Liam’s days at the academy, without fail, went roughly as follows:

At sunrise, he would wake up and get himself ready for the day. This included washing, grooming, dressing, and reviewing notes over his provided breakfast of fruit and bread. The meal would be delivered by Luna, the caretaker assigned to his floor, and his clothes were provided by the Collective as well. His uniform reflected his course of study, so he always wore formal silk clothing in a fashionable cut and colored in deep greens and blacks. 

Before he left his room, he made sure to slip the Signatory Mark around his neck and pull on his focus–a deep emerald stone set in a gold band with leaf-shaped filigree.

After reviewing notes, he would idle his way down onto the campus proper and wait until the first bell. He would pass the time by walking the grounds, chatting with students and vendors on the concourse, or buying himself coffee or tea and waiting in silent thought. 

The coffee especially–being brought in via ship from some distant land–was a luxury, but his stipend was more than enough for him to indulge a few times a week without worry. It wasn’t like he was spending the money on anything else. He would occasionally catch other students eyeing him with jealousy or whispering to their friends as they passed, but he paid them no mind. He was content to sit and watch the sky until it came time to move on.

When that time came, his first class of the day was Courtly Manners and Representation. It was a necessary yet dull exercise required of all promising young mages in his track. The precursor to this class, Political History and Noble Lineages of the Alliance, had been where he had met his small group of friends.

He was normally the first student to enter the room for this class, but he never made a concerted effort to do so. He would usually just wander over and find himself in his seat just before the bell rang. He would then be treated to the varied and animated personalities of his fellow students as they made their way in. 

Cath, Jess, and Bernard were all in this class as well. They sat clustered together with Liam, passing notes and otherwise distracting themselves as the teacher attempted to impress upon thirty young minds the importance of the proper greeting to a baronet or the correct way to hold a teacup. This class always seemed longer than it really was and invariably left them antsy as they hurried away with the sound of the second bell. 

The time between bells was two hours, so they exited out into the courtyard with the sun directly overhead. Students scurried from place to place in packs as they chatted on their way to lunch. Liam usually just tagged along with his friends to wherever they decided to eat that day.

That wasn’t to say that he was a passive participant in his relationships with the three more conventionally sociable students. He enjoyed their company greatly and spoke whenever he thought of something to say, but his mind worked differently to theirs. Cath, Jess, and Bernard each understood this and didn’t try to force him into every little conversation. It was a respectful and kind sort of friendship that didn’t seek to change him to fit their needs. He loved them all the more for that.

They would eat lunch at some local pub or restaurant, chat about the recent developments in their classes or around the Collective, then go their separate ways. Liam would then wander towards a tower on the North side of the campus to attend his next course.

This course, unlike the training in etiquette, greatly interested Liam. It was another lecture, but this one was aimed at understanding his magic attribute. He had a habit of showing up earlier to this class than most and would always find a seat near the front of the room, produce a stack of paper, ink, and a pen from his bag, and wait eagerly for the lecture to begin.

Unlike other classes, this one taught him things he actually wanted to know. What do plants need to grow? Why are some species of flower able to grow in seemingly inhospitable lands? What aspects of the plant should he focus on to produce different results? These questions and more were discussed at great length by an admittedly verbose elderly woman who dragged out her words to the point of almost becoming white noise. Still, Liam hung on her every syllable and asked frequent questions. 

The class was allowed a short break at fourth bell, then they transitioned into practical applications. They moved to the greenhouse and the nine students were coached through practice exercises by the instructor and her two aides. This group was rather small for the academy, but that was to be expected for an attribute as nuanced as nature. Not many young mages had an affinity for it, so most who came here quickly gave up the thought in favor of hurling balls of fire or some other nonsense.

But Liam loved his magic. He could bloom flowers, twist vines, or bend trees to his will with only a thought. How beautiful. How serene. He treasured the practical portion of this course not for the perceived power it honed inside him but for the daily opportunity to experiment with new flora. Two hours of this could never be enough, and that was always the case when the fifth bell rang and sent the students all on their way.

After the fifth bell came dinner, which he normally just picked up from the mess hall. He would sit and eat and possibly chat with his friends if they opted for the mess hall over the other options. By the time he finished up, the sun would usually be nearing the horizon. 

The last part of his day was the most malleable. Some days he would go to the library and read about something that caught his attention in class, or maybe he would go out for a walk. He would occasionally be dragged out into some manner of shenanigan by Cath, or Jess or Bernard would ask for his help with some kind of studying or training. Sometimes they would get together for a game, or go out to see a show, or do any number of other things. It all depended on what there was to do on a given day; the academy town–Bridge, it was named–was constantly changing as caravans came and went. 

