There was a commotion downstairs, and Victor tried his best to make out what was being said, but the walls of the old house were too thick to hear anything. He couldn’t believe that, after all that they had told him, he was told to stay upstairs, hidden away while the adults talked about the important things. 

It wasn’t fair in the slightest. 

He wouldn’t accept it. For too long, his parents left him to wander in the dark, lost in his thoughts, and now his father would not even permit him to hear what important meeting he had to hold concerning his health. Immediately, he went to his desk and chair, whereupon lay a fresh shirt and trousers for him, and he hurriedly dressed himself, stewing over his thoughts of disdain towards being treated like a child, and surmised that he truly did not like being treated like a child. He turned off the light leaving his room. 

Carefully, he crept downstairs, not wanting to alert everyone downstairs, but the rickety, wooden stairs of the country manor creaked and protested underfoot. Voices of his parents and the woman became clearer, but he still could not make out what they were saying. But the words gift and study echoed out of the ajar door to his father’s study, which was in a room next to the stairs. He moved closer to the door so he could hear more easily and, as he did, a floorboard whined under his foot. He stopped dead, eyes flashing down and then to the door again. 

Silence. 

The door suddenly swung open, and he came face to face with the mysterious woman in question. Her face was young but stern, nose sharp, and small, dark almond eyes to match her straight coal-black hair that fell behind her. 

“I told you to stay upstairs,” his father scowled at him from the couch with a furious red face. Next to his father sat his mother, returning her son’s gaze with watery eyes. 

This time Victor did not listen and was ready to do something drastic to get his way. As his fist clenched and the familiar darkness loomed over him, the door opened wider. 

“It’s alright,” she told them in an eloquent yet stern tone. “He can join us. It’s about time we all talked.” She motioned him to come into the study. Victor passed the door, unveiling Edward sitting there too, who acknowledged Victor’s presence with a warm, sorrowful smile. “Come take a seat,” said the woman, hand motioning him inside to the vacant stool. 

He rarely got to see inside his father’s study. Surrounded wall to wall with books, and lined with a rug of some oriental description, the room had many curious oddities scattered around the place. It smelled of books, oak smoke, and brandy. While Edward sat in one armchair, the woman returned to the other where she had been, and his mother moved to a stool beside them. His father trundled along to the mantelpiece and stared solemnly into the open fire, pipe fuming in hand. He dared not look at his son. 

The woman stared at Victor solemnly for a while, silently, with raised eyebrows before her attention turned to words. “Victor, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” said the woman finally, at long last breaking the silence between them all. “I am Amber Wolflight, Headmistress of the Darklight Academy on Etane.” 

“I’ve never heard of Etane,” Victor said. 

“Quite.” The Professor’s tone was serious and firm, her speech well-rehearsed. “It’s a country on Eden, you see.”

“Eden?” Victor was confused. “Like in the Bible?” The Professor smirked out of the corner of her mouth. 

“If you like, yes. You see, Victor, Darklight focuses on training young warlocks and sorcerers who possess certain skills and gifts to protect themselves, those around them, and, perhaps, contribute some good to the world.” Victor found this to be an absurd notion. 

These people are deluded, he thought. Magic simply was not real! But he remained willingly silent, and the professor continued. 

“We recognise a certain special skill within you, Victor. You possess something extremely unusual. You as many others are born with the innate ability to manipulate matter at an atomic level, and the Seith magic comes from the energies found in the Yggdrasil (eeg-drah-sil) roots inside each atom. Not only that, but you didn’t merge with the Veil at birth.” 

Yggdrasil? Sounds like a word found in Norse mythology. But didn’t merge with the Veil? He had heard this word so many times before and only partly understood it. His father was less sensitive about phrasing it. He called it a disease. Perhaps that was righter than hers was. Either way, it was so difficult for him to accept. They were all being ridiculous, and he had simply had a breakdown from exhaustion and stress. 

“I’m just ill,” he told her. “This has nothing to do with magic.” He could see Edward giving a warm smile, as if finding his youthful arrogance charming and expected. “But I’m feeling fine now.” 

“It has everything to do with magic,” Wolflight asserted. “I have come to invite you to join Darklight Academy so that you can properly train and learn to control and master your skills and become a trained warlock like your father and your uncle, and of course, to learn how to control that Veil inside of you.” As she spoke, Edward and his parents all watched him closely, faces stern, but his mother could not help but bite her lower lip as she always did when she was nervous. The professor looked at Victor’s parents, who struggled to find a conclusion. 

A long silence prevailed until at long last his mother spoke up. “We leave this decision up to you. Know we will support you no matter what.” She looked at his father for some sign of support and confirmation, silently hoping he would for once show some sensitivity to the situation. With a long grimace on his face, “We will,” his father said at last, nodding. 

Victor was silent. 

He found this almost too much to bear. 

Edward stood from the armchair and spoke to the headmistress. “Perhaps we can allow the young master some time to consider this decision with his mother and father. Headmistress Wolflight, would you care to accompany me in the gardens?” Face serious and cold, she obliged with a silent nod, standing without another word. 

The study was numbingly still. 

All that could be heard was the slight crackle of embers of the fireplace, and the muted tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock that stood beyond the now-closed door that led out into the hallway. Sitting on his stool, Victor did not look at his parents. His father, in turn, did not look at him. Even his mother looked beyond him into the carpet at his feet, unsure of what to say. All the weight of choice had fallen on him, and it pulled at his shoulders until they slumped and shrunk. 

His mind raced, searching for a conclusion, and yet all that fell upon his mind were the words It’s not real repeatedly. He shook his head. 

“Victor,” his mother said, hoping to soothe him. “This choice is entirely yours, but we believe this would be for the best. The Academy could teach you to control this ... thing. I don’t understand it. But I know it would be for the best.” A silence fell again, until she finally added, “But it’s entirely your choice.” 

“This is not happening,” he whispered. His voice was shaken, but sure. “I don’t believe in any of this. I can’t. This has to be a horrible dream, or you’re all playing another terrible joke on me.” He soaked his denial in impatience, frustration, and fear, but he held a stern conviction in his tone. 

His parents said nothing, merely exchanging a glance with one another. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he told them as he strode out into the hall to the open back door. Wishing he’d never need to return.