As we stepped off the Starchaser's ramp onto the polished stone of the docking platform, we were greeted by a stern-faced, middle-aged woman. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her robes were a practical, no-nonsense grey. She surveyed the gaggle of new students with an expression that suggested she had seen it all and was deeply unimpressed.
"Welcome, children, to Draconia Academy," she announced, her voice crisp and carrying without any need for magic. "I am Professor Elara, and for your junior years, I will be your primary instructor. Here, lineage and titles are left on the platform. You are all equal, all blank slates upon which knowledge will be inscribed."
It was all bullshit, of course. Utterly predictable, motivational nonsense. She continued with a brief overview of our orientation: a short introductory session, a tour of the lower campus, and then assignment to our dormitories. She ended her speech with a sharp, expectant look. "Any questions?"
Nope. Nope. Nooooppeee. My introverted, reclusive self was not about to sit through a preschool-style introduction where we all go around in a circle and share our names and our favorite color.
My hand shot up.
Professor Elara's eyes fixed on me, a flicker of annoyance in their depths. "Yes? And begin with your name, as the introductions have not yet formally started, so I do not know what to call you." She added, with a hint of warning, "And do not think this will exempt you from introducing yourself again with the rest of the class."
What is wrong with this lady?
"My name is Alarion Wight," I said, my voice clear and calm.
The woman's face went pale. The name hit the air with the weight of a physical object. She had clearly not been informed that the scion of House Wight was in her orientation group. I imagine the 'all are equal' speech might have been edited, had she known.
As if on cue, Kaelus's egg bobbed over from the open hatch of the airship, his red velvet pillow floating diligently with him. Patricia and Bob followed, their presence a silent, powerful statement of my station.
I continued my explanation, gesturing to the letter in my hand. "I have a letter from my father, Duke Wight, that I must deliver to the headmaster personally. May I be excused?"
Professor Elara's gaze flickered from me to the floating blue egg, then back to me. The reality of the situation finally seemed to sink in. That egg was not just a curiosity; it was the heir to one of the five beings who guaranteed the very ground she stood upon. She was lecturing a future ruler of this land.
She nodded rapidly, a jerky motion like a chicken pecking at feed, and pointed a trembling finger toward a colossal tree in the distance, its canopy so vast it seemed to hold up the sky. "The Headmaster's… office… is that way. In the Great Banyan."
I gave a polite nod and nonchalantly walked away, leaving a stunned professor and a group of whispering nobles in my wake. Kaelus floated along beside me, a silent, sapphire companion.
The tree just kept getting bigger and bigger as we approached, its trunk wider than our castle's great hall, with massive branches that were themselves the size of ancient oaks. At its base, a man with circular spectacles and a perpetually harried expression was waiting.
"Your business here?" he asked, his eyes cataloging me, my attendants, and the floating egg with methodical precision.
I presented the letter, its wax seal bearing the roaring silver lion of my family. He examined it, his expression unreadable, and gave a curt nod. "The Headmaster is expecting you. However, your attendants must remain here."
Patricia and Bob stopped without a word of protest. As they did, a single, enormous leaf, easily ten feet across, descended from the canopy above, hovering silently before me like a verdant platform. I stepped onto it, Kaelus floating on beside me. The leaf-elevator began to rise, carrying us up through a world of twisting branches and dappled sunlight.
When it finally reached its destination, it settled flush against a wide path made from a single, impossibly thick branch. The path led to a hut that seemed not to have been built upon the tree, but grown from it, its walls and roof a seamless fusion of living wood and woven leaves. Before I could even raise my hand to knock, a warm, resonant voice drifted from within.
"Come in, young Alarion."
I entered a room that was both cozy and vast. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized books, their spines a rainbow of colored leather. In the center of the room, a man with a long, flowing silver beard and twinkling eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets looked up from a steaming kettle. He wore robes of a deep, emerald green, and his presence radiated a calm, immense power. He was a Dragon King's knight, just like my father.
"Please, have a seat," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "The tea is almost ready." Kaelus drifted over to a sunny spot by a window and settled down, and I saw the Headmaster's eyes follow him with a curious, knowing smile.
