The assembly hall emptied slowly, the admitted students drifting towards their designated class sections, while those rejected filed out with hushed despair. Eryndor found Finn amidst the celebratory chatter of the Class C recruits, and Finn immediately tapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face..
"Class D, huh? Still in! See, I told you! They couldn't ignore that brain of yours, Eryndor!" Funn praised him.
"Brain and stubbornness," Eryndor corrected, a small smile touching his lips. "It seems my lack of magic was a point of... discussion." He recalled the whispers he'd overheard.
Finn scoffed. "Let them talk. You're in! That's all that matters. Speaking of which, we're all being sent back to the barracks to gather our remaining things. Apparently, the proper dorms are inside the Academy walls, but they don't want us hauling everything back and forth."
Indeed, a Proctor's voice soon boomed, instructing all admitted students to return to the Outer Quarters, retrieve their belongings, and then proceed directly to their assigned dormitories within the Academy. Many of the wealthier students simply orders their servants or magical constructs to fetch their elaborate trunks, having already anticipated their admission. Eryndor, however, walked back to Barracks C with Finn, his small pack feeling even lighter now, almost buoyant with success.
The barracks were a desolate sight. Most of the rejected candidates had already gathered their meager belongings and departed, their dreams visibly crushed. The few remaining rooms stood open, emptied, leaving a deep stark of abandonment. Eryndor quickly retrieved his worn clothes, his few books, and the small, carved wooden bird his grandfather had given him years ago.
With their backpacks on their shoulders, Eryndor and Finn rejoined the stream of newly admitted students, passing back through the colossal obsidian pillars. This time, the passage felt different. It was no longer a gate to an unknown, but a threshold to a new beginning.
Their assigned dormitory was a much grander affair than the barracks. It was a multi-storied building of polished stone, far more comfortable and permanent. Their room was still modest, but cleaner, with proper wooden beds and a small window illuminating sunlight to the room.
"Proper student life begins now, Eryndor!" Finn declared, tossing his pack onto a bed. "No more communal slop for dinner, I hear the Academy kitchens are legendary. And actual baths!"
As Finn excitedly explored their new quarters, Eryndor felt a bit of longing. He wanted to share this moment, this dream which is real. He missed the familiar scent of his grandfather's herbs, the quiet wisdom in his eyes. He missed the comforting rhythm of their simple life, now a distant memory. He pulled out the small, smooth pendant his grandfather had given him, turning it over and over in his palm. He needed to tell him. He needed to see him.
The Academy allowed limited travel to students during extended breaks, but he couldn't wait for that. He had to go now. He needed to share the news, to see the pride in his grandfather's eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he made a decision. He would leave in the morning. A quick trip home, just to deliver the news, and then back before anyone was the wiser. The thought of his grandfather's reaction was enough to clam his heart.
Eryndor walked down the familiar path, the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth growing stronger with every step. The journey had been a exhausting, a grueling forced desended under the watchful glare of the sun, but the promise of his grandfather's embrace motivated him forward. He halted at the front of the small building, But something was wrong.
There was no smoke curling from the chimney. Fire didn't spill from the windows. A absolute stillness hung in the air, a silence that felt heavy and wrong. A cold dread began to coil in Eryndor stomach.
He rushed down the slope, calling out, "Grandfather? I'm home! I passed! I'm a student!" His voice sounded hollow in the oppressive quiet front yard
He flung open the door. The interior was cold, dark, and empty. A thin layer of dust covered the small table. The familiar aroma of herbs was gone, replaced by the faint, musty scent of disuse.
Panic seized him. "Grandfather!?" he cried, his voice cracking. He checked the small herb garden, the chicken coop, the tiny shed where his grandfather kept his tools. All empty.
Then, a movement from the corner of his eye. A figure emerged from the shadows of the large oak tree that stood near the house. It was his Uncle Silas his face gaunt, his shoulders slumped. Silas, who usually carried a boisterous laugh, now looked utterly bereft.
"Eryn?" Silas voice was hoarse, filled with a raw grief that struck Eryndor like a physical blow. "What are you doing back, boy? You should be at that fancy school."
"Uncle Silas? Where's Grandfather? What's happened? Why is the house empty?" Eryndor questioned in panic, grabbing his uncle's arm, fear tightening its icy grip around his heart.
Silas eyes, red-rimmed and filled with pain, met Eryndor. He swallowed hard, his gaze drifting to the silent and cold house, then to the distant, darker line of the forest.
"Eryndor... I'm so sorry, son. So very sorry. Your grandfather… he's gone."
The words hit Eryndor with the force of a physical blow. Hitting his chest as his heart pulsated hard. "Gone?, grandpa Arinthal !! Gone? What do you mean gone? Where has he gone? To the market?"
Silas slowly shook his head, tears finally spilling down his weathered cheeks. "No, Eryn. Not to the market. Not anymore. It was… a few weeks after you left. A fever. The Red Blight. It swept through the valley like a curse. Came on fast. No one could fight it. Your grandfather… he was old, Eryn. His strength… it just gave out."
Eryndor stared, processing what he just heard. The Red Blight. He'd heard the tales, a swift, merciless plague that turned skin crimson and stole breath. But it was always a distant threat, a whisper from the past. Not something that touched them.
"No," Eryndor whispered, shaking his head. "No, he was strong. He couldn't... He told me to not give up. He was waiting for me! Where were you when it came and took him, he here all alone and you didn't even come to observe my old man, " his voice filled with melancholy as he yelled at Silas who he always called uncle.
"I'm sorry, I had to sell the woods to the neighboring villages, he was not the only one that died, a few too, I'm sorry," he apologized, Silas put a heavy hand on Eryndor shoulder. "He was, son. Right to the end. He was so proud of you, going to that Academy. He spoke of you every day. But the Blight... it spares no one, Eryndor. We did what we could to make him alive, but it was too late."
His uncle's voice broke. He gently guided Eryndor away from the cold house, towards a small, quiet clearing just beyond the ancient oak. "Come, Eryndor. There's something I need to show you. He wouldn't want you to be lost."
As they walked, the dread in Silas heart solidified into a cold, crushing weight. He felt numb, disconnected. His grandfather, his anchor, his greatest supporter… gone? The victory he had just achieved felt hollow, ashes in his mouth.
They reached the clearing. In the soft, fading light, a newly dug mound of earth lay stark against the green. At its head, a simple, unadorned wooden stone, freshly carved. Eryndor eyes blurred as he read the familiar, beloved name carved in the wood:
Arinthal Thorne
A wise man, a true heart.
"Never give up, my boy." He heard his grandfather voice in his head.
Eryndor fell to his knees, the small, smooth stone from his grandfather slipping from his nerveless fingers and falling silently onto the fresh earth. The silence of the forest pressed in, broken only by the raw, ragged sob that tore from his throat. The Academy, the exams, the whispers, the triumph – all faded into insignificance. All that remained was the crushing, overwhelming grief. His anchor was gone. And he was adrift.
"Why did you leave me grandfather, " he wailed and the clouds rumbled combining together with the other clouds and started turning dark, the sky was now heavy as little droplet started descending down the clouds, and the rain started turning heavy.
"You should go in now you will catch a cold," silas warned but the boy was still kneeling and crying.
"If only I was strong like you mother and father, if only I had magic, you wouldn't have be gone like that, I will become an archmage I promise you I will not give up until I have become the strongest archmage in the country."