The old orphanage had seen countless children pass through its doors, some leaving to work as apprentices, others sold themselves into servitude, some disappeared from this world even before they came of age, even when he knew not even once in its 35 years of existence had the scholarship landed on one of its wards he had dared to hope that his fate would be different, there was one small glimmer of possibility that fate would smile upon him and change his life for good, sadly this chance wasn't meant to be.

  Zenner woke up, puffy eyed, still feeling the weight of disappointment heavy on his chest and the sting of failure lingering, uncertainty of his future hanging like a executioner's rope around his neck.

  He feels the silence of his room, overwhelming, anxiety inducing silence, odd really, as the shared place hardly is one to be this quiet, that's what made him realize it's not his room at all, not the soft mattress nor the clean linens, not even the soft light that filters from the window behind old, faded, drapes had made him realize that, but the eerie silence did. His life had never never been this quiet, even when asleep, his roommates heavy breathing and snores are enough to break the stillness.

  Dejected after realizing that he was in the dean's room after unabashedly crying his eyes out and falling asleep, not before venting the loss of a lifetime opportunity, he grabs his satchel and pauses as he remembers the scrolls inside it.

  Three professors, three new opportunities, maybe, just maybe one would have a good enough opinion of himself to extend a helping hand? Even a recommendation letter would suffice, he hoped it did, since the scrolls weren't cheap and the gift seemed meaningful enough to fuel his imagination into believing he had a chance at the scholarship. He didn't know just yet then the sorrowful reality behind the scrolls, but he would be finding out soon enough.

  He clutched the three scrolls tightly in his hands, they had become a consolation prize of sorts, a gesture of respect for his efforts, and hopefully a way to attain a new life beyond the usual and frankly depressing options. For the common people these were powerful relics, enchanted by those influential figures who had seen something special in him, this feels like he's been offered an advantage, an unique opportunity to stand above his peers and attain his dreams.

  With a deep breath, he unrolls the first scroll, the ancient symbols glowing faintly. The air in the room seems to thicken, charged with an otherworldly energy. His mind races, he knows these scrolls can only be used once, and that there's a time limit on them, staring at the scroll in his hand he almost feels like understanding the nature of its magic.

  The scrolls are attuned to the magic of those who gave them to him, the synodals on the exam, all of them professors of the academy. They aren’t tools for random contact or summoning; they’re a means of reaching out to those specific individuals, tied to their auras in some way. His mind whirls, considering his options.

  He could reach out to three of the synodals, one for scroll, perhaps starting with the one who had seemed most impressed by his performance during the screening exams would be the best choice. Maybe they could even explain why he hadn’t received the scholarship or offer some kind of assistance in the future. Perhaps there’s a way to redeem himself, to show them his true worth, even if they hadn't seen it in his exam results.

  Zenner remembers the faces of the synodals, each one with a distinct aura, a sense of power and influence. The thought of contacting any of them fills him with a mix of hope and anxiety. What if one of them offers him guidance, What if they can see beyond the disappointment of today and recognize the potential he knows he has within him?

  But there’s another thought lingering in his mind: What if the magic of the scroll is more than just a way to reach out? Could it be that these scrolls hold something deeper, something that could alter the course of his life for worse? Why did they really have given them to him? He knew better than to think that there was something that good for free in this world.

  The weight of the decision presses on him, and for a moment, Zenner considers what he really wants to say. What question would he ask? How could he make the best use of this rare opportunity?

  He takes a steadying breath and unfurls the first scroll, carefully tracing the intricate symbols. The moment his finger touches the parchment, the air in the room seems to shift, the light flickering ever so slightly as though the scroll itself is alive. He speaks quietly, almost unsure of what to say.

  "I'm Zenner, one of the boys you tested for the academy, I need your help. I didn’t get the scholarship. Please, tell me what went wrong, and if there’s any way to fix it."

  The scroll begins to glow softly, and Zenner feels a strange pull, as though his very soul is being tethered to someone far away. A silence fills the room before a voice echoes faintly in his mind, cool and distant, but unmistakably familiar, the voice of the synodal who had given him the scroll.

  “I see you’ve reached out. But why now? Isn't it a little late to be just checking the results? What is it you truly seek?”

  He could feel his heart racing, this could be his chance to turn things around, but he must choose his words carefully, it wasn't lost to him the slight disappointment and indifference seeping into the voice of the professor.

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  “I believe I'm good professor, I'm a fast learner and work hard, I would really like to know how was I lacking and if there's a way forward for future education, I don't want to give up just yet”

  “Well, Zenner, right? I'll be honest with you, you're not bad but it really just wasn't meant to be, honestly without Silvaner supervising the game has been rigged out from the start, want my advice? Give it up, be a soldier, you got a good head above your shoulders, staying alive to live a good life won't be that hard. Good luck, this is all I can do to help.”

