The Arcturus family was an old and noble house, caretakers of a modest yet proud fief in the northern reaches of the kingdom.
They were known not for immense wealth or political power, but for their discipline, their wisdom in matters arcane, and their long line of capable witches and warlocks who had defended their lands and served the realm with honour.
In taverns and council halls alike, stories were told of their ancestors-mages who had once stood beside kings, fought against man and monster alike.
"They whispered to the stars for answers," people would say.
James and Angus got up, cleaned up, and descended the spiralling staircase.
The walls were lined with portraits and paintings-each one unique, and most rather noisy.
One of the most eye-catching portraits showed an elderly man riding a black-scaled dragon, sword raised high. The most peculiar thing wasn't that it moved-every portrait in the castle was enchanted-but that the man kept changing forms: first an old man, then a boy, then a middle-aged warlock, and back again.
Another painting-a young woman-waved at James as he passed.
The two boys continued to the dining hall, where a long oak table was already set. Jasmine, the eldest daughter of Arthur and Olivia, sat dressed for the day, chatting with her twin brother, Drake.
Jasmine resembled her mother-black hair, sharp eyes. Drake had dyed his hair silver and wore it proudly, though traces of his mother's features were still obvious.
"This look is attractive to the ladies at work," he often bragged.
Arthur sat at one end of the table. At the head was Sir Alexandre Arcturus, the family patriarch; opposite him sat his wife, Lady Arcturus. His kind face was lined with age, and the many scars on his hands whispered of wars long past.
James slid into the seat beside Drake, stealing a cautious glance at Olivia.
"Good morning," he said, voice careful but hopeful.
Olivia didn't look up from her plate. "Is it?" she muttered, stabbing her eggs with unnecessary force.
A cold silence followed-until Alexandre cleared his throat.
"Olivia," he said gently but firmly, "the boy deserves a kind word." She exhaled sharply but said nothing more.
James stared down at his plate, pretending to focus on the food. What did I do wrong? he wondered.
After a while, Alexandre set down his fork.
"James, your birthday's tomorrow. That means it's time you followed Jasmine and Drake's example and prepared for school."
He sipped his tea. "Your school list arrived not too long ago. I'll have one of the servants gather the supplies. But you and I-" he smiled-"we have a more important task. We need to retrieve your Sigrod." James's face lit up.
"And classes begin next week," Alexandre added. "Perfect timing."
That night, James didn't sleep a wink. He was far too excited-and more than a little nervous. His mind buzzed with questions: What would the Sigrod look like? Would it choose me? What if it didn't?
James had always possessed a sharp mind. While spells required a Sigrod and rituals to focus and channel
Sar-the magical force within-he had been experimenting with his control since he was a toddler, even without one.
"The young master is truly gifted," the servants whispered.
"The Arcturus blood runs true."
The next morning-the day before his birthday-James woke early and slipped out of his room. As he descended the spiraling staircase, he heard muffled voices coming from behind one of the walls.
One was deep and husky. Male. Unfamiliar.
The other was Olivia.
James's curiosity flared. He crept closer and pressed his ear to the stone.
"...let me into his mind. Just a glance," the harsh voice growled. "I know he's seen it-he must have."
"No," Olivia snapped. "We do this my way. He's still a child."
"That's exactly why he won't resist. You're losing time."
James's breath caught. What had he seen? What were they talking about?
He leaned in closer-
"Boy!" snapped a stern voice.
James flinched. It came from a portrait nearby-the painted man was glaring at him.
"Eavesdropping is beneath an Arcturus," he scolded.
James waved him off, whispering, "Shh!"
The portrait grew louder. "Listening at walls? Have you no dignity?"
Annoyed and still curious, James gave up. He grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen and went off in search of his grandfather.
He found Alexandre rummaging through a stack of old wooden crates.
"Grandfather-" James began.
But before he could finish, Alexandre stood up and motioned for him to follow.
"We'll be using the Gate," he said, retrieving his hat from the stand.
They walked through the dim hallways to a narrow backroom lit by a single enchanted lantern. At one end stood a small black gate, awkwardly wedged into the stone wall. It looked entirely out of place-foreign, ancient.
