"Arthur, what if he hates me?"

"Jonathan, you'll be fine. He's a really nice old man, I promise," assured Arthur.

Jonathan sighed. The pair were sitting in his dorm, talking about the current court magician. Jonathan hated the clothing he was wearing, it was new and stiff, and it itched. He wanted to be prepared, but not even Arthur knew what the elderly man was going to say.

"He'll probably ask you about some magic theory or something," guessed Arthur, trying to calm Jonathan down.

Jonathan exhaled slowly. His hands were shaking, and his heart was pumping at full capacity. "Okay, I think I'm ready. Thank you for giving me a ride there, I really appreciate it, like you can't believe."

Arthur smiled. "I told you, it's not a problem. I wouldn't want you to get lost," he commented.

Jonathan laughed. "Yeah, I probably would, I don't know this city very well."

Arthur stood up and beckoned to the door. "Shall we get going then?"

▅ ▆ ▇ █ ▇ ▆ ▅

As Jonathan got out of the carriage and looked up at the gigantic castle sitting in front of him, he couldn't help but feel the part of an important noble. The home castle of their kingdom must've been ten stories tall, maybe more. Even the crisp autumn breeze held an air of importance, blowing along with urgency.

Jonathan looked ahead to the waiting prince, who was obviously more comfortable. He quickly caught up to the Arthur as the prince escorted him to the magician's lab.

"Are you sure you'll be alright alone?" asked Arthur before the two rounded a corner.

"I'll be fine. It wouldn't really be good if the other candidates saw us together," replied Jonathan.

Arthur's face turned bright red. "Right, of course. It could imply favoritism and all that," he muttered.

Jonathan smiled. "Thank you so much for helping me Arthur, and I hope I can be there for you in the future."

Arthur nodded and smiled, awkwardly patting Jonathan on the shoulder. The prince walked the other way, gently waving at the other. Jonathan grinned and joined the line of other prospective candidates.

Unlike the entry exams, no one was practicing magic. That wasn't the issue for these people, they were completely confident in their ability to cast. The people in the room were mostly a part of the seventh class, while a small, but sizable fraction were in the sixth. Jonathan looked over all of them, most being much older than him and unworried.

He breathed deeply and stepped into the line. It seemed to crawl forward at the speed of a snail, one person going in and out of the room every five minutes. It was all Jonathan could do to not fall into a pit of anxiety. He tried to flatten his unruly hair, but as usual, his efforts failed. He itched at his wrists, as the fabric on the suit Arthur had recommended was irritable and persistent.

Slowly but surely, the interviewees piled in and out of the room. Jonathan wouldn't say he was terrified, but he was definitely nervous. Even the atmosphere of the hallway made him anxious. The grandiose arches, the luscious decorations, the blood red carpet, they all spoke of a lavish lifestyle that Jonathan could never begin to understand. He was aware that most people from the academy were from the capitol, and were much wealthier than him. He knew that they were bound for great occupations, that's the whole reason he joined in the first place. His family and friends back home were counting on him for support, and he had to deliver.

It was a painfully long three hours before Jonathan was the closest one to the door. By then, his heart was racing and he couldn't help but feel the nervous adrenaline pumping through his heart. He heard the door handle creak first, his heightened senses relaying everything a little bit slower. The door opened and a tall male wizard stepped out, his face red and wet. Jonathan gingerly grabbed the door and stepped in.

The first thing he noticed in the room was the smell. It reminded him of the forests from the north, full of pine and cedar. He couldn't help but let a small smile grow on his face. This room was more compact than he had imagined, and it helped put him at ease a little. The court magician was sitting behind a rather large mahogany desk, and beckoned for him to sit.

Jonathan obliged, and tried to look the grandiose man in the eyes. Although he was aware of the man's age, he didn't seem frail or weak. In fact, Jonathan sensed that the man could likely kill him in an instant if he wanted to. He had that sort of aura, that no matter what kind of skills you had, no one could take this man but Death herself.

"Hello," he spoke in a rumbling tone.

"Hello," uttered Jonathan.

He glanced at a paper sitting in front of him. "Which are you?"

"My name? It's... uh- Jonathan," he managed to stutter out.

The man's face appeared to be attempting a look of kindness, but ultimately failed. "It's nice to meet you Jonathan."

"It's nice to meet you too, uh... Mr. Court Magician... sir."

"Please, call me Magus," he insisted.

Jonathan nodded.

"So, Jonathan, would you liked to show me what you can do?" he asked, gesturing for the young boy to do something.

Jonathan nodded, pulling out his small wand from his jacket pocket. The man's eyebrows raised slightly, but otherwise his face remained still as stone. Jonathan swallowed his fear, and lifted his shaking hands. When he tried to speak a spell, his voice failed. He gently put down his hand, his blood pounding against his skin.

He remembered something Arthur had said to him.

Jonathan, be yourself. Trust me, I know him.

He inhaled.

Be yourself.

"Um, mister- I mean, Magus, do you mind if I do things a little differently?" asked Jonathan, his voice wavering slightly.

He nodded, apathetic, and Jonathan exhaled. He laid his hands on his lap, and closed his eyes. He thought of what he was going to do, visualized it, and thought of what spell he could use to accomplish it. Nothing that he had been taught, so he used his old ways. Just do the spell he wanted to do, no upturns in voice, no vowel enlengthening.

Libres, id venibant ad me. Libres volabant in tempesta. Id solvebant et artabant, commutabant in avis.

The books in the room flew off their shelves, flying around in a storm. They started to change into birds, but Jonathan faltered a little, the dark block in his mind preventing him from altering a living thing.

