The auditorium was packed with students, all chattering and laughing loudly with one another. It was the annual Ceremony of Graduation at the Mage’s College, and each student here was impatiently awaiting the end of their test results. A full, brutal week of revision, written and practical exams, and they were all running on a nervous sort of exhausted energy. All except the Masters, Megan thought. They were probably tired after grading tests and could care less about the ceremony.

Megan, a second-rank apprentice, otherwise known as a Journeyman, was nervously tapping her foot as she slouched in her chair. She’d only been sitting for about fifteen minutes, but to her, it was the equivalent of three hours. She wanted to jump to her feet and scream at Dean Ciayol to hurry up already. But quite apart from the fact that she wasn’t likely to be heard, she wasn’t really such an impulsive person.

“You’re likely to punch a hole through the floor if you keep up that tapping,” a voice said to her right. She jumped in surprise and looked around.

“You scared me, Mr. Bragg!” She said, clutching her chest. “Sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

He nodded his understanding and gave her a reassuring sort of smile, then made his way down the steps towards the front of the room. He paused here and there to talk quietly with other students, who all had a similar reaction of surprised awe that the Archmage was speaking directly to them. Megan grinned ruefully as he watched the deceptively young-looking mage mount the steps to the stage in the front. There he greeted his colleagues, the other Archmages who had gathered for the ceremony.

The sound of people filing into the row on her left broke through her thoughts, and she saw her friends and classmates taking their places beside her. She threw them half a glare. “You’re late!”

“Oh, relax,” the tall and thin Michael said, flashing her a grin. “You’re always so tightly wound.”

Megan opened her mouth at once to reply, but the broad-shouldered Jordan forestalled her. “Come on, Michael. We’re all nervous. Today is the day we find out if we pass our exams. If it all goes bad, that would mean the past year was for nothing.”

He seemed to realize the significance of what he’d said, and he turned hurriedly to give Megan an apologetic look. “But I’m sure we’ll pass. You’re one of the smartest in the class, Megan. Archmage Kiinor even called you the best at Restoration Magic.”

Megan only glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. Michael grinned again, lounging back in his chair comfortably. “I’m not nervous at all. I aced both of those tests, I just know it.”

Well, you would be confident, Megan thought at him. Life was always easier for geniuses. And Michael was such a genius. Ever since he’d started at the College, Michael’s gift for the arcane arts was obvious. He absorbed every new spell that the teachers threw at them, only needing an hour or two of practice to get it down pat. To top it off, he had the rare ability to cast spells without incantations, and do so at competent speeds. He was a regular winner at the competitions for speed and power held on the training grounds, even surpassing students with more experience.

“Shut, up, Michael.” Rachel said, appearing on Megan’s right and sitting down. “You couldn’t sleep all last night with your nerves.”

“I couldn’t sleep because I was partying,” Michael contradicted her. “Why would I have nerves?”

“Why would you have a brain, you mean?” Rachel muttered so that only Megan could hear. In spite of herself, Megan gave a laugh. Rachel never failed to put Michael in his place. It didn’t help that he fancied her. Rachel was a follower of Minerva, the Maiden Goddess, which meant she’d never take a male partner in life, either for marriage or otherwise.

Michael caught the fact that Rachel was muttering something uncomplimentary, but pretended he hadn’t. Watching him closely, Megan noticed that he sat up a little straighter, his eyes locked forward and his jaw clamped shut. Rachel was good to have around, Megan thought. She had that very desirable effect on Michael. But the smile quickly faded from her face, resolving back into the stern frown. Soon after that, she started tapping her foot again. Rachel gave her a soft sigh but said nothing else.

Finally, Dean Ciayol appeared through one of the back doors. He paused to speak to each of the Archmages, shaking their hands and asking after their day, then turned to face the crowd. On cue, the Masters in attendance flicked their hands, closing the doors with a snap. The crowd quieted down at once, leaving a ringing, expectant, very heavy silence in the air. Ciayol mounted the steps to the podium, cleared his throat, and cast a spell.

“Congratulations on surviving your final examinations,” he said, his deep voice booming throughout the huge room. He winced, corrected his volume, and continued. “As you all doubtless know, today is the day that you learn of your results, and whether or not you will be permitted to continue to the next stage of your studies.”

“First, we begin with the time-honored tradition of recognition. Archmage Ashara, if you will.”

The tall and beautiful Archmage of Divination stepped forward. “I am Archmage Sefina Ashara, recognized master of Divination within this college. I recognize my pupil, Rachel Moran, for her exceptional talents within the field of Divination.”

To the right, Rachel stood amidst a storm of applause. She offered a solemn bow in the direction of her mentor, then sat back down gracefully. Being only a second-year apprentice, her recognition was unexpected. Megan heard mutters race around the room as everyone discussed this. She smirked as she heard many of the male apprentices, as well as a few females, comment on how attractive she was.

Next was the Archmage of Destruction. “I am Archmage Clara Ciayol, recognized master of Destruction within this school. I recognize my pupil, Michael Thunderborn, for his resourcefulness and sheer talent with magic.”

Michael shot to his feet at once, bowing with the elaborate style, glaring openly at the refreshed mutters at yet another second-year apprentice being recognized. He looked as if he wanted to argue with each and every dissenter, even possibly challenge them to a fight so he could prove his superiority. Thankfully Jordan prevented this, reaching up to seize Michael by the back of his green robes and yanking him back to his seat. “Don’t get cocky,” he growled.

