The Phantom’s Gambit

Octavius coughed up blood as another knuckle struck his cheek. His sparring partner and friend, Thorne, grinned sadistically. "I draw the first blood, so I win!" Thorne jeered.

Octavius wiped the blood from his lips before taking a napkin from the stand to wipe off his sweat. Thorne did the same, his grin still plastered on his face.

"That's because I was distracted," Octavius muttered, his gaze darting around the few people watching them. They gave him suspicious glances, whispering to their companions.

Octavius ducked his head, his eyes scanning the ground. He knew what they were whispering about. The rumors had been circulating for weeks, and Octavius had grown accustomed to the wary looks and hushed conversations.

Thorne chuckled and clapped Octavius on the back. "Well, rumors or no rumors, you've always been the center of attention. Take it in stride, like you do when women fawn over you."

Octavius made a weak attempt to grin but he could only muster a grimace.

He never thought there'd be a point in his life where he would miss the attention. He had always dodged the admirers, refusing to indulge anyone romantically, till he get into the Academy. But ever since the news of his father's mysterious death – with rumors of suicide circulating, despite his own conviction that it was murder – had spread, everything had taken a turn for the worse.

As the son of the former Chief Mage and Headmaster of the prestigious Wysteria Academy of Magical Arts, Octavius had grown accustomed to the whispers and stares. But the rumors that now circulated about his father's final moments cut deep. They suggested things that Octavius knew his father would never do. But his father wasn't alive to prove it, leaving Octavius to face the fallout alone.

"At least I knew what it was they thought of me with their glances," Octavius muttered after a while.

"You mean what they wanted?" Thorne teased, his brows twitching upward in a playful arch as he pumped a heavy iron dumbbell up and down between his thighs.

A loud laugh ripped out of Octavius' throat at his friend's antics. It died down after a while, and Octavius' expression returned to its usual moody state. He was grateful for the few friends who had stuck around, that being Thorne and his friends.

"I just wish I could talk to my Father personally," Octavius said wistfully. "Even if I couldn't prove to the others that he's not guilty of what they're accusing him of, hearing it from him would be worthwhile."

Thorne dropped the napkin he was using to wipe his sweat and turned to Octavius. "You know, I think there's a way for you to do that."

Octavius raised an eyebrow. "We've had this conversation before, Thorne. We aren't doing dark magic. I am desperate but not that desperate. Are you forgetting we can't wield magic, especially since we haven't attended the essence ceremony yet? We don't even know what essence we'll harness."

Thorne squatted in front of Octavius, his expression suddenly turning serious. "That's the thing – we don't have to use magic to talk to him. I found a way— thanks to my mother."

Octavius stared at him blankly, waiting for Thorne to reveal that he was just joking. But Thorne's expression remained solemn, and Octavius' curiosity got the better of him at the mention of Thorne's Mother.

"What way?" Octavius asked, his questions tumbling out in rapid succession. "Can we leave now? How do we–"

Thorne pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes darting around the room. "Not here," he mouthed. "Wait for me at the old oak tree. I'll show you then."

"But the ceremony starts in a few hours," Octavius began to object.

Thorne cut him off. "It starts at sundown. My Father told me, so don't worry. We'll be back on time to celebrate your birthday too."

As a member of the Wysteria Council, Thorne's father was not only a skilled mage but also a respected authority. The council oversaw the activities of Wysteria Academy, as well as the entire magical community of Wysteria. Thorne's father and Octavius' father had been close friends since their teenage years, which had led to Thorne and Octavius growing up as inseparable best friends.

Octavius knew it was unlikely that the ceremony's timing would be postponed, but he suspected that the change might be due to his father's passing. As the former Headmaster, Octavius' father had traditionally led the Awakening Ceremony. Now, alternative arrangements had to be made.

The last day of the year had finally arrived, and with it, the Awakening Ceremony – a sacred rite of passage that marked the transition from adolescence to adulthood. For Octavius, this day held extra significance, as it coincided with his birthday.

"Okay," Octavius finally agreed. "But let's check on Lynn first. With everything going on, I don't want her getting bullied."

"Bullied? Not if they want to lose their head. She's safe, Octavius. Remember, we have people watching her every move? She's in good hands."

Octavius still felt a pang of concern for his sister, who was two years his junior. The death of their father had hit her hard as much as it did him, but she was overly emotional. So she had a hard time picking herself up. 

However, with the ceremony looming and the potential to finally speak with his father again, he knew he had to prioritize. 

'This would do us both good.' he reasoned

"I'll see her at the ceremony later," Octavius decided.

He knew if he skipped this he might never get the chance to talk to his father again.

Octavius and Thorne stood up. "Okay, let's go get the others."

"No, wait," Thorne stopped him. "I don't want people suspecting us. And remember, you're not exactly popular at the moment. So, wait for me at the old oak tree, alright?"

Octavius felt a wave of sadness at the thought of his friend being ashamed to walk with him. But he brush it off, thinking if his Bestfriend was ashamed of him due to the rumors, he wouldn't be sparing with him.

He attempted to smile, but it seemed forced. "Yeah," he replied.

———

As he stood at the edge of the forest, awaiting the arrival of his friends, Octavius's mind wandered to the ceremony that lay ahead. In the world where darkness reigned and vile creatures lurked in every corner, magic was woven into the very fabric of existence. The people had long practiced magic as a means of survival, honing their abilities to fend off the malevolent forces that sought to destroy their realm.

The people possessed one of four distinct essences, each accompanied by a unique fraction that served as a tangible manifestation of their abilities. These essences were:

Conjurers- They possessed the ability to summon and command the primal forces of nature, bending the elements to their will.

Levithans : These warriors harnessed magical energies through their swords, wielding them with precision and skill to vanquish their foes.

Healers : Healers could restore balance and well-being to living beings, curing wounds and ailments with a mere touch of their hands.

Architects : Though they were said to possess no magical abilities, Architects played a vital role in their society. They were tasked with building and nurturing families, ensuring the continuation of their lineage and the prosperity of their realm.

Octavius's thoughts, however, were tinged with a sense of unease. His father had been eagerly anticipating this day, eager to witness his son's awakening to his magical heritage. But that was before he died. 

Octavius checked the sky for what felt like the hundredth time, his annoyance growing with each passing minute. The sun was almost down and Thorne and his friends were nowhere to be found. He was starting to feel like a fool for waiting this long. It was almost time for the ceremony. 

'Where were they?'

The longer Octavius waited, the more his frustration simmered just below the surface. Just as he had given up on Thorne's arrival and started making his way out of the forest, a rustling in the underbrush caught his attention.

A horse came into view, and when Octavius looked at the rider, he realized it wasn't Thorne. Disappointment coated his features.

"I was asked to take you to meet the others," the rider said. "They're waiting."

Octavius' eyes narrowed. He recognized the rider, he was one of Thorne's acquaintances. "What about Thorne?"

The rider's expression turned grim. "He asked me to fetch you."

Again, sadness washed over Octavius as he realized his friend didn't want to be seen with him publicly. But he didn't waste any more time. He swung his leg over the horse's back and sat behind the rider.

As they rode to their destination, Octavius couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. But, he dismissed it, attributing it to nerves.