“The future cannot be understood without knowing the past.”—I couldn’t name the person who first said that, but a cold truth was encapsulated in those words. Or should we call it a prophecy?

  The line returned to me when our class gathered for a lecture on the History of Magecraft. A subject that few young people thought was captivating, but which was mandatory for everyone. Maybe the above quote was the reason.

  Behind the lonely podium upon the grand stage of the shadowy central auditorium, our lecturer of the day, Professor Edwin Goldsinger, proceeded with a one-sided introductory monologue. But his speech didn’t dive very far into the past.

  Goldsinger, the Baron of Strattgarm, a remote province on the side of Anthrober. One of the rare few regions in Calidea governed by a publicly proclaimed mage lineage. Magic and politics didn’t mesh well. It was beneath mages to get mixed into the secular affairs of ordinary people, and having someone with superpowers intrude in their circles was only a horror for politicians. The interactions of these elements often had a caustic reaction. But the Goldsinger clan survived by keeping decently far away from the real halls of power, minding only the affairs of their tiny Barony. Come to think of it, they had a lot in common with Emily’s family.

  Professor Goldsinger had attained the rank of Blue Mage in Mysterium and served as a sect master for ten years, before settling into Belmesion as a lecturer in his mid-fifties. To remind everyone of his status, he didn’t wear the impersonal scholar’s robes, but a long, navy-blue coat with golden buttons, the likewise golden sect master medallion hanging in a long chain around his neck. Though it was little more but a memento today.

  Broadcasting your identity so boldly would’ve been too careless for anyone else, but for a wizard of his standing, it served as a challenge: Come whoever may, I shall take you on. So old-fashioned.

  Of course, conscious of his value, Professor Goldsinger had to book the biggest hall in the building for his lectures, though there were barely thirty of us in attendance, plus a few repeaters from senior year levels.

  Picking out the relevant key points from his meandering, constantly derailing rambling took more effort than the Corridor of Sages. Rather than teaching us anything, he seemed more eager to just let us hear his voice. Its distractingly masculine, resonant depth and self-indulgent lack of urgency put you to sleep faster than any spell.

  Students here and there were nodding off from the first minutes.

  “The consensus in the modern wizarding community today is that magical potential, which stems from the individual’s soul, is more or less coincidental. The disposition of one’s parents bears no significant effect in regards to its development. While the reincarnation theory remains without solid proof, it is surmised that past lives’ experiences factor in the emergence of arcane capability more so than the experiences of the parents, or the prevalent conditions at birth. In the past, various experiments were conducted by witches and wizards, such as the mother spending time during pregnancy in places rich with elemental energy, or giving birth in the presence of such like potent phenomena, artifacts, or even demibeasts. Blood infusions and transplantation of body parts were also attempted, to provide the infant desired magic traits. However, despite the expansive amount of experimental data obtained over the ages from various regions and ethnicities, correlation was never conclusively shown. A certain degree of randomness has always been present in the manfiestation of the offspring’s talent. Why could that be, the root causes are not yet fully understood.”

  Imagining parents treating their own babies like a summer science project made the listeners cringe. But those parents weren’t human, they were mages. Hardly the worst thing to have happened in this land, or elsewhere, in the ancient past or even recent history.

  “For this highly variable nature of the talent, certain modernist factions of scholars have presented that the significance of one’s lineage has been unreasonably embellished in the tradition and literature of the magic community. One’s ancestors should bear no consequence in determining the individual’s role and contributions to the Art. These theorists argue that every person of numerically sufficient potential bears the equivalent prerequisites to succeed in the field and add to our wealth of knowledge, so long as the fundamental building blocks of education and training remain the same. They tell you success is reliant solely on the invididual, more so than history. These arguments were what instigated our academy’s opening to gifted commoner students eighty-two years ago—an educational experiment that remains ongoing to this day. True enough, one’s family line by itself does not override the importance of effort. On that, I wholeheartedly agree. However, the other common tenets of the modernist mages hardly endure objective, intellectual examination. I personally find their views—perhaps deliberately—misleading, as they are irrational and irresponsible.”