Alexandre stepped toward it and began scribbling glowing symbols across the metal with the tip of his Sigrod.
The gate lit up, pulsing with blue energy.
He turned to James and offered a hand. "Don't let go." James took it.
The gate opened, and they stepped through.
They arrived in a small, circular chamber. The door slammed shut behind them.
Without warning, the floor dropped.
James's stomach lurched. He felt squeezed and stretched all at once. His face went pale-he nearly lost his breakfast.
Then-thud.
They stepped out into a vast, enchanted forest.
Trees loomed in every direction, twisted like dancers frozen mid-spin. Silent stone guardians surrounded them-gargoyle-like figures holding tridents pointed to the sky. They looked like statues, but James didn't trust
it.
As he stepped forward, the guardians stirred.
Cracks formed in the stone. Then movement.
With a snarl, two lunged toward him.
"No, you do not," Alexandre said calmly, stepping between them.
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a glowing sigil on his arm-three shooting stars etched in ink-three shooting stars etched in ink.
The guardians halted, eyes glowing briefly, then slowly returned to stillness.
James exhaled shakily. "Grandfather... why are we here today? My birthday's not until tomorrow."
"Exactly," Alexandre said. "You must meet your Sigrod before the day turns. Tradition, my boy. We call it a
Sig for short-every mage does. The forest knows the hour."
James furrowed his brow but said nothing. Arguing wouldn't change anything.
They passed beneath the gaze of the guardians and entered a grove. Each tree was different-some shimmered with light, others pulsed with energy or oozed glowing sap.
Eventually, Alexandre stopped.
"This is as far as I go. The rest is up to you."
"Wait-what?" James turned, but Alexandre was already gone-vanished into the woods like mist.
"Grandpa?" he called out.
Silence.
James pressed forward alone.
The forest grew darker. Stranger. There was no sound except for fluttering leaves and distant rustles.
Time passed. He couldn't tell how long.
Just as he was about to turn back, a blur flashed between the trees.
He froze.
"Grandpa...?"
The blur returned-vivid, feminine, and ghostly. It beckoned to him.
James followed, his feet moving before his mind caught up.
The spirit led him to a tree unlike any other-pale as bone, leafless, its bark etched with faint golden runes.
The spirit vanished inside.
James stepped closer.
Thump.
The tree pulsed like a heartbeat.
Vines uncoiled and wrapped around his wrist.
"Agh!" he yelped as a thorn pricked his palm.
Blood welled. The runes flared gold. The branches shifted.
One limb extended, unfurling like a blooming flower to reveal a Sigrod (or Sig, as it was commonly called)-pale as the tree, inscribed with glowing sigils.
James reached out, hand still bleeding, and grasped the Sig.
A jolt ran through his arm. The Sig felt right. Like it had always been a part of him.
The vines unwrapped. The tree stilled. A stone path emerged, leading back.
Alexandre was pacing when James returned.
Though he wouldn't want to admit it, he was worried.
James returned. He didn't speak. He simply held his hand.
Alexandre's face broke into a smile.
"Brilliant," he said. "We're ready. Let's return home."
Together, they stepped through the gate, leaving the ancient forest-and its silent guardians-behind.
James woke early on his birthday, heart thumping with excitement.
Downstairs, an extravagant breakfast awaited him. Pillars of warm steam floated gently through the kitchen, weaving between silver trays stacked with sweet-smelling pastries and roasted fruits. The scent of cinnamon, honey, and melted butter hung in the air, as if even the house was celebrating.
One by one, everyone greeted him with warm birthday wishes.
Even Olivia gave him a present—which stunned him. She never gave him anything.
Arthur and Alexandre also handed him neatly wrapped gifts.
James opened Arthur's gift first: a stack of Cadle Cards—collectible cards from past Games. James loved watching Cadle, and his eyes sparkled with joy.
Next came Olivia's gift: a slim envelope containing a few bronze coins and a silver pendant. James blinked in surprise. Was this a peace offering?
Then came the final package—from Alexandre.
