Journal – Day 1

  People have been giving me strange or even hostile looks, and, well, I don’t understand what they’re saying. But judging by their expressions, I doubt it’s anything friendly. Thankfully, my Linguist Feat seems to be helping me pick up the language quickly—I can already grasp bits and pieces of their conversations.

  I haven’t cast any magic yet, just in case I end up scaring the locals. So far, I haven’t seen any other races besides humans. The fashion here is a fascinating blend of Victorian-era style fused with fantasy, though it leans more toward Victorian aesthetics. As for the technology, it seems to align with the Industrial Revolution—steam power, early machinery, and primitive firearms.

  I’ll have to cut this entry short. It looks like I have company. City guards? Police? Either way, they’re headed straight for me.

  Entry Ended.

  Gine

  To call the library a library would be an understatement. It was more akin to a museum—if museums held not just books but living examples of everything one might wish to research.

  As I stepped through the double doors, the illusion on my clothes had long since been dismissed. My polished shoes clicked against the black-and-white marble floor, the sound sharp in the vast, high-ceilinged entrance hall. Ahead, a massive desk of Lansern Oak—a dark red, polished testament to its expense—stood as the final barrier to entry. Mage lights cast a warm glow over the many paintings adorning the walls, their subjects watching silently.

  Behind the desk sat Lady Amber, the ever-diligent receptionist. She barely glanced up from the thick leather-bound book in front of her before speaking.

  “Ah, Maester Gine. Here again today?”

  “Yes, Lady Amber.” I gave her a polite nod. “I recently came across a theory that intrigued me. I want to verify its accuracy before proceeding further.”

  Not a lie, but certainly not the real reason I’d been here so frequently over the past week.

  She arched a delicate brow. “It must be quite the theory to warrant so many visits. May I ask what it is?”

  I allowed a small smile. “I’ve been reviewing the work of Reginald Thornewell. He once proposed that cleaning a wound could prevent infections and other illnesses.” I paused for effect. “You can understand why I’d want to be cautious with my research.”

  The Empire, as advanced as it was in many fields of magic, still had an archaic view of medicine. Many saw no connection between hygiene and health, relying solely on magic to cure ailments.

  Amber tilted her head, interest flickering in her sharp eyes. “Wasn’t that theory disproved? I recall multiple scholars—along with the St. Alaric Society—refuting his claims.”

  That was surprising. Normally, she was more invested in the logs and records of the library than in idle conversation.

  I nodded. “Yes, but upon closer examination, I found that much of the research used magic to keep patients healthy while allowing wounds to remain unclean. I believe that altered the results.”

  Her book snapped shut, a rare sign of genuine interest. “And why would that matter?”

  “Because magic affects the body in ways we don’t fully understand. If it enhances natural healing, it could be compensating for the infections, masking the true risks of untreated wounds.” I adjusted my glasses. “If I’m right, we’ve been dismissing an entire field of medicine due to a flawed approach.”

  Amber exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. “If you’re right, you might upset quite a few people.” A knowing smile flickered across her lips before she held out her hand.

  “I seem to have that effect,” I said, placing my last gold coin into her palm.

  With that, I stepped past the desk and into the library proper. My destination was the medical section, where I pulled down several research papers relating to Dr. Reginald Thornewell and the so-called "disproving" of his claims.

  "One of the few men with any real morals," I muttered to myself as I reread his speculations and the so-called "proof" against them. The methods his peers used to refute him were, at best, questionable and, at worst, outright unethical.

  "They’re lucky medical ethics are practically nonexistent here."

  I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud until a deep, gruff voice answered.

  “Who was lucky?”

  I turned to see a portly man in a well-tailored black suit, complete with a bowler hat and an almost comically thick peppered mustache.

  I smiled. “Lord Bertram, good to see you again. How have you been?”

  He let out a hearty laugh, his round frame settling into the chair across from me. “Busy. Very busy. You may have heard that our illustrious university has just received a rather large grant from the Crown and the Gray Duchy.” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I assume that means more work for you?”

  “More work for everyone involved,” he grumbled. “But enough about that. I’m actually here for you.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  That caught my attention. I closed the book, mentally noting the page number.

  "This might be it!" I kept my expression neutral, allowing only a polite look of curiosity. “Oh? What business do you have with me?”

  Bertram leaned forward slightly. “As I said, the university has recently received a significant amount of funding, and with that, we’re expanding. That means hiring. And I want to hire you.”

  I blinked. That was not what I had expected. I had assumed my opportunity would come from securing funding for my infection research, not an outright job offer.

  “You… want to hire me?” I asked, still processing. “I’m honored, but surely there are better candidates?”

