Desmond is a student of the Church’s esteemed Academy, and he’s failing horribly. Minister Duden despises Desmond for his inquisitive nature, and punishes him greatly for it. After receiving an extra credit assignment from Minister Duden as a last-ditch effort to graduate on time, Desmond discovers a dark secret within the Academy’s walls that the Church has kept hidden for centuries.
This is the origin story of a character I attempted to write a novel on in 2023, but just never came to fruition. This short story did, though, so I guess it was a happy accident? Anyway, thanks for reading!
At the Academy
My footsteps echo through the halls of the Academy. The hallways are dark, save for the occasional lantern at the end of a hallway. I take a sip from my mug of scalding water as I drift off from the path forward, stopping at the last window before my turn to the dormitories. I can’t see the moon from this angle, just some distant, shadowed towers on the eastside of the Academy, and the moonlight illuminating the snow and icicles that are dangling down the window.
I take another sip of water. I think it’s burning the top layer of skin off my tongue.
I needed something to fuel the all-night writing sprint I’m being forced to endure, so I decided to go to the dining hall and grab something to drink. However in my sleep-deprived daze, I forgot that the only thing they served this late was tea, and I would rather endure the pain of drinking the hot water used to make the tea than the pain of drinking the nasty tea this place gets imported that tastes of flowery perfume. The water will cool in a few moments, anyway.
I move away from the window, a sigh escapes my lips. My essay was not going as well as I thought it would. Earlier today, I was tasked with an extra-credit assignment by Minister Duden. My marks have never been great in any of my classes. Not from lack of trying- I’ve learned how to harness the elemental magic of the gods, just like all the other students in my graduating class. But the Ministers of the Academy despise any questioning of the holy scripture. Minister Duden is the instructor who despises my curiosity the most, and fails any of my essays that aren’t perfect regurgitations of the monotonous scripture all the other students have perfectly memorized. So all of my essays.
She finally called me up to her desk after class this afternoon.
“Desmond Minstrel,” She pronounced every syllable of my name, shook her head, “I simply don’t know what to do with you.” She made a tsk-tsk sound with her tongue while she rose from her chair and walked towards the large bookshelf that stood against the wall.
“The only thing I can offer you is an extra assignment that, if you can manage to pass, could bring your marks high enough to allow you to graduate.” She grabbed a massive textbook off the shelf and walked back. She let the textbook hit the desk with a thud and pushed it towards me.
“Write an informative seven page essay concerning the Scholars of the Lumina using this book as a source,” Minister Duden said. “Bring it to class tomorrow. A passing grade for that should be enough for you to pass. This isn’t too complex of an ask- even someone with your level of competence should be able to manage it.”
“Very well.” I pick up the textbook. The weight was shocking, and I almost dropped the thing immediately. Carrying this textbook will be a chore. I’m not a betting man, but I would bet all my silver pieces and more that Minister Duden chose this specific textbook only for its weight so that it would feel like a burden to carry. I’m not one for manual labor, so if that was secretly Minister Duden’s idea for punishment, then it was working.
I gripped the book with two hands as I walked towards the lecture hall door in the back of the room.
“Minstrel.”
I stopped. “Yes, ma’am?”
“While you may be able to graduate from this academy thanks to my help, your marks are still inexcusably horrid. You’ll be lucky if you are even given a clergyman occupation outside of simple messenger duties.”
I turn back towards the door. “Very well, then,” I repeated.
It’s not like I truly want a clergyman occupation, anyway. The only reason I’m here is due to my parents. They’ve never been in a great spot financially, so when I came of age to enroll at this “esteemed” boarding institution, they jumped at the chance to get me in. My naivety to the whole thing made me eager to do well, and excited to finally have every burning question about the Church and the gods I ever had answered. Now, I just want to get out of this frozen prison. If I’m not qualified enough to work a job in the Church, then so be it.
After getting the book to my room, I skimmed the table of contents for where the information on the Scholars would be. The Ministers explained to us how they are, in a sense, the Church’s historians- keeping a record of the gods’ jobs and accomplishments. All written works that the Church has pertaining to the gods, and all the texts within the Academy, are all written by generations of the Scholars of the Lumina. However, I quickly discovered that there was nothing more on the Scholars besides the words written on the front cover: “Written by – Scholars of the Lumina.”
Good news for me, because that meant I wouldn’t need to bother using Minister Duden’s textbook anymore. The only issue is that I would need to locate my own sources. And it’s not like I wasn’t allowed to do that- I clearly heard Minister Duden say this book only had to be a source. She didn’t say that I couldn’t use supplementary sources. But after taking a trip to the library, I couldn’t find a single book on the Scholars.
Now, the clock tower’s bell chimes its forlorn tone three times somewhere beyond my view. I still haven’t given up the fight to prove Minister Duden wrong, that her seemingly impossible assignment is indeed possible. But turns out, it’s hard to reiterate “The Scholars write all the Church’s scripture” over and over again for seven pages straight without repeating yourself.
When it’s time to make the turn to the dormitories, I keep walking straight, into the darkness of the corridor ahead. I need a bit of a longer break from my writing.
I walk the empty halls, letting my mind wander. Why would Minister Duden assign me this topic when there is nothing on the Scholars in the library? The only reason I can think of is that she wants me to fail at this assignment. She’s always despised me and all my curiosities, and nothing would make her happier than to hold me back another year.
I reach a dead end, the wall in front of me is but a simple mural, depicting the Academy’s seal- a half moon within a Sun. It’s the same one that adorns every banner, quilt and schoolbag within this hallowed place. On the floor in front of the mural is a silver plaque.
“Follow your light,” I read aloud. I’m about to turn back around, return to my dorm and work on my paper, instead of wasting the finite time left to earn my leave of this place by looking at such an egocentric display. But before I do, I discover something.
