As I caught sight of Sinclair standing by the door of my classroom, a flutter of nervous anticipation stirred within me. The time for my magic classes had finally come, and despite my excitement, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of apprehension. The time has come.
Mr. Lethon must have sent him. I thought, checking the time on my wrist watch. It was exactly the time for my magic class. Sinclair was quite punctual.
Since I had decided to cut him some slack for not doing anything about Levina’s bullying, we have exchanged words here and there—greetings especially—but it has not been like the same. Probably, because I have been avoiding him really. I’m not sure why. I think I just didn’t want to talk to him, not that freely as before, at least not yet. However, he was here to pick me up.
I looked at Professor Bulock talking about some impossible theory of magic, and almost called him to the fact that his time was gone. But that would be falling under his radar again.
I was tired of that. I didn’t want to be in his radar again. So, I kept quiet, and stared at him as he continued his charade about some magic history. He lost me when he had passed me whilst counting the number of students in the class. Like wasn’t I a student? I hadn’t risen to the bait.
A knock sounded on the open door, and I watched in curiosity as Sinclair stepped into the class.
"Sinclair, what is the issue? Do you want to see me?"
Already making a selfish assumption? I held back a scoff.
"No, Professor Bulock. I’m here for Dora. Principal Lethon had asked me to take her to her magic class personally, for today."
A reasonable degree of murmurs wafted up from the students.
’I know right? Who has even been delivered to class personally?’
’I think Principal Lethon is being favoritic now.’
’Can you blame him though. The freak saved his daughter.’ Thɪs chapter is updated by N0veI.Fiɾe.net
’Freak or not, I wish I was in her shoes.’
’Did you notice that Raul isn’t eating out of her hands anymore?’
’Well, she insulted his mother, and got away with it. I wouldn’t be happy too.’
Well, that settles it. The news that I and Peter had visisted the Queen had done its rounds, only that a fake version had been distributed.
I sighed wearily, and stood up from my seat, before Professor Bulock could say anything.
"Goodluck girl..." Levina muttered, raising her thumb finger.
I nodded, and packed my bag up, aware that anger had replaced the apprehension that my magic classes has caused.
"I heard from my classmates that you will be joining the beauty contest..." Sinclair dropped the statement there, and for a second I wanted to leave it hanging there.
I wasn’t in a mood for a conversation. This was bad timing. What had the Queen told her people? What rumour was she spreading?
"Levina put my name in the beauty hat. So, I have no choice but to contest."
Sinclair nodded, and we relapsed into silence again. The silence was so awkward, that when we came to a halt in front of a classroom which I supposed was the magic classroom for my level this week, we both let out a sigh of relief. The coincidence was so funny that we laughed right at the same time.
I bobbled my head. "Very weird."
Sinclair shifted on his feet, and then scratched the base of his neck.
"Well, have a nice time." He finally dwelled on, before turning around and walking down the hallway without another word.
As I entered the classroom, I couldn’t help but notice the curious glances of the other students, their eyes following my every move with rapt attention.
To my surprise, there were more than thirty people in the class—new students, perhaps, drawn to the allure of magic and the promise of unlocking its secrets.
The teacher pointed me to a vacant seat. I took a deep breath and settled in, my heart pounding with excitement.
The male teacher launched into a discussion about symbols and their significance, delving into topics that I had already familiarized myself with through my secret studies.
Despite my initial nerves, I found myself quickly becoming engrossed in the lesson, my mind racing to keep up with the teacher’s explanations. Symbols were the key to unlocking the mysteries of magic, I realized—a language of their own that held the power to shape reality itself.
As the lesson progressed, I felt a sense of familiarity wash over me, a reminder of the countless hours I had spent poring over ancient tomes and practicing spells in secret. Though the material was not new to me, there was still much to learn, and I listened intently, eager to absorb every bit of knowledge that the teacher had to offer.
As I looked around the classroom at my fellow students, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie—a shared journey into the unknown, united by our thirst for knowledge and our desire to master the arcane arts.
However, my heart pounded erratically in my chest an hour later, when the teacher, Mr Robert, brought out his test tools, and started calling out the students to try lighting a fire.
Sweat eroded my palms as I watched the others step up to the table, one by one, attempting to summon forth the flames. Each failed attempt only heightened my nerves, tightening the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
Finally, Mr. Robert turned to me, a knowing look in his eyes. "Dora," he said softly, "it’s your turn."
With slightly trembling hands, I approached the table, my mind a whirlwind of doubt and determination. I had practiced this spell countless times, but now, with the weight of expectation bearing down upon me, I feared I would falter.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and focused on the flickering ember of magic within her.
"Ignis," I whispered, willing the flames to obey my command.
But to my dismay, nothing happened. The fabric of cloth acting as a sample, remained untouched, mocking me with its stubborn refusal to ignite.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I glanced around the room, feeling the weight of disappointment bearing down upon me.
My colleagues had expected me to ace this. I didn’t blame them. The outburst of magic from that storeroom had been epic.
Nevertheless, Mr Robert placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It’s alright, Dora," he said gently. "Try again."
Summoning every ounce of courage I possessed, I stepped forward once more. This time, I allowed myself to fully embrace the power coursing through my veins, feeling it surge forth like a raging inferno.
"Ignis!" I cried out, my voice trembling with determination.
And then, in a burst of brilliance, the fabric erupted into flames, dancing with a fierce intensity that illuminated the room. My heart swelled with pride as I watched the fire consume the fabric, and then the next paper, leaving nothing but a smoldering heap in its wake.
But my triumph was short-lived as the flames, fueled by an untamed power, began to spread.