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TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 9 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-02-12 13:02:42 +0000 UTCChapter 9 - The Entrance Exams
The Eastern Alliance vastly underestimated the depths to which a free people would resist an oppressor, and troops of the kingdom now known to be called the Republic of Arastia fought with great zeal and fervor. They knew what fate awaited every single man, woman, and child should they become a conquered people.
With the cost in blood ever-rising as the war raged on, the leader of the Alliance, the Elven High King even offered amnesty to the Republic on the condition that they surrender their leader in chains. This was met with derision by the senate and their envoy was sent back with a message that there would be no surrender to the savage barbarians from across the seas.
So incensed by the refusal of what he thought was a reasonable offer of amnesty the High King of the Elves begged once more with the Dragon Queen for aid, offering a dragon’s egg weight in precious silvery mithril. Greed sinking its claws into her reptilian heart, she commanded that flights of dragons launch into the sky and rain death and destruction on the Republic. The world would feel once more the terror of living under the shadow of the great serpents.
Though a small nation, it was a nation of free thinkers where great strides had been made in the fields of magic. Even so, their mages who were growing fewer could not protect them all from the constant barrage from the skies. Desperate, the Republic sanctioned the use of a newly researched form of magic that combined dark and life energies in an aberration of the natural order. Necromancy, the art of raising the dead and bringing them back in a corrupted form of unlife.
- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar, circa 103 AC.
Seraphina followed her meticulously plotted routine as if her very future depended on it—which, in a certain trivial way, it did. The night before, she had taken only a light supper, determined not to burden her mind with a heavy meal. By morning, she allowed herself just a delicate tea and a few crisp biscuits, all the while poring over her notes. Somehow, in this new world she had found herself in, every fact she had crammed into her head seemed easier to recall. She doubted even a tenth of it would linger in her memory beyond today, but that hardly mattered. Seraphina only needed it for this one test.
The highborn Seraphina de Sariens possessed a singular talent that soared above all others: an almost unbreakable focus. Every stray worry, every nagging doubt, every plan for tomorrow or the far-off future—she locked them away in a hidden corner of her mind, banishing distraction until all that remained was the daunting prospect ahead. The Academy entrance exam loomed like an impregnable fortress in her path.
For a duke’s daughter, avoiding the test altogether would have been a matter of course. A single recommendation—easily acquired by her father’s influence—would open the Academy’s doors without question. Even the most stubborn members of the board, sworn though they were to impartiality, recognized the importance of shaping the nation’s elite. When the most powerful ruling families wanted their children admitted, exceptions were made.
Yet Seraphina’s pride was as much a part of her as her beating heart, and it would not allow such an easy path. She demanded true proof of her abilities. The girl suffered from a curse that afflicted many in the modern era; a need for validation. The young noblewoman studied ferociously and with a methodical precision. Pride fueled her, giving her an unyielding need to excel.
And, the girl had the most important skill of all. She knew how to study. Not to mention she’d had an excellent tutor.
It was a cool morning, the skies an azure blue and the weather generally clement for so late in season. Crossing the Academy’s inner grounds, Seraphina barely registered the gaggle of lesser noble and merchant-born girls surrounding her. Behind them, the boys had made a separate group, still at that age where they felt uncomfortable among the opposite sex. Their excited whispers and uncertain laughter floated in the warm morning air as they tried to deal with the stress of the moment, but she paid them no heed. Her gaze swept across the manicured lawns—already turning dry in the late summer sun—and she felt a flicker of disdain. If she were in charge, the gardeners would be whipped for such a dereliction of duty. In her world, excellence was not a goal but a demand.
They entered the exam hall through large wooden doors that swung inwards. The roof was high and arched and light filtered through stained glass windows, making a kaleidoscope display in certain places. There were desks throughout the hall, each equidistant at six paces apart. Upon each desk were two feathered quills, two inkpots, and some blotting sand. Seraphina sneered to herself, wishing that she had the luxury of a modern ball point pen.
She was assigned a seat, ignoring the slight rudeness and brusque attitude of the invigilator. Feeling that the hall had grown a little stuffy, she opened the first few top buttons of her simple dress. Rolling her shoulders first, she then stretched upwards like a cat.
You have gained 1 Charisma.
A flicker of confusion interrupted her moment of calm before the storm. What in blazes? The thought echoed through the halls of her mind as she took in her surroundings.
To her right, a girl with brown braids and narrow-framed glasses gave her a worried look. She vaguely reminded her of Milly. Speaking of which... Seraphina stood up again and glanced around. Ah—there she was, sitting in one of the corners, looking gloomy and worried as she checked over her quills and ink. Typical Miriam.
