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“Again."

Archibald barely lifted his arm fast enough as the fireball clipped his wrist and splattered into his singed robes.

“Again."

Down low. He caught this one in his palm and winced as the heat surged through and dissipated into his fingers.

“Again."

He was exhausted by this point and stared dumbly as the flames engulfed his face and sent him tumbling into the stone floor.

“Pathetic."

There was no gentleness in the words or actions from Quinn: Head of Auxiliary Magic, Left Hand of the Dragoness, the Executive Librarian.

“Lady Quinn, perhaps we should grant the aspirant a longer reprieve." Alon stared at the dazed Archibald with some concern. The ebony skinned man had been one of the few inner chamber attendants who had treated him with any measure of kindness. But the Junior Spellcaster's worries were brushed away.

“This is an exercise for all of you involved. Suppose assassins burst in right at this moment? Do you suppose your missiles would stop them?" Alon looked away uncomfortably.

“And you." She turned her attention to Archie. “Did you think you could defend our Mistress with such paltry shields? You can barely protect yourself." She glanced at the chipmunk-girl tending to his burns.

“Hurry up with your ministrations Junior Apothecary, you're slowing down. If you can't heal this then severed limbs and missing organs are out of the question."

Ciara propped Archibald's arm over her shoulder and helped him stand. He wobbled precariously but stared back at Quinn with a renewed intensity that almost matched hers. Her eye twitched, perhaps she had expected him to wither by this point?

“Again."

He threw his hands up, fingers tracing glyphs in the air as fast as the numb digits would allow. To catch or better yet, deflect a flaming projectile that would never come.

Everyone stared as a nearby table burst into flames while Archie's barrier flickered in and out of existence. The hall was silent except for the gentle crackle of fading magic and splintering wood.

“Attempting to spare the newcomer?" Quinn turned her wrath to Alon who was now unsuccessfully squirming away. “Your mercy is unappreciated and wholly unnecessary. The lot of you, dismissed. Clean this up."

And then she turned and left, but not before painfully prodding a finger into Alon's bald head. Ciara and Archibald were already haphazardly trying to quarantine the blackened hump before it spread any further.

“Thanks Alon, you didn't have to, but I appreciate it. Really."

“It is of no consequence. I remember being the subject of her ire many moons ago when I was an aspirant. Before they found a role for me."

“We're still the subject of her ire. She looked so disappointed when they found out I could do healing magic." Ciara grumbled while massaging her tail, “Wanna know how? My tail was on fire and when it healed the next day they knew something was up. But did the Ice Princess care? Nooooo. “Serviceable." That's what she said to me."

“Better your tail than your head." Alon's laugh filled the hallway as they walked back to the dorms. “That's how I discovered my aptitude."

“Is that why you don't have any hair left?"

“It was a pragmatic choice, it could happen again you know. Plus I have one less thing to wash in the baths now." He clasped a strong hand on Archie's shoulder. “Worry not, your talent will come through soon enough. Until then, we will keep rotating you through the various disciplines."

They stopped at Archie's door and he waved goodbye to the two Junior Attendants before collapsing into his cot. Ciara may have fixed the external wounds but that didn't mean he couldn't feel pain still trembling in his arms. And she wasn't skilled enough to remove his fatigue yet.

Everyone in the Inner Chamber was skilled in at least one form of magic. So the fact that he was even here meant that he had some skills, right? Issenth hand-picked him, and she was never wrong.

“Then you can be the first." He could still hear Quinn's words echoing in his head. And so far it was looking to be true. Initially he was overjoyed to finally learn and practice magic but when he was mediocre at scrying, enchantments, potions, enhancements, animal husbandry, earth, fire, wind, water, and now barriers.

He was starting to lose hope.

But perhaps Alon was right, maybe he too would serendipitously discover his talent. He rolled over and grabbed a random book and thumbed through it, hoping for inspiration. And another book. And another.

It's not that he wasn't interested in the material. His mind was willing but the flesh, the flesh seemed to sabotage if not outright reject his attempts at magic. And when a spell successfully channeled it almost always felt feeble, premature, pathetic.

Something was holding him back, but what? His ability to write glyphs wasn't an issue, he had been a scribe many times before. He had focus, and in the past focused on more mundane tasks for longer periods of time. And he wasn't practicing this on his own, he had instructors and books.

