Privilege, Vieva decides as she drags her hairbrush through her ash blond hair one fine morning, is a gift, select in its choices. It's only given to those with the utmost potential and power. It says much about the person who wields it.

Vieva Bestel often contemplates thoughts such as the philosophy of privilege, for who is she if not knowledgeable and valued? Sure, she may have enough wealth to get her top marks in each and every class, but where's the fun in that? She prides herself on being known as the best of the best, without the aid of her father's ever-multiplying piles of coin.

Satisfied with the way her shimmering silver hair falls, she flounces out of her room and down the grand staircase. The Bestel Manor is known to be the most beautiful of all the five regions, it's splendor only outweighed by that of the Ruxnorth Castle.

The castle she'll be living in soon enough. A ferocious determination spears through her. Today might just be the most important of her life. The Ruxnorth Academy of the Magics might just be the most prestigious school in the mage world, the school she's dreamed about attending for years. Today is registration and she cannot be late; honor dictates the majority of her actions and being tardy does not speak well of oneself. After all, it's been drilled in her from a ripe age that dishonoring the family name is worse than death itself.

"Morning, my lady," a creaky old housemaid squeaks, her ratty gray locks gathered over one shoulder. Vieva's lip curls up of its own accord. She's asked Father multiple times why he won't replace some of the more elderly servants in the household, but he told her that he plans to use them until they lay on their deathbed. Her father is a master at preserving riches.

Vieva says nothing as she brushes past the spindly old woman. She sees no reason to appeal to the woman. Her boots click against the shiny black marble floors of the corridors. Vieva's quite content without company, as that is how she spends much of her evenings. Memorizing facts, history, technique, training. Sometimes she reads with her mother, or spars with her cousin. But usually, the Bestel family retreat to their personal requirements and don't see each other for most of the day.

It's a lonely existence, but Vieva has nothing to complain about.

She pulls the large black oak doors open. Her father loves black and wears it every day. Vieva thinks it makes him look like a panther, coiled and ready to strike. It's a viable definition. The residents of the Bestel manor sit in various seats at the elongated dining table. Caedric, her cousin, smiles briefly at her before continuing to gnaw at his roll. Her aunt Mavena primly watches as she takes her seat. Auntie hardly approves of anything Vieva does, but why should she care about one woman? Aunt Mavena's husband died of some disease years ago, and since the estate goes to Caedric, Mother invited the two of them to live here.

Mother hardly acknowledges her when Vieva takes her seat, yet that is nothing new. To her, Vieva is yet another ornament she can dress up and show off. Her mother, Eissa Bestel, had been known region-wide as a first class beauty, and only a blind man can't see why.

Father, on the other hand, stares broodingly at the morning paper, thick brows crumpling as he eyes the articles. He's a quiet man, using words only when he must. It gives him an air of wisdom, makes him seem older than he truly is.

"Vieva, darling, are you really wearing that to registration today?" Auntie prods in a syrupy sweet voice. After living with Aunt Mavena for years, Vieva has easily picked out her body language. When she uses that tone, it's usually to hide an insult. Vieva's only ever heard her use it when her father is in the room. He gives no indication he can hear but responds anyways.

"I don't see the problem, Mavena," he speaks slowly, jarring. Each word cuts like a knife.

"She is representing the Bestel line, Jonan, and I think it's best she dresses like so. Surely that old thing cannot be the most expensive she owns?"

"That old thing," Mother bites out, "is our mother's heritage dress. It's been passed down in our family for generations."

Caedric muffles his snort in a drink of cider. Although she's his mother, Caedric has always drifted towards Vieva's family. Father treats him as though he is his own son. It stings a bit, seeing how close the two of them are. But Vieva has long shut those emotions away. At twelve, she knows better than to waste energy by dwelling on childish whims.

Aunt Mavena flushes slightly but still manages to look disapproving.

"Yes, well, shouldn't she choose something a bit more with the times? Not that the heritage dress is outdated, just not right for the occasion."

"Aunt, if I may speak, the purpose is for me to stand out from everyone. Every girl in all the regions will be wearing the same style. I intend to be different."

Mother offers her a small smile, which is a lot for her. Vieva stares her aunt straight in the eye, keeping her ground like her father had taught her.

"Off you go then, we don't want to be late. What a bad impression that would make, wouldn't it?"

"Mavena, I was under the impression that you had a dress fitting this morning. Isn't that right?" Mother interludes casually.

Both women stare each other down, but finally Auntie relents with a stiff nod. In terms of rank, considering she had been married to a lesser lord, Mother has more power than Auntie.

"Of course, Eissa. Adieu." With a wounded sniff, Aunt Mavena waddles away, leaving the five of them swathed in silence. Father throws his paper down with an irritated huff.

"Come along Caedric, Vieva," commands Father. Caedric is a third year so this is nothing new. For him, registration consists of getting new books, and a new uniform. For Vieva, it's the moment she's waited for for years.

