The corridor back to the Duke's office was considerably more crowded than it had been earlier.

  Students filled the hallways in clusters, some heading to their next classes, others lingering in conversation. The academy had that particular energy of late afternoon—the day winding down but not quite finished, everyone caught in that liminal space between obligation and freedom.

  Sael had changed Eirwyn's appearance before they'd left the headmaster's office. A simple transmutation, making the staff look like nothing more than a plain wooden walking stick. Unremarkable and forgettable. The last thing he needed was to parade a powerful artifact through a school full of impressionable young mages.

  Sadly, they still attracted attention.

  It started subtly. A few glances in their direction, double-takes from students who recognized Orion. Then more direct stares as people noticed the older man walking beside him.

  Orion had mentioned, back in the office, that he'd asked Ilsa to accompany him with her invisibility cloak when he'd first come to meet Sael. To avoid exactly this: walking through the academy halls, being seen, having to face former classmates and their questions.

  Sael got it. Easier to just slip past unnoticed than deal with all the awkward conversations and pitying looks.

  But the boy needed to do this. Say his goodbyes properly. Face these people one more time before moving on to something new. You couldn't really leave a place behind if you were still sneaking around it.

  So when Orion started tensing up as students began to notice them, Sael just kept walking. Steady pace. The boy could handle this.

  "Orion!"

  A girl with copper-colored hair pulled back in a braid waved from across the hall. She had paint stains on her fingers and what looked like charcoal smudged on her sleeve. Two other students flanked her: a tall boy with dark skin and close-cropped hair, and a shorter, stockier youth with spectacles that kept sliding down his nose.

  They crossed the corridor quickly, weaving between other students and nodded politely to Sael first, murmuring quiet greetings of "Sir" before focusing on Orion.

  "Orion! It's been ages!" The girl's smile was bright. "How've you been? What are you doing here?"

  "I've been—I'm good, yeah," Orion said, his grip shifting slightly on the disguised staff. "Just... visiting."

  "Wait, are you—" The stocky boy with spectacles pushed them up his nose, eyes lighting up with hope. "Are you back? Did they let you back in?"

  Orion's expression flickered. "No, no, I'm not—I'm still working at my uncle's bakery. Well, I was..."

  "Oh." The disappointment was clear on the spectacled boy's face. "That's... I mean, the bakery's great, but..."

  "We miss having you around," the copper-haired girl said. "It's not the same in Advanced Theory without you."

  The tall boy was looking at Sael, clearly trying to figure out who he was. "Orion," he said quietly, "who...?"

  The copper-haired girl leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a whisper directed at Orion. "Is he a relative? A family friend?"

  Orion glanced at Sael, uncertain. Sael gave him a small nod.

  "This is..." Orion's voice was quiet at first, then grew steadier. "This is my master."

  There was a bit of silence.

  The three students stared at Orion, then at Sael, then back at Orion.

  "Your... master?" the spectacled boy repeated slowly, like he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

  "As in, like, an actual master-apprentice arrangement?" the tall boy asked, his voice rising slightly.

  The copper-haired girl's eyes went very wide. "You—you have a master? An actual master?"

  More students had gathered now, drawn by the tone of the conversation. The whispers spread quickly through the cluster.

  "Did he just say master?"

  "Orion has a master?"

  "An apprenticeship? A real one?"

  The spectacled boy was staring at Sael now with open fascination. "Sir, are you... are you a master mage?"

  Before Sael could answer, the tall boy straightened suddenly. "Wait. Wait, I saw you with the Duke. And Headmaster Andor was treating you like..." His eyes widened.

  The spectacled boy was staring at Sael now with open fascination, clearly wanting to ask but not quite daring to. He looked back at Orion instead. "How did you... I mean, when did this happen?"

  "Does your family have connections?" the tall boy added. "I mean, no offense, but getting a master like that... that's what royalty does. Or people with serious money."

  A girl from the growing crowd leaned in. "My cousin's family tried to arrange an apprenticeship with a master for years. They're nobility and they still couldn't manage it."

  "The academy professors won't even do it," someone else added. "Most of them aren't qualified for that kind of prestige anyway."

  "You have to be someone really important to even be considered," the spectacled boy said, pushing his glasses up nervously. "Like, genuinely famous. Accomplished. Not just good at magic, but known for it."

  The copper-haired girl was looking at Orion with new eyes. "This is... Orion, this is incredible. Do you know how rare this is?"

