I struggled once more to open my eyes, but it was as if my eyelids had been sewn shut. Or had they been gouged out? Damn those crazy bastards. They had taken my sight. The pain was overwhelming.
Who would have thought my dear brothers and sisters would ever find common ground? The Gods must have been drunk, or perhaps simply cruel, when they gave me that wretched family. What kind of kin slaughtered their own brother simply because he was born with a unique Gift? Bastards, every last one of them.
At least that battle would be remembered for generations.
"How does it feel to be dying?" my eldest brother's voice echoed.
All I felt was regret. Regret that I hadn't finished off that scoundrel.
"He was always different," said one of my younger brothers. "If things had gone just a little differently, he might have ended up leading the family. Imagine, the Moore family, led by a necromancer."
"He almost managed it," came my older brother's voice again.
"Maybe we should stab him a few more times. With his Gift..."
"Let him die," said the voice of my beloved little sister. A rare specimen, that one. A bitch so cold she made ice seem warm. "He won't survive those wounds. I say we head back to the city and celebrate our victory."
This time, our desires aligned. I, too, wanted them to get out of here and leave me in peace to die alone. I didn't want to hear a single word more... Well, perhaps just to curse them one last time.
My mouth was filled with blood, yet I couldn't summon the strength to utter a single sound. Damn them...
Judging by the fading footsteps, the entire family was involved in finishing me off. I should have struck earlier, but I, a fool, showed mercy. I should've known kindness would come at a price...
With each passing moment, I drifted ever deeper into the darkness that encircled me from every side. I was sinking into it...
Was I dying?
Suddenly, a radiant cerulean light pierced the gloom, and I heard a voice — familiar, beautiful, unmistakably feminine, echoing clearly in my mind.
"Dear, oh, dear..." it cooed. "What a mess they've made..."
What was happening to me? Perhaps my mind, buckling under the weight of impending death, had begun to unravel, conjuring the voice of my mother, long gone from this world.
"Do you wish to mend your mistakes?"
"Yes."
"Then so it shall be. Let this be my final blessing to you, Dorian."
"Can you bring me back to life?" I asked, the desperation in my voice impossible to hide.
"Not exactly. But I can keep you from crossing fully into death. Who knows? Perhaps one day, you'll find a way, and the strength, to return to the living world."
No, it seemed I had finally lost my grip on reality. I was hearing things. How could one prevent death, yet not truly revive the fallen? It had to be nothing more than the fading echoes of a dying mind.
*** Two years later The Russian Empire Kitezh High School of Magic Headmaster's office In a cozy, dimly lit room, two armchairs stood before a crackling fireplace. One was occupied by a man in his forties, his eyes heavy with weariness — Viscount Alexander Timofeyevich Temnikov.
In the other sat an older gentleman who appeared to be around fifty.
His short-cropped hair was streaked with gray, and he wore dark, rectangular glasses that he rarely removed. His name was Ivan Fedorovich Orlov, the esteemed headmaster of Kitezh.
"Viscount, the boy is only twelve years old. You know the rules — we cannot admit him until he's at least fourteen," the headmaster said gently.
"Count, I implore you. Please, make an exception," Alexander pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation. His eyes were wide with urgency. "I don't know what I'll do if you refuse... I've poured everything I have into the boy's future. Just hear me out, I beg you. Then, if you must, make your final decision."
Ivan felt a pang of sympathy at the weary determination in the man's eyes. And yet, he couldn't even say why they were going through the motions when the answer was bound to be no. Even a blind man could see the viscount was simply trying to give his son a slightly better life. The Temnikovs had no wealth, no high status, no remarkable Gifts, so why did the viscount believe his son would be an exception?
"Viscount, I fear you've come all this way in vain," the headmaster said carefully. "You know we accept only the very best, and the Gift your son possesses... Please don't take this the wrong way, but alchemy isn't what we specialize in."
"I'm well aware of that, and I understand the place my family holds in society. You can rest assured, I have no illusions about this conversation." Alexander cracked his knuckles nervously. "That's precisely why I'm begging you to hear me out."
Ivan sighed and gave a knowing smile. As headmaster, over the years he had listened to countless desperate pleas, each one carefully crafted to tug at his heartstrings and convince him that some noble's son, despite glaring mediocrity, was somehow exceptional. Even so, he couldn't blame them. Kitezh was a prestigious school; some even called it the finest in the Empire. Its graduates walked away with a ticket to a brighter future.
Still, rules were rules. Only the most gifted students were worthy of a seat in his classrooms, and that was the law. No one had the right to bend it, not even him.
Then again, perhaps the viscount could offer him, if not a worthy pupil, then at least an interesting story.
