THE ACADEMY GAMBIT

Marcus woke to the sound of both his worlds slipping through his fingers like sand, but at least there was still small joy in Room 47. The morning light filtered through the grimy window as his family gathered around their makeshift breakfast table, their faces showing the strain of recent events. The soap business opening day felt like a lifetime ago now.

"Tom quit yesterday," Uncle Henrik announced without preamble, his weathered face grim as he stirred the thin porridge. "Without following the King's commands, they're gonna crush us all."

Tom straightened his massive shoulders, completely unrepentant. "Dad, don't worry about it. Marcus is gonna find money, and I'll protect whatever he earns. No more Blackstone Brothers getting their hands on our hard work."

Marcus felt exhaustion creeping into his voice. "Tom, without establishing anything first, you shouldn't have done that. Also, you can't protect me from these people. They're dangerous, all wielding magic."

Magic. The word sat heavy in his mind like a stone. Today he was gonna go to the Academy for his so-called inventions. Maybe he'd get money, but more importantly, he intended to get answers that might help him and his family stay alive in this increasingly hostile city.

Tim and Tam looked up from their wooden toys as heavy footsteps approached their door, followed by an authoritative knock that made everyone freeze mid-bite.

Marcus's father opened the door to reveal two rude guards flanking the same official who had registered them weeks ago. The man's metal pin gleamed in the morning light, marking him as a local authority.

"You and your family," the officer said with obvious disdain, stepping into their cramped quarters without invitation. "I should have guessed it would be you causing problems."

His cold eyes swept the room, taking inventory of every family member. "By royal records, there are now three eligible men plus two kids who aren't providing anything to this society." His gaze fell on Tim and Tam, who had stopped playing with their toys. "The new immigration policies are clear about such situations."

Marcus felt anger flashing through him. "We'll pay whatever taxes are necessary. Just tell us the amount."

"Of course you'll pay your taxes," the officer replied with barely concealed joy. "But it's not just about money anymore, refugee. Your family isn't contributing enough to justify the resources you consume. New families are arriving this week, productive families. Your residence will be given to people who serve the kingdom."

The family erupted in protests, voices overlapping in desperate appeals. The guards stepped closer to the officer, hands resting casually on their weapons.

"Hey, wait!" Tom said, stepping forward. "I'll go back to the mines right now. Don't kick us out, please."

"No need to beg, young man," the officer said dismissively, already turning toward the door. "Start working again and the relocation office will consider your case. It's the only way to discipline these masses properly."

After they left, the family broke into frantic discussion. Marcus's aunts were crying quietly while his uncles tried to calculate how quickly they could find additional work. Grandpa's hands shook as he attempted to think of solutions, his persistent cough making speech difficult.

"I'll figure it out," Marcus said finally, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Everyone turned to look at him, hope and desperation warring in their expressions.

"Come with me to the Academy, Tom," Marcus continued, standing up with newfound determination. "It's time to see what opportunities exist for people with unusual skills."

They walked through Drakmoor's winding streets in relative silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The Academy rose before them like something from a fairy tale, a magnificent three-part, two-story building with a giant entrance that spoke of centuries of learning and accumulated power.

"No guards," Marcus observed, pulling out his notebook to jot down observations in English. The familiar letters felt comforting after struggling with Valdrian script for so long.

"Maybe they don't need guards," Tom suggested. "I mean, who's gonna attack a bunch of old scholars?"

"People who think knowledge is dangerous," Marcus replied, but he was already walking toward the open entrance.

They followed the sound of voices echoing from the end of a great hall. A couple of professor-looking people stood near an entrance, watching something inside with rapt attention. They were so focused they didn't even notice Tom and Marcus approaching.

Marcus peered around one of the professors and felt his breath catch. Inside lay a grand auditorium packed with children, teens, and young adults, all listening with complete attention. At the far end, on a raised platform, stood Master Thymon, the legendary 190-year-old wizard Marcus had heard so much about.

Even from a distance, Marcus could see the man's passion as he gestured to his audience, his voice carrying clearly through the hall.

"Remember, children, your abilities don't define you," Master Thymon was saying, his ancient voice filled with conviction. "Your actions are what matter. This world has suffered from plagues, diseases, famines, and mostly petty wars between idiot kings."

Tom nudged Marcus. "He's pretty direct for a fancy Academy master."

