“What is magic? This question has been posed and debated by philosophers, wise men and theorists for millennia. The Ancient Sages describe magic as Will given Form, and that it is man’s Will that harnesses the Power of Heaven and guides it. The priests of Primaris believe that magic is a gift from the sun god, while to a Priestess of Secundus, it is part of their covenant, a duty to protect and heal. To the nobility of Illyria, magic is a tool, a means to one end…Power.”

Hectares the Wise “Treatise of Magic, Vol 1” 832 IC

Chapter 1

Wilhelm Brookmoor, the youngest son of Earl Tiberius Brookmoor, lay dying. He knew without a doubt that the end was coming for him, but it was taking its sweet time about it. Shivering, despite the many blankets piled on him, covered in sweat, he lay groaning on his bed. A rhythmic pounding in his head, like a drum beat that Death used to announce his arrival and a foul taste in his mouth were signs that he had obviously been poisoned.

“Cut down in the prime of life! What have I done to deserve so cruel a fate!” Wil whined into his pillow. “Alas, what will the world do without me? How will all the girls of the Empire console themselves when I’m gone! To think that I, Beloved by all, would be so viciously murdered! Think what a shock this will send through the capital, Wilhelm the Brave, Wilhelm the Bold, Wilhelm the unmatched in his generation, dead!”

“You’re hung-over, lord” a voice muttered by the side.

“What? How dare you slander me! Me, Drinking!? This is obviously the work of some vile concoction! Slipped in my tea, no doubt while I was discussing literature at the academy” Wil continued from under his sheets.

“Or when you were drinking at the Sunflower Pavilion with lords Pevery and Waines, lord. I believe you had mentioned that a new courtesan was making an appearance” The voice continued.

“Oh, well…” Wil muttered.

“Would you like me to fetch Sister Grace, lord?” The voice offered.

“…fine”

Wil heard retreating footsteps and the door gently closing. Quickly, a new set returned, and the door opened again.

“So, rumor has it you had quite the time yesterday evening!” a new voice spoke in clipped tones next to the bed.

“…. Poisoned…”

“I doubt any poison would have any effect in the amount of wine you drank. From the smell, you bathed in it as well.” Sister Grace continued.

“…Please… Stop…Cure…. Head….”

“Fine, but only because your father asked me to look after you” Sister Grace said. Wil heard a faintly muttered incantation, before a warm glow suffused his body and he felt his head clear.

“Thank you, Sister” Wil said gratefully.

“You’re welcome. I suggest you get cleaned up, you are due at the academy within the hour.” Sister Grace said, before leaving the room.

Wil finally opened his eyes in the gloom of his room, the curtains were thankfully still fully drawn, blocking out most of the bright sunlight. Glancing around, Wil took a moment to orient himself. His massive bed, with its four posts and multitude of blankets and pillows were in shambles.

He could make out what looked like vomit in one corner of the bed. On his bedside table was a wash basin and cloth, steam faintly rising from it in the gloom. On the floor, most of his clothing was piled haphazardly, with only one boot visible, the other still on his foot.

Groaning despite the recent healing, Wil slowly climbed from the bed, sitting upright with his feet on the cold stone floor. He was almost certain that Sister Grace left some of the hangover to linger as punishment.

Making his way to the wash basin, Wil scrubbed most of the remnants from the evening’s activities from his body. The water smelled faintly of roses, which thankfully covered the scent of stale wine and vomit that Wil had acquired.

Stripping, Wil shambled over to the closet and selected his clothing for the day. Black pants and white shirt, with a matching black overcoat of fine silk and silver threading in the shape of vines climbing the sleeves.

Black boots, worn enough to be comfortable but still presentable, finished the outfit. Roughly running his hand through his hair, attempting to straighten his long hair and comb out the knots, he walked over to the mirror to assess his appearance in the gloom.

Tall, with a slender appearance and pale skin, Wilhelm Brookmoor was handsome. Long, black hair and blue eyes, with high cheekbones and rich clothing, he looked every inch a noble. The entire effect was spoiled slightly by dark bags under his eyes, and an unhealthy pallor to his face.

Making his way to the curtains, Wil took a deep breath to prepare himself for facing the world, before opening the curtains to his room. The bright blue light of Secundus made him shield his face with his hand and regret ever being born.

The light brought his room into sharp relief, the mess of bedding and clothing, a knocked over chair in the sitting area, empty wine goblet and bottles. It was all evidence that he was a mess when he returned to his room after his evening out.

Adjusting to the bright light of Secundus, Wil ensured that he looked presentable, and then gathered his satchel containing his Academy books and coin bag from the nearby table. Assessing the contents, Wil winced when he found that his funds were significantly lighter than when he had last checked before heading out yesterday.

Opening the door, Wil left the room and proceeded down the hallway. The fresh air made him realize just how stale and terrible his bedroom smelled and he felt a pang of guilt for having Sister Grace visit him there.

Wil quickly smothered the thought and put on his usual, well-practiced expression of indifference and haughty arrogance. One thing that had been drilled into him time and time again, regardless of your true thoughts, always present a brave face in public.

Making his way down the hall, Wil spotted the owner of the voice he heard in his bedroom earlier. His personal servant, Myles, dressed in his standard uniform of dark grey pants, white shirt and a black overcoat with the Brookmoor family crest displayed prominently on the front. Myles was older, with a clean-shaven face, dark eyes and dark hair.

“Lord, the carriage is here to bring you to the academy” Myles said.

“Very well.” Wil nodded and continued down the hall, heading towards the front hall of the manor, Myles followed closely behind.

The Manor was in the noble district of the capital and had been part of the Brookmoor family holdings for generations. The manor was used by the family while visiting the capital, or when the younger generation was attending the Imperial Academy. The manor was a large, sprawling property with a white marble façade, large gardens and high windows.

Wil exited the manor and made his way down the cobblestone drive, to the waiting carriage. Black, with a large Brookmoor crest on the side, two large stags locking horns on a field of grey. The inside of the carriage was comfortable, with a polished wood interior, red cushioned seats and large open windows.

Will glanced up at the sky, judging the time from the position of Secundus, he estimated that it was close to noon. Classes started in an hour, and he could arrive there at a fashionably late time. Nodding at Myles, Wil informed the driver to leave.

As he watched the other manors and buildings passing by through the open windows, Wil idly thought of his upcoming classes in the afternoon. He had missed the morning meditations, which didn’t concern him much. The afternoon would be filled with theory and a history lesson, both of which were beyond monotonous. With his family’s position, his future in the Empire was practically assured. The Academy was just a footnote in his life, something that he just had to endure.

Interrupting his thoughts, Wil saw the approaching Academy through the open windows. Despite his indifference, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Gleaming white, with graceful spires, large well cared for lawns and large stained-glass windows. The Imperial Academy was one of the most beautiful sights in the Capital, only the Imperial Palace outshone it.

The carriage slowed to a stop outside the gates, Wil had finally arrived at the Academy.