  The conclusion the professor arrived at wasn’t what half the audience had expected. They now had to do a double take, and the ones about to doze off shook themselves awake.

  “The body is the vessel of the soul,” Professor Goldsinger continued, pleased to see everyone paying attention. “Its mirror reflection, bound in crude matter. This is a hard fact that has remained unchallenged since the early days of the Hermetic Order. The flesh and the spirit are two inseparable halves of the same coin. The soul is the sole source of magic, yes, but the forms in which it manifests depend to no small extent on the medium. A tired, distracted, injured person cannot use magic effectively. Therefore, it would be a fallacy to claim the body doesn’t matter at all. And where does that body come from? Our beloved parents, our grandparents, their parents, and ancestors. They undeniably have had a hand in shaping the being you are today.”

  No one could gladly or easily claim they didn’t value their parents, but somehow, the teacher’s approach seemed to have an underlying, less pleasant angle.

  “The state of the body reflects the fluctuations of the spirit—of which the chakra give us a concrete guide meter—and it has a tremendous influence over the way the inner world manifests. Therefore, the relevance of the appropriate bodily matter becomes indisputable. Noble mage families have spent generations, some dating back thousands of years, cultivating vessels most appropriate for executing high-level magical techniques. Presenting that anyone could do the same, given sufficient time and training, is not only contrary to logic and science—it is insulting. A slight against the self-sacrificing efforts of the grand wizarding families that have carried them across generations. I sincerely wish that none of you engage in or lend ear to these far-fetched self-serving fantasies. A mage must observe reality and themselves with a clear, neutral mind, from an unbiased point of view. Recognize your own position, accept it for what it is, and act according to its inherent limitations. A life’s work built on false premises and unreal aspirations will only lead to disillusionment, evil, and ruin.”

  It didn’t seem like we’d be talking much about the history of magic today.

  Guess not every class could be gold, even in Belmesion.

  To Professor Goldsinger, like aristocracy in general, the past was an instrument to boost the importance of those he deemed worthy today—which was painless to do when he was one of them.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  I couldn’t say his arguments endured closer scrutiny any better than the modernists. There weren’t any children from big wizard families I knew of in the Nines program. Most of us were lowborn rats randomly picked off the streets, but still went on to reach “ultimate” heights in our respective specializations. Talent could blossom among nobles and commoners just as well. So what else could you call it but completely random?

  Although, the training methods used in the program were far from standard. Normal schools bound by law and ethics could never produce the same results. So it wasn't easy to declare the Professor was wrong? When set on the same starting line, the descendants of nobles and older families did have many advantages over commoners. Money, literature, mentoring…Then it was a given they’d obtain better results on the average too. But what did any of that have to do with blood? Correlation didn't equal causation.

  Whatever.

  It wasn't an evil witch's role to fight for equality.

  My only wish was that the clock moved a little faster. Keeping my eyes open was a struggle. A magician’s brain was adapted to processing vast quantities of information, so when the data was drip-fed among long-winded, empty noise like this, the gray cells began to protest their inactivity. If you don’t need me, I’m going back to bed!

  Don’t go. I still need you. There are four more hours left. Don’t make me take negative points for this course too…

  Yawn. Oh my god.

  Finally, at 4 p.m., the lecture concluded. I packed away my heavily abbreviated notes and pens, my hands deliberately slow, waiting for the pool of classmates to drain out of the way. Maybe I should start picking a seat closer to the door, so I wouldn’t get stuck in traffic every time.

  To make matters worse, a few students wanted to talk to the professor and stayed behind. I could guess what they had in mind, and didn’t want to get mixed into it, but sat back. For some reason, Alice Silla also stayed behind in the auditorium, though she didn’t seem to be with the crew now approaching the stage. She maintained a generous distance, quietly waiting for her turn. Wasn't she a curious soul.