Id mutabant in chartam avis. Para gutta cadebant circum illis, non tangebant senex an mihi.

The books transformed into little paper birds, flitting about. Small drops of water appeared at the top of the room and fell, avoiding the magician and Jonathan.

Chartae vadebant in futuram.

The paper began to age, falling to pieces. Jonathan didn't struggle, it came naturally. He thought about what would happen, and it did.

Ut gutta subsistabant, guttae congregabant in sphaeretam. Chartae evanescabant.

The rain began to slow, vanishing from sight. The aged paper that had fallen to their feet vanished. Jonathan breathed in deeply. He didn't dare to look at the old man's face, lest it hold a look of anything other than contentment.

Metallam apparebant et sacabant mihi.

Jonathan winced as shards of metal appeared in front of him. They shot past him and cut shallow wounds in his face, visible to Magus. Shortly after, they healed, and the metal vanished, having served its purpose. Jonathan took a deep breath, still avoiding the older man's face.

What next? He thought to himself, wondering what else he could prove. Cosmology? Maybe.

Ignis ortant unde coelum. Lux venint ex, mutant muros in collativos images.

Fire generated in the middle of the room. Beams of light shot out of it, changing the walls into a collage of different images. As Jonathan thought of something in his head, the walls reflected it. He thought of the falling autumn leaves, the turquoise peaks of the academy. He imagined the light stones of the pathways, and the gentle room inside his room. He thought of peaceful aspects of his life, and slowly let the images fade away, as well as the fire.

He slowly let his eyes drift up to the old wizard's face, not knowing what to expect. He wanted to see pride, but he didn't want it to be faked, so maybe a blank face was best. Perhaps he only wanted to see the true reaction, and not a mirage. He could only hope to see what he wanted to. Their eyes met.

The wizard's eyes were intrigued. They had a certain sparkle to them, like a child seeing the sky for the first time. They were open just wide enough for Jonathan to see the golden and brown flecks reflecting out. The wrinkles in his face cascaded downwards, revealing a lifetime done over twice. His lips turned up ever so slightly, and his mouth opened with just a tiny gap as he took a deep breath of air.

"Jonathan, you're the first wizard today to show me something new," he started, placing his hands on the table. "Where did you learn to manipulate words like that? And to be able to communicate your intentions without a wand— very interesting."

"Really?" Jonathan gaped. "I've always had trouble using a wand, back home—the north—we didn't have the tools to make them, and it was easier without one anyways," he rambled.

The magician breathed out. "Fascinating. May I see your wand?"

Jonathan obliged, handing over the short rod.

"Jonathan, the wand reflects the user more than you think," he explained. "A wand, when in the line of sight of an experienced wizard, can reveal more about a magic user than they can talk about themselves. Your wand is made of andesite. It's a rare material in wands, but common in the mines. It allows magic to flow freely. With normal wands, perhaps made of wood or stone, the magic is clogged up, sometimes stored. Many magicians can't control their power, and it ends up overwhelming them."

Jonathan shrugged. The magician seemed to be enjoying his explanation, discovering new aspects as he spoke.

"The size of this wand as well, it's strange. Short wands are rather difficult to control, and the magic can end up anywhere. Most wands are at least eight inches, but yours is what, four? While short wands are terribly difficult to master, it allows the wizard more flexibility in casting spells, which is something I'd imagine you use quite often. I've never seen specific spells like that before.

And this adornment, emerald. You see this in many famous magical pioneers. The ancient Romans preferred emerald, and so did the people who first bound magic to the Latin language. The attachment to the words is decaying more and more each day, and wizards are greatly needed in that field. Perhaps you'd like to go into that study?" asked Magus.

Jonathan slowly shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I don't really know. Latin? I do know Latin, but, I don't know too much about Enchantment."

Magus's eyebrows scrunched up a little. "You know Latin?"

Jonathan nodded.

"Tell me, what's your preferred way of casting?"

The young boy's head tilted slightly. The magician's face gave away no indication of the correct answer, so he reverted to his learnings. "To cast a spell, you repeat the base spell, and change the innotation of the consonants and vowe—"

"No," interrupted Magus. "I don't want the textbook answer; I want to know how you really cast. You do it differently, don't you?"

Jonathan took a deep breath. He was nervous. Of course Magus could see right through him. His heart skipped a few beats as he let out his truth. "I guess, I do. I know it's the wrong way, but- it's easier for me. All these uplifts and drops in voice, they don't make any sense to me. I just... don't have the intelligence to understand it. So, I just say what I want. Latin, I understand it. So, I say what needs to happen in Latin, and it does."

He kept his head down, not wanting to see the face of the wise, old magician. Slowly, he raised his eyes, barely meeting his reflection in the others. The man's face might've eluded to a smile. He placed his hand on Jonathan's.

"It's alright to cast differently. What you have isn't an inferior method, it's the same. You're accessing the root, the core of magic, from the ancient cultures that cultivated it. It's something not used often, that's for certain." He glanced at the ceiling. "I want to talk with you more, but our time is up. I predict we'll see each other again," he finished, gracefully lifting his hand towards the door.

Jonathan slowly stood up, a little hazy and confused. He lumbered over to the door and stepped outside, not entirely sure what just happened. He glanced at the line of fellow classmates still waiting outside of the door, most of them watching him. He couldn't read their faces, his vision was a little blurry. It was like he was watching his own life from behind an ill-made piece of glass. Sound didn't really make it through, and he just stumbled through the castle until he made it to the exit.

A/N Sorry for the super late update! I'll probably be updating irregularly from now on, but I'll update faster if I know people want more, so please comment or vote or something if you want more :)