  Bertram chuckled at my expression. “That did catch you off guard, didn’t it? Not easy to surprise you. But yes, I want you on board. On paper, there may be others more qualified, but I believe you’re more capable than you let on.”

  I frowned slightly. “I assume you received some pushback for suggesting me?”

  At that, his jovial demeanor faltered slightly. He scratched his mustache, looking vaguely annoyed. “Well, yes. Which brings me to the slightly annoying part of all this.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Which is?”

  He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Gine… I know you try to avoid politics, but…” He sighed. “Alright, look. I know this might be a sore subject, but I also know you’re not doing well financially.”

  I kept my face impassive.

  He continued before I could refute him. “You’ve done a good job of hiding it. Most haven’t noticed. But those of us who know you—really know you—can see the minor illusion spells you use to keep your clothes looking pristine. We know you alter their appearance to make them seem newer than they are.” His eyes locked onto mine, a silent warning against denying it. “You say your family hasn’t been sending as much as you’d hoped.”

  That part wasn’t exactly a lie. In the year I had been here, I had carefully crafted a noble backstory to gain access to places like this. I never explicitly claimed a family connection, but I also never corrected the assumptions others made.

  Bertram softened his tone. “Look, I know you need this job, which is why I want you to hear me out before reacting.”

  I exhaled. “Alright. I’ll be open-minded.”

  He straightened. “Because of the university’s expansion, we’ll be hiring a number of new professors. But… there will be some competition.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of competition?”

  He winced. “You may have to engage in some politicking.”

  I groaned, rubbing my temples. “How bad are we talking?”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” he assured me quickly. “We’re introducing several new fields of study. Since we have no existing professors for them, we’re hiring multiple candidates and keeping those who perform the best. The professors with the highest-achieving students will retain their positions.”

  I leaned back in my chair, considering. “So I’d have to outperform any other professors in my field?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  I frowned. “And how are students assigned to professors?”

  Bertram’s expression darkened slightly. “At first, students will choose their own professors. They can switch between instructors until the first exam. After that, any transfers will require approval from both professors.”

  “That explains the need for politicking,” I mused. If students were the ones deciding, then attracting and retaining them would be crucial.

  Bertram nodded. “You have some time to think about it, but the sooner you decide, the better. If you give me an answer before I leave today, I can start pushing the paperwork through.”

  As he stood to leave, I remembered the most important question. “What subject would I be teaching?”

  For the first time since we sat down, he grinned. “Magical Biology. Your research has been very interesting, after all.”

  And with that, he left me alone to think.

  Alistair

  The journey to Iron-Port was long and uncomfortable—though not for the usual reasons. The roads were well-maintained, and the carriage itself was more than luxurious. No, what made this trip unbearable was the company I was forced to keep.

  I glanced at the two other occupants. Sitting across from me was my fiancée, Lavinia von Gray—the youngest daughter of Duke Gray and, by far, the most insufferable of his brood.

  “What’s with the sour look this time?” she asked, her voice sickeningly sweet, as if her words were coated in honey meant to rot my teeth. She flicked open her ornate fan, lazily waving it near her painted lips. “Or are you still pouting over not being allowed to hunt that Root Spire?”

  “It’s not that.” I scowled. “It’s this—being stuck in this carriage with you two, being sent to that university for a whole year.”

  I still couldn’t believe my father was making me go to Iron-Port. It was a backwater city, far from the Empire’s heart. If I knew a curse strong enough to bypass his wards, I would have used it the moment he sentenced me to this academic exile.

  “Oh, haven’t you gotten over that yet?” Lavinia sighed, shaking her head. Her golden hair swayed slightly with the motion. “That was a week ago.”

  I scoffed. “I had a perfectly good exemption letter to stay at Gold Heart. I should be there, refining my work, making connections with the highest circles of the Empire. Securing my future.”

  Ignoring her smirk, I turned my attention to the third occupant of our carriage. “Anyway, what are you reading, Eric?”

  Eric had spent most of the morning behind his newspaper, barely acknowledging us. At the sound of his name, he lowered the paper just enough for his earth-brown eyes to meet mine.

  “Nothing too interesting,” he said in that ever-practical tone of his.

  “Oh? You seemed quite focused,” Lavinia pressed, grasping at anything that might entertain her.

  He hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, “It’s mostly news on the new hires at Iron Gates… and a murder spree in the poorer districts.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Anyone important among the new professors?” If Iron Gates had managed to secure someone truly notable, that might be worth paying attention to.

  Eric turned the paper around, revealing an article. “No one particularly prestigious. Though they did mention an unknown hire—a certain Gine Silverbranch Walker.”

  I studied the illustration beneath the headline. A dark-haired man with glasses stared back at me, his gray eyes almost silver in the inked rendering.