Eventually Liam would find himself back in his quarters, tired but not worn out. He would organize his notes, lay down, and idly twist wire until sleep overtook him. 

This was how most days went for Liam, but there were, as with all things, occasional deviations.

What kind of life would he be leading if there was never any excitement?

…

There exists many different forms of excitement. Despite the varied forms it can take, however, excitement can for the most part be sorted out into three major categories. There is the planned kind, the immediate kind, and the drawn-out kind. 

The planned kind, wherein one goes out in search of excitement via some known external force, can largely be regarded as the most positive. Examples of this include parties, plays, and other evening plans. 

The immediate kind is of the sort that arrives suddenly, thrashing about and laying waste to what was once a perfectly normal situation. This is embodied by well-timed jokes, important announcements, and being attacked on the road. This kind has a fairly decent balance of positive versus negative, but the negatives tend to be remembered more vividly. Everyone knows the feeling of forgetting the punchline to a great joke heard the other day but only the truly misfortune have the ability to forget the feeling of a broken jaw received from bandits on the way to market in the next town over.

The drawn-out kind is a more nuanced thing. It is something that encompasses many good and bad things within itself. Examples include the discovery that you are expecting a child, the sealing of a last will and testament, and the declaration of war. None of these things come with immediately dramatic repercussions, but they represent the precursor to some large excitement in the future. The birth of a child, an inheritance dispute, and the pounding of war drums as soldiers march to glory and death. It is obvious from the beginning what kind of impact these things will have, but time must pass before the promise is delivered upon.

And yet there is another kind as well. No, that’s not quite right. There is a subset of the drawn-out kind that can be separated out into a sort of cousin classification. While the planned and immediate kinds are inherently visible, the drawn-out kind can be hidden as well.

The hidden kind is something tricky. It’s tricky not because the cause and effect is hard to trace but because many of the world’s secrets remain hidden despite efforts to uncover them. The hidden kind can encompass a worm-eaten book waiting on a shelf to be opened, a secret cave hidden in the forest, or any number of other hidden things left buried for future generations to be excited by. These things lay in wait to be found and gradually change the course of lives.

There are mundane examples of the hidden kind of excitement as well. A coin thoughtlessly tossed to an urchin, a baker moving into town, or even something as benign as a handshake. The impacts of these things are not obvious, of course, but they will manifest one day. That coin could be what keeps that child alive long enough to find their destiny, that baker settling down could lead to the opening of a new favorite sweets shop, and that handshake could lead to a betrayal from those thought to be most trustworthy.

All that is to say that a life can be planned, but the world will throw things at that life one after the next until that plan likely becomes moot. A sudden explosion of excitement, the long wait for what is known to be on the horizon, and the hidden scheming of fate can all equally intrude on even the best-laid plans. 

This long and meandering journey of thoughts slowly wove its way through Liam’s mind as he sat watching the early morning passersby. Those active at this time largely represented the laborers, those saddled with duties that left them no choice but to rise with the sun. They tended horses, opened shops, and otherwise saw to their assigned tasks. 

A cup of coffee warmed Liam’s hands as the sun rose and light began to just barely peak past the rooftops of Bridge. He had slept fitfully the previous night, and now with these thoughts occupying his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if his subconscious was trying to warn him of something. 

He pondered that thought for some time, and half an hour after the sun had finally risen in earnest he was interrupted by a page sent from the academy. The young boy, out of breath from seemingly running around in search of his quarry, handed Liam a sealed letter, bowed, and ran off back toward the looming spires behind the walls of the Collective. 

Liam turned the letter over in his hands and took in the rich paper and crisp wax seal. The insignia pressed into the wax was a simple design of two left hands clasped together. It represented trust, partnership, and the alliance upon which the Collective was founded. This letter had come from a member of the council, and unsealing the letter proved that to be true.

It read:

Adept Liam,

I would request your presence at your earliest convenience this morning within Union Hall, my offices to be exact. Recent events have brought about quite a few changes in policy, and I wish to discuss this with you before the new policies take effect.

Your Friend,

Councilor Aelfwynn

P.S. I have ordered your next spool of wire to be withheld until you come see me.

A shiver went down his spine as he read the sender’s name. Of all the people, of all the councilors, why her? 

Suddenly wishing he had Cath’s fire so he could burn the letter, Liam downed the rest of his coffee and stood from his seat at a bench near the town square. Brushing himself off, he steeled himself and began the painfully short walk to the councilor's office.