Chapter 26

While the wizard’s university was impossible to miss, actually reaching it proved harder than expected. The roads doubled back on themselves or ended abruptly, branching and rejoining with no obvious logic. We backtracked more than once, tried approaches that led nowhere, and spent a fair amount of time convinced we were walking in circles before we finally found the entrance.

By then the sun was sinking toward the horizon, but the grounds were still lively. Groups of teenagers and twenty-somethings wandered the grounds, all wearing matching dark blue robes - likely students. Those dressed in red tended to be older, moving with purpose rather than curiosity, and I assumed they were instructors or staff. Humans were the majority, but I spotted elves, naga, cat-like folk, and even a few winged humanoids that Mirri identified as Peri.

The university itself rose from the city like a skyscraper - a round tower well over two hundred feet tall. Windows ringed it at even intervals, at least twenty floors visible from the outside. Unlike the city walls, its exterior was built from dark ashlar blocks, perfectly cut and fit together without visible mortar. A wide, circular doorway stood open at the base, inviting and intimidating in equal measure.

Inside, a woman in red robes sat behind a semicircular desk. She looked up as we entered and waved us over. “Are you here for the entrance exam?” she asked pleasantly.

“Uh, no. Well - maybe?” I said. “What’s involved in the exam?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “It’s required for anyone interested in enrolling. We test aptitude across the various schools of magic, and if you score high enough, we determine which program would suit you best. Exceptional results may qualify for scholarships to help offset tuition.”

“Is the test free?” I asked.

“Of course. We’re always looking for new talent.”

“How does it work?”

Sensing my unease, she leaned forward slightly. “It’s noninvasive and only takes about half an hour. We use tools attuned for each school. Each test is different, but it’s perfectly safe. No pain.”

I glanced at Mirri. She nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s try it.”

The woman handed me several forms. I filled them out as best I could, guessing at a few questions I didn’t understand. When it asked for an address, I wrote Reedwatch. Grams’ house didn’t exactly have a street number.

We were ushered into a small chamber where a thin, elderly man sat waiting behind a narrow desk. He looked to be well into his seventies - bald scalp gleaming under the magical lantern light, a bushy white beard spilling down over the front of his crimson robes. The fabric marked him as university staff, though the warmth in his expression softened any sense of authority.

His eyes brightened as we entered, and a welcoming smile spread across his face.

“Ah! Another prospective student,” he said, voice lively despite his age. “Here for the entrance exam?”

I nodded.

“Excellent. Step over here and we’ll get started.” He gestured to a silver circle inlaid into the floor.

I hesitated. The last time I’d seen something like that, Serah had been trapped inside it while a wizard tried to drain her fire.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “It’s perfectly safe. Just blocks outside interference.”

I nodded and stepped inside. The air shifted immediately - pressure changing, a faint chill brushing my skin.

“Any magical experience?” he asked. “Cantrips, spells, unusual occurrences?”

“Mirri’s been teaching me,” I said, gesturing toward her, “but I haven’t managed to cast anything yet.”

“That’s quite all right. Perhaps you simply haven’t found your school yet.” He retrieved an orange-brown crystal from a shelf. Inside it was a dark oblong shape, about the size of a sunflower seed. “Vitalis first. Just hold this.”

I cradled the crystal and watched closely.

“Hm,” he murmured. “No response.”

“What’s it supposed to do?” I asked.

“That’s a seed of reckoning in amber. If you have aptitude for life magic, it sprouts roots. We measure the growth for scoring.” He peered closer. “I see nothing. No matter - onward.”

He set it aside and handed me a dull silver bell and striker. “Ring this, please.”

I struck the bell. There was no sound - not even a dull clatter. I felt the vibration, but silence filled the room.

“Interesting,” he said, scratching his beard. He took it back and handed me a fire-blackened stick.

When nothing happened after a while, I frowned. “And this one?”

“A cinder rod. Fire aptitude makes it smoke or ignite. Don’t be discouraged - we’re only beginning.”

One by one, the tools passed through my hands. A vial of clear liquid. A carved cube. A strange die. A shallow bowl. A loop of chain. An hourglass. A fogged mirror. A prism. A lens. Nothing reacted.

Finally, he handed me a smooth stone that shone brightly in his hand. As soon as I touched it, the glow dimmed to a feeble, random pulse.

I smiled at Mirri. Something had finally happened.

“Excuse me,” the man said to her. “Would you step forward, please?” To me he added, “You can leave the circle now.”

Mirri took my place and held the stone. It flared brightly in her hands. He reclaimed it, had her step out, then placed the stone alone in the circle. The light faded, but continued softly flickering, just as it had when I held it.

He scratched his beard once more, brow furrowed.

“I need to consult a colleague,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He left the room.

I looked at Mirri. “Any idea what that means?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never seen tests like this before,” she said. “I have no idea.”

After a very long fifteen minutes, we started to consider leaving. I could tell Mirri was anxious to get back to Lilae, and we both knew we couldn’t linger here all night.

The door finally opened and the older wizard stepped back into the room, this time accompanied by another man in red robes.