In front of her maid sat another girl with dark brown hair cascading in flowing tresses in a dark dress that complimented her hair perfectly. She seemed familiar. The girl locked eyes with Seraphina and gave her a smug smile. Searching through the original Seraphina’s memories, she found a name—and an insignificant rivalry. Desdemona de Lancoeur. A silly strumpet who had once dared to consider herself a rival of hers when they had both attended a ball in dresses the same shade of tea rose. Of course, Seraphina’s had been of superior cut—her mother had commissioned only the finest tailors in Quas.
No doubt Desdemona had caught wind of her decision to take the test and, predictably, followed suit. How tiresome. Still, it would give her another opportunity to put the de Lancoeur girl in her place.
She relished the thought of taking down yet another peg or two.
Finally—almost as an afterthought—she noticed a boy to her left with curly, mousy hair staring at her with rapt attention. Seraphina shot him a withering glare. He flinched and hurriedly looked away like a whipped cur.
Seraphina drew a slow, steady breath, letting the quiet tension of the exam hall wash over her. A stiff official in dark robes stepped forward, distributing the first set of papers one by one down the rows. The rustle of parchment was the only sound, broken abruptly by the sharp ring of a bell. Its echo lingered like a challenge in the air, signaling to every student that it was time to begin.
For the sake of impartiality, no one wrote their names—only numbers. It was not entirely foolproof, of course, and there were a few scattered tales of cheating in the annals of the Academy. But in general, the system worked well enough.
Not that Seraphina needed such a subterfuge. She never had to cheat to succeed—only when she wanted to push her victories further than necessary. To truly crush someone into the ground.
Turning over the top sheet, she found a set of Mathematica problems in a multiple-choice format. On the surface, they seemed simple, but the Academy had a cunning twist: every incorrect answer deducted double the question’s marks. Blind guessing was perilous and much worse than leaving answers blank.
Still, Seraphina was fairly certain that even stripped of every bit of magical paraphernalia, her Luck alone might carry her through. A passing score was the least of her concerns.
She selected a feathered quill, dipping the sharp tip into black ink. Although she could easily solve the questions in her head, Seraphina enjoyed the methodical act of writing out her work. She thought of it like a general arraying an army—orderly, strategic, and precise.
Leaning forward, elbows perched on a desk too small for her swift notations, she systematically devoured each and every problem. The scratch of her quill filled the quiet around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the boy next to her glancing over yet again, seemingly more captivated by her presence than his own test. She dismissed his unwelcome presence, unwilling to let it disrupt her focus.
The problems before might have stumped most teenagers, but to Seraphina, they were child’s play—nothing like the tests she had overcome in her home country. Sure, the algebraic notation here and there was slightly different, but the underlying logic remained universal. She believed Mathematica to be one of her “weaker” subjects. However, in her world, weak though it might have been, she had never scored a paper with less than ninety-nine percent—a standard she set for herself.
Suddenly, the bell rang again, snapping everyone to attention. Part one of the exam was over. The students were granted a brief respite, a quarter turn of the glass. But the draconic rules of the Academy meant that there was no leaving the hall beyond escorted bathroom breaks, and most definitely not talking. The hush remained thick and oppressive.
Seraphina looked down, patting absently at the front of her gown, recalling—too late—that she’d entrusted Cornelia to Eloise’s care. Pets were strictly forbidden in exam sessions. She fanned herself with a corner of her dress, realizing how stifling the hall had grown. A lighter, more summer-appropriate outfit might have been a wiser choice of attire.
She caught sight of the boy on her left again. His gaze lingered, this time more openly. Perhaps the blackguard was a cheater, thinking to steal her perfect answers in the next part of the exam. Narrowing her pale eyes, she shot him a glare to discourage any such mischief. He swiftly averted his gaze, directing it toward the colored glass window above them as if its patterns contained the universe’s most elusive secrets.
Seraphina could not help a small, satisfied smile. When next the bell tolled, she would be ready to dominate the next part.
***
Aranthian history was one of Seraphina’s strongest subjects. It required little more than a well-organized repertoire of facts and dates, punctuated by a handful of famous scholarly quotations. She had even composed a lilting mnemonic tune for herself, humming it under her breath as she crafted her essay. Every argument she made was meticulously framed, every interpretation clearly explained. With about ten minutes left on the glass, she paused to check over her work. Perfect, she thought with a quiet rush of satisfaction.
By contrast, the girl to her right looked ready to burst into tears—or commit more violence upon her own hair. She tugged anxiously and fiercely at her braided locks, her frustration unmistakable. Seraphina tried not to stare at her. She found herself trying to suppress a very rare and very small pang of pity.
The bell’s sharp peal signaled an end to that portion of the test. Only the remainder of the morning exams lay ahead. Their breaks were too brief even for a quick nap, so Seraphina closed her eyes and slipped into a near-meditative state of calm. She needed it. The next section focused on magical theory, one of the Academy’s more abstract and esoteric subjects. Although not every student possessed the spark of Mana, the faculty believed that any graduate from their hallowed halls should at least grasp the fundamentals of the arcane.
