The early morning filtered through mullioned windows in rays of gold, illuminating the polished oak floors as dust that remained after the last cleaning, dancing lazily in the light. The room breathed with quiet dignity, mahogany bookcases lined the walls, a globe half-turned by some idle hand, dark oak desks. Beyond the drapes and echoing throughout the academy island, bells tolled marking the fifth hour causing slow stirring beneath a heavy, wool-knit blanket.
A young man blinked awake.
For a moment, he remained perfectly still, not from fatigue but from habit. He had always believed the first waking seconds of a person held a sort of unspoken truth; thoughts unshaped by responsibilities, a breath before the weight of identity settled back in. A fleeting moment to be everything… or nothing at all.
The man let his gaze drift over the room: to the oil portrait across the room, its subject a simple but breathtaking landscape; to the brass astrolabe on his writing desk, catching slivers of light; to the lecture notes from the night before, spread across his nightstand like a fan of parchment leaves; to the full-length mirror in the corner; to the various shelves crowded with tomes and journals, some bound in calfskin, others fraying at the seams showing their age and use.
He exhaled, the breath brushing past the faint scent of leather, ink and parchment, last night's tea and the last remnants of the hearth whose last embers burned out hours before he woke. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as he rose from the bed and began his morning rituals, familiar motions worn smooth by time, carried out more from memory than will.
The washbasin was cold, its porcelain bowl biting against his skin as he splashed water onto his face. He didn't flinch, the sensation, sharp and bracing, cleared the haze from his thoughts more effectively than any stimulant. He grabbed the linen cloth resting beside the bowl and dried his face, its edges embroidered with the academy's crest: an open eye surrounded by feathered laurel.
Dressing was a quiet affair. A crisp white dress shirt. Black trousers, pressed with precision. A slate-gray wool vest buttoned with ease. A smooth black coat. A softly colored ascot tied at the neck. Black leather gloves. Lastly he retrieved a gold-rimmed monocle from his desk, its sole lens set with a faintly almost imperceivable glowing gem, as he settled it back into his familiar home, over his right eye.
He turned to the mirror ensuring nothing was out of place. He had sharp features and a tall but lean build that along with the cerulean eyes of his family and his neat void black hair were complemented by the suit. The image reflected back at him exuded refinement.
Satisfied, he turned from the mirror and crossed the room, the soles of his polished leather shoes tapping against the wooden floor with each measured step. As he passed the bookcases, he let his fingers trail absently along the spines of familiar volumes. As he neared the door, a rectangular, leather-bound suitcase with a handle waited, already packed the night before. Resting on top of it: A silver-tipped cane of dark wood.
Grabbing the cane with his dominant hand and the suitcase with the other, he opened the door and departed.
Outside, the hallways of the professor dormitories began to stir as soft footsteps echoed between high stone arches. Conversations between professors who were already active and awake slipped beneath the closed doors. Lamps along the corridor flickered as gaslight mingled with the light of the rising sun.
He descended the spiral staircase with the same measured grace he carried in all things. At the landing, a pair of professors passed, offering polite nods. He returned them with a quiet, curt dip of his chin, though his expression remained unreadable.
Reaching the base, the stairway opened into a broad, mostly empty lobby. Only a few remained, most professors had already left for the year, leaving this once active common room quieter than usual.
The gentleman walked through the lobby and to the doors opening up to the academy, which could be classified as a city in its own right.
The buildings were tall and elegant with a slight lean to them. Their stone walls, worn smooth by sea winds and time, bore the soft greys and golden browns of age. Arched windows, many filled with stained glass, caught the morning sun and spilled color onto the stone paths below, stone carvings wrapped around doorways and pillars. Ivy curled up their sides in tangled patterns, softening their sharp angles as nature tried to reclaim the city. Arched windows punctuated the walls, some filled with colored glass that shimmered when the light struck just right. Spires and chimneys reached upward like old fingers pointing to the heavens.
He strolled down the open cobblestone roads of the island where lamplighters still working on their daily routes walked between the various shops that lined the roads: businesses meant for students and staff alike, most of which were opening earlier in day, now that the main terms of the year had ended. Eventually, he arrived at a small café. One he knew would still be opened this early.
As he stepped into the café, a soft bell chimed, alerting the staff of a new customer.
The scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries greeted him. Though the space was nearly empty, the warmth remained, sunlight filtered through lace-curtains, pooling on polished tabletops and dark spruce flooring. The barista behind the counter offered a nod of recognition but said nothing, already knowing what the young professor wanted.
He made his way to his usual table near the window, where ivy curled along the outside of the glass and the sea was visible in the distance, sparkling faintly in the morning rays. Setting down his suitcase and leaning his cane against the wall, he took a seat with the elegance of someone who did not waste movement.
From his coat pocket, he drew a small leather-bound notebook and fountain pen. Flipping through the pages would reveal various sketches and notes, some were of people walking, others in quiet conversation, and many more scenes captured in ink. Between the sketches, he had written passages of varying lengths: reflections, fragments of thoughts, observations on many lives unfolding.
He did not write. Instead, he turned to the window and watched.