She dutifully follows after Caedric and Father, who are discussing the money and stocks and other things Vieva can't relate with. She feels a bit put out but she's a girl. These things have never and will never apply to her. It's just the way things have been. Sure, there are a few women she can name who run their homes without their husbands but they've never risen to the level of success Father has.

Caedric, who has stopped conversing with Father, falls back to step in line with her. He slants a reassuring grin in her direction. Caedric has always been overly confident, but compared to the other stiffy wealthy boys, he's pleasurable to be around. At fourteen, he's already got girls falling to their knees when he walks past. Vieva can't say she understands why but her cousin isn't exactly bad-looking. Quite the contrary, really.

"Are you excited for your first year?" He arches a sharp brow. Like Father, Mother, and herself, Caedric has piercing amber eyes. Only Arcanes have warm colored eyes, amber meaning power. The bright eyes are a family trait, but the white blond hair comes from Father's side. Caedric's black hair comes from Mother's side.

"Of course." It's the perfunctory answer. Every Bestel before them has attended Ruxnorth Academy and Vieva has no doubt that her father would disown her if she didn't make it in.

"You don't sound like it."

Vieva lifts a shoulder. "I'm already getting in. Magic is in my blood."

Caedric doesn't disagree outright but Vieva can see that he doesn't quite believe her words.

"You don't agree."

"Not necessarily," replies Caedric lightly. He doesn't say anything else.

"Tell me, why do Mother and Aunt Mavena dislike each other so much?"

Caedric chuckles lightly. "Changing the subject, are you?"

Vieva says nothing, staring straight ahead at Father's back.

"My father told me long ago. It started as mere sibling rivalry, but as they came of age, animosity brewed between Mother and Aunt Eissa. Mother has always despised Aunt Eissa, because she is more beautiful and that Uncle Jonan chose her instead. Aunt Eissa has always been the more beautiful one but for some time, it seemed Mother had been able to tolerate it. That is, until Uncle chose her. That's when Mother began to let her hate fester."

Vieva mulls over his words. She can see why Auntie might feel that way. It's painstakingly obvious that Mother is leagues more talented than she is.

"Come along, we haven't got the time for idle chatter." Father calls back to them, snapping his fingers. The two of them quicken their pace, remaining a distance behind him. It's disrespectful to keep in pace with the head of the house.

The three of them burst into the pooling sunlight, golden and soft. At this ripe time of year, the sun is lingering. Father and Caedric stand in the middle of the courtyard, eyes closed and arms spread as wide as possible. Almost minutes later, screeches pierce the azure sky. Vieva squints against the wrathful glare of the sun, looking for the telltale figures of Caedric and Father's dragoni.

Both of them touch down, dust pillowing around their effervescent bodies. The dragoni flash their wings, beating them in the air. Her hair flies out from behind her and she narrows her eyes against the bursts of air. The dragoni shriek once more, their scales glistening brilliantly in the mid morning sun. Father tuts to his familiar and the dragoni eloquently lowers its head, softly chuffing smoke affectionately. Caedric's dragoni does the same. They are both vibrantly colored, beasts of glory.

Father winds his finger around his familiar's horns and with practiced ease, swings himself onto the creature's back. He doesn't bother saddling it. Caedric does the same and holds his hand out to Vieva, who takes it and scrambles on the dragoni's back. Scales dig into her legs but it's a familiar feeling.

The two beasts launch into the air and Vieva's grip on Caedric's waist tightens. Her cousin rides easily and grins impishly back at her. Soon, however, the dragoni levels and drifts along smoothly on an air current. Vieva inhales the air deeply and runs her finger lightly along the scales. They're refreshingly cold and glittering.

"What was it like, when you called your familiar?" She questions her cousin, gasping lightly as they dip under a puffy cloud.

Caedric thinks it over, cocking his head towards her.

"It's different for each mage."

Vieva sits back, lips twisted. She has long dreamed what her Summoning would be like. Whether her magic will explode from her, a blazing inferno, or whether it will burn slow and long. Out of all the mages, Arcanes are the strongest. Next, Tsunamis, then Gaias. Every person of the Bestel line has been an Arcane, and Vieva doesn't intend to be the black sheep.

✡✡✡

People scatter from Fynn's Square as the dragoni touch down, snuffling as they do. Father seems thoroughly unaffected, having expected that reaction. Vieva stares impassively at the wide-eyed people, feeling bursts of pride as the three of them walk leisurely to the square. The square is billowing with eager-eyed students, the lines of the registration booths winding curvily along the narrowed streets of the region of Closorths. Vieva's nose wrinkles. Closorths is a much busier region than Vudnarth, mostly because it's filled with middle-class families.

Children shriek and laugh, the din of the square so loud that she can hardly hear her own thoughts. Teenagers and toddlers alike dart around, acting like frivolous twits. Vieva looks away, edging towards her cousin. It's pathetic, the type of people the school administers sometimes. Magic is a gift that should only be used by the worthy.

