her was colossal, as large as a bison—perhaps even larger—and its body was encased in a rigid, black-plated armor that vibrated with each of its lumbering movements. Extending over its abdomen was a lengthy tail possessing a pronounced, curved stinger. Anyone stabbed by that wouldn't last an hour, she reckoned. Its poison was too potent. Walking on its eight skinny legs, the well-armored creature advanced with an air of caution, grabbing something out of the mist with one of its enormous pincers and crushing whatever it was—or had been—to splinters with a snap! All twelve of its glowing, violet eyes scoured the environment hungrily, undoubtedly searching for anything to devour, as should an apex predator of its kind. Elaine nearly let a shriek escape when she thought their gazes met; however, the titanic arachnid nearly clicked its mouth, with folding mandibles, before climbing over a nearby wall and disappearing on the other side.

  Elaine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, feeling the stone against her back as she sank onto the rough, uneven floor. However, standing before her was a humanoid figure, shimmering with a purplish hue, its form pulsating gently. The entity's gleaming eyes fixated on her with an intensity, while its mouth remained a solid line, betraying no emotion. "What in the Five Realms!" Elaine squealed, hands held in front of her. "A ghost! It's a ghost!"

  "Calm yourself, Harwood. And lower your voice," the gaseous entity said, a finger over his mouth. "I realize this form isn't ideal. Nevertheless, I am the same person."

  Elaine frowned at it, doubtful. Then, she realized she recognized its long hair and its half-interested expression. "...Professor Marsh?"

  "Indeed," Professor Marsh replied, low-toned. He appeared as himself, yet was suffused with a purplish hue. Elaine squinted, struggling against the shimmering distortion of light around him, and with concentrated effort, she could just make out the fact that he was somewhat transparent. It was a subtle detail, but those with keen eyes would notice the faint outline of objects behind him, slightly blurred and warped as if viewed through a smoggy glass.

  "Professor," Elaine stuttered, "there are...there's..."

  "I'm already aware of the deathstalkers," Professor Marsh replied calmly, raising a hand. "I'm the one who placed them here."

  "You...you did?"

  "Were you not paying attention in class? Everything you see around you was of my design. That includes the deathstalkers, although it was quite strenuous to capture them. They can be annoyingly crafty for such dulbrained animals."

  "Don't you think that's dangerous?" Elaine said, trying not to sound cowardly. Her whimpering voice betrayed her regardless. "If a student were to get cornered by one of them, they could get seriously hurt. I realize this is a test but...isn't this a bit too extreme?"

  Professor Marsh scoffed. "A couple of overgrown bugs? Extreme? Hardly. At least, not to the handicapable sorcerers among you."

  Elaine gulped and lowered her chin to the floor. What did that make her?

  "To ease your nerves, I should have probably mentioned that none of your lives are at stake," he continued. "Should any harm befall you that would result in a fatal injury or worse, you would immediately be teleported out of the pocket prison. Of course, this also means that you'd be expelled."

  Elaine exhaled softly. If nothing else, now she knew it wasn't possible to die in here. "But, sir, if I may ask, why are you here now?"

  "I came for you."

  "Me?" Elaine repeated, confused. "Don't tell me...is the test..."

  "No, there's still over half an hour left. But as far as you're concerned, the test is indeed finished."

  "Wh...What? I...I don't understand."

  Professor Marsh wiped a hand over his shimmering, purple-colored face, revealing a strained, almost pained expression as his fingers brushed past the tip of his nose. "As I've already stated, professors are permitted to run our lessons how we see fit, and we are also allowed to decide who it is we would prefer to have in our homeroom. For me, I ascertained that every one of my students was to be a sorcerer with potential, a sorcerer who has proven to me that they can attain the title of Professional Sorcerer. Most of your classmates have been selected by me or someone else with whom my opinion generally aligns. You are the sole exception."

  Elaine frowned at the reminder. That's right. Ellend was the one who got scouted, not me. I merely took his place.

  "I've been watching you closely," Professor Marsh grumbled. "Watching to see the truth for myself, to confirm if the headmaster was correct in his decision to grant your attendance here, or if it was just a mistaken judgment. And from what I've seen of your performance thus far, well, I'm less than impressed. It's obvious you haven't a clue what you're doing, learning magic on the fly rather than mastering it naturally. A student like that, I fear, just isn't someone I'm interested in teaching."

  "Hang on," Elaine said, shooting a desperate glance at him. "What are you saying, sir?"

  "I'm saying that I want you gone," he muttered coldly. "I want you out of my class."

  "What?!" Elaine exclaimed, shooting to her feet.