“Interesting…”
There’s a glimmer of light shining through a thin crack, which runs diagonally across the center of the mural.
I place my hands on top of it, and press down hard. I hear the stone cracking under my hands, and lift them to see I’ve made the crack branch off into littler ones. It almost looks like I had planted a young sapling within the center of the moon.
I step back. This can’t be stone, and if it is, it must be incredibly thin. But why is there moonlight on the other side of it?
I lift my left hand above my head, the one not carrying my mug.
“O’ Prophet of Light, shine your light upon me.”
A beam of light appears out of nowhere and strikes down the mural. The wall crumbles to dust, and by the smell of the dust I can tell it’s not stone but instead plaster. Puffs of the dried plaster now cover my once pristine teal robes, and I can feel some of it resting in my auburn hair.
Beyond the mural is a hallway, lined with deep blue stained glass windows that give off an eerie glow. This mural must’ve been a recent addition, to hide whatever is down this hallway.
If anyone is near, they definitely heard the explosion, and I don’t necessarily want to be standing right in front of the crime scene when they come to see what the noise is about. So I step over the wall’s remains and move down the hallway.
I don’t get very far down the hall before I discover two, towering marble statues on either side. I immediately recognize the two gods. The one on the left is of the Prophet of Light. On the other side is the Princess of Night. Their poses depict them in the heat of battle, the Prophet holding a large staff above his head.
My studies unfortunately flicker back into my head. The story goes that the Prophet of Light is in a constant battle with the Princess of Night. Each nightfall are the moments he takes to rest, that way he has the power to keep fighting.
It seems this Prophet of Light has been resting for longer, because a black vine has wrapped itself around both statues and has grown so large it’s made a thick wall blocking the way forward. But I can see a singular, coffee brown door on the other side of the vine, and nothing will stand but that I need to see what’s behind it.
I scan the room in search of something that might aid me in getting through the vines. Out of the corner of my eye, something sparkles. I turn to see a hole in one of the stained glass windows, most likely shattered due to the strong icy winds. The shards of glass cover the ground below the window.
I pick up one of the bigger shards and point the tip at one of the vine’s leaves. I once again call for the light, but this time only a small beam, aiming for it to travel through the point of the glass shard.
The concentrated beam hits one of the vine’s leaves and causes it to start smoking. Then the leaf catches fire, and I watch the vine part to reveal my path forward. But the fire keeps burning strong even past where I intended it to stop.
The fire quickly sprawls out of control, consuming the dry vines and climbing up the statues. I hear a cracking sound and look up to see the Princess’ neck, which is wrapped in a scarf of burning vines, cracking from the extreme heat. I quickly backpedal from the statue, almost spilling the contents of my mug down my front, as the Princess’ head rolls off the neck in my direction and falls to the ground.
The sound of the wall exploding earlier was quiet in comparison to an entire marble head falling almost a story, crumbling on impact and leaving a head-shaped dent in the stone-brick floor. I wait for the sound to finish echoing off the walls, my eyes locked on the entrance. I wait for someone to come down the hall, to catch me, to punish me with another year in this place- maybe more. The hallway stays empty.
I look back up at the Prophet of Light, who even through the fire still stands tall, unlike his opponent, now-decapitated thanks to my work.
“You’re welcome,” I say to him before continuing forward, wafting the smoke away as I go.
I reach the end of the hall. The door still stands unscathed. I reach for the round handle and pull it open.
I’m hit with the smell of old paper before I kick up the years of dust piled on the floor, which leaves my nostrils tickly and my throat scratchy. What stands before me is a monumental discovery. An abandoned library. Just to the right of the door sits an old checkout desk built into the back wall. There’s an old typewriter sitting on the counter, with a cream colored candle sitting in a bronze holder beside it. A cobweb hangs between the wick and the holder’s handle.
I place my mug down on the counter, brush away the cobweb and gently pick up the holder. Then I rest my left index finger up against the candle wick and mutter a holy incantation.
A small beam of light extends from my finger.
I repeat the phrase again, letting the light grow more and more concentrated, and my finger hotter and hotter. Once the whitish-yellow light is replaced with an orange color, I jolt my finger away, setting fire to the wick.
My finger’s light quickly extinguishes, leaving my finger red. I dip it in my mug of now-cool water, immediately feeling relief from the burn. After I regain feeling in my finger, I pull it out of the water, shaking water droplets off back into the cup, then move down the first aisle of books on my left.
I am wedged between history. Hundreds of texts cram the shelves, their spines haven’t been broken for decades at least. Dust leaves the spines of each completely unreadable. I stop and choose a book at random. I take my free hand’s index finger and gently swipe the dust off the spine. It reads “The Prophet of Light” in an overly-dramatic gold font.
I continue down the shelf, wiping away at random spines as I go. I reach to the shelf over my head to clean a rather thick book’s spine.
“’The Gods’ Founding of the Scholars of the Lumina.’” I grin, pulling the book off the shelf. Dust topples onto my head as the heavy text slides across the shelf and into my arm.
I’m covered in dried plaster, ash, and dust, am carrying a book way heavier than the assigned one, and I don’t mind in the least. Because unlike the burden of carrying Minister Duden’s textbook, this book is a blessing to hold. I know for certain that the gods wanted me to find this, and so they must have a plan for me when I escape this horrid place. Even if I don’t know what my future holds outside this Academy, they do.
I hear the bell chime its tone to signal four o’clock. I look down at the book once again, pride filling my chest from the prize I won for my curiosity. I blow out the candle and walk to retrieve my mug on the checkout counter, my key to freedom from this silly establishment tucked under my arm.