  "Rarer than getting into the academy," the tall boy said. "Way rarer."

  More students were gathering, their voices overlapping:

  "Who would've thought—"

  "After everything that happened—"

  "He's going to study directly under a master—"

  "My parents spent a fortune just trying to get me a recommendation letter for the academy, and he gets an actual master—"

  One of the newcomers, a girl with dark hair tied in a high ponytail, bowed slightly toward Sael. "Sir, it's an honor."

  Another student followed suit, bowing. Then another.

  Sael raised a hand gently, his expression polite but firm. "Please, there's no need for that."

  But more students were arriving, drawn by the commotion. More bows. More whispers. The crowd was growing, and with it, the formality.

  "Sir, forgive me, but—"

  "Please, really," Sael said again, a bit more insistently. "That's not necessary."

  But they kept coming. Kept bowing. The hallway was filling up.

  Orion stood there, his grip tight on the disguised staff, his expression complex. His shoulders had straightened slightly. His chin had lifted just a fraction. After months of being the one who'd failed, who'd been expelled, and worked in a bakery while his former classmates continued their studies... this clearly mattered.

  Sael felt a quiet satisfaction watching it.

  But... the crowd was still growing. More bows. More students trying to get closer. Someone jostled against Sael's shoulder. Another stepped on his foot.

  Their reaction didn't surprise Sael, exactly.

  The academy system had become the dominant method of magical education for good reason. It was efficient, standardized, accessible to those with means or talent. Hundreds of students could be taught simultaneously, knowledge codified into curricula and textbooks, advancement measured by examinations and certifications.

  But the old way—master to apprentice—still carried weight.

  It was the only method available in Sael's time, and while he understood why institutions had largely replaced it, the traditional approach had benefits that couldn't be replicated in a classroom. A master focused on a single student, or perhaps a handful at most. You didn't just teach them spells and theory; you passed on your entire approach to magic, your philosophy, your hard-won insights. The relationship was personal and deep. You shaped not just their technique but their understanding of what it meant to be a mage.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  And there was lineage to consider.

  An apprentice became their master's spiritual successor. When someone asked who taught you, they weren't just asking about education—they were asking about your magical heritage. Who you learned from, who they learned from, the chain extending back through generations. It established legitimacy, a direct connection to the source of knowledge.

  Sael's own students had become legendary not just because of their accomplishments, but because they carried his teachings forward, adapted them, built upon them. Their students did the same. The chain continued, each link adding to the tradition while maintaining the core.

  That's what these students were recognizing in Orion now. Not just that he'd found someone to teach him, but that he'd been accepted into a lineage. That he would carry forward whatever Sael taught him, becoming part of that unbroken chain of transmission.

  No wonder they were staring.

  But... this was far too many people. Too close and loud for comfort.

  Sael turned to Orion.

  "Take your time to say goodbye," he said quietly. "You'll find me in the Duke's office when you're ready."

  The relief was immediate. Space. He needed space.

  But Orion needed this. He needed to be here, facing these people, having something good to tell them for once.

  "Yes, Master Sael," Orion said, his voice clear.

  The murmurs intensified immediately.

  "Sael?"

  "Wait, did he say Sael?"

  "Is there any famous mage named Sael right now? "

  "I don't know, I think the only famous mage named Sael is the Archmage, but he's dead, right? "

  "That can't be—"

  "I saw him earlier with the Duke—"

  "Orion! Who's this?!"

  But Sael was already turning and walking. He nodded politely to the students who quickly stepped aside to let him pass, some of them bowing again despite his earlier request.

  Their voices faded as Sael put distance between himself and the crowd. His breathing came easier with each step. The noise became background hum.

  He could still hear them, faintly, as he turned the corner, and a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. The enthusiasm was endearing enough. From a distance, anyway.

  Sael continued toward the Duke's office, enjoying the quiet corridor.

  ***

  Sael took the main path, fully visible this time. After the awkwardness of last time, he'd decided the polite thing was to just be seen like a normal person. When he reached the Duke's office door, he raised his hand, considered for a moment, then knocked exactly three times.

  The door immediately opened.

  A woman stood there, someone Sael didn't recognize. She was perhaps in her mid-forties, with dark hair pulled back in an immaculate bun and sharp, intelligent eyes. She wore a formal dark dress with a high collar and silver buttons, perhaps a member of the estate's staff? Seemed like it.

  "Hello," Sael said.