Was the problem him after all? And if it was, what could he do about it?

He stared at his hands. Maybe he should just outright tattoo spells onto his limbs and cast as required. No that wouldn't work, otherwise if he could, he'd be able to effectively channel spells written by other people already.

If only he could speak to Issenth, he knew she'd know what to do. But she had been absent for a week now and would be gone for at least another. A full quarter of the Inner Attendants had accompanied her on the journey but he had been forced to stay behind. He knew he wasn't ready for such an important task but it didn't make him feel any better.

Perhaps Quinn was lashing out at him because she was forced to stay behind to oversee everyone else. Her temper was more erratic lately.

---

“Oy, come now. My grandda can do better than that!"

Archibald's vision blurred as he focused in on the cube in front of him. Julius, Archmage of Clairvoyance, had drawn glyphs around the cube, was powering said glyphs, had drawn support glyphs on Archie's arms, had reduced to weight and size of the cube multiple times, and still Archie struggled.

The lizardman flicked out his tongue in frustration. “Y'know, maybe if you focused more on the cube instead of thinking about Lady Issenth ya wouldn't have so much trouble."

Someone snickered in the background. Had Julius passed around his notebook before returning it when they first met? No, don't think about that. Focus. Before his latest instructor gave him an additional patronizing handicap.

Finally, the cube ascended a few centimeters. Sure it was a wobbly ascent, and it barely hovered before plonking down with a sad thud. But he did it. His first telepathic spell. He was bent over gasping for air with a massive grin, only to have it wilt when he saw everyone else's faces and Julius walking over shaking his head.

“Nothing to be proud of mate. You ain't got the touch for telepathy it seems." Archie's heart sank while a scaly palm was pressed into his forehead. “Look, I'll even help you and…"

He could feel the flow of magic course through and even with the additional assistance the cube only managed to hover marginally higher and barely longer.

Julius sighed, “It's literally and metaphorically tiring to teach ya, you know that right?" He withdrew his hand wiped it on his robes. “Ugh, sweaty one? Dismissed."

The room quickly emptied. There was a rumour now that Archie was cursed. That spells failed and glyphs malfunctioned in his presence and that being too close to him resulted in being cursed yourself. He sighed. Just what he needed, more ostracization.

It wasn't his fault. Ok, maybe it was his fault? He didn't know. Even if it was his fault what could he do about it? Could he do something about it?

Perhaps the Old Library would have a hint, or better yet, an answer.

One of the benefits of being an Inner Attendant was the extra personal time. Though he generally had to work longer and harder hours than the regular servants it was offset by the promise of eventually being close to Issenth. Though it was an unspoken rule that this “extra time" was supposed to be spent on personal training and studies.

Notebook in hand he descended into the vaults. He smirked as he summoned a tiny ball of light in his hands, a feat he would have killed for weeks prior was now as easy as breathing. With that being said, his peers would have likely taunted the dim and paltry beacon.

Technically everyone had access to these libraries. But few came down, and even fewer left with books. Superstition was rife amongst the lower servants who feared it to be infested with ghosts. And Archibald's colleagues believed it to be beneath them, preferring to study in the Great Library with its smaller and better itemized collection.

But Archibald was tired of the stares and whispers. Plus, he was restricted to leaving with only a single tome at any given time thanks to the “Executive Librarian". Here he could pillage as much knowledge as he wanted and none would be the wiser.

“Oh fuck I told you it was haunted!"

Hm? Archie turned and was greeted by screaming and tears coming from an adjacent row of bookshelves. Strange, who would willingly come down here? As he approached, the screaming increased and a squad of familiar servants tripped over each other onto the damp stones.

His former roommates.

“What are you three doing here?"

The possum vomited and immediately passed out while another started praying for forgiveness to a random deity. Only one was coherent enough to sputter out anything of value. “What are we doing here? What the fuck are you doing here?! You're fucking dead!"

“I'm getting some notes?" Archie lifted his stack of books but it didn't appear to help his case.

“No you're dead! And you're haunting us because we made fun of you fucking the dragon. Which you did! And then it bit your head off and then ate you for nourishment. Don't fucking lie to us!" The praying roommate had begun choking on his own tears and mucus, causing his desperate prayers to be even more incomprehensible.

