Lucien pressed his back against the cool stone of the wall right next to the principal's office, just beneath the etched sigil of the illusionist's eye, a marker of the unknown person who supposedly was the first mage to ever cast an illusion, and strained to hear.
He couldn't make out every word, not through thick doors, but as he edged near a narrow vent carved above an old torch sconce, the voices filtered through more clearly.
"…I understand this may be sudden," Dread Mage Vellichor was saying. His voice was low and deliberate. "I've never considered teaching in an official capacity before. But recently, I found myself fancying the idea more and more."
Principal Py Promio let out a breathy chuckle. "Sudden? Vellichor, if you asked to tear down the west wing and build your own tower, I'd hand you the keys myself. If you told me you wanted to teach squirrels elemental arcane theory, I'd approve the course tomorrow."
"I'm flattered," Vellichor replied dryly.
"You are a living legend. One of a handful living who've walked the Endless Folds and returned with your mind intact. Frankly, the council will be thrilled that you've expressed interest in a post. If you're truly offering your talents, any department will make room. Name your field."
There was a pause.
"I'd like to observe a bit first, get used to the grounds," Vellichor said. "The college has changed. I want to see the shape of things before I decide where I fit. Maybe meet the council. But I'm not above lecturing. As often as you want."
"Even once a year would be a gift," Promio replied, and Lucien could practically hear the man smiling through the stone walls.
"Oh," Vell added, "the girl with me, Sonder, may sit in on any classes I teach."
"Certainly. Is she your apprentice?"
"Something like that. She's my daughter."
Lucien's eyes widened.
A daughter? The Dread Mage has a daughter?
He barely noticed the rest of the conversation, just polite formalities and the promise of a more official meeting to follow. The principal sounded positively euphoric. Vellichor was joining the faculty, even if just in part.
Lucien's pulse quickened.
He stepped back from the wall, adjusting his robes and composing himself, as if the entire conversation had been personally addressed to him.
This… was valuable.
He knew something none of the others did.
Not the clique of red-robed conjurers in his class. Not the smirking enchantresses from the mirrored tower. Certainly not Boffety Levent, who lorded over their peer circle with secondhand gossip and embellished footnotes.
Lucien had the real thing.
The Dread Mage was going to teach at Magnus Hall, and he knew before anyone else.
He could already imagine the way he'd let it slip, with a carefully restrained tone of casual authority:
"Oh, you didn't hear? I spoke with him earlier. Yes, Vellichor. Quite insightful. He mentioned something about taking up a position here. Naturally, he wanted to get a sense of the students first…"
Lucien's smile crept back.
He turned from the hallway and strolled off, robes swaying just so. His scrollwork could wait another few hours.
There were far more important things than studying today.
There was social positioning.
And Lucien Brunet, senior student of Magnus Hall, was going to milk every whisper of it.