  “Professor Goldsinger?”

  The Professor turned to the gathered students with a fatherly smile. “Yes? How may I help you?”

  “Well. We think the contents of your lecture today weren’t very appropriate, sir.”

  “Oh, is that so. And you are?”

  There was a roll call before, but this professor didn’t seem interested in memorizing names.

  “Uh, my name is Dillon. Miranda Dillon.”

  “Then, do you have questions regarding the topics discussed?”

  “Sir. The academy's code of conduct states that every student should be treated as equal, regardless of background, titles, or other circumstances. But your lecture just now was basically all about how first-generation mages are worse people than the heirs of established houses. This is clearly against the terms, as well as discriminating.”

  “I see,” the Professor remarked, still that mellow look in his eyes, like speaking to a very small, silly child. “Then, Ms Dillon, do you mean to say that you somehow received a different lecture from everyone else in the room?”

  “What?”

  “Do you believe that the words you heard me speak were not the same as heard by the other students who were with you?”

  “No? That’s not what I’m talking about, I—”

  “Then, would you not say you have been treated equally, the same as all the rest, regardless of your background or other circumstances? Had I asked you to leave the lecture because your family is unimportant, that would have been a discriminatory action, and most certainly inappropriate. However, I did not do so. Rather, I expect your unfailing attendance henceforth as well.”

  Going vivid red from the neck up, Dillon raised her wavering voice,

  “With all due respect, sir, you were effectively inciting prejudice against lower class students, who don't have the same prerequisites to learn magic as the highborn do!”

  “Was I now? But were you not doing the same yourself just now, plainly labeling your fellow students as ‘lower class’? Even though that is a disapproved term. Such was not your intention, right? Is calling water wet inciting prejudice against deserts? Or do you not agree that we are what we are, given according to our measure, each of us following the course written for us by the Great Will?”

  “Professor, the division of nobles and commoners is a purely artificial, social construct! Why are you speaking as if it were some kind of cosmic law?”

  “Ms Dillon, do you mean to insinuate that the way we humans operate is in some way unnatural? That we do not belong in this reality? Or that the organization of our community was perhaps achieved by magical means?”

  “That's not—”

  “Indeed, it is untrue. Then would you not agree with me that the social roles we have established for ourselves are merely the predestined consequence to actors and operations set in motion at the beginning of time? And attempting to deny them would be tantamount to insisting our planet must spin backwards? A very unwise use of one's time and energy, I must say.”

  “You...can't be serious...”

  “Hm? It would appear you have no questions, nor are here for a discussion, but only wish me to stand and listen to your anxieties. For a mage, being so swept away by momentary emotion is very dangerous, and less than graceful. You should be mindful of the perils, Ms Dillon. Naturally, I value the opinions of my pupils and wish to be a pillar of support to each of you, but unfortunately, a prior engagement forces me to move on. If you have more to say, I recommend that you submit your thoughts in writing later, addressed to my office. My secretary will be back with you.”

  The students were left to stand, gobsmacked, as the Professor disregarded their arguments.

  But, strangely enough, though he just said he was busy, the man wouldn’t leave the hall right away.

  Instead, he looked up across the sea of seats at me.

  “Ms Ruthford.”

  I glanced up, surprised.

  Did he somehow notice my absent-mindedness during the lecture? Or was there some rule that you could keep sitting after the lecture had ended?

  No, the professor didn’t seem upset. The faint smile persisted on his aged face.

  “I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. “Shall we be on our way then?”

  “Where to?” I blurted, confused.

  I shifted my gaze to the side and met Silla’s grim, challenging stare, and suddenly the reason why she’d stayed behind hit me. The lordly smile on the professor’s face widened, as he answered my thoughtless question,

  “Why, to your duel, of course.”