“Did you, did you want me to call for help?"

“NO! JUST LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK. WE'RE SORRY OK?!"

Which Archibald gladly did, because it started to smell like someone had soiled themselves. Scooping the books in his arms he scurried out back into the light and warmth of the rest of the fortress. They were adults, they could take care of themselves. Probably.

There wasn't much space in his room and it didn't help that it was further clogged by mountains of aging paper. He dug out a nook on his desk and dumped down his latest haul.

According to two scrolls an uncommon problem for spellcasters were natural inhibitors within the body but he wasn't willing to remove his shoulder blades to test the theory. One scrap of vellum claimed that Archie should establish a safe barrier to prevent interfering external forces but the glyphs for said barrier was ripped off years ago. And another book claimed Archie was just being stupid and/or lazy and he should just try harder.

Helpful.

Actually, maybe that was the key. He leaned back and contemplated for a moment. It was entirely plausible that his magical reserves were just unnaturally low, and maybe he just needed to improve his magical stamina? But it was not like he could do magic pushups to get stronger, no, there had to be a more efficient way to do this.

If only Issenth were here.

But would she approve of his plan? He already knew that Quinn would deny him on the grounds that he was an idiot. No, he would need to sneak around in order for this to work. And then hope that his gambit would pay off.

He checked the time, just a few hours before sunset. The others would probably preparing for the evening meal giving him a bit of breathing room to execute his scheme. They wouldn't notice his absence anyways, he usually ate alone.

For the second time that day he descended into the bowels of the fortress, deeper and deeper into the mountain. Tours of Issenth's stronghold didn't exist for obvious reasons but as an inner attendant he was privy to better maps and thus had a better idea of the layout.

Something was powering all the magical items, the lights, baths, automatons. And there were definitely servants who attended to all of those, but were there servants who dealt with the power?

“Hmm." Archibald leafed through a registry of the lower servants and their job titles. Would they be under maintenance? Generators? Resource management? Frustrating. If there was ever a time that he wished he knew his former colleagues and their jobs a bit better this was it.

Footsteps and chatter. Archie slunk into the shadows. Had he been followed? Did someone catch onto what he was doing? Wait, he wasn't doing anything wrong, why was he hiding like a criminal? Still, he stayed quiet as the pair passed right by him.

“You're such a pussy. Need me to hold your hand the next time you take a shit at night too?"

“Fuck you, you didn't see a fucking ghost. Get off my ass."

Curious, so this is what his old possum roommate did during the day. And he had brought a friend along. For whatever reason Archie decided to stalk them for a bit longer. Maybe they would lead him to where he needed to go. At the very least he'd learn the lower levels better.

Or maybe. No, that's childish. But that didn't stop a devilish grin creeping over Archie's face.

“Need me to wipe your ass too?"

“Eat shit. You don't know what it's like to have a dragon fucker for a bunkmate."

“I thought it was rude to talk like that about the dead."

The pair went stiff as Archie clasped their shoulders with frigid hands. Ok, he cheated a bit and casted a weak ice spell into them a second prior, but it really played into the effect. That and the hood that covered his head would stop them from seeing the goofy smile on his face.

Someone had definitely soiled themselves now. Hm, maybe setting his hood on fire for dramatic effect was a bit too much.

“Where do you think you're going?"

The possum had broken free and abandoned his friend, only to slip and fall, smashing himself unconscious onto the rock wall. Oops, that wasn't on purpose, but still, really played into the whole mystical ghost act.

“A-are you, are you really de-"

“I am bound to the Dragoness. I have been tasked with investigating the source of magical powe-"

“2 floors down. Generators. Please don't kill me."

The possum's friend had prostrated himself at Archibald's feet. Ok, now he had taken this joke a bit too far. He extinguished the fire on his head, if only because it was starting to burn through. The friend took notice and started breathing semi-normally.

“Tend to the possum. I have my duties." Archibald strode passed his former bunkmate and once out of sight and sound began to giggle uncontrollably. As immature as that was, it was also a lot of fun.

So it was generators after-all. Though, it wasn't how he would have imagined one. Multiple rooms each housed a single giant glass orb which hovered precariously off the ground. Even with his weak magical senses he could feel the raw power crackling inside.

