Fresh from its journey across the ocean, a summer breeze warmed by a late afternoon sun danced eagerly across a sea of clay-tile rooftops. After spending weeks of travel doing nothing but carrying albatrosses, a new landscape of winding streets and alleys of a vast coastal city lay before it, ready to be explored. The jutting rooftops and stoic chimneys did little to break the wind’s enthusiastic energy; it dove between the buildings, playfully stealing hats, scattering newspapers and causing the city’s diverse population to curse and chase after their property.

But the city the wind frolicked through was not nearly as playful. Dense city blocks created a maze of streets and alleyways that navigated around stately stone cathedrals and palaces. Gargoyles and buttresses peered out from every corner, and rusticated black brick lined the base of the yellow limestone buildings. But despite the architecture’s dour mood, it was still a city full of life. The warm sun wriggled its way into every corner, splashing colour through crowded markets and twinkling reflections onto lawns mown so short they betrayed a peculiar sort of insecurity.

At the very heart of this proud yet colourful city known as Becheim lay a large, walled off section of land that contained the most ambitious and stately buildings of all. Even the smallest of buildings here could be considered a cathedral in its own right, but they were nothing compared to the towering walls and spires that desperately reached for the sky. These buildings demanded attention; they carried a gravity with them that came not only from size, but from age as well, as the passage of time had stained their walls a smokey black. At the centre of them all stood the Great Hall, an enormous gothic building in a + shape that clambered nearly six hundred feet into the air, with an enormous tower that sprouted up an additional three hundred feet from its very centre.

Only one institution had enough resources to waste on this extravagance: the main campus of the Royal Academy, the finest educational institution on the entire continent. It was a school so renowned that royalty and nobility from far and wide travelled to this historic institution to study and form valuable connections with their classmates.

Theoretically, it was a school of equal parts pride and prestige. Each student took an entrance exam upon arrival, and though it was known to be difficult, for those with wealth, influence or talent it was hardly an issue. Even commoners were allowed to participate if they were clever enough. Successful applicants were then offered a place in one of seven courses: Knighthood, Civilities, Magecraft, Mercantilism, Wizardry, Witchcraft or Artificery, based on their exam results. To be offered a place in any course was a great honor, and practically guaranteed one’s future. Or at least, it was supposed to.

Of course, the reality was far less romantic. Nobility had a tendency to form their own ideas about what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Some of the courses were deemed… peculiar. Funding then followed popularity, and as a result the witchcraft and artificery courses always ended up getting the short end of the stick. Blowing things up and mixing potions together was hardly something even the most obscure royal family member would be caught dead doing.

But, as history is wont to do, that was about to change.

---

Indigo’s face was green from exhaustion and dizziness as she finally reached the landing that sat before the office of the President of the Royal Academy. The genius who built this place thought it was a brilliant idea to have the president live as high as possible, and so installed it at the top of the tower that climbed out of the Great Hall’s roof. The office sat nearly nine hundred feet in the air, as much designed to look down upon the masses as it was to scour the heavens. It had taken Indigo nearly an hour to climb the damned thing, going up the nine hundred step spiral staircase that left a terrifying drop down its centre.

She took a moment to catch her breath, as well as her balance. She didn't suffer from vertigo; no self respecting witch would ever admit to such a thing. She just... didn’t like broomsticks. Or magic carpets. Or other means of magical flight that brought her more than ten feet off the ground. Besides, climbing the stairs while sticking as close to the wall as possible was good exercise… right?

Indigo shook her head, trying to clear her mind of any thoughts about plummeting nearly a thousand feet to the ground. Instead she cleared her throat, adjusted her oversized witch hat and raised a fist to knock on the enormous oak doors that dominated the small landing. No voice answered; instead the doors unlocked with a click, prompting her to cautiously push them open.

