Departure

The two weeks flew by fast. Oliver spent most of it studying. He seldom saw his brothers or father during these two weeks. His father was disgruntled but ultimatly understood what it meant to Oliver. Still, Oliver's unwillingness to ever train with the blade upset him. The presence of his two brothers made it easier on Bartholomew, as they were both more than willing to learn the way of the sword.

Oliver cast Eanclay over and over again, getting used to the sensation of mana usage. He studied from the crack of dawn to the setting of the sun. He knew everything like the back of his hand. And eventually the day arrived.

Oliver took one last look in the mirror before he left. A slight smile plagued his face. Standing at an impressive height, his lean figure exudes a sense of quiet strength. His face reflects a blend of determination and weariness, highlighted by a pair of piercing, intelligent eyes that shimmer with hints of determination and a touch of melancholy. The weight of his upcoming responsibilities is evident in the presence of subtle bags under his eyes, evidence of countless nights spent preparing and contemplating his future. Nights spent studying at his desk were written all over his tired face.

In preparation for his journey, Oliver dons an ensemble befitting a duke's son, striking a balance between professionalism and regality. He wears a tailored black doublet, intricately adorned with subtle silver embroidery that accentuates the sleeves and collar. The garment fits him perfectly, accentuating his upright posture and giving him an air of sophistication and authority.

Beneath the doublet, Oliver dons a crisp, high-collared white shirt that provides a contrasting touch against the dark fabric. The shirt is impeccably pressed and fastened with a discreet silver brooch, symbolizing his noble lineage. A finely crafted black leather belt with an intricate silver buckle cinches his waist, emphasizing his refined appearance.

Completing his attire, Oliver wears black trousers that are expertly tailored, allowing him to move with grace and agility when necessary. His footwear consists of polished black leather boots that exude both durability and elegance.

As Oliver takes one last look in the mirror, he steadies his resolve and accepts the weight of his responsibilities. Determined to represent his noble lineage and make a mark at the academy, he leaves the room, ready to face the challenges and opportunities that await him in the capital.

Each step Oliver took towards his door shook his heart to it's core. The weight of what was going to soon transpire weighed heavily on Oliver's mind.

All those nights spent studying, slaving away in his notebook, were finally going to pay off.

Soon, Oliver would be a mage! Someone with nearly as much prestige as a baron!

Soon Oliver reached the front door of Hawthorne manor. The place he has spent fifteen years of his life. With a shaky hand, Oliver grasped the door handle and turned it.

With a great big creek, the door opened. Early morning rays of sunshine attacked Oliver's face. He squinted but soon got used to the light.

His father stood next to a beautiful carriage. It's sleek, polished, dark brown wood was accompanied by gorgeous golden engravings.

At the front and center of the carriage, a prominent crest of the Hawthorne family is skillfully etched into the woodwork. The crest features a majestic hawk with outstretched wings, symbolizing their noble lineage and strength. The hawk's eyes are expertly crafted to possess an aura of wisdom and authority, capturing the essence of the Hawthorne family's power and intelligence.

Surrounding the central crest, a delicate pattern of intertwining vines emerges, meticulously carved and gilded in gold. These vines, reminiscent of the Hawthorne estate's lush gardens, represent prosperity, growth, and the family's deep-rooted heritage. Every leaf and tendril is beautifully rendered, showcasing the mastery of the skilled artisans who crafted the engravings, and the large price the Hawthorne family must have paid for the masterful work.

"Prestige is everything. If you're going, you're going in style!" Bartholemew's booming voice resounded through the garden.

Bartholemew donned a finely tailored striped brown suit. The suit was seemingly made for him as it was tight to his plum belly, perfectly outlining his large stomach.

Big black buttons went all the way down to his brown pants. The buttons were sleek and shiny, reflecting the sunlight off them.

Bartholemew truly took style to the utmost seriousness. Even on a day as average as any, he was all dressed up. It was only the departure of his son, something that would take no longer than a few minutes.

Plastered on Bartholemew's face was a smile. He looked at his son with pride. Although he hoped Oliver would follow in his footsteps to become a knight, being a mage wasn't all bad. It's not as if Oliver would ever head the family, so he had nothing to worry about.

Bartholomew stode over Oliver with pride in each step. He placed a heavy hand on Oliver's shoulder, causing him to dip his shoulder.

'Haha, he always does this…' Oliver had a wry smile on his face. But quickly become serious when he saw his fathers face.

"Son. Today you will embark on a journey the likes of which you've never seen. You will have to become a man on your own. I won't be around to fight your battles for you, for that will be on you." Oliver was happy to get recognition from his father, but still, his words gave Oliver butterflies.

"I understand. I'll miss you dad." Oliver's words gave Bartholomew a bashful smile.

"Haha! I'll miss you too son!" Bartholemew ruffled Oliver's hair and let him pass, sufficiently satisfied with his son.

"Goodbye father." Oliver waved as he entered the gorgeous carriage.

The inside was fitted with large, fluffy, red cushions. The floor was the same kind of sleek wood that the outside was fitted with. In the middle of the carriage was a small table with a candle held in a gorgeous golden candle holder. The candle was slightly burning with a bright orange flame.

On the candle was a small rune etched into the wax. The rune shone with a slight ethereal hue of blue.

The rune consisted of two interconnected loops. The loops overlap at the top and bottom, creating a mirrored image of each other.

"Interesting… the spell seems to be a hybrid of the Flame element and the Arcane Essence element… hah! Father must have put this here knowing it will keep me from being bored." Oliver inwardly thanked his father before sitting down and testing the cushions.

But before he could, the Coachman yelled to the back.

"Are you ready to leave young master?" Oliver didn't even hesitate in his reply.

"I'll never be more prepared than I am now!" And with that, the coachman got the horses moving, moving towards the capital!