Octavius coughed up blood as another knuckle struck his cheek. His sparring partner and friend, Thorne, grinned sadistically. "I draw the first blood, so I win!" Thorne jeered.
Octavius wiped the blood from his lips before taking a napkin from the stand to wipe off his sweat. Thorne did the same, his grin still plastered on his face.
"That's because I was distracted," Octavius muttered as his gaze darted around the few people watching them. They gave him suspicious glances, whispering to their companions.
Octavius ducked his head, and scanned the ground not wanting to meet their gaze.
He knew what they were whispering about. The rumors had been circulating for weeks, and Octavius had grown accustomed to the wary looks and hushed conversations.
Thorne chuckled and clapped Octavius on the back.
"Well, rumors or no rumors, you've always been the center of attention. Take it in stride, like you do when women fawn over you."
Octavius made a weak attempt to grin but he could only muster a grimace.
He never thought there'd be a point in his life where he would miss the attention. He had always dodged the admirers, refusing to indulge anyone romantically, till he get into the Academy. But ever since the news of his father's mysterious death – with rumors of suicide circulating, despite his own conviction that it was murder – had spread, everything had taken a turn for the worse.
As the son of the former Chief Mage and Headmaster of the prestigious Wysteria Academy of Magical Arts, Octavius had grown accustomed to the whispers and stares. But the rumors that now circulated about his father's final moments cut deep. They suggested things that Octavius knew his father would never do. But his father wasn't alive to prove it, leaving Octavius to face the fallout alone.
"At least I knew what it was they thought of me with their glances," Octavius muttered after a while.
"You mean what they wanted?" Thorne teased, his brows twitching upward in a playful arch as he pumped a heavy iron dumbbell up and down between his thighs.
A loud laugh ripped out of Octavius' throat at his friend's antics. It died down after a while, and Octavius' expression returned to its usual moody state. He was grateful for the few friends who had stuck around, that being Thorne and his friends.
"I just wish I could talk to my Father personally. Even if I couldn't prove to the others that he's not guilty of what they're accusing him of, hearing it from him would be worthwhile."
Thorne dropped the napkin he was using to wipe his sweat and turned to Octavius. "You know, I think there's a way for you to do that."
Octavius raised an eyebrow. "We've had this conversation before, Thorne. We aren't doing dark magic. I am desperate but not that desperate. Are you forgetting we can't wield magic, especially since we haven't attended the essence ceremony yet? We don't even know what essence we'll harness."
"That's the thing – we don't have to use magic to talk to him. I found a way— thanks to my mother."
Octavius stared at him blankly, waiting for Thorne to reveal that he was just joking. But Thorne's expression remained solemn, and Octavius' curiosity got the better of him at the mention of Thorne's Mother.
"What way? What did she say? Can we leave now? How do we–"
Thorne pressed a finger to his lips and glanced around the room. "Not here," he mouthed. "And don't worry the process will be quick. Just Wait for me at the old oak tree. I'll show you then."
"But the ceremony starts in a few hours," Octavius began to object.
"It starts at sundown. My Father told me, so don't worry. We'll be back on time to celebrate your birthday too." Thorne responded, dismissing his worries.
As a member of the Wysteria Council, Thorne's father was not only a skilled mage but also a respected authority. The council oversaw the activities of Wysteria Academy, as well as the entire magical community of Wysteria. Thorne's father and Octavius' father had been close friends since their teenage years, which had led to Thorne and Octavius growing up as inseparable best friends.
Octavius knew it was unlikely that the ceremony's timing would be postponed, but he suspected that the change might be due to his father's passing. As the former Headmaster, Octavius' father had traditionally led the Awakening Ceremony. Now, alternative arrangements had to be made.
The last day of the year had finally arrived, and with it, the Awakening Ceremony – a sacred rite of passage that marked the transition from adolescence to adulthood. For Octavius, this day held extra significance, as it coincided with his birthday.
"Okay," Octavius finally agreed. "But let's check on Lynn first. With everything going on, I don't want her getting bullied."
"Bullied? Not if they want to lose their head. She's safe, Octavius. Remember, we have people watching her every move? She's in good hands."
Octavius still felt a pang of concern for his sister, who was two years his junior. The death of their father had hit her hard as much as it did him, but she was overly emotional. So she had a hard time picking herself up.
However, with the ceremony looming and the potential to finally speak with his father again, he knew he had to prioritize.
This would do us both good, he reasoned
He knew if he skipped this he might never get the chance to talk to his father again.
"Why do I have to wait though? We could just go together." Octavius said standing up.
"No, wait," Thorne stopped him. "I don't want people suspecting us. And remember, you're not exactly popular at the moment. So, wait for me at the old oak tree, alright?"
Octavius felt uneasy with how Thorne insisted he wait for him. A wave of sadness washed through him at the thought of his friend being ashamed to walk with him. But he brushed it off, thinking if his best friend was ashamed of him due to the rumors, he wouldn't be sparing with him.
He attempted to smile, but it seemed forced. "Yeah," he replied.
———
As he stood at the edge of the forest, awaiting the arrival of his friends, Octavius's mind wandered to the ceremony that lay ahead. The day was both a joyful experience and a sad one for him:
In a world where darkness reigned and vile creatures lurked in every corner, magic was woven into the very fabric of existence. The people had long practiced magic as a means of survival, honing their abilities to fend off the malevolent forces that sought to destroy their realm.
The people possessed one of four distinct essences, each accompanied by a unique fraction that served as a tangible manifestation of their abilities. These essences were:
Conjurers- They possessed the ability to summon and command the primal forces of nature, bending the elements to their will.
Leviathans- These warriors harnessed magical energies through their swords, wielding them with precision and skill to vanquish their foes.
Healers- Healers could restore balance and well-being to living beings, curing wounds and ailments.
Architects: Most possess no magical abilities. The rare individuals who do exhibit abilities, but not as Healers, Leviathans, or Conjurers, are referred to as Talents.
Octavius had always harbored the dream of succeeding his father as Headmaster one day. He had worked tirelessly to make that vision become a reality one day, pouring all his energy into his studies and his responsibilities.
To ensure his goal remained on track, Octavius had deliberately avoided any distractions, maintaining a steadfast focus on his ambition.
But now, Octavius felt empty and distressed. His father had eagerly anticipated this moment, longing to see his son's magical heritage unfold. It was meant to be a step closer to fulfilling his dream of taking over as Headmaster, but that was before his father's passing.
Octavius checked the sky for what felt like the hundredth time, his annoyance growing with each passing minute. The sun was almost down and Thorne and his friends were nowhere to be found. He was starting to feel like a fool for waiting this long. It was almost time for the ceremony.
Where were they?
The longer Octavius waited, the more his frustration simmered just below the surface. Just as he had given up on Thorne's arrival and started making his way out of the forest, a rustling in the underbrush caught his attention.
A horse came into view, and when Octavius looked at the rider, he realized it wasn't Thorne. He couldn't hide the Disappointment that coated his features.
"I was asked to take you to meet the others," the rider said. "They're waiting."
Octavius recognized the rider, he was one of Thorne's acquaintances. "What about Thorne?"
The rider's expression turned grim. "He asked me to fetch you."
Octavius wanted to ask why his friend didn't come to get him, but the rider's look made him rethink. He decided to ask him once he got to Thorne.
He didn't waste any more time. He swung his leg over the horse's back and sat behind the rider.
As they rode to their destination, Octavius couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. But, he dismissed it, attributing it to nerves.