The moment Phineas Fortescue had stepped off the locomotive at the Citadel's train station, he heard his name being called for over the bustle of the crowd.
"Urgent message for Phineas Fortescue! Urg-ent message for Phineas Fortescue!"
"Th-that's me," Phineas waved down the Citadel messenger. He was promptly given a rolled up parchment by the strange little imp who immediately began calling out another message. Phineas no longer paid attention to the imp's cry. He held the parchment nervously, unsure about opening it. He couldn't recall having done anything to get himself in trouble with the school authorities. If there had been a previous need for correspondence he would have received it at home over the summer.
Balking at the rolled up message wasn't going to get Phineas anywhere. Hesitantly, he unfurled the message and began reading:
"Dear Mr. Phineas Fortescue,
The Citadel Academy for Rites & Sorcery is pleased to inform you that your scholarship has been selected for advancement into apprentice studies. You are check in at administration for any changes in accommodations, and then report to your--"
Phineas took big gulps of air in surprise, going back to reread over the first few sentences again. He'd been made an apprentice?!
The Citadel shepherded students through eight years of magical education, with Phineas entering his penultimate or second to last. That was the majority of the student population. However, the Citadel also had its own version of graduate level coursework or apprenticeships to some of the most powerful wizards, witches, warlocks and other magical beings that taught at the school. Becoming an apprentice was an arduous, grueling task. Many students fancied themselves as being capable young magicians yet numerous failed to make the cut to work under the scrutinizing masters.
"There must be some sort of mistake," Phineas said to himself. Becoming an apprentice had sounded like so much work he had never considered it. Each master or mistress focused their apprentices on a specific niche of magic, studies that could extend life at the Citadel anywhere from an average of two to four years. That's if any of them survived. It was a rare but gruesome truth that in the past apprentices had gotten themselves killed from magical accidents or challenges they were not yet prepared for, amongst other dangers with learning such advanced magic directly from a master.
Phineas had certainly never signed himself up for it. Apprentices were commonly contacted during the summer and he had just received this message after getting off the train. Yet here the message was on official Citadel parchment. The fact that he was now an apprentice worried Phineas, as the risk far outweighed the positives in his mind. Apprentices were regarded with awe by the lesser study body, with access to privileges most at the Citadel didn't even know existed. It all depended on your master or mistress, each selective educator having their own quirks and reputation.
Cripes! Phineas hadn't finished reading the message yet. He still didn't know whomever he was pressed into apprenticeship for...
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