Her freckled face peered around the door and an enormous circular room greeted her eyes, filled to the brim with a variety of astrological tools and other contraptions of mysterious purpose. It was because of the President’s specialization in astrology that he had had the office transformed into an observatory, installing an enormous telescope that hung from the ceiling with nervously thin wires. Nearly everything else had been customized to match; the ceiling was painted a midnight blue with magic silver paint that accurately displayed the positions of the stars, and constellation maps made from gold and silver were found on every wall. Giant stacks of papers and scrolls were hastily shuffled into the corners of the room and giant bookcases haphazardly leaned against any walls not already taken up by the star maps.

Indigo had only been here once before as a child, and though filled with wonder at the time, the fear of the telescope coming crashing down at any moment had kept her safely at the edges of the room. Though that premonition still haunted her, by now she had gained enough assurance to ignore it.

“Is that a pretty face I see? Come in, come in!” cackled an old voice, breaking through her thoughts.

Recovering from the distractions the room offered, Indigo slipped in and let the doors swing shut behind her. She coughed nervously, then spoke to the figure happily seated beneath the precarious two hundred ton telescope.

“H-how do you do sir. My name is Indigo, Leader of the Caeruleus Sect and the new candidate for professor in the Department of Witchcraft.”

Sat behind a surprisingly empty mahogany desk was a tiny, elderly white haired man with a long beard. His name was Lord Fornax Von Handersson, the sitting President of the Royal Academy for the last twenty years. The man was the picture perfect image of a wizard: long flowing robes of a deep blue, dotted with stars and constellations embroidered with golden thread, and capped off by a brimless pointed cap to match. He was old; his eyes practically disappeared into the deep wrinkles of his face as he squinted at Indigo, but they still twinkled with a sharp wit and a sharper mind as he energetically waved her into the room.

“Come in, come in! It’s not everyday I get to see such a lovely face, huahuahua!!” His laugh was gasping, as if choked by the thick layers of dust that coated much of the room.

Indigo slipped inside, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she walked towards the old man cheerfully seated beneath the enormous weight.

“Thank you for seeing me sir… I apologize if I’m late, but I only found out about the meeting this morning.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry darlin’! Anything for Aqua’s kid! I still remember when you were an adorable little girl! Ah, but you've grown into such a fine young woman now!” The President gave her a grin that was almost childish in its eagerness; it was an odd sight from the most powerful man in the Academy.

“Umm, thank you sir…” Indigo smiled awkwardly but chose not to point out the fact that he clearly didn't remember her, as she was anything but an adorable little girl when she was last here. Instead she suppressed a sigh and slipped into the dusty blue chair opposite the President.

"Well. I’m sure you’re wondering if I’ll approve you for the position, aren’t you?" The old wizard’s expression turned comically serious and he waggled a pair of ridiculously long eyebrows at her.

Indigo squeezed out an awkward smile. "I’m sure you will make the best judgement, my lord.”

“Hua hua huah, of course I will! President’s not supposed to mess around with what the witches decide! Too many people died that way, hua hua huah!”

Indigo’s stiff smile grew slightly more strained as her gaze drifted upwards to the enormous weight hanging above her. “Of course not sir. Thank you sir.”

“Sir this, my lord that. Nobility’s important, I’d swear an oath it is so, but not amongst friends! Your mother and I got along famously! Call me Lord Fornax.”

“Ah, of course Forna- I mean, Lord Fornax,” answered Indigo, slightly confused by the hypocritical statement. “I-I look forward to serving the Academy, but I hope I won’t let you down.”

Handersson coughed, drawing Indigo's gaze back down to him. His entire atmosphere had suddenly changed, the childish expression disappearing and the light in his eyes turning serious.

"Hmph, hope is not good enough! As a teacher of the Royal Academy, you must exemplify our Academy's finest virtues and traditions. Yes... yes indeed! Royalty from at least nine different countries come here to study, not to mention the long history of our own Imperial Family being educated here as well." He peered at Indigo over the top of his tiny yet perfectly round glasses. "Though I sincerely doubt anyone of importance would wish to study witchcraft, you nonetheless must be perfect to your students; 'A bonis ad meliora' is our motto after all!"

