"Cultivation," Mr. Potts began as the morning sunlight painted over the back hills. Despite having access to a ready classroom, their green-haired teacher insisted on their first class being outdoors. "As in we shall be studying the process by which mages unlock and preserve the restorative powers of the natural world."
Mr. Potts pulled an axe from behind his back. Any students still shaking off the stupor of sleep were wide awake as their teacher began cutting away at the dirt with massive swings.
"And sometimes!" Potts hollered with another swing, finding a gentle patch of soil. He lowered himself on one knee. "You have to get your hands dirty to the root of something."
"I think you got some on your face, Mr. Potts." Dr. Isen's voice called out from a nearby archway.
Mr. Potts wiped at his chin only to end up smudging dirt that had been on his hands to begin with. The students snickered to themselves.
"Dr. Isen." The green professor plucked a seedling from his jacket pocket. It was about the size of a thimble and practically the same shape. "Since you insist on interrupting their first day of classes, perhaps you could inform the first years what this is?"
Dr. Isen marched forward, full of himself and then some. "I don't see the harm." The school doctor raised Mr. Potts by his wrist. "This, students, is Professor Louie 'Lucky' Potts' right hand. It may seem normal but be warned; they don't call him Lucky because he plays fair."
Mr. Potts wrenched back his arm. "That's very funny, Dr. Isen. But I was referring to the contents of my hand."
"You mean... besides a waning grip on your sense of fashion?" The doctor teased.
Emery whispered to Thomas on her right, "Are they always like this?"
Thomas shrugged, "According to my sister... yeah."
"Besides that, is what we in the magical community call a—"
"A yore seed, if I'm not mistaken, Lucky." Dr. Isen interrupted as he plucked the seedling from his colleague's grasp. "They're quite rare; capable of growing to full size almost instantly after being properly planted."
"Properly being the operative word, Dr. Isen." Mr. Potts reminded him while being chuffed by yet another interruption. "The yore tree can produce any flora known to mage or mundane, provided that it's in capable hands."
Dr. Isen held it loosely by its thin top. "I can only imagine the horrors it would produce if mistreated, Lucky."
"Catastrophic, I'm afraid." Mr. Potts said grimly before turning back to the students. "Which is why for your first lessons we will be studying how to prepare, plant, and produce a yore tree. As well as discussing the limitations of magic and how to respect them."
Dr. Isen passed back the seedling. "That sounds downright riveting. I'll leave you to it."
The rest of the class proceeded with more of the same, minus Dr. Isen's sarcastic presence. Mr. Potts showcased numerous yore trees beyond the back hills. All were made by previous students during their first years. Potts had begun the tradition when he first began working at the school, leaving about a dozen set of trees. Each tree was unique, offering something different. While Emery made sure to keep up on her recommended reading, she still felt leagues behind what the other students might be capable of.
"Miss Lamb," Mr. Potts called out as his hands were busy drawing on a white board held up by magic. "Captain Mason tells me you're an avid reader. Would you happen to know why yore seeds are so rare?"
"Oh... because they're hard to find?" Emery recalled.
"Somewhat true but it's actually more to do with how yore trees only produce one seed at the end of their lives." Mr. Potts confirmed. "Mister Frost, what is the one flora a yore tree cannot be made to produce before it dies?"
"Its own seed?" Thomas replied.
"This isn't Jeopardy, students." Mr. Potts teased. "You don't need to answer in the form of a question. You're correct. And let the yore tree be a lesson for everyone, fruits of labor yield not for the impatient. Now, I’d like you all to split up into groups. I’ve planted several yore seeds in the ground around us. Your job will be to find a seed and make it grow into any plant you can think of. Consider it a start of the year evaluation of your skills and imagination.”
Emery wandered over to where Ed and Thomas had gathered with another boy their age. Many of the students had formed into groups to help coach one another into their appointed task beneath the dull gray morning sky. Just as she wondered how they would start finding the seeds, Emery saw Thomas crouch low to the ground with closed eyes.
“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Emery announced.
“Good so far...” Thomas replied as he pointed Ed to a spot on the ground. “Oh, this is Dane, by the way. He’s in our dorm.” Thomas gestured to the quiet teenager who upon closer inspection was also an Amaranth. His tattoos were spotted blotches along his skin.
“Hi Dane, I’m Emery.”
“Nice to meet you.” Dane nodded, seemingly wanting to add more but cast a glance away from the group.
“Trying to focus!” Ed complained as he held a firm stance over a freshly uncovered yore seed.
“What’s he trying to make?” Emery probed.
“An arbor armory.” Ed told them. “It’s a classic tool in any knight’s arsenal. It can produce any weapon you think of… as long as you don’t mind that its wooden. I just have to remember the right movements...”
Rooting his stance even deeper, Ed struck the air around him with a fierce show of hands. His elbows remained near his chest in tight formation. As he moved, the ground beneath them shook with every motion. The dirt cracked loudly as branches pierced through ground. The main trunk sprouted ten feet up with branches shooting off perpendicular the sides to resemble a clothesline.
Ed threw his fist into the air. “Yes! I mean, it’s a little small but I did it! You wanna go next, Emery?”
Emery was busy staring west of school. As the tree had sprouted, her gaze ventured past it towards the orchard that Corinne forbade them from going with supervision. Little dots escaped from the brush and were hurrying towards the school.
“What is that?” Emery asked.
Thomas turned to see the objects in question. “I think those are the third-years. They should be in Lady Amber’s class.”
As the students kept sprinting, fear was plainly painted on their faces. A bright, illustrious light bloomed from the tree line behind them and grew larger very second. Over the top of the trees billowed a great plume of smoke. As the fires within the orchard became apparent, a deafening screech rang out soon behind.
That was when Emery saw it. Her eyes glazed over as a fiery and furious phoenix spread its wings over the horizon. Diving down swiftly towards the ground, it was headed their way.
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