Chapter Text
Despite the assurances that his scholarship would fully fund the trip, Tommy was beginning to suspect that he stood out like a sore thumb amongst the others that had been invited. The smell of far too many different colognes and perfumes hung heavy in the air, clogging his already overwhelmed senses as he took in the sight of the Magehold.
It was every witch’s dream, to become part of the Magehold upon graduating the Academy. Only the finest students would be accepted; only the most powerful.
Tommy had power. Enough of it to land a scholarship throughout his entire academic career, regardless of his lack of etiquette or family name.
Power wasn’t enough to secure a spot in the Magehold. It was about politics – a class Tommy had always skipped out of boredom – and the alliances that could be made. Anyone that openly disputed the Syndicate, for example, were automatically dismissed from the Magehold’s shortlist.
‘I didn’t realise they were allowing strays to wander around such an esteemed place,’ one of the other students comments, earning some snickering laughter from the group.
Twenty-four students have been offered a tour. Only two or three of them will make it to the Magehold.
Even if his cheeks burn at the comment, he glares back at the older student. ‘I didn’t realise they were allowing dickheads, but you’re here, so they must be.’
He has no idea who the guy is, but if he’s allowed to stand in the Magehold with magic that weak, then he’s probably the son of somebody important. Insulting him, therefore, is a stupid decision. A reckless one, and Tommy will probably get punished for it later from his mentor.
A low murmuring of oo’s and ahh’s sweep across the gathering of students. The one that he insulted takes a step forward, only to fall silent as his gaze drifts over Tommy’s shoulder.
‘That’s what I thought, bitch,’ Tommy spits, for good measure.
‘Ehem.’
He does not jump at the voice behind him. Nor does he almost trip over his feet in an attempt to spin around sharply.
Blue eyes, tinted with red flecks, peer at him. They’d be rather pretty eyes, if the guy they belonged to didn’t have the most ridiculous shade of pink hair that Tommy’s ever seen. The stranger is tall, broad-shouldered and stacked with spells and curses that bind around him, visible to Tommy’s sensitivity to magic.
One of them is particularly interesting; a strand of death magic woven around his core. Tommy’s dabbled in necromancy before – an obvious choice after losing people – but this is different. It smells like death, but slightly… sweeter? More alive, if death could be described by its antipode.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Tommy says, then curiously stretches out his own magic to nudge at the death magic.
It reacts almost instantly. The guy’s eyes widen, before his brow furrows. ‘Stop touching my magic.’
Tommy tilts his head to the side. Not many can realise when he’s doing that, so he supposes the guy is probably a skilled witch, maybe even a Mageling.
‘Stop sneaking up on people, then,’ Tommy retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.
It’s more to hide the fading stain that he can’t quite get out, rather than an attempt to intimidate. His mentor told him that he would be fine to accept the invitation to the Magehold, but he didn’t mention that everyone would be dressed in silks worth more than Tommy’s entire self.
The potentially-powerful stranger blinks. ‘This… you’re the guest. This is my home.’
‘You scare all your guests? Sounds like an uncool thing to do, big man. A violation. I feel violated.’
When Tommy rambles, people usually get angry. His mentor doesn’t let him get away with it at all, and most of the students Tommy interacts with will attempt to curse or hex him.
The stranger just blinks. ‘Why did you say it like that?’
‘What?’
‘Violate,’ the man says, lips quirking up slightly.
‘Violated,’ Tommy repeats, firmer this time. He’s pretty sure he’s winning this argument.
The guy huffs, then looks away from Tommy to the other students. Belatedly, Tommy realises that they’ve all lowered themselves into half-bows.
Tommy’s heard you’re only supposed to do that with a Syndicate member. He frowns, then turns back to the guy in front of him.
‘You’re not Philza, the Greatest Man Ever, are you?’