"Very well. Tell me what troubles you, dear viscount, and I will see if I can help. After all, you strike me as a sensible man, not someone who would waste my time."
"Thank you, sir." Alexander nodded and shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable.
"I should remind you, however, that in the entire history of this prestigious institution, concessions have been granted only twice."
"I'll try anyway."
"In that case, please begin your story," Ivan said, settling back and preparing to listen.
Alexander paused, as if weighing where to begin. Then he nodded slowly, dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and began to speak in a calm, deliberate tone.
"I'll be upfront with you. I never noticed anything unusual about Maxim. But about two years ago, strange things began to happen. Most notably, our family's Gift awakened in him when he was only ten."
"An intriguing case indeed," Ivan said with a nod. "But such occurrences aren't unheard of. Occasionally, a small number of Gifted individuals manifest their abilities years earlier than expected. I would say you're fortunate. At the very least, your son shows real promise as an alchemist."
"Yes, I thought so too. For a while," Alexander replied with a grim smile. "But then other, far stranger things began to happen. I beg you, sir, don't jump to conclusions just yet. I'm only now getting to the most interesting part of the story."
"I am listening," Ivan said, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Wherever my son appears, the most extraordinary and, I dare say, sinister things seem to follow. For example... One day, Baron Anuchin and his family paid us a visit. It so happened that the baroness's little dog bit my son hard on the leg. Not long after, she mysteriously died."
"The baroness?"
"Good heavens, no. The poor dog. I am convinced that death has a way of hovering nearby whenever my son is present. For some time now, I have harbored the suspicion that, beyond his knowledge of herbs and elixirs, he possesses a dark and terrible Gift." Alexander stared into the flickering hearth and let out a long, weary sigh. "Though I cannot fathom how such a thing could be possible..."
"And your suspicions are based solely on the death of a dog?"
"Certainly not!" Alexander exclaimed, gesturing with fervor.
"Everyone who has wronged him has suffered some kind of misfortune.
The Obolensky boy struck him once, and later broke his leg. It healed, but in such a strange way that he'll walk with a limp for the rest of his life.
Gavrilov's daughter once called him a toadstool, and now she has lost all her teeth. Every single one of them fell out. Believe me, sir, there are far too many such incidents to recount. All of them, in one way or another, seem to echo that dark and terrible Gift."
"Quite curious," Ivan remarked with a gentle smile. "By the way, why did that girl call your Maxim a 'toadstool'? It is such an unusual insult..."
"Well, how shall I put it...?" Alexander hesitated, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. "The truth is, over the past two years, something strange has happened to the boy's appearance. He used to be an ordinary child — rosy cheeks, bright, joyful eyes, and all that. I remember how he'd always smile, as if the sun itself were shining from within him.
But then, everything changed. His skin turned pale, so pale it looked as though all the color had been drained from his body. He became as white as chalk. That's why the girl called him that. She said he looked like a ghostly toadstool, a pale, eerie thing."
"I see..." Ivan nodded thoughtfully. "Please, go on."
"He also knows things no one has ever taught him," Alexander added, a note of unease in his voice. "And that troubles me deeply.
Honestly, I sometimes find myself at a loss. He speaks of things I simply cannot comprehend."
"True knowledge cannot simply appear out of thin air," Ivan murmured thoughtfully.
"Of course not," Alexander agreed. "He devours books, piles of them. The boy has read through our entire estate library, and it is no small collection. Over a thousand volumes. I honestly cannot fathom how all that knowledge fits into his young mind," he added, glancing around with a mixture of wonder and concern. Then, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice, he continued. "And sometimes, he takes an interest in subjects I find quite peculiar, things that seem strange, even to me."
"Indulge my curiosity," Ivan said, leaning forward with keen interest.
"Once," Alexander continued thoughtfully, "he asked me to take him on a tour of the morgue. Can you imagine? I understand children wanting to visit amusement parks, cinemas, or other such delights, but a morgue?"
"I agree, that is quite an unusual request for a young boy," Ivan remarked with a slight smile. "And what sort of games does he enjoy with other children?"
"None at all," Alexander replied gloomily, shifting uneasily in his chair. "He doesn't play with other children. In fact, he actively avoids them and prefers the company of older, more mature individuals."
Ivan gave him a thoughtful look, as if searching for the right words, but Alexander went on before he could speak.
"For a time, my wife and I feared he might be... unwell. We even took him to a doctor. But it turned out his mind was perfectly sound. More than that, actually. He's making extraordinary progress with his elixirs.
Frankly, only a lunatic could accomplish some of the things he has. A number of formulas Maxim can already produce didn't come to me until five years later."
"Five years, you say?" Ivan raised his eyebrows in astonishment.