  She bowed immediately, deeper than necessary. "Master Sael. Please, come in."

  "Thank you."

  Sael stepped past her into the office.

  The room was more crowded than before. Richter sat behind his desk, papers spread before him. Koleen stood near the window, arms crossed. Ilsa was perched on the arm of one of the chairs. Another person Sael didn't recognize—a younger man in formal academy robes, probably an administrator—stood near the bookshelf. Standing somewhat awkwardly near the door was a man in an apron with flour stains on his clothes and hands: Orion's uncle, Sael supposed.

  And there, in one of the comfortable chairs near the fireplace, sat little Margaret.

  She looked up when he entered, and her face lit up.

  Sael smiled.

  She started to rise, clearly intending to walk over to him, but Sael crossed the room quickly, not wanting her to exert herself. He knelt down beside her chair as she reached for him.

  Margaret wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

  "Richter told me about the mines," she said quietly against his shoulder. "About what you found there. The Corruption."

  Sael returned the embrace gently. "He did?"

  "He said you went down there yourself. That you saw it directly." She pulled back slightly to look at him, her expression serious. "How did you feel?"

  Sael laughed; a soft, slightly rueful sound. "Well, not quite good, considering the implications. But hopefully the problem will be solved soon. We're working on it."

  "Ah." His smile widened, and he reached into his inventory.

  The moment the small paper bag appeared in his hand, Margaret's eyes went wide.

  She gasped softly. "Are those..."

  "Your favorites," Sael said. Then he hesitated, his smile faltering just slightly. "Well, it's been centuries since, so maybe they're no longer your favorites? I... I thought you'd like them. A very kind man made them for me, as a special order." Sael stopped himself, realizing he was rambling. "I hope they're still something you enjoy."

  Margaret extended her hand, a simple gesture: Can I have them?

  Sael placed the bag carefully in her palm.

  She opened one of the paper cones, selected a single candied peanut, and popped it into her mouth.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  For a long moment, she was completely still, her expression distant and peaceful, as if she'd been transported somewhere else entirely. The room fell quiet, everyone watching.

  When she opened her eyes again, they were bright. "They're even better than I remember."

  "So you like them?" Sael asked.

  He needed to know she actually liked them, not just that she was being polite or trying to please him. The distinction mattered.

  Margaret laughed. "I love them."

  Sael's smile returned in full force. He handed her the rest of the bag.

  Margaret held the paper bag like a precious treasure, carefully selecting candied peanuts one by one and placing them on a small plate that the woman who'd opened the door—whose name Sael still didn't know—had quickly procured for her.

  "Ilsa dear," Margaret said. "Come here. These need to be distributed among everyone present. They're a gift from Grandpa Sael, so no one is allowed to refuse."

  She said that last part while looking directly at Richter.

  Ilsa approached and took the plate with a warm smile. "Of course, Grandma."

  "One for your father," Margaret instructed. "One for Koleen. One for your brother..."

  She continued down the list, naming each person in the room as Ilsa carried the plate around with practiced grace.

  Koleen was the first to receive his, accepting it with a gracious nod. "Much appreciated, Archmage."

  The young man in academy robes—someone Sael didn't recognize yet—took his with both hands and a respectful bow. "Thank you, sir."

  The man in the apron—Orion's uncle, presumably—accepted his with visible delight, turning the candied peanut over in his flour-dusted fingers before popping it into his mouth. His eyes lit up immediately. "Oh, that's good."

  Sael fought not to smile in satisfaction at the reaction.

  When Ilsa reached her father, she offered him the plate with a knowing smile.

  Richter looked at Margaret with mild exasperation. "You really are going to make me eat this, aren't you?"

  "I said no one is allowed to refuse," Margaret replied serenely. "Those were my exact words."

  "I heard them."

  "Then you understand the situation."

  Richter sighed, picked up the candy, and ate it.

  His expression shifted almost immediately—surprise, then grudging appreciation. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and then looked at Sael.

  "That is remarkably good," Richter admitted.

  "See?" Margaret said, satisfied.

  Then Richter stood, brushing imaginary crumbs from his sleeves, and walked toward the center of the room.

  "So," he said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. " If I may ask, Archmage, where is Orion?"

  Sael straightened slightly. "He's talking with his friends from the academy. I told him to take his time saying goodbye."

  There was a beat of silence.

