Chapter 42: difference
“Now let's see. You need to answer a few standard questions for the records,” Maximus says smoothly. “What is your name and age?”
William blinks, momentarily caught off guard by how mundane the question is. After everything he has witnessed today, normal administrative paperwork feels entirely out of place.
“My name is William,” he answers, finding his footing. “And I turn twelve next month.”
Maximus nods, the tip of his quill scratching lightly across the heavy parchment. Without looking up immediately, he asks, “Do you know how to read and write?”
“Yes,” William replies without missing a beat.
“And your family? Are they here in Bruges with you?”
“No,” William says, tightening his grip. “I came here with Trojjan—he’s teaching me to be an apothecary. My family lives back in Riverstead.”
Maximus keeps writing, the rhythmic sound of the quill filling the quiet room.
William hesitates, watching the ink settle on the paper before forcing out the question weighed heavily on his chest. “Can I... meet and tell them? Before I go with you?”
The quill stops. Maximus lifts his head, his sharp gaze locking onto William.
“You don't need to worry,” Maximus replies softly, his tone carrying a rare note of reassurance. “The families of all accepted students are fully informed of everything—unless, of course, you explicitly request otherwise.”
William nods, and Maximus leans back in his chair, tapping the quill against his chin in quiet contemplation.
“As for your master, you may inform him as well,” Maximus continues. “And as for your family, you will have time to see them in Riverstead. We will pick you up there two weeks from today, as it lies directly on our route to the capital.”
William nods again, though doubt creeps into his mind.
‘Will they even believe me? Auntie and Uncle definitely won't... they'll probably think I've been fooled by some smooth-talking charlatan.’
Before his internal spiraling can finish, Maximus cuts in.
“If you are worried they won't believe you, don't be,” Maximus says smoothly. “Word has already been sent to the capital. An imperial official will be waiting at Arindale’s city hall to present them with official verification.”
‘How did he..? Maybe it's just magic' To William, everything baffling that has happened to him today can be traced back to that single word.
“Now for the final thing,” Maximus says, gesturing for William to step closer.
William obeys, taking small, hesitant steps toward the mahogany desk.
“Show me your arm.”
William slowly extends his forearm. Maximus reaches out with his left hand, pressing his fingers lightly against William's skin.
A sudden, sharp burning sensation shoots through the spot, causing William to wince—but the pain vanishes almost as quickly as it came. Glancing down, William sees the faint, glowing mark of a white lily imprinted on his wrist. Before he can process what it means, the mark fades, sinking beneath his skin until it becomes completely invisible.
“That is a tracking mark,” Maximus explains casually, already opening a new book he picked up without William noticing. “It will allow us to locate you when the time comes, though its effect only lasts for a month. Now, run along and sort out your affairs.”
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Before stepping out, William pauses and turns to take one last look around the grand tent.
His eyes linger on the high cabinets filled with leather-bound books, the vibrant silk drapes hanging from the ceiling, the intricate floral patterns carved along the table, and finally, the small candle—its flame burning brightly, having somehow lost not a single millimeter of its height.
Standing at the exit, a sudden, lingering question surfaces in his mind.
“Earlier... you said I remind you of someone,” William asks, turning back. “Who is she?”
Maximus looks up from his book, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Don't worry about it. You'll meet her at the academy. Now, move along.”
Knowing better than to press him twice, William turns and quickly steps through the tent flap.
Inside the quiet library, Maximus watches the fabric sway shut. He lets out a light chuckle and mutters to himself, “They really are similar.”
As he turns back toward his desk, his gaze falls onto the floor, where a pair of red apples lies abandoned right in front of his table.
—-----------------------------------------------------
William runs toward the wagon and Betty, his mind still churning with everything he has just seen and heard.
As he bursts out of the dark alley, he spots Trojjan standing near the entrance, a look of raw anxiety plastered across his face. The moment Trojjan catches sight of him, his posture stiffens.
“Lad! Where the blazes did you go?” Trojjan shouts, his voice a sharp mixture of anger and relief.
William flinches, stepping back with a guilty expression. He hesitates for a second before forcing out a quiet request. “Can we... talk about this at the inn?”
“What do you mean, talk at—” Trojjan starts loudly, but the words die in his throat. He looks down at William’s grave, pale expression, then glances around at the nearby townsfolk who have turned to stare at the commotion.
Swallowing his anger, Trojjan gives a silent nod and turns toward the wagon. Sitting in the back are several neatly tied bundles of herbs and a small wooden box.
‘Looks like he managed to find the Ashenflower after all,’ William thinks, staring at the cargo.
The ride back to the inn feels simultaneously like an eternity and a blur. Neither of them speaks a word, even as the merchant district fully awakens around them, bustling with noisy shopkeepers and rattling carts.
The moment they step inside their room, Trojjan shuts the door firmly behind them. He turns around, his face dead serious.
“Alright. Tell me what happened.”
William takes a long, deep breath to steady his pulse, sits down, and begins to tell Trojjan everything.
As Trojjan listens to the story, the color slowly drains from his face until William genuinely worries he might faint.
When William finally finishes, silence heavy enough to choke on settles over the room. For half an hour, neither of them moves an inch.
Trojjan finally lets out a long, ragged sigh and opens his eyes. He looks across at William and opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again, completely at a loss for words.
“Congratulations, kid,” Trojjan finally manages, his voice sounding thin and weak.
William gives a small, solemn nod. “What do you think about all this?”
Trojjan stares at William with an intensely serious expression—before it suddenly melts into something softer, weary yet proud.
“It’s good for you,” Trojjan says softly. “You’ve been searching for magic for so long, and now you’ve finally found it.” He pauses for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. “But... I’m pretty sure you weren’t told everything.”
William blinks in surprise. “Do you think he lied to me?”
Trojjan shakes his head immediately. “No, lad. Do you have any idea what being a noble means, let alone royalty? There’s absolutely no need for someone like him to lie to a kid like you. To be blunt... you aren't worth the effort of a lie.”
William nods silently as he considers the sheer, staggering gap in status between them: a Royal and an orphan, a Fifth-Tier Mage and an ordinary kid. To be honest, he doubts the divide between two human beings could possibly be any wider.
His thoughts are cut short as Trojjan speaks up again.
“I think he simply left things out—either because he didn't think knowing them would do you any good, or because you're just too insignificant to do anything about it.”
“Is he very strong then?” William asks, his eyes burning with eager curiosity.
“He should be,” Trojjan replies, a quiet shadow passing over his face. “From what I know, one of the basic requirements for holding nobility is being at least a Fourth-Tier Mage—like my father was.”
He pauses for a moment, letting out a breath. “And as for being a professor at the Royal Magic Academy? He’s likely near the very top among Fifth-Tier Mages.”
“Now you better rest, kid—your mind is probably exhausted from all this,” Trojjan says, stopping to let out a dry chuckle. “Well... at least mine is.”
He rubs his tired face with both hands before speaking again. “We will leave for Arindale tomorrow. I’ll head out to buy supplies in the evening— you just stay in the room”
William nods as he lies alone in the silence, he lifts his right arm into the fading light filtering through the window. The white lily mark is completely gone, leaving his skin looking plain and unmarked—yet he can still feel the ghost of that sharp, sudden heat against him.
‘Magic… Royal Academy… Two weeks’Tracing his thumb over the spot where the mark lies hidden, William lets out a long, quiet breath. His eyelids grow heavy, the sheer weight of the day finally catching up to him, and before long, he drifts into a deep, dreamless sleep.