The other Archmages got up and recognized students of their own, save for Archmage Bragg, who chose to recognize a student who didn’t fall directly under his school of magic. As the High Magus of the entire Guild, the absolute highest authority, he technically had a hand in all lessons, so it was widely known that he considered all apprentices in the college to be his apprentices in some way. He singled out a cool-mannered, handsome boy that Megan had never seen before, who looked to be a year or two older than her.

Then the recognitions were over, and the whole body of students rose in an ovation honoring the Archmages, who all bowed or waved in reply. The Mage’s College cared a great deal for their traditions, particularly the ones that honored the mages who shared their wisdom. The next order of business was the appointment of new Masters, those students who had officially graduated. They shed their red Proficient robes for the dark blue of Master and were applauded for their hard work.

Megan entertained a brief daydream of the day she’d earn the title of Master. Master Richards, she thought with a laugh. What would she even be Master of? Restoration? That was the hardest school to attain the level in. Recognition was such a finicky and obscure school of magic and had none of the flashy appeal that the other schools boasted.

Now the air in the auditorium was so tense you could have heard a coin drop. The only matter left was the distribution of test results. Every eye was on the table that had been summoned to the front center of the stage, a wooden piece of furniture holding piles of robes in different colors. The good students would get one of those, Megan thought. She just hoped she was one of them.

A fair bit of muttering was going through the crowd now, she realized. At first, she didn’t understand why, but as she listened to the mutters around her, she quickly found out. One of the robes on the table, a proficient’s robe, was gilded in gold thread. That could only mean one thing. One of the students graduating from Journeyman to Proficient would also become a Paragon Apprentice. This was a very rare role, an elite among the students. The student who got that robe would spend the rest of their studies directly under one of the Paragons of the world, of which there were three.

Everyone in attendance knew which Paragon would be the selector, however. As the Paragon of the Body, Shigeru Tokugawa, was currently residing in the Divine Isles, as well as the Paragon of the Soul, Bora Bora, that left the Paragon of the Mind, their very own Samuel Bragg. Thousands of eyes turned to study Archmage Bragg, who held his face level and unconcerned. Then they turned to stare at the group of second-years, particularly at Michael and Rachel, who had been recognized.

“Settle down, now!” Ciayol barked. “As you’ll have doubtless noticed, there is a special robe here. One of the second-year apprentices has been selected to serve as Archmage Bragg’s personal apprentice, to receive more detailed training, in the hopes that they may one day become a Paragon in their own right.”

Paragon apprentices were rare, Megan remembered. Growing up in Tyrman, she’d met one, the only one ever selected. Shiora Tokugawa, the grandson of the God of War, was marked with the gold gilding that marked him as the deity’s apprentice. Should Shigeru ever fall or retire the title, it would be claimed by Shiora. Which one of the Journeyman would get such a terrifying honor?

“Stay in your seats as we pass out the papers,” Ciayol ordered them. “You all know how this works.”

The Masters got up from their seats, and each lifted a heavy stack of paper with their magic, walking down the long gaps between the rows. Individual sheets shout out from the stacks as they moved, each one pre-assigned to a student. The cloud of flying paper obscured all vision for a moment as the results settled themselves. Megan caught hers with clumsy, numb fingers, and stared down at its surface. Any second now, Ciayol would cast his spell and reveal it all, marking her fate.

Megan Richards

Second Year

Archmage Connor Kiinor

Scores are presented between 0 and 100. You are required to achieve at least a score of 80 to complete the second-year studies and graduate to the third year. Schools that you did not participate in this year will be marked as Exempt, to show that you were not graded in these fields

Megan Richards has achieved:

Transmutation - 93

Destruction - 81

Restoration - 99

Divination - 85

Alchemy - 97

Travel - 83

Megan exhaled slowly, feeling the tightness in her chest start to ease. She had done it. She’d passed all of her classes. Sure, she’d barely scraped by in Destruction and Travel, her weakest subjects by far, but she’d still passed. She’d even achieved nearly perfect scores in Restoration and Alchemy, her two favorite subjects! She resisted the urge to jump up and down in excitement. Glancing quickly to the left and right, she saw the same expressions of joy and relief on her friend’s faces. They had passed to, it seemed.

Now came the robes. Dean Ciayol was already preparing, waving a hand over each of the robes, casting a net of mana that would transport them onto their new owners. In previous times, the students would all come up to fetch the robes themselves, which created a lot of chaos. This was much faster. Megan stood, as did all those who had passed their tests and raised their arms to the side, fingers extended.

The spell went off without a hitch, though Megan squirmed a bit at the sensation of her new, slightly heavier robe settling on her body. She wondered why it should weigh more. Maybe it was a representation of the knowledge, she thought with a smile. Or perhaps it was just a simple, higher-quality fabric used for the robes. She opened her eyes, a wide smile on her face, and turned to see her friends all wearing identical red robes. Then her smile faded. They were all staring at her in obvious surprise.

“What’s up?” She asked. “Does it not fit right or something?”

Then she became aware of more and more eyes turning to face her. Every student was staring at her, and she felt herself flushing. What in the hell was going on, she wondered? Then she looked down at her robe and felt her jaw drop in shock. She glanced back up at her friends, as if to confirm what was happening, but couldn’t muster any words. So instead, she looked down again. There, more obvious by the second, was the golden trim that coated the hems of her new robes, adding weight with their presence. She was the new Paragon Apprentice.