The seasons cycled through their endless dance—winter's frost giving way to spring's renewal, summer's heat fading to autumn's golden tapestry, again and again. Three years passed like this, each day both ordinary and precious.
Leo stood in the courtyard behind their Oakvale townhouse, watching the twins practice. At thirteen, they'd grown lanky and tall, caught in that awkward stage between childhood and adolescence. Alfred concentrated, his brow furrowed as a wall of earth rose before him. Beside him, Annete's fingers danced with tiny flames that she shaped into intricate patterns.
"Fourth level already," Leo murmured to himself, pride warming his chest. Most children their age struggled any magic abilities. His children were exceptional—not that he'd expected anything less.
"They're showing off for you," Marissa said, appearing at his side with a basket of fresh linens. "They've been practicing that demonstration all morning."
Leo chuckled. "And they should be proud. Fourth-level apprentice mages at thirteen? The academy instructors won't know what hit them."
The Academy of Elemental Arts had already sent their acceptance letters, complete with notes of special interest from the earth and fire department heads. Come autumn, the twins would join the ranks of students from across the region, many of them years older.
"Papa, watch this!" Alfred called, then stomped his foot. The earth rippled outward in concentric circles, stopping precisely at the garden's edge—control that many adult apprentice mages would envy.
Not to be outdone, Annete conjured a spiral of flame that danced above her palm before transforming into a miniature phoenix that circled her head three times before dissipating into sparks.
"Impressive," Leo called back. "Though mind the neighbour's cat this time, Annete."
She blushed, remembering the singed fur incident from last week.
Leo had reached second-level mage power level himself just months ago. The surge of power had been satisfying, his connection to earth magic deepening with each breakthrough. He could have progressed faster, devoted more time to his own training, but those hours instead went to guiding his children through their first spells, explaining theory in child-friendly terms, and celebrating each small victory with his children.
He wouldn't trade those moments for any amount of magical power. His near-immortal lifespan stretched before him—there would be time enough for personal advancement after the children were grown.
The Shmidt family carriage rolled through Oakvale's academic district, the Academy of Elemental Arts rising before them like a monument to magical achievement. Its spires glimmered with enchantments, the stonework itself seeming to pulse with elemental energy.
"It's enormous," Alfred whispered, pressing his face against the window.
Annete nodded, her eyes wide. "Look at all the students!"
Young people in various coloured robes streamed through the academy gates. Some walked with the confident stride of returning students, while others—clearly prospective first-years—huddled in nervous clusters with their families.
"Remember," Leo said, straightening his formal attire, "you're here to take the entrance exams, even though you've already been accepted."
Marissa adjusted Alfred's collar. "Your father wants you to understand what others go through."
Leo nodded. "The military academy where I studied had similar trials. Watching how people handle pressure reveals much about their character."
The carriage stopped at the administrative entrance, where a tall woman in emerald robes awaited them.
"Mage Shmidt," she bowed slightly. "I'm Headmistress Verna. We're honoured by your acceptance of our teaching invitation."
Leo returned the gesture. "The honour is mine. May I present my wife, Marissa, and our children, Alfred and Annete."
The headmistress smiled at the twins. "Your acceptance letters preceded you. Quite impressive, your magical aptitudes."
She led them through corridors where instructors prepared examination rooms. Most wore the simple brown robes of apprentice mages, though a couple displayed the trimmed edges that marked full mage status.
"As you can see," the headmistress explained, "most of our faculty are higher-level apprentices. We have three full mages on staff—now four, with your addition."
Leo nodded, noting how the other instructors glanced at him with curiosity. A second-level mage was uncommon outside the capital.
"The examinations begin soon," she continued. "Perhaps your children would like to observe the preparations? It might ease any nervousness about their own upcoming studies."
"We're not nervous," Annete declared, though her fingers fidgeted with small sparks of fire.
Alfred elbowed her gently. "Speak for yourself."
Leo guided his children through the crowded examination halls, where hundreds of young hopefuls waited for their chance. The air buzzed with nervous energy as parents whispered encouragements and children fidgeted in their seats.
"Why are there so many?" Alfred asked, noting the long lines stretching down corridors.
"Not everyone receives automatic acceptance," Leo explained quietly. "Most must prove their worth through these examinations."
As they moved deeper into the testing area, the demographics shifted noticeably. Children in simple homespun clothing outnumbered those in finer attire. Some wore garments patched multiple times, shoes with soles worn thin from walking—perhaps for days—to reach this opportunity.
Near one of the practice areas, a young apprentice knight struggled with a basic sword stance, his weapon a hand-me-down with a cracked hilt wrapped in twine. The boy's determined face contrasted with his threadbare tunic.
"Papa, why is his sword broken?" Annete whispered, her brow furrowed.
Alfred tugged at Leo's sleeve. "And those children over there—their clothes are all torn. Doesn't anyone help them?"
Leo guided them to a quiet alcove, away from curious ears. He knelt to meet their eyes.
"Not everyone is fortunate enough to be born into a family with means," he said gently. "For many of these children, this examination represents their only chance at a different life. Some have walked for days from villages you've never heard of. Others saved for years to afford the application fee."
The twins' expressions sobered as they looked back at the crowd with new understanding.
"Is that... how it was for you?" Alfred asked hesitantly.
Leo nodded. "I was one of those children once. The Military Academy changed everything for me. Without it, I wouldn't have the life we enjoy now."
Annete's eyes widened. "But you're so powerful now."
"Power and privilege aren't birthrights," Leo said. "For most, they must be earned through tremendous effort and often, tremendous sacrifice."
The twins exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.
"We won't waste our advantage," Alfred said finally, his young face suddenly serious.
Annete nodded firmly. "We'll work twice as hard, knowing others would give anything for our opportunity."
Leo smiled, pride warming his chest. His children were learning perhaps the most important lesson of all—one no spell or incantation could teach.