The moment James touched it, he realized it was the same long box Alexandre had retrieved from the crates in the Study.
Inside, carefully arranged, were:
A picture of James's parents—smiling, alive, and young.
A folded parchment with no visible writing.
A brass eyepiece.
And a heart-shaped pendant—delicate and clearly feminine. It must have belonged to his mother.
"These belonged to your father," Alexandre said gently. "He wanted you to have them before you go to school. You'll find them… very eye-opening."
He winked.
James clutched the items tightly. This was the best gift he could've imagined. Though Arthur had never mistreated him, he still longed for his parents—people he had never truly known.
What he would give… just to see them once.
The days sped by. Nights passed even faster.
Soon, the day of departure arrived.
The skies were grey, the fog thick and heavy outside. The world looked cloaked in mist.
James had packed everything into his trunk and now sat quietly in the dining room, waiting.
"It's time to go to the port. The ship leaves at twelve noon sharp," said Alexandre, urging the children forward. "And once it's gone—it's not coming back."
Jasmine and Drake were already at the gate, ready to return to work.
Angus gave James one last hug.
"See you during the holidays," he whispered, eyes watery.
One by one, they stepped through the magical gate.
They emerged at the port.
The air buzzed with noise—parents shouting last-minute advice, children laughing and crying, the chaos of goodbyes overlapping in a messy symphony of joy and nerves.
"Make haste and board the ship!" Alexandre called.
James turned—and gasped.
The ship was enormous. Its black sails rippled dramatically in the wind, and on the prow was a detailed carving of a mermaid… that moved. Her carved hair flowed. Her stone eyes blinked. And her lips curled into the faintest smile.
The children handed their luggage to porters, shared final hugs, and climbed aboard.
James looked back one last time. His family stood watching. Even Arthur, usually composed, wiped away a single tear as James disappeared into the ship.
Inside, the vessel felt even larger.
Polished hallways stretched out, lined with numbered doors engraved in golden letters.
James found Cabin 105 and stepped inside.
It was surprisingly spacious. Padded benches lined the walls, enchanted windows showed shifting views of the sea, and the whole room glowed with a warm, welcoming light.
Three other students were already inside.
James sat down quietly.
The rule was simple: first-years with first-years. No one really knew why—but it was tradition.
"Hello! My name is Aurora Wilde—what's yours?" chirped the girl beside him, already beaming with excitement.
She was bursting with energy, already asking another question before James could respond.
Aurora had curly brown hair and wore round glasses that made her green eyes look comically huge. She leaned forward with curiosity, barely able to sit still.
James introduced himself, then glanced around at the others.
A boy in the corner raised a hand.
"I'm Fredric Paddlewood. But my friends call me Fred—well, that's what my brothers call me, anyway," he added with a crooked grin.
Fred had brown hair and green eyes, much like Aurora. The resemblance was clear—they were cousins.
Finally, the last student in the room spoke.
"I'm Annie Dawald," she said confidently.
She had beautiful, natural black hair styled into two buns. Her glowing brown skin shimmered every time sunlight broke through the enchanted windows and danced across the cabin.
Outside, the ship rocked gently.
Then—suddenly—it lurched forward with a powerful jolt.
The smooth rocking stopped. The ship began to move—fast.
Waves slammed against the hull. The sails filled with enchanted wind. Soon, all that could be heard was the roaring of the ocean.
The journey had begun.
"If we keep moving at this speed, I reckon we'll reach the school by nightfall," said Annie, glancing out the window.
"How is that even possible?" James frowned. "We're sailing from Aberdeen to Skye. That trip takes at least two days—without storms."
He spoke with confidence. He'd read it in a book.
Fred leaned in, whispering to James, "A complete nutter, this one."
They both chuckled under their breath.
"Well, for your information, Fredric," Annie snapped, spinning toward them with a smug grin, "this ship is enchanted. The spell is called the Maneguin Charm—performed by the principal of the school herself."
"I think she heard you," James whispered with a grin.
The rest of the journey went smoothly.
It was James's first time aboard a ship, and truthfully—it wasn't as bad as he'd expected.
Not bad at all…
At least, not so far.