"That is a considerable span of time. Mr. Temnikov, it seems your son truly possesses a remarkable talent."
"But what am I supposed to do with all of this? If he really does have a Dark Gift, then his rightful place is here, not at our ancestral estate."
"You see... A Dark Gift doesn't manifest as simple alchemy, Mr.
Temnikov," Ivan said, his brow furrowed. "Like any potent Gift, it cannot awaken in a boy before the age of fourteen. Such a thing is impossible according to the natural laws. At his age, the energy pattern within his body isn't even fully formed. And besides, where would it have come from? Has anyone in your family ever shown signs of a Dark Gift?"
"No," Alexander admitted. "Still, there must be some explanation for all of this. And, if I may say so, this one seems the most plausible to me."
For a while, the men sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.
Alexander hoped to convince Ivan of the truth in his words, and to unburden himself, if only a little, of a son whose powers had grown too dangerous to ignore.
He loved Maxim deeply, but the boy had changed. Alexander had no doubt that a Dark Gift had awakened in him. And as an alchemist, a man without such powers, he had no way to guide his son, no knowledge that could help him gain control. That helplessness terrified him. Someone had to step in before it was too late.
Ivan, too, had much to ponder. The whole story struck him as strange, almost absurd. A Dark Gift didn't simply awaken out of nowhere. It wasn't like conjuring a flame on one's fingertip to amuse a child.
If Alexander was telling the truth, then what was he to do?
If he accepted, the Russian Empire would gain another bearer of the Dark Gift, a prospect too valuable to ignore. Leaving the boy at the viscount's estate would be reckless, a grave misstep that could stunt or even extinguish his emerging abilities. There was no room for error in matters like this, and the decision had to be made with the utmost care.
If, by some misfortune, Maxim's powers wrested out of control, unleashing chaos and destruction, the blame would rest squarely on his shoulders. Failing to recognize the signs of dark magic would surely earn the Emperor's sternest disapproval.
Yet the boy was only twelve, and the standard age for entry into Kitezh was fourteen. So what options remained? Then again, history whispered of such cases. There had been only two, and both involved weaker Gifts, but it would be wise to verify Temnikov's account before jumping to conclusions. Perhaps it was all nonsense, a simple deception, and the man was merely trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
"Is there anything else?" Ivan inquired, his voice steady. "The incidents you mentioned, are those the only strange occurrences, or is there more we should be aware of?"
"Ah, how I wish there weren't," Alexander said with a wry smile.
"There's often some kind of chaos whenever he's nearby. Things explode, break, or go completely haywire. If he doesn't want to go somewhere, the cars simply refuse to start. Trains are delayed or break down entirely."
"And ships, I presume, sink?" Ivan asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Not yet. But he's still just a child. I fear it's only a matter of time before something far worse happens. That's exactly why I came here, Your Excellency. Believe me, the last thing on my mind right now is the fame his Gift might bring or the riches it could offer." Alexander lowered his gaze, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. "I am ashamed to say it, but our family is beginning to fear him."
Ivan's gaze shifted to Alexander, who hesitated, his eyes avoiding the count's after such a candid admission. In all his years at Kitezh, no one had ever asked him to take in a child out of fear rather than hope or ambition. Fear not for the boy, but of him. It felt less like entrusting a gifted child to a place of learning, and more like handing over a juvenile delinquent.
A quiet, uneasy weight settled in his chest.
"Well," he said at last, his voice calm but edged with curiosity, "I must admit, viscount, you've certainly piqued my interest. Where's the boy?"
"In the hallway," Alexander replied. "I took the liberty of bringing him along."
"Then by all means, summon your prodigy. Let's meet this remarkable young man."
*** The plaque on the door was gold, set into solid oak, with lettering inscribed in a masterful flourish.
Headmaster of Kitezh High School of Magic His Excellency, Count Ivan Fedorovich Orlov Inside, I found my father waiting for me, and in the chair beside him sat a stranger wearing dark glasses. An odd man, the headmaster, wearing sunglasses indoors. Yet in spite of that, I found myself liking him. And I liked everything about this place. At last, my father had taken me somewhere interesting instead to another brain doctor.
"My name is Ivan Fedorovich Orlov," the stranger introduced himself. "I am a Master of Magic and, coincidentally, the headmaster of this fine institution."
"I guessed as much, Your Excellency," I replied. "You have a plaque on the door."
"Well spotted." He smiled. "Some people don't figure it out. Do you know what this place is?"
"Kitezh High School of Magic. It was also on the plaque," I added.
"It's where the wealthiest nobles come to study."
"You mean the most powerful Gifted," the headmaster corrected me.
"Although there are quite a few children from well-off families here, there are also students from less privileged backgrounds."