The knot of anxiety that had sat in Indigo's belly since Aqua left tightened further. She didn't need this extra pressure; she wouldn't be here in the first place if the Council hadn't insisted she fill the teaching position Aqua left behind. She hadn't even had enough time to start working as the Sect leader before she suddenly found herself buried in a pile of work for the upcoming fall semester. And now she was suddenly introducing herself to the President of the Royal Academy.

The President continued. "The role of a Royal Academy professor is a highly sought after position; they even used to hold duels over it! Well, we've become a bit more boring and civilized since then, but you'll still find the occasional mage poisoning someone's coffee, hua hua huah..." The old man trailed off, his laugh turning into another cough. "Let's hope Lady Aqua didn't end up that way, eh? Eaten by a batch of wild plants, or whatever it is you witches do when killing each other."

"I assure you my lord, we do not make a habit of killing each other. Because that is illegal." Indigo's voice turned cold at his implication. "Nobody would dare to use spells from the Dark Ages."

Handersson had the decency to look awkward at her response, but he offered no apology. Instead he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, of course. I was only joking, child. And I wasn't suggesting our staff go around murdering each other; no I was merely reminiscing about the good old days."

"Of course. Thank you for the history but…" Indigo hesitated as a question arose in her mind that had been harassing her for the last three weeks. "If you don't mind Lord President, did Aqua give a reason for her departure in her resignation letter? Or did you perhaps hear rumors of why she left…?"

The President peered at her over his glasses again, his gaze prying into her.

"Why? Didn’t she tell you?"

"N-no sir, she gave no reason… I was hoping you knew." Indigo did not feel very confident in her lie, and the long pause that followed as the eyes of the president bore into Indigo did not help. But after a moment, he shook his head and Indigo released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"Nope! Didn’t say a thing. Damn shamed too, she was a fine woman. But I wouldn't waste your time worrying about such things, little Indigo. You witches like to do your own thing, hua hua hua!!"

"Yessir. Thank you, my lord." A sigh escaped Indigo's lips. The president seemed just as ignorant about the truth as everyone else.

"Oh, that reminds me. When you joined the Witching Council, you gained a noble title. It's nothing special; just a special form of nobility made just for senior staff at the Academy. There’s no land or wealth with it, but it lets you request an audience with the Royal Family. Not that you'll have any royalty in your course of course. Still, you might want to brush up on your etiquette classes, Lady Indigo.

A blush overcame Indigo as she struggled to find the right words to express her awkwardness. She was aware of the noble title she would be receiving, but it still felt uncomfortable to hear.

"T-thank you, my lord. I will do so. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Hmmm. Lady Alice of the Civilities Course runs an excellent etiquette class, though she can be a bit of a nasty old hag.” The old man leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially to Indigo. “Don’t tell her I said that though; she still terrifies me, huahuahua! You’d better get ready; The welcoming ball is on the third night of the semester, and you would not want to humiliate yourself there."

"T-the ball! I have to attend that?!"

The old man looked a little puzzled at her question, as if she was asking if the sky was blue.

"Yes, the ball. Not only is it a chance to get to know your potential students, but I have to introduce you to everyone as the newest teacher!"

"Ah- I- I don't really feel that that is necessary…"

"Of course it is! It is one of our Academy's finest traditions!"

"Right, traditions…"

"Indeed. Well, I’m looking forward to working with you Miss- ah, Lady Indigo. And say hello to Aqua for me if she’s not dead, would you?"

Indigo scrambled to her feet at the implied dismissal. She bowed, "Thank you Lord Fornax. A-and of course I will, should I see her... I hope you have a wonderful afternoon."

"Farewell!"

As soon as she was clear of the doors they slammed shut behind her, leaving her alone again with a frustrating dose of fear, worry, and a long descent back down the tower.

Her body crumpled against the stone wall, the hidden tension within escaping out all at once. The President was known to be eccentric: prone to impulsive decision making and change of heart. She was just grateful he hadn't made things more complicated for her; it was starting to feel like everyone she met wanted to make her life harder these days.

But I shouldn't complain… Indigo thought to herself. Rust had advised her that this much was to be expected. Her position was now one of responsibility, and even if she wasn't ready she had to learn to swim: sinking wasn’t an option.

