Chapter Text
When she woke up, everything was heavy. Nothing hurt, but all of her energy had been drained from her. She struggled to remember the reason why she was here but came up with nothing. She struggled to remember anything but nothing came.
The girl struggled for a moment, and then finally brought herself to her knees. The first thing she noticed was the rug beneath her. Her vision was beginning to return to normal and so she noticed that it was round and red with a golden spiral on it. She noticed her clothing. She was wearing a black shirt with large, pink flowers on it, and black pants. She was also wearing black sneakers and white socks. She knew what all these things were, but not much about herself. Her skin, judging from her hands, was pale, but that was all she knew.
The rest of the room was bare and had stone walls, set in a circle. There were windows, but they were high above near the ceiling. Seven torches illuminated the room, but not well. There was one iron gate, closed over a doorway, to her right. On her left, a white owl greeted her, sitting passively on a perch. The girl relaxed, and smiled at the owl.
It smiled back. Then, it flew off and out one of the windows.
She watched it go and then when she turned back, a mirror appeared where the perch for the owl had been. She recoiled at her reflection, but then realized that’s exactly what it was: her reflection. She studied herself in the mirror for a minute. Her hair was dark brown and incredibly thick. It was long too, hanging down to her mid-back. Her eyes were light brown and her face was dotted with freckles. She touched her face, wondering who she might be. A part of her thought that maybe she should panic, but there was nothing to panic about. This place was definitely foreign to her — that much, she knew. In a strange way though, it also felt right. Something in her very soul felt at home here.
A thud caught her attention and she turned away from the mirror. Seven stone pedestals began to rise from the floor. On each pedestal was a precious gemstone. A message appeared above the iron gate, written in shining blue light.
Choose your favorite and take it with you.
There were seven gems: an emerald, a peridot, an onyx, a ruby, a sapphire, an amethyst, and a citrine. She studied them, trying to decide. Each gem was undoubtedly beautiful. When she focused on each one, she couldn’t help but notice that something deep within her was stirring. As if by instinct, she knew what each of these gems represented to her in her heart. She had associated emotions with each one, but no memories. She did not know why she could feel what could only be described as a strange aura coming from these gems, but like everything else, it felt right.
Her eyes fell on the citrine and lingered. It was a bright, beautiful orange color, cut into a perfectly circular shape. If she picked it up, it would have fit perfectly in her hand. The aura coming from it was different from the others. Each other gem had its own, distinct feeling about it. This one had its own energy, but also felt like it had tethers coming from it, attaching to the other gems. It was individual and separate, but seemed to get along quite well with others. It had a sense of equilibrium about it, and that comforted her. She reached for the gem, and the second she picked it up off the pedestal, the gate opened wide and there was nothing but darkness ahead, prompting her forward. She hesitated for a moment, wondering what could possibly be lurking on the other side. Slowly, she stepped forward to peer through the doorway. Ahead was a set of stairs, leading down. She placed her free hand on the wall for support, and followed the stairs down to whatever torch-lit chamber was ahead of her.
There was an old man at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in purple robes dotted with stars. His left eye was a stark blue while his right eye had been replaced with a glass one. With its golden rim, it looked almost like a monocle, but it was certainly set into his face. He smiled at her warmly, his mouth itself largely obscured by the full, white beard on his face. In his right hand was a grand staff with a crooked top, and in that crook was a blue crystal ball. That same snowy white owl was here too, perched beside him.
The owl announced, “She has arrived.”
The girl jerked her head back. She did not know many things, but she was fairly certain that owls did not speak.
The owl emitted a noise that could only be described as a chuckle in response.
The old man said, “It’s good to meet you, my dear.”
The girl, for the first time, found her voice. “Why am I here?”
“One step at a time,” the man assured. “I am Merle Ambrose, Headmaster of the Ravenwood Academy of Magical Arts. This is my dear friend and assistant, Gamma.”
The owl cooed and ruffled his feathers in greeting.
“I must apologize for the abruptness of our meeting,” he continued. “I know that this cannot be easy for you.” He extended his hand. “What is your name?”
The girl struggled to remember. She had no idea who she was, and she shuddered at the thought. “I… I don’t-”
“That’s alright, child,” Ambrose replied, as if he’d already known. “It’s not uncommon for you not to know who you are when coming here, especially coming from as far as you have.”
She raised a brow. “Where am I from?”
“A world very far from this one. One without magic.”
