Lone Gold, Daring Purple ✓ | Sorcerers, framed, runaway

1: "Welcome to my damn life!"

"We have decided, you shall be delayed one year."

Fifteen-year-old Cypur blinked as his vision tunneled. Adjusting his cape, he stood extra tall, trying to make up for his genetic shortness, but most of all, trying to comprehend. Did the principal just delay him? Again? Another year?

"Cypur Cromlight," the principal's thin, scratchy voice filled the silence. "You have demonstrated great intelligence and performance. It is fairly rare for a student to be so versatile in what he does at your age. Truly you have much to offer."

"But you have not developed your Faud," He went on with a cold tone, "As you well know, the academy committee and I, cannot advance a Sorcerer who still has yet to develop his Faud. Having a Faud means you have control over your magick. No manifestation of your magick? Well, you must not have full control, despite your performance."

Swallowing with nerves, Cypur glanced back at his Student Guidance teacher. He had hoped she pulled the threads she said she would pull. He had hoped she would do her utmost best to advance him, at last, from Apprentice to Junior! But she didn't meet his eyes and practically hid under her massive gray curly locks.

"Mister," Cypur addressed the principal, putting as much sense of respect as he could in his words, "I may not have a Faud, but you have seen my performances. I even surpass my peers who have gone before me now by two years. And I have passed the written exams and I understand, very well, the rules of magick and all things which are forbidden. You have seen that."

Principal Trigonatus squared his jaw and looked down at the papers on his desk. Cypur's papers had full marks on them, and the numbers said he could advance. What was this shame they were putting on him? All that was missing was a manifestation of his magick. He had everything else.

"You are right. You have done beautifully." The principal glanced at the other committee members that stood behind his chair. "Exceptional, yes?" The five committee members nodded in unison.

"A great, great talent and mastery at your young age," he went on. But Cypur was not enjoying the praise like he normally did as the true Sorcerer he was. This was the praise before the blow, he knew it.

The tall, skinny, stick-like man that was Principal Trigonatus stood from his seat. Cypur held back his tears, knowing what would come was the same as last year. It was standard procedure to punish a student they felt was underperforming. He had to force himself to be grateful of their harsh discipline that was a Sorcerer's aesthetic. It was beautiful punishment.

They are taking time out of their day for me. He reminded himself. Just take it.

"Ignita." A small burst of flames sprung from the principal's hands. The papers were burned and Cypur's grueling hours of work were gone. He stood stiff as the head of the committee and his comrades came around the desk to stand before him in an orderly line. Cypur rolled up his sleeve and held out his bare wrist in obedience.

"I have failed yet again. I deserve the punishment," he recited the procedural words and kept a straight, calm face as each member slapped his wrist with a small whip, or their own hand. The pain would quickly disappear, and any wound would instantly heal because of his magick, but even knowing that, this was not something he found easy to bear.

The chair groaned in complaint as the principal sat back down. "Oh, be quiet you," He slapped it and it fell silent, "I'm dealing with things now. Now," He looked up and his glasses emerged on the tip of his nose, "Cromlight."

"One more year. If nothing happens, you will be expelled."

Cypur was gutted, though he knew that was coming eventually. He had avoided it for two years.