Beyond the window, the academy's cobbled streets lay in that fragile stillness that exists only between the changing of seasons. It was a liminal space, the type one could imagine that beyond the frames of the window the city could stretch forever in all directions. Carriages rolled by in no great rush, bearing professors and students who hadn't yet departed for the harbor. A faculty assistant walked briskly by, arms full of scrolls and folders, her coat catching the breeze like a banner. Somewhere, distant birdsongs twined with the low hush of waves.
When the server arrived, an older man who had worked at the café for longer than the young man had been alive, a plate and cup was set before the professor. Black tea with 2 eggs and toast.
The professor nodded at the server, and the server left without a word.
He took a sip of the tea: strong, unadorned, exactly how he preferred it. The warmth slid down his throat, settling low in his chest. Steam rose in faint spirals from the cup, vanishing before they could quite be seen.
He did not eat right away. Instead, he waited for a few seconds till another soft chime of the café's bell sound and footfall replaced the silence.
A short and stout figure pushed himself onto the chair in front of the gentlemen with a low groan. The figure was an older dwarf. His greying brown hair and beard were both heavily braided, adorned with various metal trinkets. He wore silver-rimmed half-circular glasses, a cotton-grey shirt and pants, and a thick leather apron lined with pouches and hanging tools.
"Mornin', Professor Hollows." the older dwarf said with a gravelly voice thick with an accent.
The young man, Hollows, smirks at the dwarf before replying. "You're late, Professor Ripley."
Ripley snorted unamused, waving over the server as he retorted. "Apologies, but I daresay I've a few more winters behind me than you."
The server arrived again and Ripley ordered. "Just the bacon an' a black coffee for me, thanks."
Hollows picked up the toast, taking a bite followed by a bite of the eggs and ended with a sip of his tea as six chimes echoed throughout the island marking the hour once again.
"You were picked again for the end of the year class, Ripley?"
"Aye, I get why they've got the classes, no just for the legal stuff an' all, but why is it always me?"
"Well you are one of the higher stage Sorcerers in the academy. Luckily as a non-Sorcerer myself, I rarely have to be one of the Professor's teaching those classes." Hollows smiled as he took another sip before saying, "Once I finished my breakfast, I am heading down to the harbor and taking a ship to Goldleaf and be back before nightfall."
Ripley glanced at Hollows, as his food was placed before him. A mischievous smirk crossed Ripley's face as he leaned forward. "Hate to be the one to tell you, laddie, but the Headmaster wants to speak to you before you leave, and you know how he can be."
Ripley's words caused Hollows to cough as the hot liquid went down his trachea.
"I'm sorry? What? Why? How didn't I know about this?" he said as he adjusted his monocle.
Ripley chuckled as he began to eat. "He just mentioned he came across an opportunity that might catch yer eye and you didn't know about it 'cause he sent me to tell you, that's why I was late. Looks like you might be gettin' to yer estate afore nightfall… an' maybe a fair few more nights after that, eh?
Hollows stared at the dwarf with narrowed eyes. "Why did you wait till just now to tell me?"
"'Cause it made me laugh, that's why."
"You're a horrible friend, you know that right?"
Ripley just gave a shrug in response, knowing Hollows didn't mean it.
"Is there a certain time I'm supposed to meet him?"
"Aye, about 7 o'clock, so roughly another hour to go."
"Good, at least I can finish my breakfast."
Hollows set down his tea as he finished his meal. Glancing out the window once more, the roads now stirred as more of the remaining body arose back to the waking world. Students, their faces still flushed with sleep, made their way toward the harbor or the classrooms that still stood open despite the approaching end of term. The salty breeze carried faint sounds of seagulls and distant ship horns, blending with the subtle hum of the rousing city.
Ripley cleared his throat, drawing Hollows back from his reverie. "So, lad," he said, leaning back in his chair, "what do you reckon this opportunity might be? The Headmaster's rarely one for surprises without some grand design."
Hollows considered, eyes narrowing slightly. "It could be anything. A new research project, a teaching assignment, or anything really."
Ripley chuckled. "Knowin' the Headmaster, probably a' of the above. But whatever it is, it'll change yer path, mark my words."
Hollows closed the notebook and slipped it back into his coat pocket. "I suppose, I will find out sooner rather than later."
The dwarf's smile softened, and for a moment, Hollows remembers how old Ripley is as the weight of years and their wisdom settled in his gaze. "You're ready, Hollows. More than you know. Just remember, it's not the power you wield or what family you come from but the choices you make that shape who you are."
Hollows nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
The bell chimed once signaling the half-hour mark, faint and distant.
"I'd best be off," Hollows said, rising smoothly. "Thank you, Ripley."
The dwarf stood too, stretching his broad shoulders beneath the leather apron. "Safe travels, Cecil. If you're still talkin' with the Headmaster when I'm finished with my last class, I'll come meet you."
Cecil Hollows nodded at Ripley before gathering his cane and suitcase, the familiar weight steady in his hands. He stepped out of the café and back into the morning light, the door closing softly behind him. The academy's streets were now more alive with motion. As he walked toward the main academy building.