I didn't quite understand what I was doing here myself. Even if my father somehow managed to convince the headmaster to accept me into this school, it was still two years too soon.
"Your father says that you've awakened your ancestral Gift and that you already have quite a knack for herbology and potion-making. A future brilliant alchemist in the making."
"I wouldn't go so far as to call myself that. I believe I still have much to learn."
"I have no doubt about that," the headmaster replied with a nod.
"But tell me, do you happen to know what ingredients go into a typical cough elixir?"
"Coltsfoot, plantain, and licorice," I answered confidently. "That's if it's a standard formula. Of course, it can be altered depending on the type of cough."
"Not bad at all. Very impressive for a twelve-year-old. Now, let's raise the stakes a bit. Since you're well-versed in herbology, perhaps you could tell me something about the red-shield mushroom?"
"I can, although I don't know much. It doesn't grow here in our region, and there's very little written about it in herbology books."
"Which books are you referring to?"
"Herbology for Beginners and First Lessons of Mastery. My father hasn't given me any others yet."
Actually, I had read quite a bit more. There were plenty of resources online, but I'd rather my father didn't find out about that.
"So, how did you manage to create an elixir whose recipe isn't in any of those books? Your father says you did something extraordinary."
"I found a couple of torn pages tucked away in my grandfather's library, hidden between the books," I lied. "No idea where they came from or how they ended up there."
"Really? And what do those books you've been reading say about the red-shield mushroom?"
"It grows in Northern Wales, and the best time to harvest it is at night during the final week of July. It's highly valued for use in burn ointments. Once dried, it should be stored for no more than a couple of years. After that, it loses its potency. According to folk tradition, if you rub it on your heel on Christmas Eve, luck will stay with you throughout the coming year."
Ivan tilted his head slightly, thoughtful.
"And what's your personal take on all that, Maxim?" he asked.
"I haven't made any ointments from it, I admit. But rubbing it on your heel? That's pure nonsense. I wouldn't bother."
"And why is that?" the headmaster pressed, a curious look in his eyes.
"Because nothing can truly guarantee good fortune."
"And how do you know that?"
"From Derek Stoff's book, Rituals of White Magic: Truths and Myths."
The fleeting smile vanished from the headmaster's face, and I felt a twinge of unease. Had I said something wrong?
"I see. And where did you come across that book?" he asked calmly.
"My grandfather has it in his personal library. Are books like that forbidden?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, you sounded a bit stern just now..."
At that, the headmaster glanced at my father, who simply shrugged, leaving the question unanswered.
"No, of course you're allowed to read it. I'm just curious — what other books on magic have you come across?"
I didn't want to reveal too much. There were already too many questions, and I knew it was best if no one even suspected the existence of my friend Dorian, who had taken up residence in my head two years ago.
He didn't want anyone to know about him.
"All sorts," I replied casually.
"You really are an intriguing young man, Maxim Temnikov," the headmaster said suddenly, rising from his chair. "Your father was right about you."
Without warning, he crossed the room, retrieved something from the far corner, and returned. In his hands was a small glass bowl, inside which a plump orange fish swam lazily.
"This is a goldfish," he said. "Her name is Medea."
I regarded the fish with indifference as she fluttered her fins and fixed her gaze on me.
"Can you, by any chance, make her die?" he asked, as casually as if he were inquiring about the weather.
"Why?" I responded, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't worry about her," Ivan said with a smile. "I'll figure out how to bring her back later."
"But—" "Can you do it or not?" the headmaster asked again, his voice edged with curiosity.
"I can, but I don't want to." I shook my head. "But I can do this."
I looked at the fish and told her to jump out of the bowl. She did so immediately. Ivan watched me with a strange, almost bemused expression.
Then he gently picked up Medea and placed her back in the water, where she resumed fluttering her fins lazily, as if nothing had happened. I wondered if she had even noticed she'd been out of her home for a moment.
The room fell silent. The adults exchanged glances, and I just kept watching the fish, now nestled inside the miniature castle at the bottom of the bowl.
What a bore...
"Maxim," the headmaster said at last, "would you like to stay here for a while? I think you'd really enjoy our school. True, most of the students are a bit older, but I've heard that only makes things more interesting for you. What do you say?"
"I already go to a school not far from our house... But I like it here a lot more."
"Good, good." the headmaster nodded. "And don't worry about your old school. Your father will take care of everything. He'll let them know you're studying here now, and he'll explain it all to your mother so she won't worry."
"Do you have good food here?"
"Best borscht on this side of the Volga," the headmaster said with a grin. "Three proper meals a day and two snack breaks. On weekends, top students get a double portion of dessert."
And just like that, I ended up at the prestigious Kitezh High School of Magic.