The reputation of the University of Ravenspire exceeded all expectation. As the largest university of magic among the kingdoms of humankind, it drove mages of every background to its doors. Established hundreds of years ago by the King Aerthst I, the first king of Rodannia, and overseen by a long line of established sorcerers, its pedigree remained flawless. Within its esteemed walls, scholars placed their names in history books by making advances in magic. A former student earned his place among the common people by developing a solution that spurred crop growth, even in years of drought. Another mage derived an enchantment to bind the very power of thunder and lightning to iron and steel, an advancement which saw use in the Regal Army used to quell invading forces. The endless other alumni worked quietly through the annals of history as court mages and advisors to noblemen, offering advice and consultation for matters of arcane importance, which ultimately saved uncountable lives.

The courtyard of the university celebrated its long line of accomplishments. Serving as its most iconic vista reproduced in paintings from artists and songs from bards, three famed buildings framed the outdoor space. In the immediate center, the primary administrative building offered a view of massive granite columns supporting a dome whose size defied the best estimates of possibility of accomplished architects. Along the border of the walls and the dome, a bas relief depicted famed characters and monsters in mythology which told the history of magic in hand carved stone. The entire building gleamed an almost unnatural white which caught the eye and refused to release its attention. Once a visitor regained their gaze, however, the building to the right, a hall dedicated the accomplishments of the university, presented an orange tile roof above the massive slabs of stone. Around its perimeter a garden held a set of statues, alive and animate, who freely conversed with guests and students. To the left, the research lab, an architecturally boring building compared to its peers, shimmered as floating crystals of light softly floated around its base as spells which altered the very fabric of reality silently hummed from its famous walls.

Between these buildings, a single paved path cut the greenspace into quarters. In the center of the path, an ornate fountain built in three tiers spouted a stream of water. The legends said it once followed the rules of nature and poured its water down its spout, but an unknown student enchanted the pipes so now the water flows in ribbons in the air. They twirled like dancers floating in the wind whose grace and beauty pleased even the most ardent students of aesthetics. The four pieces of greenery offered splendid gardens adorned with vivid blooms, fruiting trees, and verdant grasses. A microcosm of weather enshrouded these spaces, so they remained vibrant throughout the year and offered students a place of perpetual warmth even in the most bitter of winters. The trees bore many types of fruits which appeared as sparkling gems among their leaves and if they cared for a particular student or professor, they would spontaneously grow a piece at their request.

Among the courtyard, groups of students roamed like wandering clouds. Wearing the traditional plain blue cloaks, every class added their own flourish which briefly became the fashion before the next class arrived. This year they chose to adorn their robes with brooches of gold and silver decorated with whatever precious stones they could afford. As they walked, they spoke of upcoming tests and classes, sharing discussions about magical theory or practical applications of the concepts they just learned. A few remained silently in the gardens, reading old tomes and taking notes in either sloppy, hurried hand or neat, meticulous handwriting with no compromise between the two extremes. Not entirely restrained to academic life, however, some students chose to play board games among the columns of the administrative building or practiced jokes and stories with the living statues.

When Syma emerged from her trial, this sight overwhelmed her. She stood, dumbfounded and in awe for a few minutes before her feet took a few cautious steps forward. She scanned the scenery until she saw Mirus in one of the gardens. Still wearing his cloak, he withdrew his hood, revealing his elven heritage. Students passed him, sometimes giving him a quizzical glance, but otherwise remained unaffected. The apprentice ran towards the court mage, who, once he caught site of the young women, revealed one of the sincerest smiles she had ever seen on his lips. Instead of embracing him, she gave him an irritate shove, which pushed him back a step.

“You’re a monster for making me go through that unprepared,” she scolded him and then grasped her arms around the elf and placed her face into his shoulder. Mirus replied by enveloping her in his arms. The two shared a hug which would fool onlookers into believing they were father and child if not for the racial difference before she relented.

“This place is beautiful,” she mumbled.

“It truly is,” he replied as feelings of nostalgia overtook him. “You should apply to attend.”

“What do you mean?”

“The trial ensures that only the worthy may pass. It also acts as the first filter for incoming students. Now that you have succeeded, you may formally apply.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, you know my family couldn’t afford this.”

“Syma, you know I have no wife nor children of my own. When I took you in as my apprentice, I accepted you as a member of my family. Ever since I saw the potential in your magic, I began to save. I now have more than enough to cover your expenses.”