Indigo pulled off her hat and began scratching at the base of her antlers as she began to make her way down the stairs; a bad habit that had resurged recently. She used to do it as a grouchy teenager, until Aqua's incessant nagging had finally killed it.

But now that she was gone… the anxiety surged through Indigo again like a punch to the gut, causing her to stumble on the steps. It had been like this every single day since she had read the letter. She would wake up and immediately curl up in bed as her new reality assaulted her. Once she garnered enough courage to face the day, she'd go to Aqua's old office and dive into the enormous pile of documents and schedules that needed writing, organizing and signing. But the distractions only lasted so long; soon she would remember her mother’s disappearance and find herself curled up on the floor as her stomach curdled with crushing depression.

“I can’t keep doing this…” muttered Indigo under her breath as she continued down the spiral stairs. It was a long walk, and the fact that the architect had placed the teleportation room at the bottom of the nine hundred steps made it all the more infuriating.

Even so, she was still struggling to calm her anxiety-induced stomach ache by the time she reached the bottom. There, a complex yet beautiful set of magical circles and runes lay carved into the floor. These were a product of wizardry: carefully aligned runic lines and equations that were designed to teleport anything inside it. Aesthetically it was beautiful; the lines were inlaid with gold and silver, and the floor itself was a complex design of lapis lazuli, agate and black and white marble.

But Indigo paid the rare stones barely any attention at all, and simply walked over them to reach a dull black iron door that sat hanging half open; an entrance to nothing but a stone wall behind it. Despite the fact it led nowhere, Indigo pulled it shut, pulling out a piece of white chalk as she did so. Then she paused, trying to clearly picture the image she wanted to draw.

After a moment had passed, she began to mark little white points against the blackened metal, slow and hesitant at first. But as her confidence drew, so did her hand: the lines began to connect in between the dots; some as straight as an arrow, others as curved and meandering as a child’s drawing. Soon a strange yet beautiful network of lines and symbols began to take form; almost like a cluster of constellations intermingling and complementing one another until they came together to create an image. Indigo's hand moved quicker and quicker, but she often paused to erase and redraw the lines she wasn’t satisfied with. It took her nearly five minutes to finish it as a whole, but this was a precise magic and couldn’t be rushed.

Eventually her patience finally paid off and she stepped back to survey her work as a whole. To call the image abstract would be an understatement; at first glance it read like a painting created by an insane, bougie arts student. But the longer one stared at it, the more sense it seemed to make. Not on a logical level; no, this was something far more instinctual, emotional. It evoked imagery of a warm fire, like a hearth. Swooping lines seemed to suggest a comforting embrace, or perhaps a guardian angel. But at the bottom, the shapes seemed to meander into mystery, as if unsure where or what they were supposed to be. It was utterly confusing to many; an illustration that made no logical sense but spoke to one’s feelings of safety, security and a desire to return to a home that was suddenly unfamiliar.

Satisfied at her handiwork, Indigo drew out a wand from her robes. The wand was far from straight; gnarled and twisted, it followed the contours of a tree branch. But the wood itself was cleanly shaved and polished, showing the natural white tone of maple wood that matched pleasantly with its red leather handle wrap. It was clearly a well loved tool, but one that was far from orderly; it evoked imagery of a natural, more instinctual magic.

Indigo swished the wand back and forth a bit as if warming it up, closing her eyes as she did so. The image in her mind was just as important to get right as the image on the door, and she whispered something under her breath as she concentrated. Then, with a sudden and sharp flick of her wrist she snapped it towards the door. A wisp of smoke accompanied by a light breeze shot out of the wand and collided with the door, causing every single chalk line to glow at once. A loud click was heard, like the sound of a door unlocking, and Indigo gave a sigh of relief: her route home was secure.

She pulled open the heavy iron door, revealing an open air corridor that wasn’t there a moment ago. She stepped through, letting the door swing shut behind her. As it resealed itself, the abstract drawing burned brightly before fading away as the magic dispersed, its work complete.