"Come along, Vi," calls Caedric, cupping his mouth. She eagerly paces after him, half-heartedly listening when he points out fellow classmates. She's too busy gazing at the glorious statue of Fynn Runemore. It had been built by the most talented of stonesmiths, every chip intentional. Fynn Runemore had been a storm mage, the last of his kind. After he died, and his wretched brother had been sent to exile, the line of storms had died out. Storms are the most powerful of all but no one has seen one for a hundred years. She traces the fine lines of his clothing, the proud look in his eyes, and the rigidness of his stance. She lingers on the odd chain that hangs around his neck. She's been to the square many times, read about the Runemore brothers many times, but she has never been able to place quite where that chain had come from, or whether it had any use.

"Don't dawdle, cousin!"

Vieva tears her gaze away from Fynn Runemore and stands beside Caedric in the registration line. They take their rightful place at the front of the line. When one is wealthy, they need not wait for anyone else. Father stares down his nose at the leprechauns manning the booth. Leprechauns are nasty little buggers, their only interests in alcohol and money. But when motivated by money, they can be diligent workers. Not to mention the numbers that live in the Nyx Woods.

"Name?" A particularly fat one says, sounding utterly uninterested. His chin rests on his hand and he taps his pen against the desk. Father clears his throat.

"Vieva Bestel." He puts emphasis on her last name but the leprechaun barely reacts. They must not know who her father is. It hums, bored.

"Hand out." Confused, Vieva holds her hand out, palm facing the air. The leprechaun withdraws a small knife, if one could call it that. It looked like something fashioned from scrap metal. Vieva quickly whips her hand away, eyes widening.

"What do you think you're doing, leprechaun?" Father barks. It draws lazed circles in the air with a knife.

"Standard procedure. The blood must be tested."

She can practically see the steam rising from Father. "My daughter is a mage. She doesn't not need to have her blood tested."

"Well, until the blood is tested, she is not a mage. Hold out your hand." Vieva sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, deliberating. She doesn't want to cause a scene and potentially get expelled from the school. She's cut her skin plenty of times from training, and she knows there is magic in her blood, so there shouldn't be any harm in proving it to everyone. People onlook curiously.

"Father, it's quite alright-"

"Let me handle this, Vieva," he growls, thumping his fist on the table. "Let us through."

"You need a ticket to proceed. In order to get a ticket, her blood is needed."

"Do you know who I am, you insolent tyke?"

The leprechaun sits straighter, looking a bit peeved. He opens his mouth to retort back but a clear voice cuts him off.

"What seems to be the matter, Lord Bestel?" Father pivots sharply on his heel to face wherever the voice came from.

"That's Professor Beledras," whispers Caedric to her. "She's one of the most formidable teachers at the academy."

And it's not hard to see why. She has angular, cutting features and her dark eyes are unyielding, strong. This is not a woman to mess with.

"Nothing you should concern yourself with, Professor."

Beledras raises one brow questioningly. "I beg to differ, Jonan." She shifts slightly so she can see the leprechaun. "What's the problem?"

"He's contesting the blood draw."

Beledras tilts her head, sizing Father up. "The blood draw is a necessary precaution, Lord Bestel. We have done it for many years."

"Yes, but my daughter has magic in her, and there is no need to test for it." Father bites out through tightly clenched teeth. Beledras waves away his anger.

"You will either do the blood draw or not register."

Father towers over her, using his height to his advantage.

"Are you threatening me, Isona?" The crowd has fallen dead quiet.

Beledras tosses her hair back and laughs, a tinkling, delicate sound. A huge contrast to her demeanor. 

"Of course not. But if you have a problem with our system-which we have efficiently used for centuries-then by all means, you may bring it up with the headmistress herself. Shall I call for her?"

Father smiles, although it doesn't reach his eyes. "That won't be necessary."

She nods, smiling sweetly in response. "Good."

Father heaves a breath, regains his composure, and grasps her wrist roughly.

The leprechaun cuts a shallow crescent in the fleshy part beneath her thumb and Vieva fights to stay cool and collected. She will not show weakness.

The ruby blood drops into an elaborate glass vial, tinted ever so slightly with purple. The blood hisses when it touches the glass, crackling and fizzing. Vieva stares at it, willing a ticket to appear. Her anticipation builds with every passing second and a sheen of sweat breaks out. Caedric places a hand on her arm, squeezing supportively.

Suddenly, Vieva feels something in her palm. She unfurls her fingers and finds a creamy slip of parchment. Her relief is like a cooling glass of water. It's her ticket.

"Proceed," the leprechaun flails a hand. Father glowers at him but does as he says, the two of them following. Caedric smiles broadly at her and she reciprocates, running her fingers over the curlicue font of the ticket. It has her name, her age, even her address.

Caedric jostles her shoulder lightly.

"Welcome to Ruxnorth Academy, cousin."