The newcomer was younger - perhaps forty - with short chestnut hair carefully styled, strands of gray threaded neatly at his temples. Clean-shaven and broader through the shoulders than his companion, he stood an inch or two taller, posture straight and deliberate. His features were unremarkable at first glance - neither attractive nor ugly - but his brown eyes gleamed with sharp, measured intelligence, missing nothing as they settled on us.

He smiled when he saw us, though it wasn’t the same easy warmth we’d seen from the receptionist or Professor Logers. It felt practiced, a touch stiff. “Greetings,” he said, his voice a little higher than I expected. “I’m Professor Nanders. Professor Logers tells me he’s encountered some difficulty with the test, so I’ve come to take a look.”

“What does ‘difficulty with the test’ mean?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing alarming,” he replied smoothly. “It seems none of the cynosures reacted to your mana. I’m confident it’s merely an issue with the tools - sometimes they wear out. If you would step back into the circle?”

I did, feeling that familiar coolness and the subtle shift in air pressure. He picked up the mirror and handed it to me, watching closely. When nothing happened, he reclaimed it and examined its surface. For just a moment, I thought I saw the reflection inside flicker and change, though I couldn’t quite make it out.

Next came the lens, which he had me hold. He leaned in, peering through it, squinting as he adjusted his angle several times. Eventually he took it back. As he held it up to the light, dark patterns slid across his features, as though the lens cast shadows that didn’t belong to the room.

He then gathered the amber crystal, the prism, the rod, and the bottle, placing all of them into my hands at once. His eyes moved from one to the next, but none responded. “Please step out of the circle,” he said, taking the items and setting them carefully on a shelf.

I did as he asked. He picked up the smooth stone, which flared brightly, and placed it in my hands. As he stepped back, the glow dimmed - flickering uncertainly, though not as faintly as it had been inside the circle. “Tal?” he said. “Could you come here, please?”

Professor Logers stepped closer. The stone brightened slightly.

“Fascinating,” Nanders murmured. “Would you be willing to come to my laboratory? It’s only a few floors up, and it shouldn’t take long.”

I glanced at Mirri. She shrugged. “I guess,” I said. It was dark out now, but not too late.

“Thank you,” he said, and led us from the exam room toward a broad staircase spiraling around the tower’s central chamber.

“So what does all this mean?” I asked as we climbed.

“I’m not certain,” he admitted. “It’s clearly not a fault in the cynosures, yet they refuse to react to your mana. That suggests either your mana is fundamentally nonreactive or that it resonates with a school we’ve yet to identify. Either possibility would require us to reconsider the metaphysical framework that organizes the world.”

“Could it be that I don’t have mana?” I asked.

He scoffed. “Everyone has mana. Without it, you’d be dead.”

I glanced at Mirri, but her expression was unreadable. We walked in silence until we reached a nearly empty corridor. “Could it be because I’m from another world?” I asked.

He stopped so suddenly I almost ran into him. Slowly, he turned and fixed me with an intense, searching stare. Then, just as abruptly, he turned away. “My laboratory is just through here,” he said, opening the door.

Inside was a spacious room, perhaps fifty feet deep and nearly as wide. Bookshelves lined the walls. Several large devices - calling them machines felt inaccurate - occupied the space, with tables scattered between them. Some tables were crowded with bottles like a chemistry lab, others buried beneath papers, and still others cluttered with an assortment of odd objects. He closed the door behind us.

“Is that true?” he asked seriously.

I nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, rubbing at his scalp. “Your world - what is it like?”

“Different,” I said. “We don’t have magic, for one.”

He looked as though I’d struck him. “What do you mean you don’t have magic?”

“I mean exactly that,” I said. “We use technology instead. We have carts, but they aren’t pulled by horses. They run on fuel that burns inside an engine. And we have… boxes, I guess? They transmit pictures and sounds all over the world at the speed of light. Though they’re not really boxes anymore - more like flat plates or picture frames. It’s hard to explain.”

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “That sounds like magic.”

“Yeah, it’s not,” I insisted. “Clarke’s third law and all that. I think the difference is this - you have magic, so you can do a thing - light a fire, heal a cut - just by willing it. You don’t need tools. You summon your mana or whatever and it happens. I know it’s more complicated than that, but that’s how it looks to me.”

“Where I’m from, we can’t do that,” I continued. “If you want fire, you need matches or flint and steel… or two sticks if you’re ****. To heal a cut, you clean it, bandage it, and let the body do the rest. I mean, we can do some pretty crazy stuff, like cut you open, fix something, and then sew you back up, but it’s not magic. We just try to put the edges of the cut as close together as we can and let them heal naturally. And we need tools to do it.”

“Even the things that sound magical are still just technology,” I said. “Take a cart. We might build a fire in a bowl and put a pot of water above it. When the water boils, the steam goes up. But if you put a plug in the pot so the steam can’t go anywhere, the pressure builds. Eventually it pushes the plug, which is attached to a bar, which turns the cart wheels. When the pressure drops, the plug goes back and the pressure builds again. Keep the fire hot enough and the cart goes fast.”