"But today we face the greatest threat," Master Thymon continued, and Marcus saw tears beginning to roll down the ancient wizard's cheeks. "And I'm afraid my generation couldn't stop this menace."

The auditorium fell completely silent. Even the youngest children seemed to understand the gravity of his words.

"This burden belongs with you," the master said, his voice breaking slightly. "And not just the brightest students or those with the deepest magical foundations. All of you must defend our existence."

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and managed a genuine smile. "Thank you for listening to this old man's rambling. Getting old has made me quite the crybaby, I'm afraid."

The students chuckled sympathetically. Master Thymon waved his hands in a complex pattern, and suddenly colorful objects began raining down on the audience, candies, Marcus realized.

Tom's massive hand shot out, catching one with surprising grace. "Marcus, look! It's candy!"

The whole class burst into delighted laughter, the tension of the serious moment breaking like a dam. But then Master Thymon suddenly sat down hard on his chair, his face contorting in obvious pain.

"Oh no," one of the professors muttered, rushing into the auditorium.

All the other professors immediately followed, bringing water and trying to assess the ancient wizard's condition. Students began filing out quickly but quietly, clearly accustomed to such emergencies.

"Marcus of Millhaven, right?" a familiar voice said behind them.

Marcus turned to see Alice Brightshield, Sister Korra's younger sister. She looked like her older sibling but with softer features, longer hair, and the ink-stained fingers of someone who spent their days with books and scrolls.

"Thank you for coming," Alice continued, her excitement barely contained despite the crisis unfolding in the auditorium. "I wanna introduce you to Master Thymon. When I told him about your innovations, he immediately wanted to meet you."

Tom pulled at Marcus's sleeve urgently. "Marcus, the old man isn't well. You gotta do something!"

They followed Alice into the auditorium, where the professors had pulled another chair over and were helping Master Thymon lie back. His breathing was shallow and labored, his usually bright eyes dim with exhaustion.

"What happened?" Alice asked the professors anxiously.

"It's nothing serious," said a short professor with an elaborate mustache. "The Master was speaking for nearly two hours. He pushed himself too hard again, despite our warnings."

"May I take a look?" Marcus asked, stepping forward.

The professors looked skeptical, but Alice nodded encouragingly. "This is Marcus of Millhaven, the one I told you about."

Marcus knelt beside the ancient wizard and carefully took his wrist. Even without modern equipment, he had learned to check blood pressure and heart rate from caring for Grandpa back in Millhaven. But Grandpa was old by medieval standards at sixty-four. Master Thymon was old in every conceivable sense, rumors said he was 190 years old.

The wizard's pulse was weak and irregular, his skin pale and clammy. Marcus made quick mental calculations based on what he could observe.

"Please bring salt water," Marcus said to the nearest professor. "Not too salty, like tears. And Tom, give me some of that candy."

"Salt water?" the professor looked confused.

"For dehydration and low blood pressure," Marcus explained quickly. "The salt will help his body retain fluids, and the sugar will give him quick energy."

Tom handed over several pieces of candy, and Marcus turned to the ancient wizard. "Sir, please drink this slowly and let these candies dissolve in your mouth. Don't try to chew them."

Master Thymon's eyes focused on Marcus with surprising sharpness despite his condition. "Wise advice, young man."

As the professors bustled around providing salt water and making the master more comfortable, Marcus found himself in quiet conversation with the legendary wizard. Color was gradually returning to the ancient face, and his breathing was becoming more regular.

"Much better," Master Thymon said after several minutes, his voice gaining strength. "You have medical training?"

"Some experience with the basics," Marcus replied carefully. "My grandfather has similar episodes sometimes."

"Impressive diagnosis," the master said, struggling to sit up properly. "Most people would have simply called for prayers and hoped for the best."

Alice leaned forward eagerly. "Master, this is Marcus of Millhaven, the one I told you about. The innovations with paper and printing?"

Master Thymon's eyes brightened with genuine interest. "Ah yes, the mysterious refugee with unusual knowledge. Let's go to my chambers, shall we? I would like to meet this gentleman properly."

"Are you sure you're strong enough?" Marcus asked.

"Young man," Master Thymon said with a slight smile, "at my age, if I waited until I felt strong enough for everything, I'd never leave my bed."