Philza, leader of the Syndicate, Mage-Keeper, Angel of Death. Tommy’s favourite person, because he saved Tommy’s original clan when Tommy was a baby. It was all his mum had told him; stories about a powerful mage who swept over their village during the raid and defeated the demons that were coming to kill them.
Tommy had gifted Philza with a title, and it had been etched into the side of their village hall. The adults had laughed, ruffling his hair and telling him that he would go far in life if he kept up such strong faith in the Mage-Keeper.
The stranger shakes his head. ‘I am not.’
A disappointment. Tommy sighs, trying not to show just how excited he was at the prospect of meeting the only Mage that had the power to properly kill demons. Most of them just banished the creatures back to their realm, but Philza could do what no other could do.
‘Shame,’ Tommy says with a shrug, then realises he still hasn’t bowed.
He does so awkwardly. He didn’t grow up in the Academy, nor anywhere near it, so he’s not been taught the same as the other students.
‘Apologies for him, my Lord,’ the same guy from earlier says, which is just rude, ‘Master Jschlatt was rather insistent that he be brought along.’
Not-Philza doesn’t bother turning to the other student. He’s still studying Tommy, or more accurately, studying his magic. Tommy’s not met anyone – aside from Jschlatt – that can see his gifts. Like his mentor, the Syndicate member is mostly focused on the shimmering gold that covers Tommy.
‘I see,’ Not-Philza replies. ‘You’re to be taken to your dormitories. Lights are out at ten, breakfast is at dawn. Should any of you be out during the night, you’ll be immediately dismissed.’
People pop up, seemingly out of the shadows. Tommy eyes them up warily; they’re humans. He’s heard about them, of course. A race long forgotten, in a realm that they can no longer roam. Apparently, when their realm fell apart, they made a deal of servitude to protect magic.
‘This way,’ a man says, dressed in clothes that are still far nicer than Tommy’s.
He turns to follow the other students, only for Not-Philza to interrupt. ‘Not you.’
Ah.
The other students look at him with cruel smiles and whispers of amusement, spitting insults that he refuses to listen to as they follow the human away from the entrance to the Magehold. Although they’ve never been kind to him, he didn’t really expect them to abandon him with a Syndicate member. The Academy prides itself on being a community, yet the moment Tommy appeared in his ragged clothes and bare-feet, that value seemed to be tossed out of the nearest window.
‘If this is because I accused you of violation, I can take back that statement. I would never wrongly accuse an innocent man of such crimes, and you are obviously innocent, save for that terrible hair choice, but I suppose—’
‘Do you have any survival instinct?’ Not-Philza inquires, going back to watching him again.
Tommy wonders what he means.
‘Are you going to kill me?’
‘No?’
‘Then why would I need survival instincts?’ Tommy questions, thoroughly confused. ‘Aren’t you just going to send me back to the Academy?’
‘By yourself?’
‘I’m a big man,’ Tommy reiterates, in case the Not-Philza had misunderstood him earlier, ‘I can handle myself.’
He doesn’t get a response. Clearly outsmarted, the not-Philza turns away from him and begins to walk towards what Tommy can only describe as the most expensive looking door he’s ever seen. It’s got gold lining the edge, with a large handle inscribed with words in the old language.
‘Come,’ the stranger says, as he opens the door.
‘I’m not a dog,’ Tommy protests, but he quickly follows the Syndicate member through the door.
On the other side, a long corridor stretches out. Tommy struggles to keep up with the long stride of the man in front, but he doesn’t complain. If he’s about to be kicked out into the dark, where the demons are probably lurking considering the moon is out, Tommy needs to be in a good condition to fight them. Upsetting a Syndicate member and getting beaten up because of it is probably not conducive to good health.
Still, he can’t resist nudging at the man’s magic again. Avoiding the strand of death, he instead moves to the normal colour of everyone’s magic-core. A soft, wispy blue. The stronger the magic, the more loops of blue that make it up.
‘You certainly look like a stray pet,’ the stranger says, without looking back.
