"You are late."
I didn't bother greeting the matron in charge of the Institute of magic learning, nor did I explain myself or apologize. I brushed past her, past the gates, and started toward the wing designated to me and a few others.
Even though it was an institution of learning—one that produced state-of-the-art magic wielders, famous and feared—most parents still wouldn't send their children here. Not because of the prestige but because of the price.
Many who entered didn't leave with their sanity intact. Some didn't leave at all. The training conditions weren't proper or humane, and the methods used could never be called legalistic.
"Sage, you don't get to walk over everyone here!" the matron shouted, heels clicking as she hurried after me. Her voice cracked with anger. "It doesn't matter if you are of royal blood. In here, you are nothing. You are nothing—"
I turned then, eyes flashing with contempt, my stare slicing into her like a blade.