Once again, new papers were distributed, and the bell chimed them back to work. Seraphina scanned the questions rapidly, sensing precisely how the examiners expected each answer to be framed.
She understood magic more deeply than most professors might guess—perhaps too deeply. The real challenge was not in knowing the material, but in providing the answers the Academy wanted to see. Contradicting official doctrine with “unorthodox truths” could mark her as a prodigy, drawing unwanted attention from King Elidion and the Royal Army’s Arcanum. Even her noble status might not protect her if the kingdom decided her gifts should be conscripted. To deny this was to deny the bedrock that simply was Aranthia. No matter how more “civilized” Aranthia had grown, the waging of war always took precedence.
More importantly, rumor had it that the Arcanum’s food was oh-so dreadful, and Seraphina was in no hurry to discover that firsthand.
Swallowing her pride, she wrote down the “standard” answers, restraining the urge to reveal everything she knew. Sometimes, simply blending in was the safest option.
***
By midday, the tests were finished, and the students gathered in the main courtyard to see their names—or rather, their numbers—etched onto the living stone. Each year, Earth Mages inscribed the new test results upon a towering slab of polished granite. Today, a thin drizzle fell from iron-gray skies, lending the occasion the air of a funeral. Huddling under an umbrella held by her maid, Miriam, Seraphina observed the anxious clusters of students pressing forward.
She herself felt no suspense. She already knew what her results would be.
“Oh! Lady Seraphina, that’s your number, isn’t it?” exclaimed Eloise, pointing at the very top of the granite list. Rainwater slid off the floating disc of earth she conjured over her own head—an impressive trick indeed and a sign of her growing mastery over her element.
There it was: her number, in first place. A perfect score. Lines of script on the stone proclaiming her greatness. Seraphina grinned inwardly, recalling that for the very last question, she had closed her eyes and chosen an answer at random—just for sport. The game world had rewarded her, giving her another point of Luck.
She quickly spotted Eloise’s and Miriam’s results. “You didn’t do too badly yourself, Eloise,” she noted. “Top twenty. You could have scored even higher if you studied with your brother and I—”
“Oh, please. Being tutored by my brother sets my teeth on edge,” Eloise interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I would not wish to impose on your time together. Though, come to think of it, do you ever wish you had a brother of your own?”
Seraphina offered an indifferent shrug. Dealing with the younger one had been trying enough. Meanwhile, Eloise caught sight of Miriam’s number.
“There you are, Miriam! Look—you passed!” she cried, beaming.
Miriam had scraped by, in truth—quite the feat, given her maid’s duties alongside her having to run much of Seraphina’s growing business ventures, left the poor creature almost no time to study. Seraphina allowed herself a proud, silent nod in Miriam’s direction. Good for you, she thought. Good for you.
Just then, as the drizzle intensified, a figure approached with deliberate confidence. Desdemona de Lancoeur strode forward, hips swaying. Her dark-brown hair cascaded in lustrous waves, and she wore a gown of almost the same hue—a hue that would have clashed horribly with Seraphina’s own pale complexion and golden hair. For a moment, Seraphina could not help a flicker of envy; the dress suited Desdemona far too well.
A servant trailed after Desdemona, holding a small silk umbrella to keep her ensemble pristine. She let a manicured hand drift through her chocolate tresses before giving Seraphina a sidelong look.
“Well, Seraphina, how did you do?” she inquired lightly, though her eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I placed in the top three—rather fitting for someone as brilliant as she is beautiful, don’t you agree?”
Seraphina’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “I certainly can not disagree with that,” she replied serenely.
Desdemona searched her rival’s face, hunting for any trace of sarcasm. Finding none, she pressed on.
“Oh don’t worry about admitting that you placed lower than me,” she said, lightly laughing before adopting a falsely sympathetic tone. “There’s no shame in it, of course. It is a rare intellect that can challenge mine.”
Seraphina waited, letting the tension simmer. It was moments like these when all of her hard work bore fruit. Finally, she spoke:
“Oh, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” She gestured languidly at the top of the etched stone. “I placed first.”
A heartbeat of silence. Desdemona’s eyes flicked toward the granite board, scanning frantically.
“That— Are you sure?” she sputtered, taken completely aback.
“It’s true,” Eloise chimed in, flashing her an impish grin.
Desdemona’s cheeks reddened, but she tried to remain composed. “Well, truly, there isn’t that much difference between first and third,” she announced with a dismissive sniff.
Seraphina chuckled softly, lifting the girl’s chin. She was thankful that she had chosen to wear heels this day. “Desdemona, my dear, you underestimate the gulf between us. Ninety-seven percent was all that you could get with your meager gifts. But for me, a perfect score was all there was for me to take.”
Despite her olive complexion, Desdemona’s face burned as red as a sunset, and her composure wavered. Seraphina simply laughed again, the sound light and airy, as the de Lancoeur girl stormed off utterly humiliated.