“Mirus. I can’t accept…”

“Oh, you can, and you will. I knew you were destined to grow beyond your station when we met. I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to waste your years with me when you can achieve so much more. This chance meeting with Cynna prevailed at the coincidental moment I believed you ready. This is the real reason I brought you to the university.”

Syma only replied with another hug, harder than the last, squeezing the established court mage until his ribs pressed against his lungs.

“Now then,” Mirus resumed nonchalantly. “While I take my meeting with Cynna, I want you to go to the administrative building and take an application. If memory serves, you’ll want to go to room 986B, but I’m sure either signs or students may assist if the location changed. The receptionist will ask you a few preliminary questions before they give you an application. Review its contents, but don’t start it, yet. I want the privilege of helping you.

“Once you submit the completed application, they’ll either reject you or call you in for an interview in a month or so. They won’t reject you, though. Working directly under the court mage of King Justinian II supersedes any formal educational requirement. They’ll call you for an interview and we’ll prepare together. You only need to answer their questions civilly and with confidence.”

“Wow,” Syma uttered. “I’m sorry, this is so much. Yes, of course, I’ll take the application, but why aren’t I attending the meeting with you and Cynna? Afterall, I arranged this whole affair.”

“You did and neither infinite gratitude nor infinite annoyance may express my feelings for it, but as I’m dragged down by my past, I want you to look to your future.”

The apprentice tried to argue, but Mirus refused. After some bickering, she finally agreed, albeit reluctantly. As she departed for the administrative building, the court mage walked beyond the courtyard and traveled more deeply into the campus. Outside of the picturesque courtyard, the various academic buildings and dormitories showed significant age. Architecture styles once popular decades or even centuries ago appeared as temporal anomalies amidst modern eyes. The once sharp corners of the immaculate brickwork now dulled through years of rain and snow. Thin layers of grime accrued in difficult corners, and moss grew in soft patches along the gutters. Before long he found a plain clay brick edifice that housed various offices.

As he wandered through the walls, he peered into various rooms, some of which were marked for academic or administrative purposes, but some of them remained mysteriously unlabeled. A brief glimpse often returned a mundane answer of cleaning supplies or overflow storage, but other times fantastic and probably unsanctioned experiments resided within their walls. Mirus wished he could stay and examine the oddities of magic, but time began to press him for the meeting. Relying more on memory than any nonsensical numbering system the school employed, he quickly navigated the wide halls until he found the office of Professor Cynna.

As he entered the small space, almost half the length of his own office in the castle, a woman with streaks of gray through her brown locks welcomed him. Although her skin seemed to tightly wrap around her face at first glance, a more discerning investigation revealed wrinkles subtly digging around the outer edges of her eyes and in the crease between the cheeks and mouth. Despite the advances of age, her eyes lit with a youthful zeal which forgot about the inescapable effects of time on the body. Like her students, she wore a blue robe, but a large crest of the school, the talons and feathers of a raven across between two chevrons pointing in opposite directions, rested above her heart to indicate her status as a professor. Likewise, the golden fringe around the edges accounted for her seniority.

“Mirus Meratus in the flesh,” she eagerly welcomed him. “The honor is mine to host the court mage to our esteemed king. Please, sit. How was your journey?”

“Well met,” he replied as he took a seat in the office. “A small hinderance delayed my travels, but none so great to prevent my arrival. I trust imparting knowledge to future generations continues to go well.”

“Of course. I only teach the best students. If any student is not among the best when they enroll in my classes, they do not remain my student for much longer.”

“Ah yes, I remember your teaching philosophy from my time as a student. You certainly put many of peers through quite a bit of heartache.”

“Such is the educational process,” her voiced trailed for a moment before it returned. “But enough small talk. In the letter from your apprentice, you mentioned some interesting details about terra abyssa. I would love to hear your discoveries.”

Mirus and Cynna shared a discussion on the metaphysical aspects of the universe which would surely bore any ear save for the most learned scholars who specialized in interdimensional magic. Their reality, as far as magical observation knew, was composed of five realms: terra abyssa – The Abyss, terra firma – their world, terra alta – The Realm of the Sky, terra stellara – The Realm of the Stars, and terra aethera – The Aether. The flow of magic appeared to run through each of the realms and a particularly strong stream of pure arcane energy, sometimes called the Spine of the Universe, connected the realm with various “ribs” separating each of the infinite planes. As they spoke, they briefly debated the precise structure of the realms and their relationship to one another, but they ultimately settled on thin veneer that divided their world from The Abyss.

