The academy hummed with the particular brand of organized chaos that precedes exam season, a familiar rhythm to Elara, the distinguished Life Magic professor. His office was a sanctuary of sorts, though even here, the relentless tide of administrative paperwork sought to engulf him.
He signed requisitions for specialized healing components, reviewed curriculum adjustments for advanced biological transmutations, and penned concise, often biting, feedback on student essays, each stroke of his quill a quiet battle against academic mediocrity. The grandeur of arcane mastery often hid the tedious reality of governing it, a frustration he felt acutely in the silent hours of the morning.
A familiar clatter preceded the arrival of Professor Aethel, the perpetually jovial Professor of Enchantments, who leaned against Elara's doorframe, a teacup steaming in his hand. "Thorne, my dear fellow, still wrestling with the beast of bureaucracy?" he inquired, his voice warm and teasing. "One would think even you would be immune to its charms by now."
Elara finally looked up, a wry twist to his lips, though his eyes remained fixed on a particularly convoluted budget request. "A necessary evil, Aethel," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Unlike the actual aberrations some of our students seem determined to conjure in the practical labs. I'm convinced young Master Finch is trying to create a carnivorous flower in his cauldron instead of a simple nutrient potion."
Aethel chuckled, a hearty sound. "Ah, youthful exuberance. Remember your first year? Half of us nearly transmuted the entire Potions wing into a giant tea cozy. Old Professor Eldrin nearly had a fit. Speaking of youth, the first-year exams are upon us. Ready for the deluge of frantic inquiries? The desperate pleas for 'just one more hint'?"
"As ever," Elara sighed, finally pushing away the budget, his gaze drifting to the stack of pristine exam papers. "Though my questions for the Life Magic theory should leave little room for ambiguity. I've tried to make them as clear as a perfectly brewed restorative elixir."
Aethel's smile softened, a flicker of shared history in his eyes. "Yes, your clarity is legendary, Thorne. Quite unlike my first year teaching here, when I accidentally charmed the entire Charms lab to play opera during a demonstration." He shook his head, a wry grin spreading across his face. "You, on the other hand, arrived fresh from your specialized research, all quiet competence and precisely measured intent. I believe we first bonded over the sheer absurdity of Professor Grumble's administrative directives, didn't we? Or perhaps it was when young Master Abernathy decided to animate the library's entire collection of taxidermied specimens." Their contrasting personalities—Elara's methodical intellect and Aethel's boundless, often chaotic, charm—had created a surprisingly strong friendship, one forged in the shared trenches of academy life and the mutual appreciation for magic, both conventional and utterly outlandish.
Before Aethel could offer a further opinion, Assistant Finn, a man whose anxiety seemed to increase exponentially with the academic year, appeared in the doorway, clutching a sheaf of parchment like a lifeline. His eyes darted nervously between the two professors.
"Professor Thorne," Finn began, his voice a breathless rush, barely containing his agitation. "Apologies for the interruption, Professor Aethel. But the Headmaster… he's requesting an urgent revision of the first-year exam questions." He paused, as if bracing for a magical backlash.
Elara's eyebrow arched, a classic display of controlled irritation that spoke volumes without a single word. "Revision, Finn?" he stated, his voice dangerously calm. "Those questions were carefully constructed to assess critical application, not rote memorization. They challenge the students to think beyond the textbook, particularly in the complex ethical dilemmas of life-force manipulation."
Finn wrung his hands, his gaze pleading. "I understand, sir, truly, I do! But the Headmaster specifically cited the difficulty. He believes they are 'unnecessarily high-level' for first-year students. For both the written theory and the practical application sections." He took a shaky breath. "He was quite firm. He implied… severe consequences for non-compliance by tomorrow morning. He used the phrase 'academic disruption,' sir."
Aethel whistled softly, a knowing glint in his eye that suggested a shared understanding of academy politics. "High-level, indeed. Perhaps our Headmaster fears a wave of academic casualties. Best to keep the pass rates respectable, eh, Thorne? Can't have the grand academy looking bad, now can we?" He gave Elara a sympathetic, though slightly amused, glance.
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line, his internal thoughts a torrent of frustration. He knew precisely what "severe consequences" meant. Not for him, but for funding, for projects, for the very independence he valued. "Very well, Finn," he finally said, taking the parchment, his movements precise, almost surgical.
"Convey to the Headmaster that the questions will be revised. To a 'more accessible standard,' as per his instruction."
He offered Finn a tight, humorless smile, his voice dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. "We wouldn't want to overtax their precious young minds, now would we? Heaven forbid we challenge them to truly learn how not to accidentally turn their classmates into overgrown moss patches."
Finn scurried off, visibly relieved, mumbling his thanks. Aethel clapped Elara on the shoulder. "Don't fret, my friend. A little 'accessibility' never hurt anyone. Keeps the funding flowing, if nothing else, and that's what truly matters to the Headmaster. Now, I must prepare my own students for their Charms practical. Wish me luck; young Master Bromwick tried to turn his familiar into a teapot again this morning. He insisted it was an 'innovative application of transformation magic.'"
The Written Gauntlet (First-Years)
Out in the sprawling quad, the academy grounds buzzed with students preparing for the academic gauntlet. Scattered groups huddled over scrolls, muttering incantations, or miming intricate wand movements, their faces etched with a mixture of determination and dread. A collective sigh seemed to rise from the very earth, the exhaustion of impending exams a palpable force that even the gentle breeze couldn't dissipate.
"Is it just me, or does 'ancient runes' just sound like aggressive bird-scratching after three hours?" groaned a student named Gareth, slumped against a tree, his textbook balanced precariously on his face. He rubbed his eyes, clearly at his limit.
"Don't even start, Gareth, please," replied another, a girl named Seraphina, rubbing her temples as if trying to massage away the impending headache. "I haven't slept in two days, and I'm convinced I'm seeing runic symbols in my soup. Did anyone manage to decipher last year's theoretical on Aetheric Resonance? My brain feels like a tangled knot of arcane threads."
"It's like trying to understand a dragon's grocery list, written in code, during a thunderstorm!" chimed in a third, sparking a round of weary, albeit genuine, laughter. "And half of it seems to contradict the previous year's theory!"