He stared at me for a long moment, absorbing it all.

“Since I’ve been here,” I added, “I’ve noticed I’m not exactly immune to magic - but I’m very resistant. Mirri’s healing barely works on me. And I kind of got a little burned by necrofire or something?” I looked to her.

“Best I can do is heal a bruise,” she said. “And it feels like I’m tryin’ to reattach a limb. That necrofire nearly killed one of our friends instantly. He stood in it for almost half a minute.” I couldn’t tell if she was more proud or worried.

“You’ve been able to heal him?” Nanders asked, lost in thought.

“Barely,” she said.

“But it did work,” he pressed.

She nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said again. “Would you come here, please?”

He led me to one of the devices: a half-finished box with two metal sides, a third of thick paper, and the fourth side missing entirely. The metal wall opposite the paper was drilled with evenly spaced holes. On a nearby table sat candles, lenses, and prisms mounted to a metal plate.

“If you’d step inside,” he said, “I’d like to examine your mana more closely.”

I raised an eyebrow, but at this point it seemed unlikely he meant to dissect or incinerate me. I stepped in.

He lit the candles and adjusted the lenses so the light streamed through the holes. “Please hold still.”

The light flared suddenly, nearly blinding. He extinguished the candles and moved around to the paper side.

“Fascinating,” he murmured once more, scratching his head.

“Can I come out now?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said.

The paper wall bore a dark gray pattern, like a Rorschach blot pressed flat against reality. Five darker smears ran vertically down the center, each one fuzzing outward as it spread.

“Those are the will foci, right?” I asked. “Groin, stomach, heart, throat, and skull?”

“Yes,” Nanders replied, glancing at me with renewed curiosity. “Fons Vitae, Venter Flux, Cor Luminar, Guttur Channel, and Crown Focus. Or, more simply—root, forge, core, voice, and crown. We usually name them from top to bottom.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So that means I have mana.”

“It does indeed.”

“Then why can’t I cast spells?”

He looked from me, to the paper, and back again. “Because it’s wrong. I guess it sort of makes sense, but it also doesn’t.”

“Wrong how?” I asked, not liking where this was going.

“In a normal person,” he continued, gesturing at the wall, “mana gathers around these foci, but it doesn’t stay there. It circulates - through channels, much like veins - up and down the limbs, throughout the body.”

“And I don’t have any channels,” I said.

“Precisely,” he agreed. “Even infants develop them. They’re thin at first, but they’re there from birth. Yours… aren’t. Your mana is just sitting in place. Stagnant.”

“Stagnant sounds bad.”

“It isn’t inherently harmful,” he said. “In most people it indicates a blockage, usually tied to illness. But stagnation itself isn’t a disease.”

He continued, warming to the explanation. “We use those channels to move mana - to push it out through our hands, sometimes feet or skin - and shape the world. Without them, you can’t project mana outward. But it also means external mana has trouble getting in.”

I frowned. “That’s why magic barely works on me.”

“Exactly! You still suffer obvious physical effects - stone breaks bones, fire burns flesh - but anything that relies on interacting with your internal mana struggles. Vitalis, Mortem, Aether, Malefic… perhaps even Oneiromancy. It’s remarkable.”

“Right,” I said. It didn’t feel remarkable. Useful, maybe. But not remarkable. “So how do I fix it? Meditation? Surgery? Some horrible arcane procedure?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s possible the channels might develop with time, like an infant’s. But you’ll never be a wizard in the traditional sense. Maybe - maybe - you could manage a spark or two in a few years. A full invocation? Highly unlikely. Forcing channel growth would require an immense amount of mana and deal irreparable damage to your body. If it didn’t kill you outright.”

I nodded, the last of my fragile hopes collapsing inward. “Thanks anyway,” I said, turning toward the door.

“Are you staying in the city?” he asked quickly. “How might I contact you? I’d very much like to continue studying you. You’re a fascinating specimen.”

“I’ll be gone in a day or two,” I said. “If I have time, I’ll stop by.”

I left the lab with my thoughts in a knot. I didn’t need to be a great wizard - but I’d hoped to be something.

I’d never been exceptional. Not really. But I’d always managed. I wasn’t a great developer, but I did the job. I wasn’t a great runner, but I finished a few 5Ks. Store manager. DBA. Stock boy. Sales. Handyman. Zookeeper. I’d worn a lot of hats, rarely for long - but I’d worn them. I’d put in the time to learn them.

“Fuck that guy,” Mirri snapped beside me.

I looked at her.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Mirri-”

“He didn’t even get the names of the gates right!” she shot back.

“It’s ok,” I said, feeling at that moment that it really wasn’t ok. But it was something I’d eventually get over. That much I knew.

She stopped, grabbed my shirt, and yanked me down to her level. Her bright green eyes burned with certainty. “I’m sick of people telling us what we can’t do. I’m sick of ‘impossible.’ You’ve done impossible things before. You’ll do it again. We’ll figure this out.”

She released me just as abruptly and turned on her heel. “Now come on. We’re gettin’ you some spells and then you’re gonna fuck some babies into me.”