Author's notes:

Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.

Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter VIII: Apprentice

Martyn couldn't help but let his eyes wander all over the magnificent architecture. Elaborate stone arches interweaved with each other, creating a mirage of cascading waves of stone as they descended from the central dome towards the stone floor. The whole place, from the ground up to the ceiling was covered in tiny, magnificent engravings that made the cold, grey, stone, look like it was alive.

He could just see the ones in the wall next to him, a battle ground. There were knights on the front, with archers and mages supporting them, as they charged towards a line of demons. The engravings continued as they rised to the top, with what could only be the souls of the dead knights from below, as the ascended in the air, and were slowly being replaced with winged, armored, daevas. The divine beings themselves were battling flying demons a bit higher, piercing them with their lances.

All the way to the top, as far as his eyes could reach, the walls depicted the battle of the humans against the demons, the fight of the daevas against the toothed horrors of the void. Till, at the top of the dome, a clear large representation of the ten Gods, watching over them, dwarfed every other marking. Around them, growing smaller and smaller, till they reached the size of the rest of the engravings, from Iggdzen, whom his fiery majestic form was almost as big as a God, to Reghjin, the last born, who was just slightly bigger than a daeva, their thousand children, our link with the Gods, our ancestors.

The whole place was huge, a hundred meters across, and yet, somehow, the arches were build in such a way, that no pillars were required to support the dome, allowing a full view to the battle above from wherever you stood. His mana sight had long now reached the ceiling, tracing the pictures, trying to grasp everything with his mind, since his eyes were not strong enough to see across, and so he knew there was no magic on the stone itself. It was clear that it was the way they interweaved with each other, supporting each other, that made this miracle work. And his mind was burning trying to figure out how such a thing could be built.

No... Not built. Excavated. What made this even more impressive was that they were now a good deal under the main three buildings of the academy. Following knights, they had travelled through the maze-like corridors beneath the ground, passing through countless other rooms and domes, till they reached this place. And to Martyn, here, underground, felt like there was even more rooms, even more space, than the buildings above. A true concealed academy sprawling beneath the obvious one.

One could easily lose his breath on the masterpiece, but, despite that, the constant buzzing of the voices around him, that filled the room with noice, irritated him. Made him feel like the forty or so children around him were disrespectful to the Gods themselves.

A sudden jab on his ribs brought him back to reality.

"You're the barbarian right?" Said a cheerful voice besides him.

Looking down, next to him, Marcus saw a young man, maybe a little younger than himself smiling towards him. His unruly dark hair were tied messily on a tiny ponytail behind his neck as a stray tuft of hair fell over his face. As opposed to everybody else here, this man had somehow managed to alredy dirt his white robe near his feet.

Extending his arm, he continued. "So? Are you really him? My name's Donovan, Donny for shorter and cooler!"

A bit hazed, Martyn stared straight at his clear brown eyes before extending his own.

"I guess so... Martyn."

"Ohhh great. So? How do you like it here? I bet you didn't have something so magnificent in the savage lands right? Amazing isn't it?" Donny's words continued to fly, one after another, without taking a breath, not even noticing his slight insult in his excitement.

Martyn furrowed his brows a bit and his voice took a sharper tone. "Yeah, it is amazing alright. But I've heard that the Great Shaman's hall in the living city was build by the Daeva themselves. That its beauty had caused people to lose their minds." He said puffing his chest out proudly.

"And?" Donny continued unfazed. "Do they? How much more beautiful compared to here? Let's say if here is like Margie would you rate your places as... Eren?" He said as he pointed towards a girl in front, and looked like he was searching for another one somewhere in the clump of people.

"What...?"

"What what? Don't tell me you haven't seen Eren? Oh man you're in for a treat. A rare beauty I say... too bad everything good only went to her looks... but hey! Who am I to complain?" Donny winked

Unsure how to answer, Martyn felt safer to return to the previous subject. "I haven't been to the Great Shaman's hall to know, that would be absurd. I haven't even been to any of our holy cities. Only shamans go there."

"But aren't you a shaman?"

"I was a shaman apprentice. Far away from my pilgrimage to the holy cities." Martyn corrected, putting as much emphasis as he could on the word 'apprentice'.

"Oh man... that sucks. From apprentice to apprentice? I can't wait till I become an adept! I would be gone from here to tour the world in the blink of the eye! At least, I hope we are in the same class till then!"

"...Why?"

"Why?! You're kidding right? You are a fucking barbarian! How awesome is that? How awesome would it be to hang around the biggest, meanest man around here? Plus, I will get to hear your stories about slaying beasts and whatnot in the savage lands. They don't get their name for nothing, right?"