  "Letting you proceed with this test would be little more than a futile exercise. At your level, you wouldn't get far, and at worst, your unstable magic might endanger someone else. A risk I'm willing to go without."

  "So you're going to expel me? Just like that?!" Elaine shouted, casting a glare. "I recognize that my magic needs some improvement, and I'm not as skilled as the other members in the class but...but I still deserve a chance to demonstrate what I'm capable of, don't I?"

  "I've been doing this for a long time, kid," the sorcerer sighed. "I know exactly what you're capable of. Your magic, you wield it like a child who found his dad's runesword. Fascinated by its design, ignorant of its power. In the past, I had another student who was underperforming in my class. He was a lot like you; magic didn't come naturally to him, and he seemed to only get by on dumb luck. But I was sympathetic to his ambition, his goal. Looking back on it now, I was too lenient in my rationality. And what became of my juvenile misjudgment? A disaster that has left a stain on this academy for years and years."

  He must be referring to the incident Hound had mentioned, Elaine thought to herself.

  "Long story short, it taught me that I couldn't allow my emotions to interfere with my job. The dreams of a student. The aspirations of a professor. All of it is meaningless," Professor Marsh said, pointing a finger at her, the quick motion causing his incorporeal arm to billow like a fog cloud in the wind. "I won't make the same mistake again. I'll cut any future problems at the root; that means you."

  "But I thought," Elaine countered, quivering in her spot, "that Glyph Academy trained the best sorcerers in the country? You say I'm terrible at controlling my magic. Well, then, teach me how to get better! I may not know what happened in the past, but that has nothing to do with me. Right now, I'm in need of someone to teach me how to cast magic. To teach me how to be a sorcerer. I need you, Professor Marsh."

  "Ah, I see. You've fallen for a blatant misconception. We here at Glyph don't just teach any humble magic user who waltzes in. It is my intention to make great sorcerers greater. Not helping to make mediocre mages more mediocre. A fool-hearty assumption on your part, I'd say." Professor Marsh leaned closer so that his taller frame towered over her, consuming Elaine as a grimacing shadow. "Elaine Harwood, as it stands, there's no way you can be a Professional Sorcerer. Not with the magic you've adopted."

  An uncomfortable silence lingered. Elaine fidgeted as she brandished a response on the tip of her tongue, but a knot of hesitation tightened in her stomach. Was this professor, an esteemed Professional Sorcerer with decades of experience, truly correct in his line of thinking? Had she merely stumbled upon luck to advance as far as she had? Questions swirled around her mind like a tempest, each thought dripping with doubt—had her dream of becoming a Professional Sorcerer devolved into nothing more than a false desire, an illusion crafted by her own na?veté? For a few agonizing moments, she stood on the precipice of despair, lost in the swirling abyss of uncertainty. Then, like a lighthouse guiding a ship through a storm, a picture of her family flickered to life in her mind. A picture of Ellend.

  Professor Marsh extended his hand to her. "Come on, kid. I'll teleport you out of this place before you get hurt."

  "...No," Elaine said firmly. She swatted his arm away, watching as it transformed into swirling puffs of purple mist, only to reform into part of Professor Marsh's gaseous form. Turning away from him, she headed towards the darkened mouth of a narrow pathway, her footsteps heavy beneath her. Despite the tears pooling in her eyes, she held her head high, battling against the tide of sorrow and frustration threatening to spill over. "If you've already made up your mind to expel me, no matter the outcome of this test," she grunted, "then I'd rather you do it after I’ve had a chance to prove myself. I’ll meet you outside in a bit, Professor."

  Elaine caught his scowl out of the corner of her eye. "You're making a mistake."

  "No, you're wrong!" Elaine screamed, her fists balled tightly at her sides. "If I were to give up now, I wouldn't just be abandoning my own ideals; I would also be betraying the trust that so many have placed in me. My parents, the headmaster, and Ellend. To squander their kindness and the faith they've invested in my future would be the biggest mistake I could make. I appreciate your concern, sir, but I will become a Professional Sorcerer, no matter how long it takes. This I promise you!"

  Elaine whirled around, ready to confront him once more. But Professor Marsh had already vanished, leaving only tendrils of shimmering purple gas cycling in the air, dissipating into the soft, unseen breeze that brushed against her skin. She felt a mixture of confusion and relief—had she truly succeeded in changing his mind, or had he simply grown weary of their futile argument? With a determined nod to herself, she inhaled sharply, drawing in the cool, damp air that filled the labyrinthine corridors. Without loosening her grip on her newfound resolve, Elaine resumed her march toward the pathway entrance. In the distance, the unsettling, rhythmic clicks of deathstalkers echoed ominously.