Back at the Gate
Marion marched along the dusty road to the northwest. The amulet lay cool against his chest, hidden beneath his cloak. Yet he could feel it — like a pulse growing stronger with every heartbeat.
His mind was filled with images: Tessa's smile, her lips on his, her promise. She didn't let me fall. She gave me a sign.
He did not realize that it was not her, but the amulet itself that cast him in a different light.
The same guards stood at the gate as before. One of them saw him approaching and immediately grimaced. "The farm idiot again—"
Then he froze.
His eyes slid over Marion as if seeing him for the first time. His voice broke in his throat, turning hoarse. "Uh… sir. Forgive me. I… I didn't recognize you."
Marion stopped dead.
What?
The students passing by stared as well. Where yesterday there had been laughter and mockery, now there was hushed awe.
"Who is that?"
"Do you know him?"
"He must be a noble… look at his presence!"
Marion felt his heart race — but this time not from shame. It was intoxicating power. Heat rose to his head, and he had to force himself not to grin like a fool.
"I… I wish to enroll," he said, trying to sound firm.
The clerk at the entrance looked up. Yesterday he had laughed at Marion. Today he stood immediately and bowed deeply.
"But of course, sir! Please, come in. We certainly still have a place for someone… like you."
Marion stepped inside. The students who had mocked him yesterday stepped aside to let him pass. Some smiled. Some even inclined their heads slightly.
He was led into a great hall where torches burned and academy banners hung from the walls. Teachers in robes stood together, speaking quietly. They too looked up as Marion entered — and for a moment, even their attention seemed to cling to him.
"A new applicant," the clerk said respectfully. "A… promising one."
Marion nodded uncertainly, his heart pounding.
Is that… me? Really?
He sat at a table and filled out a form he barely understood. No one laughed. No one mocked him. They saw him. Truly.
When he left the hall, he was already wearing a simple student robe. Thin fabric, worn — and yet a symbol that he now belonged among them.
In the courtyard, he looked around. Young women in school uniforms walked past laughing, casting furtive glances at him. A boy with carefully styled hair stepped aside respectfully as Marion passed.
Marion smiled faintly.
Thank you, Tessa. Without you… I would never be here.
He did not realize it was not her will, but the cold, invisible aura of the amulet.
But to him, it was love.
The First School Day
The night was restless. Marion lay in his new bed in the student quarters. The hard, scratchy blanket felt like paradise to him. The amulet lay heavy on his chest — cold, yet alive. Again and again his fingers brushed against it.
With you… I am someone.
He drifted off into a dream. Warmth. Cold. Voices in the dark.
And then she stood there again.
Tessa.
Her hair glowed in the shadows like blood in fire. Her lips smiled — dangerous, familiar.
"My little one," she whispered, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I gave you what you wanted."
"The academy…" he murmured, half awake, half dreaming.
"Yes," she breathed, her fingers sliding over his neck, where the amulet lay. "And now I take my price."
Before he could react, her hand moved to his chest — and with a soft tug, the amulet was gone.
"N-no! Please!" Marion reached for it, but she had already stepped back.
"Shhh…" Her smile was gentle, almost playful. "You're here now. Your wish has been fulfilled. More was never part of our agreement."
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead — cold, cutting.
"The next time you need something… call for me."
Then she vanished, as if the dream itself had swallowed her.
Marion awoke with a racing heartbeat.
The place on his chest was empty.
No amulet.
Only the cold memory of her hand.
In the morning, the laughter of students echoed through the corridors. Marion hurriedly pulled on his robe, feeling naked without the pendant. But when he stepped into the courtyard, he felt it:
The looks were different again.
No reverent awe. No bowed heads. Only whispering.
"Who's the new one?"
"He looks scrawny."
"Won't last long."
Marion lowered his gaze. His heart sank.
So… it was only the amulet.
But he forced himself to keep walking.
He was here. That was what mattered.
The first lesson was humiliation.
An old magister led the class through simple exercises — sparks from fingers, small flames in a kettle.
When it was Marion's turn, he focused, sweat forming on his brow.
Come on. Just a spark. Like back in the village.
But nothing happened.
Only a faint twitch that died instantly.
Laughter erupted.
"He can't even light a tiny flame!"
"Maybe he's better at blowing, haha!"
Marion felt his face burn. He wanted the ground to swallow him.
The magister pursed his lips and wrote something on a board.
"Sit down, boy."
During the break, he stood alone at the edge of the courtyard. Groups had formed — nobles laughing together, talented students showing small tricks, girls casting subtle glances at the stronger boys.
Marion watched them laugh, talk, exist — and felt that he stood exactly where he always had, even in his old world:
At the edge.
Invisible.
He also saw Tamara — the noble girl with dark eyes — standing among a circle of others. She seemed as if from another world. For a moment, his gaze drifted toward her longingly.