Perhaps by design or perhaps by coincidences, the daegons who dwell in The Abyss may freely open portals to their world, but the opposite remains impossible. Various scholars argued that the daegons simply confer greater influence over magic than any of the races of their world, but other academics prefer to think the inherent shape of the magical barrier presents its weaker side to The Abyss. On this central debate, Cynna seemed adamant of the power of daegons while Mirus articulated the structure of the arcane energy. Each presented their own evidence and experience, although the court mage spoke selectively. After much time and an exchanging of notes, the professor offered a drink.

“You know,” she began as she poured him a glass of wine. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you wanted to travel to The Abyss.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could muster. “After all these years, I can’t think of place worse than terra abyssa. The warmth of the sun is replaced by the heat of flames. The monsters we so civilly and academically call daegon crawl and slither across the realm. The Abyssal Monarchs wage an endless war that soaks the hard rock with blood. Only a morbid curiosity draws me. Nothing more.”

“I don’t believe this is the case.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“When speaking of your research, you admitted the use of a certain incantation.”

“What of it? An incantation accompanies every spell.”

“Indeed, but the incantation you revealed is only ever used for the creation and orientation of portals.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I must have misspoke. We carry so much knowledge between us, it’s scarcely unbelievable I momentarily uttered the wrong set of words.”

“I don’t think that’s the case.”

“And why not?”

“I think you are a very capable mage who’s spent an unnatural time on this so-called ‘morbid curiosity.’ The depths you’ve spoken extend beyond the reaches of casual research. You’ve spent hours and days absorbed in this fundamental problem of breaching our realities. You know far more than you’ve confessed, and the truth is written beneath your words.”

“I stand firmly that your accusation is baseless, but what would you say if I accepted these unfounded charges instead of denying them?”

“I would say your pursuit is completely and unalterably illegal and morally incomprehensible. I would warn you to abandon your research or else I would need to contact the authorities who would ensure you never saw the shred of another spell book for the rest of your long, elven life. Then I would tell you to leave my office.”

“You mean to tell me that the hope of expanding our knowledge to different realms wouldn’t tempt you? If I pursued such a supposedly ignoble goal, I could expand the course of history by expanding knowledge far beyond the thresholds of our reality. Entire other planes of existence currently evade us, but we could seize onto their mysteries and erode their mysteriousness until their pure essence is made manifest to us.”

“If you argued this seriously, I would say you’re a madman.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not arguing anything and that I deny the charges you’re making.”

“Indeed. However, I think our meeting must be adjourned. A class starts soon. As much as I don’t accept tolerate tardiness from my students, I can’t accept it from myself.”

Professor Cynna rose from her seat offered her hand to the elf who stood unaware for a moment for not many humans offered this courtesy. Once it registered in his mind, however, he gladly took her hand and shook it. The two exchange pleasantries as their meeting ended abruptly. With no other business to conduct at the university, Mirus collected Syma at the courtyard who exploded with questions about his meeting. He patiently answered each inquiry as they left and returned to the inn. The apprentice, of course, expressed her disappointment, although the court mage refused to show his own dismay, except through the subtle displays that his apprentice alone could read.

Mirus declined to hear Syma’s complaints lodged against the professor and instead suggested that they review her application together. The suggestion shifted the mood between them as the apprentice quickly went over the basic questions. The foreboding essay section presented a challenge, although the pair found their determination in answering thoroughly and completely. As the day shifted into night, they remained in Syma’s room, generating ideas, and starting to write introductory paragraphs to inspire their course. Their progress, however, was interrupted by a gentle knock at the window.

When the pair opened the window, a raven hopped in their room with a piece of parchment tied to its foot. Once Mirus retrieved the message, the bird flew out the window as it completed its duty. The parchment felt thick and rough upon his fingers. As he opened the letter, his apprentice stood anxiously besides him, trying to poke her head around his thin frame to catch a glimpse of the message. A set of strange symbols that jutted into sinister directions greeted the pair. Very few curves accompanied the writing, but sharp and acute angles which occasionally refuted the laws of geometry dominated the communication. The script didn’t appear to coincide with any mortal language and its glittering red ink felt harsh upon the eyes.

“What is this?” Syma asked.

“It’s abyssal script usually used by daegons,” Mirus replied.

“Can you read it?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s a message from Cynna,” the court mage answered after taking a moment to decipher the strange language. “She agreed to help me open a portal to The Abyss.”