Rows of long wooden desks filled the exam hall, each seat soon occupied by an examinee. At the front of the room, proctors stood ready, stacks of parchment in their hands, their expressions impassive.
"This will be the written exam," one of them announced. "You will have two hours to complete it. No talking. No spellcasting. Any attempt to cheat will result in immediate disqualification."
Chairs scraped against the floor as students settled in. The tension in the room was different now—quieter, but no less intense. Failing this test meant losing the opportunity to continue, no matter how strong their magic was.
The proctors moved through the aisles, placing parchment in front of each student. The witches exchanged brief glances but said nothing.
Vell settled near the back of the room, reached for a spare sheet, and skimmed the questions.
No surprises.
History. Magical history. Spellcraft theory. The ethics of magic use. A handful of questions on famous figures and pivotal conflicts. Exactly the kind of material Herow would expect any capable student to know.
His gaze drifted over the examinees as they read their own tests. Some looked relieved—those who had studied well. Others tensed, gripping their quills too tightly. A few had already begun staring blankly at the page, the unmistakable expression of someone realizing they were doomed.
The witches, at least, showed no signs of distress. They had studied under him, after all. While their primary focus had been magic, he had ensured they learned history as well.
Vell idly flipped through the exam again and again.
"I could write better questions than this," he thought.
Most focused on the grand events of magical history—wars, alliances, and the discovery of new spells and techniques. He had been present for more than a few of them, though never as a figure history chose to remember.
The wars he had fought in, the magic he had helped shape—Herow had either ignored them or reduced them to footnotes. He had no delusions about why. His name was known in academic circles, studied in textbooks, but not as a hero. His reputation was something else entirely.
And reputations were difficult things to change.
His mind drifted, drawn back to the past. A battlefield under darkened skies. Names long buried in the pages of history or forgotten entirely, but never by those who had lived through it.
Then he forced himself back to the present.
In any case, the witches would have no trouble passing this test. That was all that mattered now. He thought Sonder could pass it as well.
Even if she had focused on the arcane side of magic, the subject she studied most was history.
The minutes stretched into an hour, the steady scratch of quills filling the silence. Every so often, a student shifted in their chair or let out a quiet sigh.
Finally, one of the examiners stepped forward.
"Time is up. Put down your quills."
A few students rushed to scribble their last answers before reluctantly setting their quills aside.
Proctors moved swiftly, collecting the exams and stacking them in neat piles before carrying them away.
Headmaster Jouska stepped onto the podium once more, his sharp gaze sweeping over the remaining students.
"You have been tested in your ability to wield magic," he said. "You have now been tested in your knowledge of magic. In three hours, we will know who has passed and who has failed."
He paused. "In the meantime, you may rest."
Straight to the point.