  Ilsa's head snapped toward Sael, her eyes wide. "How?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. "I mean, how is he talking with them? We walked through those halls earlier and he was terrified of being seen. He made me bring my invisibility cloak just so we could avoid everyone."

  "He walked," Sael said simply. "Visibly. Through the main corridors."

  "He—" Ilsa stared at him. "You made him walk through the academy halls?"

  "I didn't make him do anything," Sael said mildly. "I just didn't hide him. The boy needed to face those people properly and move on cleanly."

  Ilsa opened her mouth, clearly wanting to say more, but before she could, a low chuckle cut through the room.

  Sael's attention snapped to the sound.

  The man in the apron—Orion's uncle—was smiling, his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  Richter noticed Sael's attention and stepped forward smoothly. "Ah, forgive me. I should have made introductions earlier." He gestured toward the man. "Archmage, this is Stanislas Kelstis, Orion's uncle and guardian."

  Oh.

  So it really was the uncle, and with that confirmation, came another realization. He'd been so focused on Orion, on the boy's potential and the apprenticeship and all the logistics that came with it, that he'd completely forgotten one crucial detail: He hadn't asked for the guardian's permission.

  He'd offered Orion an apprenticeship—a life-changing, incredibly prestigious apprenticeship—without even thinking to consult the person legally responsible for him.

  That was... that was incredibly rude. Potentially disrespectful. Stanislas could be offended. He could refuse. He could—

  Sael pushed the thoughts aside and walked toward Stanislas, his expression carefully composed.

  Stanislas, for his part, quickly wiped his hands on his apron and moved to meet Sael halfway, his steps quick and eager.

  They met in the middle of the room.

  Sael extended his hand. "Sir, it is an honor."

  Stanislas gripped his hand firmly, shaking it with warmth. "The honor is mine, Master Sael."

  The formality of the moment settled over them, but Sael's mind was racing.

  Should I apologize? Should I explain? Should I ask for permission retroactively? Would that make it worse?

  Before he could decide on a course of action, Stanislas spoke again, as if he'd somehow heard Sael's internal worries.

  "Richt—" Stanislas stopped himself. "His Grace told me that you would be taking my nephew as your personal apprentice?"

  Sael's mind went blank for a moment.

  "I..." Sael started, then paused, trying to find the right words. "Yes. If that's acceptable to you."

  Stanislas's face broke into a wide smile. "Acceptable? Sir, I would be honored to give my blessing. Orion is a good boy. A smart boy. He's been through a lot, and he's worked hard at the bakery without complaint, but I always knew he was meant for something more than kneading dough." His grip on Sael's hand tightened slightly, his voice growing more earnest. "If you're willing to teach him, to give him this chance, then you have my full support and gratitude."

  Sael felt a wave of relief wash over him.

  "Thank you," he said, meaning it sincerely. "I'll do everything in my power to ensure he reaches his full potential."

  Stanislas released his hand, his smile still bright. "I know you will, sir. I know you will."

  Well, Sael thought, that could have gone much worse.

  He'd managed to secure the uncle's blessing without actually lying, even if the timing was... technically backwards. The apprenticeship was official, the guardian approved, and no one seemed upset about the order of events. That did not seem quite right though, should he tell him? He should probably tell him.

  Before Sael could overthink it further, Richter's voice cut through his thoughts.

  "Archmage," Richter said. "This is Jaime, my firstborn, and Ilsa's brother."

  Sael turned.

  The young man in the academy robes stepped forward, and Sael recognized him as the person he'd noticed earlier, standing near the bookshelf. He was tall, with Richter's strong features and Ilsa's intelligent eyes.

  Jaime bowed, deep and respectful. "Master Sael, it is an honor to meet the famed Archmage in the flesh. I've read about you and your work, your contributions to magical theory and practice. To have the opportunity to meet you is..." He straightened, his expression earnest. "It's truly extraordinary."

  Sael felt a familiar warmth at the young man's sincerity. "Thank you."

  He wasn't sure what else to add. So he stopped there.

  Right on cue, Richter spoke again.

  "And finally," Richter said, gesturing toward the woman who had opened the door earlier, "this is Ororo."

  The woman stepped forward.

  "Ororo," Richter continued, "is an envoy of Cedric, King of Albyon."

  Sael's gaze sharpened as he looked at Ororo with new understanding.

  Ororo met his eyes steadily, her expression polite but unreadable, and bowed again.

  "Master Sael," she said. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

  "Hmm."

  This one was a curious hmm.

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