“Set aside your usual casting foci,” stated Professore Sorentino. “You will discover on your desks a flare wand. These wands are designed to attenuate the flow of your æther into a single spell—the Ignition spell. Excess magical energy will be converted to light from the wand.”

Aldric scowled at the wand. Unlike most of his classmates, he didn't require a magical focus. Those born to their magic never did. However, he picked it up and examined it. His was a bright yellow, and had the Tarquinian numeral 6 on it. Valenora continued to use Tarquinian numerals, long after most nations within the Realms had switched to Aulonikan numbers.

“No doubt you've noticed that the wands are of various colours,” continued the Professore, “and each bears a number.” He indicated the two dozen candles in four colours - red, blue, yellow and green - at the front of the class. “As you cast, the wand will take only the energy you need to cast Ignition. Excess energy will bleed off as light. The goal of this exercise is to cast with the least amount of energy needed.”

Aldric's eyes scanned the candles, and he spotted his—the last of the yellow candles. He raised his wand, then hesitated.

It felt wrong—like the wand was already fighting him. It was part of the problem he always had with magical foci. His energy came from his bloodline; one of his great-grandparents had slain a dragon, and in the process, absorbed some of the magical energy of the mighty beast. This had tainted their family, and all of the dragonslayer's descendants had some degree of magical power.

Aldric was the most powerful in his family to date; powerful enough to earn a space at the Lyceum Arcana, the magical school of Valenora. But Scions such as himself were rare at the Lyceum. Most wizards were of noble blood, the idle rich whose position at the Lyceum was purchased. They were born with prestige and wealth, but not with magical talent.

He scowled, dragging his mind back to the exercise. The wand motion for the Ignition spell was a quarter-twist followed by a jab; he summoned the mental imagery needed to align the spell energies, and then jabbed his wand, whispering, “Ignitio.”

The candle burst into flames, but the wand glowed a harsh yellow.

“Less energy,” said the Professore. “The less energy you use, the less it tires you.”

“Yes, Professore,” said Aldric. But he didn't know how to modulate his energy; the rune-patterns he visualized were meant to attenuate the æther, but they simply did not work for him.“

“Bloody dragonblood,” sneered di Valencio. He was the third son of the Signore di Valencio, as he was quick to inform any person he met.

He scowled, but Professore Sorentino glared at di Valencio. “Curb your language,” he snapped. “All are equal in my classroom.”

Aldric glanced at his candle—it had extinguished itself, as it was enchanted to do. He raised his wand again, summoned the mental images, and performed the quarter-twist and jab. ”Incendio.“

Again, the candle lit, and again, the wand flared. Harsher and brighter this time. Aldric sighed.

“He's a danger to all of us,” said di Valencio. “A Scion has no place here.”

Aldric turned, glaring at the young noble—and felt his magic flare. The air felt heavy, and he could feel the hairs on his arms standing up. And suddenly, arcs of electricity cascaded off him. His desk absorbed one, singeing it. In his hand, the flare wand glowed and exploded, embedding wooden fragments into his hand. Half the candles sputtered to life, and the three pieces of glowsteel embedded in the ceiling sparked molten and dripped red-hot metal.

“Aldric! Calm yourself!”

He drew in a breath, willing the power to ease down.

”Dios Malinconico!“ Professore Sorentino shook his head. “You need to get your magic under control, young man.”

Di Valentino sneered again. “Scions can't control themselves.”

Aldric stood, bowed quickly to the teacher, and stormed from the room.