  As the voice faded the parchment of the scrolls transformed into something else, a recommendation letter, appointment to some Sargent, if someone would take it at face value, it was a good chance, nothing screams “good potential” like an academy professor going out of his way to give to smooth things out for a nobody in this kingdom. Yet for Zenner it didn't feel like an opportunity as much as a certainty for an early grave, war was not a game he could afford to play.

  Maybe if there weren't two more scrolls, maybe if he had used the scrolls in the morning when he had just come back and Karina “welcomed” him, maybe then this tale would have been one of a military hero rising above all.

  Two more tries then. Zenner’s breath catches in his throat as the voice of Professor Valtor, a well known figure in the realm of medical alchemy, echoes clearly in his mind. The professor’s tone is measured, almost clinical, but there’s an underlying curiosity.

  “Hello there, what were you hoping to achieve by calling me today?”

  Zenner hesitates for a moment, the weight of his emotions still heavy in his chest, but he steels himself. This was a chance, if he couldn't convince the professor to help he might lose an opportunity to change his fate, to move forward. He gathers his thoughts quickly, choosing his words carefully, aware of the gravity of this moment.

  "I didn’t get the scholarship, Professor Valtor, I thought I had a chance, but I’m not sure where I went wrong or what to do next. I need guidance, an opportunity to prove myself. Please, If there’s any chance for me to learn more, to grow into a craft, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  The silence lingers for a moment that felt way longer than it really was before the professor responds, his voice sharp and deliberate.

  "I see your frustration, Zenner. But you must understand that the academy does not offer its guidance freely, nor do I or any of my peers for that matter. Talent alone does not guarantee a place in this world, it must be taken, honed, forged under pressure, and that requires dedication."

  Zenner felt a strange pull as the professor continued with his tirade.

  "Perhaps, instead of waiting for an opportunity that may never come, you should create your own path. I am willing to offer you something different, a common deal really. An opportunity, if you will."

  Zenner’s heart skips a beat. This was more than he expected. His mind races, thoughts flooding in.

  Professor Valtor’s voice continues, cold but with an underlying intensity. "I am offering you a ten year indentured servant contract. You will come to work for me at the academy, effective as soon as the sun rises on the morrow, assisting with my research, my experiments in alchemy and any and all sorts of odd jobs that I may need. In exchange, you will receive the apprenticeship that you seek, one on one training under my tutelage. You may attend any class at the academy in your free time and would be granted access to common facilities such as the library. With me you shall learn not only the alchemical arts but also the discipline and focus needed to succeed."

  Zenner’s pulse quickens. A ten year contract might sound like a long commitment, but the reality of the matter is that the military asks for 20 years of service before anyone can ask for retirement, so the opportunity is undeniable. Under Professor Valtor’s guidance, he could learn and grow in ways he could never have imagined. The academy itself would be at his fingertips, access to the vast libraries, knowledge, and resources that could propel him forward in ways the scholarship never could.

  But there’s a catch. The word indentured echoes in his mind. A servant. Ten years of servitude. He would be bound to this professor, likely with little room for personal freedom. Would this truly be worth it? As he stands at this crossroads there's something in the back of his mind like a sweet whisper in the dead of night making the risks seems lower than they really are

  The professor isn’t offering charity nor help; he’s offering a chance for survival, for growth, but also for control.

  “I’m not a patient man, if the magic of the scroll fades this offer will be no more" Professor Valtor adds, his tone still calm but undeniably final. "Remember this: opportunities such as this one do not come often nor plentiful. You will serve as my apprentice for a decade, and in return, I will shape you into something more than you are now. The choice is yours.”

  Zenner feels the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Ten years. A decade of servitude in exchange for a future in alchemy, training under a renowned master. There would be hardships, and no doubt, sacrifice. But could he really afford to let this opportunity slip by? Could he risk turning away from the chance? Will the final scroll offer something better?

  The scroll hums softly in his hand, a reminder that he must choose and quickly. He could refuse and continue searching for another path, or he could accept the offer and bind himself to some semblance of stability. Zenner closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Honestly the moment Professor Valtor said he would be able to use the academy facilities he knew the choice he'll take. He turns the scroll over in his hands, feeling its weight, and speaks quietly, his voice steady but filled with resolve.

  “I accept your offer, Professor Valtor. I will work for you. I will serve. Teach me, and I will prove that I am worthy of the chance you’ve given me.”

  The moment the words leave his mouth, the scroll begins to glow brighter, the symbols inscribed on it shifting and swirling as if alive. Zenner can feel the magic of the scroll binding his words, making the deal official, sealing his fate.

  Professor Valtor’s voice comes once more, this time with a hint of satisfaction and something more.

  “Very well, gather your assets, say your goodbyes and meet me at the gates of the academy at first light tomorrow, you're mine for the next 10 years, boy.”

  The light from the scroll fades, leaving Zenner standing in the quiet of the dean's room, which feels even more eerie than ever, the weight of his decision settling in. He had chosen his path,one of servitude, but hopefully also of unimaginable opportunity.

  Sometimes people forget why it used to be a curse to wish someone to live in interesting times.