Chapter 6: The Academy Celebration

Lord Archmage Kalleas

The reception in the Great Hall of the Guild of Mages had been timed to coincide with a momentous date: the five-thousandth anniversary of the founding of the Academy. The anniversary, celebrated on a grand scale, had gathered beneath the vaulted ceilings of the kingdom’s oldest magical institution everyone who mattered in the world of magic—and many of those who merely wished they did.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the marble floors in soft golden light. In the corners, fountains of sparkling wine fizzed. Waiters in white gloves glided among the guests with trays full of oysters and tiny tartlets with black caviar. The air carried the scent of wax, expensive perfume, and a faint metallic tang of magic—somewhere in a corner of the hall, a young illusionist entertained the public by releasing flocks of glowing butterflies from his fingers.

Ladies in silk gowns embroidered with magical threads chattered about the latest imperial fashions. Gentlemen in tailcoats with silver embroidery discussed stock market quotes and new spells with equal degrees of feigned importance. Someone was boasting about a recently acquired artifact, someone was complaining about the rising price of dragon scales, someone was recounting the latest court scandal in a whisper.

The celebration was a great success. The orchestra played waltzes. Fireworks of pure flame shot up toward the ceiling, scattering into scarlet and gold sparks. Guests laughed, clinked glasses, flirted, made plans for the future, and forgot their troubles.

And yet a barely perceptible sense of falseness hung in the air.

They laughed too loudly. They clinked their glasses too enthusiastically. Everyone tried too hard to avoid talking about what had happened six months ago.

Archmage Kalleas stood by the central window, gripping a glass of aged elven wine in whitened fingers, and struggled with all his might to keep a mask of benevolent calm on his face.

He was over two hundred, but magic kept him lean and smooth, like a polished boot. His silvery beard was neatly trimmed, his dark-blue mantle with gold embroidery a symbol of his status. Only his eyes—narrow and tenacious—betrayed the weary wariness of a man who had swum among sharks for too long and had grown used to taking hits.

He watched the guests and for the hundredth time ran through the possibilities.

Who benefited from this?

The theft of the folios, which had occurred six months ago, was not merely audacious—it was perfect. Not a single lead. Not a single witness. Not one alarm triggered. One might have thought the books had simply evaporated—or that they had been taken by someone the protective spells did not perceive as a threat.

The churchmen had been told about four diaries of archmages from past centuries. That was the version fed to the newspapers. The public swallowed it without blinking. But Kalleas knew the truth.

Along with the diaries, two more folios had disappeared. Ones whose existence was known to only five people in the entire world. Ones that described methods for unlocking magical potential, banned five thousand years ago—practically at the dawn of the Academy’s founding.

Dangerous methods. Not because they contained dark or cursed magic. But because they were too effective. Too direct. They taught a mage to unlock their potential in months rather than decades, bypassing long years of discipline, self-restraint, and character formation.

Any fool with a spark could, by following these instructions, achieve in a year what took an ordinary mage half a lifetime. And in five years—either become a genius or destroy himself. Because magic does not forgive recklessness.

It is not magic that drives one mad; magic is only a tool. Madness comes when a person of immense potential but no psychological core gains power before learning responsibility. Quick results without a long school of discipline, awareness of consequences, and the setting of boundaries—that is what breaks a personality.

The archmages of old hid these books not out of greed or fear of competition. But because they had seen what happened to those who took the easy path. Talented, powerful, brilliant mages turned into madmen possessed by delusions of grandeur, destroying themselves and everything around them. And if such a mage survived, he usually became a tyrant.

Kalleas had seen it with his own eyes. Once. Back in his youth. A young necromancer who honestly tried to follow his own path. But a necromancer. That alone was enough for the others.