She doesn't even see me. Why would she?
He tore his eyes away and clenched his teeth.
Tessa… only you ever saw me.
That evening, back in the dormitory, he collapsed onto his cot. The voices of his classmates echoed through the corridors, their laughter distant and mocking. He stared at the ceiling.
"I won't be invisible again," he murmured. "Somehow… I'll make it."
He didn't know how.
But he knew one thing:
He was here.
And he was still alive.
Mockery in the Classroom
The classroom was large, with tall windows and heavy wooden tables. Candles flickered while the magister spoke about the fundamentals of elemental magic. His voice sounded tired, as if he had spoken these words a hundred times before.
Marion sat at the very back table, head lowered, desperately trying to write down every word. He felt like a foreign body among the others.
"Today," the magister announced, "we will practice the first simple fire sparks. One hand movement, one clear thought — that is enough."
The class hummed with anticipation.
One of the front-row students immediately raised his hand. A blond boy in a robe of the finest fabric, a signet ring gleaming on his finger.
"May I, sir?" he asked.
"Go ahead, Adrian," the magister nodded.
Adrian stood, extended his hand — and with effortless ease, a small flame flickered between his fingers. A murmur passed through the room; several girls giggled openly in admiration.
Adrian smiled smugly and bowed slightly. "Simple, if you have talent."
The gazes shifted — and settled on Marion.
"You," the magister said sternly. "Your attempt."
Marion's heart began to pound. He nodded, stood, and stretched out his hand.
Come on… just a spark. I've done it before.
He closed his eyes, focused, felt heat gather in his fingertips — but when he opened his hand, there was only air.
Laughter rippled through the room.
"Try spitting on it!"
"Maybe he can light his cloak instead!"
Adrian rose slowly, his smile spreading like poison. "Magister, I believe we have a misunderstanding. The boy isn't a student. He's… a total failure."
Laughter. Loud, ringing, merciless.
Marion's face burned. "I… I can do it. I've—"
"Sit down," the magister cut him off. "Without talent, it is pointless."
The words struck harder than the laughter. Marion sank back into his seat, his hands trembling.
The lesson continued as if nothing had happened. For the others, he was merely a footnote — a new reason to laugh.
After class, groups gathered in the courtyard. Adrian stood at the center, demonstrating his sparks again while girls laughed around him.
Marion walked along the edge, robe wrapped tightly around himself, eyes fixed on the ground. But Adrian's voice sliced through the crowd.
"See him? Our new prodigy! If we ever need a fire in the stove, we'll just set him beside it and hope he sweats!"
More laughter. Some students pointed at him; others laughed simply to avoid becoming the next target.
Marion clenched his teeth, staring at the ground.
Don't react. Not now.
But inside, something was boiling.
The Trio of Failures
Marion sat alone in the dining hall, the noise of other students echoing through the chamber. Plates clattered, voices filled the air, laughter rolled like waves. His table had space for six — but he sat alone, with a thin piece of bread and a cup of water.
He stared at the crust, his stomach tightening.
Even here… I'm just the joke.
"Hey," a voice muttered suddenly. "Mind if we?"
Marion looked up. Two boys stood in front of him, trays in their hands.
One was thin, with sunken cheeks and a nervous twitch around his eyes — Tobia. The other broader, with messy hair and a grin that refused to fully disappear — Manuel.
"The other tables are full," Tobia said quickly, as if apologizing.
Marion nodded, surprised. "Sure… sit down."
They dropped into the seats, trays clattering. Manuel immediately dug in, devouring bread and soup as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"Man, this tastes like water mixed with water," he muttered with his mouth full.
Tobia snorted. "Better than nothing." Then he turned to Marion. "Heard they roasted you in class today."
Marion's face flushed. "Yeah…"
"Welcome to the club," Manuel grinned. "They laughed at me yesterday because my fire spell only burned my robe. Looked like a flaming chicken."
Tobia nodded seriously. "And me? I made the kettle explode during the first test. It was just water in it, but now they call me Steamhead."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then all three of them burst into short, nervous laughter.
"You know," Manuel said, still grinning, "we're the ones here who can't do anything. The failures. But hey — it sucks less when there's three of us."
Tobia nodded. "Alone, it eats you alive. But if you've got someone who gets it… it's easier."
Marion stared at them.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt something new. No mockery. No cold smiles.
Just real closeness.
They were like him — on the margins, laughed at, overlooked.
"Thanks," he murmured.
Manuel shrugged. "Whatever. We need a table, you need company. Works out."
From that evening on, they always sat together. In class they crouched side by side — three crooked backs in a row. During breaks they stood at the edges, laughing at their own mishaps.
They had no prestige, no talent, no brilliance.
But they had each other.
And for Marion, that was worth more than he would ever admit.