Seated before the piano, I stared at my reflection in its polished surface.

  As expected, another disaster of a lesson.

  “You’re not quite there, young master,” my instructor’s voice was laced with disappointment.

  “If you truly wish to reach perfection, you must apply yourself more. Repeat the exercises I assigned to you. Next time, I expect them to be done properly.”

  With a sigh, I accepted my fate. “Understood.”

  Six years. For six whole years, I had endured these lessons. And in all that time, not once had I received a single word of encouragement. Such a simple thing seemed to be beneath this man.

  Lud, my piano instructor, was the very definition of strict.

  Everything about him gave the impression of a cold, relentless perfectionist. His small, round glasses did a terrible job of softening the sharp, ever-judging gaze hidden behind them. His thick brows were always furrowed in disapproval, his grizzled hair always looked like he had just walked through a storm, and his long, straight nose aimed at the perpetual smirk on his lips.

  But despite his strict demeanor, he was one of the greatest musicians on the continent; his lessons were brilliant, his techniques flawless, he just so happened to be unbelievably harsh, sandpaper kind of harsh.

  Even as he left, I didn’t move from my seat, still deep in thought.

  If a person’s face could tell you this much about them, I wondered what did mine say about me. I had tried imagining it before.

  People were always saying things like, “Oh, what a fine lad, you’ll be such a handsome man one day!” or “With those eyes, you’ll surely break plenty of hearts in the future!”

  Even though I could understand why they thought I was cute–I guess–to me, I looked… ordinary. Not particularly handsome, but not ugly, either.

  If it weren’t for the strands of white hair I'd inherited from my mother, my jet-black hair would have been completely unremarkable. And if it weren’t for my bright blue eyes, my slightly upturned nose might have made my face look a little childish.

  My father’s sharper traits had been smoothened when passing down to me, thus me ending up with a well-defined yet oddly feminine oval face which puberty had yet to square up, or so I fervently hoped.

  I didn’t care much about my look per se, but I hoped at least my facial features would turn much sharper as I grew older, getting similar to Father’s and giving me those “distinct-man looks” people could take seriously.

  Alright, enough self-analysis for today, I gave myself a light slap on the cheeks to stir me out of my thoughts. You’ll be breaking plenty of hearts in the future, so cheer up. Another thrilling day awaits.

  A creak coming from the door behind me tugged for my attention. Without turning, I caught a glimpse of the silhouette of a man stepping in the room, reflected on the polished surface of the piano.

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  “Did you forget something, master?” I asked.

  Instead of replying, Lud came closer. Feeling off about his sudden creepy behavior, I turned to face him. The man standing mere feet behind me totally looked and carried himself like my master, but couldn’t have been any more different, starting from the fact that I could see right through him.

  He seemed to be made of some strange blueish substance.

  The fog from the book! I immediately thought, jumping to my feet.

  “If this is a prank, it’s not funny, master,” I warned him, tottering back as he moved towards me. No answer ever came back.

  In a sudden surge of speed, he lunged for my neck.

  Trying not to trip over my own feet, I stumbled back and put the piano between us. Despite him looking kinda ethereal, the piano still bumped slightly when he crashed into it.

  “Is it any good trying to talk about this?” I asked, raising my voice as much as I could in the hopes that someone could hear me.

  There was something comical about the way we circled each other, moving around the piano. The door was just a few yards away; if I could reach it, I was positive I could outrun the thing and send for help.

  This would be a good time to find out that I’m actually a mage, I grumbled inwardly, not taking my eyes off the spectral figure.

  Unsurprisingly, when I lashed my hand forward, there were no divine flashes coming out of it nor sudden surges of energy as my allegedly sleeping powers awakened. So I made the sensible choice that everyone in my same situation would have done.

  “See ya!” I shouted as I made a run for the door.

  The creature tried to hurry behind me, but seemed to have forgotten that there was a piano between the two of us. That earned me precious seconds that allowed me to get through the door, but the spectral Lud didn’t take long to heave himself out of the piano.

  “Help! There’s a blue thing chasing me!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I ran through the hallways, headed to my father’s study.

  The door of the study suddenly creaked open. “Arda, how many times did I tell you not to shout in–” Father had to interrupt his scolding when he caught sight of the creature trailing behind me.

  The faintest shadow of a smile crossed his lips as he stepped in between me and the blue Lud.

  From time to time, Father had found some spare time in his busy schedule to teach me the basics of sword-fighting, but even then, I’d never seen him in action, properly, that is. Until now, I had to make do with the little crumbs Mother gave me, recounting his exploits when he was just a young man attending a magic military academy.

  In a flash of silver light, Father intercepted the creature and slammed it to the floor in a single swift movement that made the ground shake.

  He used magic! I mentally gasped, savoring the scene in all its details.

  “Why was there a Mirror Ghost chasing you?” He asked, cocking a frown at me as he straightened his clothes.

  The spectral Lud–the Mirror Ghost–vanished in a hiss.

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “It came out of nowhere and started running behind me.”

  He pursued his lips, unimpressed. “What book was it from?”

  Resignedly, I dipped my head. “Albyon’s.”

  “Interesting,” he muttered, before turning to his study. “Fetch your things and wait for me in the servants’ wing. It shouldn’t take that long, but I’m sure Miss Alme can find something to teach you in the meanwhile.”

  After a few awkward moments of silence, I found the courage to voice my doubts aloud. “Am I grounded?” I asked.

  “For the moment? No,” he shook his head. “If you’ve finally awakened as a mage as I think you have, you’ll be good.”

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