A/N I Do not Own Anything
Chapter Three: Legend
Mister Colbert, a teacher who had dedicated twenty years to Tristain Magic Academy, was by now a mainstay figure.
His Runic name was "Colbert the Flame Snake," and, naturally, he was a mage specializing in fire magic.
Since the Springtime Familiar Summoning a few days ago, he'd been concerned about the commoner boy that Louise had summoned. Or more precisely, he'd been concerned with nothing but the runes that had appeared on that boy's left hand. They were rare runes indeed, so for the last few nights, he'd confined himself to the library and had been researching various texts.
Tristain Magic Academy's library was located in the same tower as the dining hall. The bookshelves were unbelievably tall, about thirty mails in height, and the way they were lined up against the walls was a spectacle to behold. And rightly so, since this place was crammed with the history of everything following the creation of the new world in Halkeginia by the Founder Brimir.
Colbert was now in a section called "Fenrir's Library" that only teachers were allowed entry to.
The ordinary bookshelves, to which students had free access, didn't hold any answers that could satisfy him.
He Levitated up to an out-of-reach shelf and scanned it intently for a particular book. His efforts were rewarded as his gaze fell upon the title of the book. It was a very old text which held descriptions of the familiars that had been used by the Founder Brimir.
His attention was focused on one particular paragraph written in it, and as he read on in fascination, his eyes grew wide. He compared the book with the sketch he'd made of the runes on the boy's left hand.
"Ah!" he gasped in surprise. At that moment, he lost the concentration necessary for maintaining his Levitation and almost fell to the floor.
Holding the book in his arms, he hurriedly descended to the floor and ran out of the library.
His destination was the Headmaster's Office.
* * *
The Headmaster's Office was located on the topmost floor of the tower. Sir Osmond, the current Headmaster of Tristain Magic Academy, was sitting with his elbows propped on his elegantly built sequoia desk, looking unbearably bored as he shook his white beard and hair.
Idly plucking out nose hairs, he slowly murmured "hrm" and pulled open a desk drawer. From inside he procured a smoking pipe. Miss Longueville, the secretary who had been writing something at the other desk placed to the side of the room, waved her feather quill.
The pipe floated into the air and landed in Miss Longueville's palm. Sir Osmond muttered dejectedly, "Is it fun taking away an old man's little pleasures? Miss, um..."
"Managing your health is also part of my job, Old Osmond."
Sir Osmond stood up from his chair and walked up to the cool and collected Miss Longueville. Stopping behind the seated lady, he closed his eyes, his expression grave.
"If the days keep passing by so peacefully, figuring out how to spend time is going to become a rather big problem."
The wrinkles etched deeply on Osmond's face were only hints to the history of his life. People guessed him to be a hundred years old, even three hundred. But his true age no one really knew. It's possible he himself didn't remember anymore either.