Tommy refuses to show how much that hurts.
He’s been a stray since the demons came back. With his village gone, Tommy had no home. Nobody would take a witch that had been struck by a demon, nobody save for Jschlatt. He’d found Tommy, curled up in the backstreets of Essempi, and frowned at him.
‘Why are you starving?’
‘Because I’ve got no food,’ Tommy had bluntly replied, which he thought was obvious.
Later, Jschlatt had told him that, with power as great as his, he could have simply crafted food from nothing. Tommy learned how to do that immediately, and realised he would never have to go hungry again. Not even if the Academy kicked him out, or if the Magehold banished him from the entire Kingdom.
While he could control his magic, Tommy could eat. That was enough for him to survive.
He’s a stray at the Academy, even if his magic was powerful. They didn’t care, because Jschlatt wouldn’t let him prove himself against the older students.
‘I’m not a pet,’ Tommy argues.
Not-Philza reaches the end of the corridor, opening the door with a soft glow of magic around the handle. He doesn’t speak; non-verbal magic is usually the sign of a Mage.
‘Not countering the claim of being a stray?’
Tommy glances down to where he can see his socks peeking out of the holes in his shoes, then ignores the pink-haired man as the next room is revealed.
This one hosts more people. More powerful people. Five in total, with varying wisps of magic surrounding them. One of them, though, is the focus of Tommy’s attention.
‘How were the kids, Tech—you brought a child into the room,’ says a brown-haired Mage, with a similar strand of death-magic coiled around him.
Tommy would be offended. He’d probably start spitting curses, if not for the fact that Tommy is faced with gold threads of magic, just like his own. A colour he’s never seen, yet is mimicked here on a man he can’t help but recognise.
Philza, leader of the Syndicate, Mage-Keeper, Angel of Death. The same titles Tommy had used earlier, only now he doesn’t add Greatest Man Ever, because—
Well, to be blunt, Tommy’s underwhelmed.
Philza’s magic is a perfect copy to Tommy’s. The same golden shimmer, with a burning ball of blue wisp threads. There are some extra curses woven into his soul, and the death strand as opposed to Tommy’s necromancy, but they are ultimately a mirror reflection of each other.
When Tommy’s town burned to the ground, he had been out in the woodlands, trying to tempt fae into circles and trap them. A stupid, childish hobby that had meant he hadn’t been there to fight for his home. Not that he could have done much, because he hadn’t learned how to banish them yet, and the only thing he could do was summon golden fire to his hands. His mum had made him promise to keep that a secret, though.
Considering the first time their home was attacked, Philza had saved them, Tommy expected his magic to be something incredible.
‘He’s got magic like yours, Phil. Thought I should bring him here,’ says the stranger, Tech-something. He’s still standing at Tommy’s side, although he’s frowning again. ‘Thought you’d be a bit more excited, kid. You were just raving about Phil being the “greatest man ever”’.
The brunet snorts, as do the other three people that aren’t Philza.
Tommy just stares.
‘Hey, mate,’ comes the gentle voice of his once-hero, who looks… sad. There’s surprise, and confusion, and something gentle that Tommy doesn’t really understand, but the sadness is what he lingers on. ‘That’s some pretty impressive magic you’ve got.’
‘And an interesting dress-style,’ the brunet adds, nose wrinkled. ‘Did you crawl out of a dumpster? Students of the Academy—’
‘I think he was recruited,’ Tech-something cuts in.
Philza’s magic is like Tommy’s. Ultimately, this means that Tommy had the exact same capability of stopping his town from burning up.
He’s pretty sure he understands why Jschlatt told him that it was never worth it, to meet your heroes.
‘Thanks,’ Tommy says, bluntly, to both Philza and the brunet.
Tech-something nudges him. ‘C’mon, kid, where’s that excitement from earlier?’
Philza takes a step closer. ‘Demons?’
The room falls silent.