"Most people around here don't seem to share your enthusiasm about me..."

"Meh, don't worry about them. They are either scared or jealous that you are, like, two heads taller than them. And you don't look half bad either." Donny said scanning him from top to bottom. "I bet some girls already..."

"SILENCE" A booming voice echoed in the whole hall.

In the central podium six figures were standing. The one who had just shouted, enhancing his voice with magic, was a tall, well built, man, with golden, short cropped hair, his silver dragon prominent in his chest. As the hall filled with silence, he turned towards his colleagues behind him and noded.

A shorter man slowly approached the edge of the podium, staring at the apprentices. Out of all the mages Martyn has seen so far, he seemed to be the one in the worst shape, his robes barely concealed a growing belly and his receding hair was clumsily oiled back. Despite that, the man put his arms behind his back and proudly pushed his chest outwards as he took a huge breath, his golden dragon plain for all to see.

The archmage scanned the room, looking at each of the apprentices, his eyes filled with life, and with a bright smile on his face, he shouted.

"Welcome to the academy. My name is Archmage Arkon Erevar, Commander of all support units in the fort. Basically... your boss. As long as you train to be a support mage, you are under my jurisdiction, under my command, and under my protection. And since I'm in charge for your actions, please, don't do anything stupid.

Behind me, are my deputy commanders and some of my oldest adepts. They will be in charge for your training. But keep in mind, that the only way you'll ever become adepts, the only way to become real mages and not some children running around with toys they don't understand, is if I, personally, say so.

On my left and right are Master Tisior Cain, Deputy commander of the support units and leader of all of our healers here, and Master Fidren Daman, Captain on the Countess' army and in charge of coordinating our squads. Like me, you won't see them often, but keep in mind, that if you don't draw their attention, you'll never draw mine.

I warn you that I'll only accept perfection. A lot of people, and I hope noone here, believe that we are just what remains. They believe that battle mages are our strongest mages, our spellswords our fastest mages, and so, that leaves support as the people who are neither strong, nor fast. There may be some truth to that. Maybe, on average, we aren't either the fastest or the strongest, but what we are, is far more important than that.

How many spells do you think even an adept spellsword knows? Ten? Twenty? Just the same old strengthenings and accelerations, practiced over and over again till they master their speed. Battle mages? The same. You don't need a vast repertoire, you need mastery over what you know. But supports? We know *everything*.

Even our most dedicated crafter, if he finds himself on the battlefield, will need to know how to heal people. Just imagine being on an expedition, and having your cartwheel broke down. A whole platoon going to the support asking to fix it, only to get answered "Sorry, I'm a healer, I can't fix a wheel." Inconceivable. We are the masters of enchantments and you know how many of those exist? Innumerable. How many things we need to learn even for a basic transmute?

Let the battle mages and the spellswords lead our troops to victory, most of them are squad captains by the time they become adepts either way. People hear 'mage' and expect to be taken by the hand and lead to victory. That role isn't suited for us. But go into any academy. Anywhere in the world. And you'll find that the ones pushing for new spells, the ones leading the researchers, the ones giving all the new shiny toys to the captains, the army, and the plain folk... are all support mages.

Now... I don't brag that we are the smartest... BUT WE MUST BECOME!"

Arkon stopped to take a breath and watched with glee as the apprentices below nearly exploded with enthusiasm. Those kids, the ones that were one step below the prodigies, those were his to train, and they were the easiest to mold to his liking. He took another breath, and waved everyone to quiet before continuing.

"We are blessed with forty one apprentices this year. And by apprentice, I mean people that know how to at least weave their magic. Feel proud for that. There are a few dozen more who were deemed too low for even apprentices. Kids who we'll continue to train until they are at least at your stage to officially enter the academy.

But, unfortunately, even amongst you, not all of you are equally trained. Some had years of house training from family mages, others awakened to their gifts from early on, and others... well, weren't so lucky. For this reason, you'll be split into three classes, each corresponding to your level of training. The people behind me, some of my most trusted, and most talented adepts, will be your teachers, each in charge of each class."

He waved the three adepts forward, and as they dropped their hoods, Martyn was stunned to see Kat among them.

"Adepts Vorias and Nerin Fern, known as the twin geniouses a few years back are our academy's pride and hope when it comes to future spell researchers and Adept Kathlyn Erevar, my daughter, who despite her being a support, can rival some of the best battle mages in power and some of the best spellswords in speed."