Saviour of Magic

The Grand Sorcerers

Six years later ...

August 2015

Somewhere deep in the magical province of Siberia, hundreds of kilometres from Lena City, the capital of the Siberian Ministry of Magic, a burly figure was quickly walking along a grassy path. He was six feet three inches in height, with moderately long brown hair that slightly curled at the tips. His shoulders were stiff with tension, grey eyes narrowed in concentration as he gripped his wand tightly; he seemed to be expecting an attack of some sort.

Twenty-three-year-old Dylan Lestrange suddenly moved out of the way as he dodged the incoming curses. A predatory smile formed on his lips, even though he had been under constant attack for the past two weeks. It had been a test for survival. Siberia was definitely beautiful during this time of year, but the examiners of the famed Siberian Academy of Battle-Magic could turn the area into one of the deadliest in the world.

Jets of multi-coloured light flew at him from all directions. Dylan dodged them but didn't stray from his position too much. Acrobatics and using body movements to their advantage was Harry and Daphne's style, not his. He preferred a more refined approach with precision strikes, and over the years, he had perfected it due to the rigorous training offered to him by his Master and the rest of the academy instructors.

Neatly taking a few steps forward and backwards, Dylan slashed his wand while using wandless magic with his left hand. Pure ripples of magic were the testament to the control he had over his powers. Using the surrounding area to his advantage, he wandlessly broke the branch of a tree and flung it towards his enemies. When he sensed a group approaching him from behind, he twirled sideways, with his hand outstretched.

Bolts of lightning flew from his fingertips and impacted the attacking party. Dylan didn't waste time. Moving forward, disabling another enchantment, he continued. This final test had been designed without any remorse in the heart of the examiner. It was a practical test, luring some of the more dangerous assassins in the world, all paid to test a willing cadet who agreed to go through with it. Not all the cadets of the academy were allowed to even consider taking this particular test. It was meant for the elite – and no one in the history of the academy had ever survived it. It was a big risk, both on the part of the academy instructors and the cadet in question.

The exam was completely voluntary, but Dylan would hardly miss the chance to immediately rise up the ranks once he graduated. The other graduates would have to wait a long time for advancement, but those who passed this test would be given a special opportunity – and he would not let it go to waste.

Their plan depended on it.

Flying without the help of the broom, Dylan cast an explosion curse at the ground.

He took a deep breath. What was left of the assault party was trapped. There was no need for these wizards to die. Greedy scum, these assassins and bounty hunters may be, but Dylan didn't want to kill them. They could be rescued by the academy personnel later.

Flying to an appropriate altitude, Dylan twisted in mid-air and Disapparated.

Several hours later, once he was fully healed and showered, he found himself standing in a circular room that served as the office of the academy's headmistress.

"Impressive, cadet," the witch said, nodding in approval. "I have never witnessed anyone complete that exam, not only in my tenure but in the history of this academy itself. Your Master should be proud."

"Thank you, ma'am."

That was high praise coming from her, especially considering how she refrained from positively commenting on the progress of any of the cadets, demanding improvement. Madam Aicanã of Magical Brazil was known for keeping her distance, maintaining the façade of a very strict disciplinarian.