RitCast

Aeneas stumbles as he's shoved into the empty classroom and catches himself on a table, whirls around with his wand at the ready, aimed at his older brother.

"I don't understand," Stavros admits lightly, shuts the door behind him, locks it. "I don't fucking understand why people think Adam -someone dying- is funny."

"I don't know anything," Aeneas says immediately, shaking his head of bouncy blond curls. "I didn't even know what happened to you until the rumours started."

"Rumours," Stavros scoffs. "They took our bloody witness statements from the magpol. Who's passing that shit out, Aeneas? I know it started in your RitCast."

"I really don't know," Aeneas insists.

Stavros breathes in, breathes out. "One more person makes Nicholas cry, I'm going to fucking kill them, and won't that be funny."

Aeneas winces. "It's not – not the mage police. It's higher up than that." He looks around the empty classroom, dusty with disuse. "You can't tell anyone I told you."

"Get to the point."

"Your statement went to the Mage Police Department and a lot of people in the Confederacy have access to that, even -especially- when they shouldn't," Aeneas explains. "But it was also sent to the Education Department, and also Board of Directors for the school. It's not RitCast, it's heritage who are getting the information through their parents' connections, RitCast are just stupid enough to say it to your face."

Most students are mages handpicked from the mundane population when they start showing signs of magic but some are hereditary mages, with long family lines that stretch back to the founding of countries. There are libraries of course and most things are available to the public, but heritage have the detailed historical knowledge and the resources to create powerful mages, so it's not strange to think most of the students would have those kinds of connections.

"Who started it?" Stavros demands.

"Everyone," Aeneas insists. "It involved heritage, you and Nicholas, us Lambros' and the Ayads. The media want to run a story, but they're holding off because they don't know what the Ayads might do since their heir was almost stolen."

Stavros sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair, fluffing up his curls even more. "Anything else, guys?"

Aeneas jolts and turns towards the sound of stone scraping against itself. Rafael and Nicholas are waiting in the shadow of a passageway half hidden behind a tapestry.

"That's your payment by the way," Stavros grumbles. "Goes straight to the back courtyard, cuts out ten minutes and two flights of stairs, you're welcome."

Nicholas is thinking, arms crossed and leaning against the wall of the passageway. "Tell them the person wanted the Ayad heir – they wanted an heir to an ancient family."

"Oh shit," Stavros says, a slowly growing smile stretching across his face.

Rafael hums. "You've gotten meaner, Nicholas."

"I can't," Aeneas says in confusion. "To say that someone is trying to kidnap heirs? The families will – that's a real threat, I can't lie about that kind of thing."

"Then don't lie," Nicholas says simply. "Won't be hard. 'Nicholas was dragged to the edge of the wards, wasn't he?' - 'Why take Nicholas and not Adam when it would have been so much easier?'." Nicholas looks up, catches Aeneas' eyes. "If they want to talk about something, then let them talk."

…

The RitCast common room is at the bottom of one of the five towers, just like the other common rooms. Dorms spiral up the tower from year seven at the bottom, to twelve at the top. Like all common rooms, there are large carpets and warm fireplaces with large armchairs or couches, beanbags, tables of all shapes and sizes.

There are no electrical appliances because the citadel was built before electricity was a thing and the installation now would be a nightmare, not that the students haven't found ways around that with magic.

The RitCast tower specifically is shot through with large ritual diagrams on the walls, ceilings and under soft carpets. Trigrams for basic things like water or ice for drinks, pentagrams for easy communication to dorm rooms that you're not allowed into, all the way up to dodecagrams for a strong defensive barrier.

Unlike other towers, there are hallways branching off the common room, small single rooms for ritual casting because to cast powerful spells, RitCast mages prepare their power by sacrificing resources - from milk to bones to a living soul, the last being obviously very illegal (unless you know the right people).

RitCast power is more akin to alchemy than anything else and the prepared power then casts spells like an InCore's would, which adds to their rivalry.

Aeneas sits in a cushy armchair, across the low table from two other friends. A heavy -the heaviest he owns in fact- book is open on his lap, a sheaf of papers with crease lines on them to make it look like it came as a letter.

He runs his finger along the edge of the parchment, glances again to the side where the upper year heritage have congregated. Aeneas is a year-eight, he's nothing to them.

Aeneas sighs loudly and throws the papers down into the book, slams it shut with as much strength as he can before he talks himself out of it. The chatter hushes for a second at the loud bang, people looking over at the sudden noise.

"My mother," Aeneas says quickly before someone can tell him to quiet down. "Is sending me essays about keeping away from the forest lest someone try to take me away like with the Ayad heir. My brother must be getting even worse since he could have been taken too. Honestly, she's near hysterical at the thought of Lambros blood being used for something."

The last of the chatter dies down to an unnatural quiet.

Ahmed is still poised over the chessboard, frozen. "You – what? The Lambros House thinks Ayad was attacked because he was an heir?"

"Mother is just worried," Aeneas says, hands clenched around the book. "But, I mean, Adam was killed immediately, wasn't he? And you heard those rumours about Nicholas being stunned and dragged towards the edge of the wards." Aeneas clears his throat. "Anyway, who's winning the game? I spaced out for a bit."

A moment as everyone realises Aeneas has no more news to share. Some of the lower years are gauche enough to start writing letters immediately. Aeneas' friends soon scatter back to their dorms. A few upper years head out.

Aeneas doesn't care how many stupid castle secrets his brother bribes him with, he's never doing this again.