I sat as he poured two cups of fragrant, steaming tea. He handed one to me, his movements graceful and unhurried. "You know," he said, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his cup, "your father was one of my most… spirited students. A true force of nature." He took a sip. "Now, what brings his son to my doorstep on his very first day?"
I handed him the letter. He read it, his eyebrows rising higher and higher with each line.
"'Eccentric'," he mused, a chuckle in his voice. "If your father is calling you eccentric, that is truly ironic." He continued reading, then paused. "And what is this part? A pre-prepared apology for any 'unforeseen explosive experiments'? He says he will cover all damages." He looked at me, his smile widening. "You seem to be far more interesting than your file suggests."
After a moment of contemplation, he set the letter down. "Very well. Your requests for a private, secure location for your… 'meditation'… are granted."
This was my moment. The time to strike. "Headmaster," I began, my tone respectful but firm. "I have a query. Is it possible for a student to skip the junior curriculum and test directly into the senior section, if they can demonstrate sufficient aptitude and skill?"
He looked amused, a deep, rumbling laugh starting in his chest. "Ho ho! An ambitious question. Many have tried over the centuries. None have ever succeeded. But yes, a precedent exists. What does it entail, you ask?"
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "There are two aspects. The first is practical: you must demonstrate mastery of magic equivalent to a Rank 5 spell. The second is theoretical: you must pass the senior entrance examination. Why do you ask, young man?"
In answer, I raised my right hand, palm facing the ceiling.
The air above my palm grew cold. Moisture condensed and froze, forming a spear of solid, crystalline ice, its edges razor-sharp. Then, without a sound, a net of crackling silver lightning wrapped around the crystal lance, its energy contained and controlled. Finally, the entire construct burst into cold, azure flames that danced along its length without melting the ice. It was a perfect fusion of three different elemental affinities, a display of control that went far beyond mere power.
"Rank 5 Draconic Fusion," I stated calmly.
The old man's laugh boomed through the hut this time, full of genuine delight. "Ho ho ho! I see the Wight lion has produced another prodigy! Magnificent control, my boy!" The skill I had shown wasn't monstrous, but it was enough to be considered the work of a super-genius.
He sobered slightly, stroking his long beard. "Many have met the practical requirement over the years. The theory, however… that is the test no one has ever passed."
He reached into a drawer beside his desk and pulled out a thick stack of papers, a dozen pages at least, bound with a simple string. With a theatrical flourish, he flipped a large, ornate hourglass on his desk. "You have until the sand runs out," he said, his eyes twinkling with pure, unadulterated amusement.
The exam was absurd, clearly designed to make people fail. One question read: Please state, verbatim, the fifth paragraph from page 756 of the book 'Advanced Metaphysical Mana Theory, Volume III.'
I looked back at the Headmaster and let a small, confident smirk touch my lips. Got you.
This would work on a normal person, even a normal genius. But I had a super AI with perfect eidetic memory. This wasn't a test; it was a walk in the park. I picked up the offered quill and began to write, my hand flying across the page at an astounding rate. Not even a quarter of the sand had fallen in the hourglass before I set the quill down and handed the completed stack back to him.
The Headmaster's amused expression slowly faded as he read through my answers, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. He checked one page, then another, his eyes scanning faster and faster.
"Kid," he said finally, setting the papers down and looking at me as if seeing me for the first time. "I'll be honest. This test was made to fail people. It's a repository of the most obscure and pedantic knowledge in the known world. But with this level of understanding…" He sighed, shaking his head in wonder. "It would be a crime against education itself not to grant your request."
Success, I thought, while my external expression remained one of polite gratitude.
He scribbled a note on a fresh piece of parchment, stamped it with his personal seal, and handed it to me. "Give this to my assistant, Mr. Finch, the man who greeted you at the base of the tree. He will handle your new arrangements."
When I returned to the bottom of the Great Banyan, I handed the paper to the waiting Mr. Finch. This was the second time in an hour I had shown him a piece of paper that shook him to his core, but this time, he couldn't hide it. His jaw literally dropped.
He stared at the note, then at me, then back at the note. He then spun on his heel and rushed off, calling over his shoulder, "Please… please wait right here!"
I stood at the foot of the giant tree with my floating egg and two stoic attendants, having just shattered a centuries-old precedent before even attending a single class.