Chapter 75: Bullied

FLASHBACK — SEVEN YEARS AGO]

The Royal Magic Academy was everything Emeric had dreamed it would be.

And nothing like he had hoped.

The grounds were vast with manicured lawns and marble halls. Towers that scraped the sky. Students in fine robes walked the corridors, laughing, talking, practicing spells that sparkled in the air.

Emeric was sixteen.

He had been enrolled at the last possible moment. His father had pulled strings and called in favors. The Halden name still carried weight, even if its youngest son was a failure.

The Unblessed one.

The boy who couldn’t cast a single spell.

The first week was the worst.

The other students ignored him at best. Mocked him at worst. He was placed in the lowest tier of classes. Remedial magic theory, basic incantation and foundational meditation.

He couldn’t do any of it.

The elves were the worst. They were beautiful, graceful and powerful. They walked through the academy like they owned it. They made no secret of their contempt for humans who couldn’t match them.

And the Unblessed Halden was beneath even that.

Emeric sat beneath a tree in the courtyard of the academy with a book open in his lap. He was trying to memorize some foundation level incantations. The words blurred before his eyes.

A shadow fell over him. He raised his head to see three elves standing over him. Two boys and one girl. Their robes were immaculate and by the looks on their faces, they were up to no good.

"What’s wrong, Halden? Trying to learn basic when you can’t even light a candle?"

The first boy snapped his fingers. A small flame appeared. He held it to the corner of Emeric’s book.

The pages curled and blackened, causing smoke to rise.

Emeric didn’t move.

The second boy stepped closer. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

He kicked the book out of Emeric’s hands, causing the pages to scatter.

The girl laughed. "Leave him alone. He’s not worth it."

They walked away.

Emeric sat there. In the dirt, surrounded by the ashes of his book.

He didn’t cry. He had learned not to cry a long time ago.

It happened again the next week and the week after.

Sometimes it was words and sometimes it wasn’t. If he was really lucky, it was small magics meant to humiliate—making his clothes shrink, making his voice crack, making him trip in front of the entire class.

He never fought back.

He couldn’t.

The worst day was the last.

It was the end of the first term. A public exhibition of student talents. Every student was required to demonstrate their progress.

Emeric stood on the stage as the entire academy watched. His father, in the front row with a face that did nothing to hide his disappointment.

The examiner asked him to cast a simple light spell.

He tried and nothing happened. No surprise there. He had not been abler to do magic at the awakening. Nothing had changed.

The examiner asked again.

He tried harder.

Nothing.

The examiner’s face fell as he looked at the crowd then at Duke Halden.

"Perhaps the young lord needs more time."

The crowd laughed.

Emeric stood there, the humiliation from the Awakening hitting him all over again.

His father left without a word.

He found himself in the courtyard afterward. He just sat there, unable to feel anything but pain. The look on his father’s face was words plenty.

He didn’t cry. He wanted to but he couldn’t.

Then he heard footsteps coming towards him. He looked up to see three figures. The same elves from before. They knew where he would be and they had followed him.

"Look who’s hiding," the first boy said. He seemed to be their leader.

Eemeric had never bothered to learn their names. They only existed to make him miserable.

The second boy laughed. "Can’t blame him Aerion. After that performance, I’d hide too."

The girl crossed her arms. "What do you want to do with him Aerion?" She said, looking at the first boy and then to the second. "Caelum? Any ideas?"

The first boy smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"Let’s teach him a lesson. So he remembers his place."

They approached.

Emeric tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

They surrounded him.

The first punch caught him in the stomach.

He doubled over, gasping. The second punch caught his jaw and he stumbled, falling back to the ground.

They kicked him while the girl whose name was Lyra laughed hysterically.

Yhe had caught it in between the chaos.

Once. Twice. Three times.

He curled into a ball, protecting his head and his ribs.

Then a voice cut through the laughter.

"Leave him alone."

The elves stopped and turned around.

A boy stood at the edge of the courtyard. Short. Broad. Stocky. His hair was rusted red. His arms were thick—the arms of someone who worked with his hands.

He was a dwarf.

The elves laughed.

"And what are you going to do, dwarf?"

The dwarf didn’t answer.

He just walked forward, his gaze set on each of them for brief moments. His boots crunched against the gravel.

The first elf stepped toward him. "This doesn’t concern you. Walk away."

"No."

The elf’s smile faltered. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." The dwarf stopped a few feet away. "You’re going to leave him alone. And you’re going to walk away. And you’re never going to touch him again."

The elves looked at each other.

Then they laughed.

The first one raised his hand. Fire gathered at his fingertips.

"You think you can threaten us? You’re a dwarf. You’re nothing."

The dwarf didn’t flinch.

"I’m a dwarf," he said quietly. "And I’ve been working in a forge since I could walk. I’ve had my hands in fire hotter than anything you can conjure. So go ahead. Try me."

The fire flickered.

The elf hesitated.

The dwarf stepped closer.

"I said. Leave. Him. Alone."

Something in his voice made the elves pause.

They looked at each other and then at the dwarf.

"Not worth it," the girl muttered.

They turned and walked away.

The dwarf watched them go, then he turned to Emeric.

He was still on the ground, curled into a ball and trembling from the pain.