Date: September 22, 540, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The air in the reception room of the Institute of the Carved Scroll was thick and stagnant, smelling of old dust, dried ink, and unspoken ambitions. Gil sat on a hard wooden bench, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded somewhere in her throat, echoing with a dull hum in her ears. Before her stood a massive door of dark oak, adorned with intricate carvings depicting scrolls, quills, and open books—symbols of knowledge that seemed as unattainable as the stars beyond the building's thick walls.
She mentally repeated everything she had managed to learn in the few days she had spent in Rod's caravan, absorbing his stories like a sponge. But the more she thought, the clearer it became how insignificant her knowledge was. Her "library" was a few tattered books from the orphanage, and her "academic baggage" was childish guesses and homemade maps. What could she offer in comparison to students who had probably been preparing for this day from the cradle?
The door opened silently, and in the doorway appeared the silhouette of an elderly man in dark gray scholar's robes. His face was etched with wrinkles, and his eyes, sharp and piercing as an old eagle's, fixed on Gil.
"You are Gil?" his voice was dry and indifferent. "Enter. Magister Raven awaits you."
Magister Raven's office was exactly as Gil had imagined a scholar's lair. Tall shelves, packed to the ceiling with leather-bound folios, scrolls, and strange instruments of bronze and glass. The air held a complex aroma: old wood, incense, chemical reagents, and something else, elusively magical. Behind a massive table cluttered with papers sat the Magister himself. He was short, almost dwarfish in build, with a long gray beard into which several feathers were woven. But his gaze... his gaze was young, lively, and incredibly attentive. He studied Gil as if he saw not only her worn clothes and hair tangled from the road but every whirl of thought in her head.
Rod sat a little apart, on a stool, and his presence was the only ray of calm in this sea of uncertainty.
"So," Magister Raven began, his voice surprisingly deep and velvety. "Rod claims he found a nugget in the forest. A missed diamond, requiring cutting. The academic year has begun. Groups are formed. The program is in full swing. Tell me, child, why should the Institute break its traditions for you?"
Gil suppressed the lump in her throat. Her voice came out quieter than she intended:
"Because I will catch up and surpass them. Give me a chance."
Raven slowly nodded, not at all surprised by her confidence.
"Words are worthless. Prove it. First question: what were the economic consequences of the Scarlet Dawn War for the coastal cities of the Rakash Dynasty?"
Gil froze. She had never heard of the Scarlet Dawn War. Her mind, honed on logical puzzles and behavioral analysis, hit an insurmountable wall of ignorance. But giving up was not in her nature.
"I... I don't know specifically about that war," she admitted honestly, seeing Raven's eyebrows rise. "But if it was a war that affected coastal cities, then fleets would have been involved. Destruction of ports, loss of trade routes. That would lead to higher prices for imported goods, famine... and, likely, a strengthening of central authority, as cities would seek protection from the empire."
Silence filled the room. Rod grunted approvingly. Raven didn't smile, but a spark of interest flickered in his eyes.
"An interesting line of thought. Wrong in details, but correct in strategy. Second question: describe the operating principle of the magical accumulator crystal used in Nest's street lamps."
Again, Gil didn't know the answer. But she had seen those lamps on the way to the Institute.
"I don't know the magical principles," she said, feeling goosebumps run down her spine. "But I saw that during the day the crystals are dim, and at night they glow. So, they accumulate something during the day. Sunlight? Energy? Like a battery. Only instead of chemistry, it's magic."
"A bold assumption," Raven uttered. "Again wide of the mark, but you're moving in the right direction. Final question. A task. You have three vessels: of 8, 5, and 3 liters. The 8-liter one is full of water. How do you measure exactly 4 liters?"
This was her territory. Her refuge. The world of abstract tasks was clear and comprehensible. Her eyes lit up. She closed her eyelids for a second, visualizing the pouring.
"First, I pour from the 8-liter into the 5-liter. The 8-liter now has 3 liters left, the 5-liter has 5. Then I pour from the 5-liter into the 3-liter. The 5-liter has 2 liters left. I empty the full 3-liter back into the 8-liter. Now the 8-liter has 6 liters. Then I pour those 2 liters from the 5-liter into the 3-liter. Now the 3-liter has 2 liters. I fill the 5-liter again from the 8-liter. The 8-liter now has 1 liter left. I pour from the 5-liter into the 3-liter until it's full. The 3-liter had 2, so I pour in 1 liter. Therefore, I pour out 1 liter from the 5-liter. And the 5-liter now has exactly 4 liters left."
She exhaled, raising her eyes to the Magister. He sat there, chin resting on his hand, watching her intently. His face was expressionless.
"Remarkable," he finally pronounced. "You don't possess knowledge. You possess... a structure of thinking. You don't memorize facts, you build models. This is a rare gift. And a dangerous one."
He turned his gaze to Rod.
"Your word, old friend. Do you vouch for her?"
Rod stood up, his face serious.
"I saw how she analyzed the caravan's maps, finding shorter routes we hadn't noticed ourselves. I saw the hunger in her eyes when she looked at books. She is disciplined, intelligent, and purposeful. She's not one to issue challenges lightly. If she says she'll catch up, she'll catch up."
Magister Raven looked for a long time from Rod to Gil. The room again froze in tense anticipation. The very air seemed to thicken, awaiting the verdict.
"Latecomers are left behind forever," he proclaimed solemnly, and Gil's heart sank. "This rule exists for a reason. The curriculum at the Institute of the Carved Scroll is not just a set of subjects. It is a single, indivisible flow. To fall out of it is to be lost forever."
He paused, and that same cunning spark flickered again in his eyes.
"But..." this "but" sounded louder to Gil than any bell. "The Institute values not only knowledge, but also potential. Exceptions... are possible. Under certain conditions."
He fixed his gaze on Gil again.
"You have time until the Winter Solstice. Until December 21st. You must not just 'catch up' with your fellow students in the basic disciplines—'History of the Continent,' 'Fundamentals of Magimetrics,' 'Logic and Rhetoric.' You must pass the exams in them with a grade of 'good' or 'excellent.' Otherwise, your stay here will be terminated. Without objections. Without appeals. This is my final offer."
Gil felt a strange, cold current pass through her body. It wasn't fear. It was concentration. Pure, unadulterated resolve. Her gaze, always so analytical and calm, flashed with steely fire. She straightened her back and looked directly into the Magister's eyes.
"Nothing is impossible for me," she stated, and in her voice was neither boastfulness nor youthful enthusiasm. Only a simple, irrefutable statement of fact. "I will do it."
Magister Raven, for the first time during the entire meeting, allowed himself a barely perceptible smile, hidden in his gray mustache.
"Excellent. Then welcome to the Institute of the Carved Scroll, Gil. Temporarily. Rod, give her the reading list and schedule." He waved his hand, indicating the audience was over. "Good luck. You'll need it."
Leaving the office with a heavy scroll in her hands, covered with the names of books and subjects she had no idea about, Gil felt no fear. She felt a challenge. Before her lay a mountain to be conquered. And she had already begun charting a path to its summit in her mind, building logical chains, modeling her study schedule, and calculating the most effective way to absorb information. Her adventure was just beginning, and the first battle in it was the battle for knowledge.