Gamma the Owl flew over to a desk and picked up a small book in his talons and brought it to Ambrose. He handed it to the girl. “In this book is a list of names. You may pick whatever you want, first and last.”
“I can just… pick one?” she asked.
“Well, everyone needs a name. Otherwise, what are we to call you? Just choose what feels right to you.”
She opened it and studied the first few pages. They were all first names. She kept going, one page at a time, hoping that a name or a letter would be familiar or appealing to her. Maybe she could learn the name she’d had before. After all, how was she supposed to name herself? She didn’t even know who she was.
Then she found it. One name caught her eye when she flipped a page. Whether or not it was the one she’d once had, she wasn’t sure, but she liked it. She let it roll around in her mind, imagining being called by that name. She felt like it suited her, so she moved to surnames. It seemed that the common surnames here were nouns or adjectives paired with a different noun or verb and then the two words were hyphenated to make one whole name. It took her a long time to find something that suited her, but Ambrose and Gamma were patient. Finally, she settled on something and shut the book. She handed it back to the headmaster
When Ambrose took it back, he asked, “So, my dear, what’s your name?”
“Helia Willow-Grove.”
He grinned. “A fine choice, and a beautiful one.” He held the book out and Gamma took it back to the desk. “You must be very confused, Miss Willow-Grove. Come, sit down with me.”
Ambrose walked to the desk as well, and only now did Helia get a good look at the space. It was clearly not meant for this: a meeting space. This desk was easily moved, and so was the book and the two chairs. The rest of this room was actually empty, save for another doorway with an iron gate over it. Helia wondered what riddle she’d have to solve next to get through that one. Ambrose sat in one chair, and Helia in the other.
“I still don’t know why I’m here,” she reminded the man, fear creeping into her chest for the first time. For the first time, she was realizing how frightening it was not to know who you were or how you came to be somewhere that you don’t remember. The citrine in her hand was doing something to ground her (the weight of it and the ever present aura were still comforting) but that could only go so far.
“It is difficult for people from your background to understand, but I will try my best to explain,” Ambrose assured her. “Please, hear all that I have to say first. I, Headmaster Merle Ambrose, would like to welcome you to the Ravenwood Academy of Magical Arts. Here is where young wizards learn magic, naturally. Most of our students are between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, and they are sorted into seven schools of magic.”
Ambrose looked at Helia expectantly, but she truthfully had nothing to say.
“This must be a lot for you to take in. I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to frighten you. Do you have any questions?”
Helia shook her head. “Honestly, sir, I understand it… but I don’t believe it. Why am I here? What do I have to do with this?”
“Well, you’re a wizard! Why else would you be at a magic school? And you’re a special kind of wizard: a wizard from a world that does not believe in magic. It’s very rare to see this, but our school tries to accommodate for that and allow you to learn magic by bringing you here. Unfortunately, bringing you here can cause memory loss, which is why you don’t remember anything.”
“You think I’m a wizard?”
“I know you are. The gem in your hand would not have been able to be picked up if you were not.”
“How do you know if someone is a wizard before they pick up a gem then?”
“You just do,” he answered unhelpfully. “Which reminds me: we need to get you enrolled into a school.”
Gemma flew over and perched on the headmaster’s shoulder. “You are holding a citrine, the gem of the School of Balance.”
Ambrose grinned. “An outsider wizard, also a Sorcerer… I have seen it all. Congratulations, Miss Willow-Grove.”
“Wait!” Helia exclaimed, standing up. “What if I don’t want this? What if I just want to go home? I mean, I must have a family or people who care about me, right? What about them?” She sighed. “I-I don’t understand.”
Ambrose leaned forward, as if he was about to give her a lecture, but then the tower around them shook. The headmaster was jostled in his chair, while the force of the impact knocked Helia back into hers. It stopped as quickly as it began, and Helia looked at Ambrose and Gamma for some kind of explanation.
“How odd…” Ambrose mused, as if this sort of thing happened often. He rose from his chair, and walked towards the stairs that led up to the room where Helia had been before.
Gamma looked over at Helia encouragingly and said, “Come on.”
“Wouldn’t I be safer here?” she asked.
“You’ll be safest with the headmaster,” he insisted, and flew off to follow him.
Helia hesitated again, but then sighed. Still clutching the citrine, she followed Ambrose and Gamma, the gem’s aura pulsing in time with the beat of her anxious heart.