If he screwed up, he might actually end up haunting the fortress grounds.

But now was not the time for doubt. He dumped his equipment on the ground and began scrawling glyphs around the orb, himself, and on the orb. This should work, it would have to work. These were the greatest sources of magical energy asides from Issenth, if channeling their energies into his body didn't improve his tolerance, nothing would.

He was trembling, and he couldn't stop himself. If this went wrong, he would literally explode and coat the walls. At best, he would have to endure terrible pain and burns for as long as possible for hopefully a permanent benefit. He exhaled, pressed his palm into the scorching orb, and activated the spell.

And was greeted by glass shards flying everywhere.

But not for the reason he expected. The magical storm in the orb had suddenly disappeared and in that instant it plummeted into the ground and consequently shattered. The protective wards Archie placed on himself were more designed to protect from burns but they deflected most of the shrapnel.

“Tsk, ow. Ow. Owowowwww!" His wards were still kind of garbage though, and he didn't give himself the best coverage either. Bits of the orb had managed to embed themselves in his ankles and cheeks plus the blood spray was already beginning to wash away some of the glyphs.

He sighed, what a mess. Maybe he was cursed after all. How else do you explain the sudden mass disappearance of magical energy and the difficulty in breathing? Shit, did he accidentally inhale a bunch of glass? The last thing he wanted was to undergo magical surgery to get his shredded lungs fixed.

Worst of all, his endurance didn't seem to have improved. He cast a few cursory spells and grimaced at how weak they still felt. Welp, he already destroyed one generator, may as well try another.

Gathering what remained of his tools he limped to the next room and repeated the process. Unfortunately he had run out of chalk and ink and was forced to use his blood to complete a fair number of spells.

“How morbid," Archibald mused as he dipped his fingers into his face, “Well, maybe blood will make for a better conduit than limestone."

It didn't.

A second orb dove into the floor and exploded. This time the glass missiles lodged themselves into shoulders and thighs. He barely rose his hands in time to shield his eyes as a second wave of fragments bit into his arms.

Breathing became even harder and Archibald dropped to his knees. He hadn't been tested for restoration magic yet, but if his previous trials had proven anything he probably didn't have any aptitude for healing either. As embarrassing as it was if someone didn't show up soon to save him he'd bleed to death, alone and cold.

Wouldn't that be nice though? If Issenth showed up to save him again. Someone was coming at least, a fairly large group of them. He could hear them thundering down the stairs, which made sense, he did just ruin two massive power sources.

But could it have not been Quinn who found him first?

He was magically heaved into the air, out of the puddle of his own blood. Limbs useless, broken, and dangling. Archie's vision was blurry from the exertion and blood loss but he could already feel the fury emanating from the Left Hand of the Dragoness.

“So this, this is how you repay the kindness shown to you by our Mistress." He couldn't respond, even if he wanted to. “I should execute you, right here, right now for your insolence."

Instead, he felt the glass in his body painfully exit before the wounds mended themselves. Healers? Why would Quinn have brought healers? Though they weren't restoring his lost blood or energy.

“But I think it's best that Mistress Issenth do that. To see that she should be more choosy with whom she inducts into our esteemed ranks." He felt his arms and legs twisted uncomfortably behind his back as he was dragged out the door.

Quinn and her retinue kept Archibald suspended in the air as they travelled deeper, and deeper. Archie could feel his breath freezing with each exhale, where were they? This wasn't listed in any of the maps he had scoured.

Oh, it was the dungeons.

Dropped onto his feet he was pushed into a cell and the gate slammed shut.

“Aspirant Archibald I hereby charge you with the following offenses: Sabotage, improper use of equipment, unauthorized usage of equipment, espionage, wasting our time, treason, deception…"

The list of crimes went on for a good five minutes before she signalled to two of her companions who immediately summoned a number of statues who stationed themselves outside of Archie's prison.

“Even in my position the final authority on your fate lies with Lady Issenth. However, if you should be stupid enough to try and leave you will be mercilessly executed by your guards." She allowed herself a small smile, as if daring him to try.

“Goodbye, may we never meet again Mr. Ghost." And they left Archibald in the damp and to his thoughts.