“Welcome to Astrathorne.”

The sprawling grounds were filled with eager applicants—children and adolescents from all corners of the kingdom, dressed in their house best or whatever passed for it. Noble sons in silks. Street magelings in patched cloaks.

Astrathorne Academy. The most prestigous magical Academy in all of Esthryllaine, and at its head, Ulric Vann. A man who had once split the sky during the Siege of Aldgrath, who had halted the Temporal Fracture with a single incantation. Now, he inspected eleven-year-olds like a blacksmith appraising raw ore.

“I am Archmagister Ulric Vann, Grand Warden of the Arcane Council, Royal Mage of the Crown, and Headmaster of this institution. If you have not heard of me, you are either very young, very stupid, or very badly taught." He descended the steps slowly, each footstep precise. “Some of you were born to wield magic. Some of you were not. The entrance exam will sort the two.”

Ulric's eyes scanned the crowd of this year's hopefulls. The exam would be rather tedious. One half composed of a written element all the students here had already passed, the other of a practical demonstration before Ulric and a panel of Astrathorne's professors. Intently, he watched as the first candidate stepped into the examination room.

"Name yourself, your homestead, and show us your magic aptitude. You've until the hourglass runs dry," he spoke easily.