Morning Routine

The sun had risen, and Riniock long before it. He sat at the edge of his bed, gazing aimlessly at his hands, as though expecting something to materialise within them. Waking early had always been a habit of his – a muscle memory forged in the crucible of bitter days past. Memories of harsh mornings crept into his mind like unwelcome guests. Even during times when exhaustion left his legs numb, his body had always willed him awake moments before the first light breached the horizon.

 This morning was no different. The dormitory was quiet, save for the muffled snores and occasional rustling of bedding.

 Then the door burst open.

 A puff of smoke billowed in, tinged with the faint crackle of magick. The abrupt intrusion jolted many from their slumber. Some shot upright, startled and blinking against the dim light. Others, still lost in the fog of sleep, remained under their covers – but not for long.

 A man and a woman stormed into the dormitory, their expressions sharp and unforgiving.

 'Get up, you lousy shits!' the woman barked, her voice a blade that cut through the air and pierced the ears of everyone present.

 Riniock had already risen and was standing near his bed, sensing the threat before it fully manifested. He watched as the woman raised her foot, a faint glow of energy gathering around her as she slammed it against the floorboards.

 A shockwave rippled outward, and those still lying in their beds were hurled into the air, crashing against the ceiling. An unseen force held them there, pinning them as if gravity itself had betrayed them.

 The room filled with groans and panicked cries, the oppressive pressure keeping them immobilised. Riniock stood unscathed, his quick reflexes sparing him from the humiliating fate that befell his peers.

 The woman's smirk widened as she surveyed the chaos she had caused. 'Lesson one: punctuality. If you're not up when the sun is, you'll answer to me.'

 Her grip on the invisible force loosened, and the acolytes crashed down onto their beds in a series of muffled thuds. Remarkably, despite the commotion, neither the beds nor the room's furnishings bore a single scratch.

 Riniock, standing amidst the chaos, murmured under his breath, 'Amazing control…' His words were laced with genuine awe, his gaze fixed on the woman who had orchestrated the spectacle.

 Her head twisted sharply towards him, as if she'd heard his quiet admiration. For a moment, her piercing eyes locked on him, sizing him up. She didn't say a word, but her lips curved into a sly smile, a look that hinted at acknowledgment.

 Without another word, the woman turned on her heel and strode out of the dormitory, leaving the room in stunned silence. The man, however, stayed behind, his stern expression making it clear he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

 Moments later, a similar ruckus echoed from the adjacent room, where the female acolytes were housed. The faint sound of muffled shouts and the telltale crash of bodies colliding with the ceiling confirmed that the same ordeal was playing out next door.

 Riniock glanced in the direction of the commotion before settling back into his place, bracing himself for whatever was coming next. It was clear: this was no ordinary college, and these instructors were no ordinary teachers.

 The man at the door motioned with his hands, gesturing for everyone to file out. 'Follow me,' he instructed, his tone quiet but carrying an undeniable authority. Compared to the woman's earlier fiery temperament, he seemed far calmer, though his stern demeanor left no room for defiance.

 Fearful of experiencing another display of magickal prowess – or worse – every acolyte hurried to comply. There was no hesitation as they scrambled to form a line behind him, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the dormitory hallway.

 Riniock followed suit, his thoughts racing. His jaw tightened in resolve as he fell into step with the others.

 The man halted in the centre of the corridor, his piercing gaze sweeping over the group of acolytes. His presence was suffocating, a weight of authority that pressed down on each of them.

 'I am to be your guide for as long as you remain worthless acolytes,' he began, his tone cold and unyielding. 'Should you die, I wouldn't care. Should you surpass being acolytes, I still wouldn't care. What matters to me is strength. Nothing more, nothing less.'

 The acolytes shifted uncomfortably, some glancing nervously at one another.

 'Do not bother asking for my name,' he continued, his voice sharp as steel. 'For I have no intention of learning yours. You will address me as Sir, or not at all. Am I understood?'

 'Yes, sir,' the group chorused, their voices a mixture of fear and resignation, some louder than others in their attempt to mask trepidation.

 Riniock said nothing more than necessary, though his sharp eyes assessed the man with guarded curiosity. This was no ordinary guide. His approach was ruthless – perhaps a reflection of the trials that lay ahead.

 'Now be on your way to your first lesson,' the man commanded, clapping his hands sharply. 'You are expected in Magickal Theorum. This way!'

 The acolytes followed him in a hurried shuffle, eager to avoid further confrontation. In no time, they were ushered into a classroom and seated, waiting for the teacher to arrive.

 The room itself exuded an air of studious comfort. It was tiered like an amphitheatre, the seats arranged on an incline to provide every student with an unobstructed view of the teacher's domain. The desk at the front was modest but well-used, flanked by towering blackboards that stretched high up towards the ceiling – several coigns above.

 To one side of the room, an impressive collection of books sat neatly arranged in rows, their spines forming a gradient of colours. The sight of such an expansive library was both inspiring and intimidating, a silent reminder of the vast knowledge they were expected to absorb.

 Riniock claimed the seat closest to the front, eager to make the most of his lessons. He had no intention of blending in with the rowdier or less serious students. The pursuit of magickal mastery, he knew, was not a journey that could be completed solely through lectures or classrooms but it was an important step nonetheless. It required initiative, curiosity, and an unrelenting drive to learn beyond what was taught.

 The teacher emerged from a concealed doorway hidden within one of the back walls, his arrival seamless and almost theatrical.

 He was strikingly youthful for someone in the college – a stark contrast to the grim and rigid demeanour of most others they had encountered. His presence exuded energy, his movements smooth and confident as he strode to the centre of the stage, commanding the room effortlessly.

 With a warm, almost infectious smile, he clapped his hands lightly, drawing the attention of even the most distracted acolytes.

 'Good morning, acolytes,' he began, his voice bright and clear, resonating across the tiered classroom. 'Welcome to Magickal Theorum. I am Professor Gieller, and I trust you'll all work diligently alongside me.'

 The tone of his introduction was light, almost casual, but the subtle intensity in his eyes hinted that he expected nothing short of their utmost effort. For the first time since arriving at the college, some of the acolytes felt a flicker of something new – hope.