Forte raced down the stairs towards his first class, which was History of the Varian Continent. Although he did not want to be late, the climb down the massive tower staircase took an eternity. Sweat glistened from his forehead as he reached the classroom and rushed inside.

The classroom was a large auditorium, with ornate tapestries and paintings of historical figures hanging from the wall, some of which Forte recognized. Alastar Sinclair’s portrait hung in the forefront, a frail, elderly man with a cursed ring on his finger. The next tapestry was of the vanquished Lord Ismas, pinned to the floor by a ferocious red dragon and a knight in white armor. And then there was Elmund Motley, his forefather. The man in the portrait was an imposing figure, wielding an overly large battleaxe with a strong jaw and a snarl on his face.

Forte realized that he had been standing in front of the entire class for a minute, gawking at the artwork, and that the entire classes’ eyes were on him. The professor, a middle aged woman with graying hair and a mouse perched on her shoulder, nodded at Forte.

“Ah, the new student. Welcome to my class. Please find a seat in the back,” said the professor.

As he walked to the back of the classroom, he noticed an exceptionally pretty golden-red haired girl sitting in the front. She looked oddly familiar to him, for reasons he couldn’t seem to put a finger on. There was only one empty seat available in the back of the classroom. Forte looked around and realized why—Ferguson was sitting next to the empty seat. Forte grimaced and took the seat begrudgingly, as Ferguson elbowed him as he sat down.

“Cut it out, will you?” Forte said with a grimace.

A nasty grin appeared on Ferguson’s face, as he nudged Forte again.

Forte grinded his teeth. If this happened in any other setting, he would’ve just killed the boy. But he did not want to get expelled before learning anything. Once the academy’s usefulness was gone, he would make sure to pay Ferguson a visit. But for now, he would have to suppress his anger. “I just visited headmaster Figgis’ office, and am due to meet him again tomorrow morning. You wouldn’t want me to mention anything, would you?” he lied.

Ferguson’s smile disappeared in an instant. “Bugger off,” he said, and returned to reading his book.

The professor shushed the classroom, as the lights dimmed and she began to speak. “Humanity has been on the Varian continent since the dawn of time, but our story begins at the precipice of written history—the dark tyrant Ismas’ rule. It was under his rule that written language was unified and standardized into what we use today.”

With a flick of her wrist, the classroom began to shift. Gears grinded as a painting emerged from behind the wall. It depicted Ismas sitting in a castle overlooking the Varian continent.

“But these were dark times. Ismas was not a benevolent ruler. He demanded the sacrifice of a life in his name by every village and town during the dark season for his black magic spells, and declared all races, including the long gone elves and dwarves and orcs, as his servants.”

The professor flicked her wrist, and the sound of gears grinding rang through the classroom. A new painting came to the forefront. It was a landscape of a mountainous ravine, with a human, a dwarf, an elf, an orc, and a dragon facing Ismas’ black castle.

She continued. “The races united under their common hatred against the dark tyrant, inciting a rebellion of a magnitude never seen since. With the combined might of the dragons and the four races, Ismas was defeated.”

The professor flicked her wrist, and a new painting emerged, showing a gruesome scene with the corpses of elves, dwarves, orcs, and humans on a large battlefield.

“Shortly after Lord Ismas fell, the races began to distrust and fight amongst each other. The dark tyrant’s reign had united them, but with it gone, the foundation of their cooperation had disappeared as well. The fighting weakened all four races so much so that monsters began to control the plains. Thus began the age of monsters, which lasted for hundreds of years until the beginning of the age of heroes and magic. “

She flipped to another painting, depicting knights dressed in armor with the Motley-Sinclair coat of arms battling against terrifying beasts.

“Thus was the beginning of humanity’s dominance over the other races. With the aid of powerful magicks and fire, the houses of Motley and Sinclair drove back the vile beasts and reclaimed territory, starting a golden age in magic and livelihood. But the revelries were short lived, and house Motley declared war on house Sinclair. No one knows why, but historians have speculated that it was to gain control over one of the four seals of dark magic, Alastar Sinclair’s ring. During the ensuing battle, all four of the seals were destroyed or lost forever.”

Forte grinned. They were not all lost, and he possessed one of them already—Elmund Motley’s bloody amulet. He desired to retrieve all of the priceless artifacts, but he first needed to know where they were. Alastar Sinclair’s ring. Rotterly Ealdwin’s locket. And, of course, Ismas’s thorny crown. Forte glanced to the left, and was glad to see Ferguson struggling to concentrate and take notes.

The mouse on the professor’s shoulder squeaked as she continued. “Alas, the Motley-Siinclair war which drew in all four races was the end of the golden age. The number of dragons had already dwindled at that point, and the last few elven dragons were slaughtered in the battle. The elves, dwarves, and orcs retreated into their ancestral homes, and have not been seen since the eve after the battle. Humans lost their territory to beasts and monsters again, and have retreated to mercifully dry lands without frequent rain, so that the primitive deterrence of fire may still work against raptors and wingless wyverns. The vast majority of magical knowledge was lost, although some of it has been preserved by this very academy. Class is dismissed.”

Shuffling feet was the only sound Forte could hear as students hurried to their next class. He closed his book and checked his schedule. His next class was Intermediate Levitation, located in the courtyard. He ran to the courtyard.

The academy’s courtyard was enormous, and Forte still remembered bitterly the older students throwing mud at him yesterday. He walked around, and saw Seamus.

“Oh, hey Forte! Are you also taking Intermediate Levitation with Professor Salamander?” Seamus said in a friendly manner.

“Yes. So we’re in the same class, huh?” Fort replied.

“Indeed. Oh, look, Professor Salamander is here.” Seamus answered, pointing towards a short, old man with crooked teeth and white hair.

The students stood in a line in front of the professor, with each place marked by a name card. Forte looked around for his name card, and found the spot. He walked over and copied the other students. The professor spoke one word. “Let us begin.”

“Ariz corpus.”

“Ariz corpus!”

“Ariz corpus.”

Forte watched in amazement as some of the students began to levitate in the air, while others struggled and fell. None of the students could stay in the air for longer than a few seconds. Seamus lasted in the air for a second before tumbling down.

Forte tried his luck. “Ariz corpus,” he muttered. He felt his strength trickling away as he slowly rose into the air and bobbed there. After a few moments, he noticed that all the students were staring at him, and he let go of the magic to appear innocuous. He fell to the ground with a thud. Professor Salamander walked over and looked Forte squarely in the eye.

“Who’re you?” said the professor gruffly.

“I’m the new student, professor,” Forte replied.

“Ah, Alfred Bumbus’ recommendation. Is it true that you have not had any magical training?” asked the eldely professor.

Forte considered mentioning the mage’s guild, but then remembered that Phillip Lockheed had taught him the basics of dark magic. He would not bring up the subject. “No, sir.”

“You are talented indeed. I saw you in the air for twelve seconds. That’s almost above the fourth year record of fifteen.”

Forte knew that he could stay in the air for much longer than fifteen seconds, but he kept quiet. He had to hide his potential to not appear overly suspicious.