Tommy knows what the Mage is asking. He’s got the same magic as Tommy, so he must know that it didn’t appear until after Tommy had done the impossible and killed a demon. One that he found crouching over the very-burnt body of his last blood relative.
‘You’re not as impressive as I thought you’d be,’ Tommy blurts, unable to stop himself. It feels like his heart is cracking, the ache of knowing he could have saved people…
The brunet laughs. ‘You’ve got some nerve, talking—’
‘It’s alright, Wil,’ the man says softly, before he looks back at Tommy. ‘Niki, would you mind finding a room for the night for our Mageling? He can join the others in the morning, and… what’s your name, mate?’
‘Tommy.’
‘Tommy needs some clothes.’
Niki, a woman with black hair and expressive eyes, takes a step towards him. She’s powerful, although missing the death-strain. ‘This way,’ she guides, and Tommy follows.
He wishes he’d never come to the Magehold.
**
His moment of proof comes the next morning. After a breakfast that he skipped, the twenty-four students are led out to a training ring. Lined with stone seating, like an amphitheatre, the structure is caged over the top with mesh. The protective runes carved into the floor warn Tommy that it’s housing something dangerous, something demonic.
‘Watch it, stray.’
He’s knocked out of the way of one of the older students, shoved to the back as they stand in the middle of the ring.
‘Good morning,’ Philza, the not-so-Greatest-Man-Ever, greets. ‘You’re here to demonstrate your abilities, and as such, I thought a small show of power might be a good idea. Each of you will face a singular demon, and must use your skills to combat that.’
The crowd shift uneasily. A demon, a fully fledged demon, is not easy to banish. Especially one-on-one.
Tommy watches as Philza, Wil, Tech-something and Niki, along with the other two unnamed people, exit the ring. They move to the seating, and they’re left with the human from last night.
‘Right, all of you exit the ring. Form a line, one at a time.’
Tommy isn’t surprised to be shoved to the back.
The first student, the one he picked a fight with yesterday, gets beaten into the ground by the black, swirling mass of a young demon. Tommy watches, mostly amused, as three people rush into the ring to assist. Throughout it all, Philza does not move. He sits, eyes trained on the demon, before briefly glancing to Tommy.
The smile he sends is genuine.
He doesn’t really understand why Philza is testing them. None of them do particularly well; even the ones that manage to banish the demons take hits that require medical attention. By the time Tommy steps into the ring, only three of the twenty-three before him have banished their demon. They sit on the stone seats, some being tended to by medics, and others just watching.
He lets his toes curl inside his holey shoes, already filling with sand. He refused the pair Niki tried to give him last night.
The gate opens, just as it did for the others. Tommy watches the demon emerge, eyes flicking over the dark magic. An adult, unlike the juveniles that were brought in before. It moves at a speed far too quickly to be anything close to witchkind, probably intent on ripping him apart.
He slides one foot back, draws both hands up, and calls. Golden light swathes his form, darting around his fingertips and then up his arms, racing over his body as he lunges.
Jschlatt told him that he could use this with a weapon, giving it the ability to kill a demon. Tommy prefers his method of grabbing them, and then ripping them apart. Strands of magic under his fingers, black staining the golden light that he pours into the creature beneath. It twists, howls something foul, but Tommy doesn’t stop until the creature is definitely dead.
Then, he stands up and glances to the only other person that can kill demons.
The amphitheatre is silent. Nobody moves, staring at the dead demon beneath his feet. Philza is the only one to clap, rising from his seat and peering at Tommy through the mesh of the cage.
‘Incredible.’
He scowls. It’s not a word he wants to be called, nor does it fill him with hope.
He thought that Philza would be a way to get revenge on the demons that ruined his home. That, with his all-powerful magic, he would be the hero Tommy needed.
But he isn’t. He’s the same as Tommy, with a power that can kill demons.
Tommy’s not unused to disappointment.