Chapter Text
Wilbur can’t feel his hands. Maybe that’s an exaggeration — his hands are cold. His fingers feel like unwieldy blocks, and his palms haven’t been this clammy since his first time placing a bet. Wilbur isn’t a coward, but he knows what he’s like when he gets nervous, and this isn’t it. Normally, he gets a bit jittery and nauseous. No, this is all because apparently, warlocks don’t see a need for heating. He and about a hundred other young adults were ushered out of the cold of the outside world, into the cold of the Warlocks Office about fifteen minutes ago. Wilbur had walked past this building to get to the markets for almost his entire life. And not once had he made the connection that the cold drafts that escaped from the inside were due to anything other than fans (during the summer) or wind (during the winter). He is standing under a torch . There is absolutely no reason for him to be this cold. Other than magic. He didn’t know warlocks were sadists.
At first, he was distracted by the warlock who led them into the building. They had followed her in a controlled little mob through extravagant hallways and corridors until they reached a large, open hall. It was just as intricately decorated as the rest of the place, but the size of it surprised him. From the outside, the Warlocks Office looks like a simple multistory building with little room for all the doorways and rooms that he had seen on the walk inside. He had giggled when the thought reminded him of the stories that the older children had told him when he was younger, of warlock heroes with bottomless bags full of treasures. Though , he thinks soberly, with magic, anything is possible.
The warlock had given them a little speech about the history of the decor in the great hall. Woven tapestries depicting battles and historical figures hang between pillars. Paintings of mythical creatures and monsters adorn the domed ceiling high above their heads. A lit torch is fastened on every pillar, but despite the size of the flames, the sound that you would expect from a crackling fire is absent. So is the heat . But Wilbur digresses. She had pointed at various areas of the room and explained their significance. That tapestry over there features the first High Warlock of Hypixel. This one, right above the fireplace, is of the former High Warlock. That painting, up there, is the most scientifically accurate depiction of the Ender Dragon. The one across from it is a Wither.
And so she’d gone on for about five minutes, before bolting out of one of the three archways attached to the room without an explanation. The potential apprentices had remained in a clump for about thirty seconds, before dissolving to look at all the things she hadn’t mentioned. There are alcoves dug into the walls, between the archways and pillars. Most of the people had gone there, and quite a few still lingered. Wilbur had done his own investigating earlier and found several artifacts protected by glass cases and what he assumes are force fields. Nothing distinctly magical, though. Just spellbooks and journals, as well as a few ancient cauldrons and brewing stands. It feels a bit like a museum, which is more disappointing than it has any right to be.
He understands why, or at least he thinks he does. The Warlocks Office sits center of the city, next to all of the government offices and just a few miles out from the palace walls. There are probably a lot of tourists who wander in to look around at Hypixels center of all things magic, and keeping actual, potentially dangerous items on display could cause issues. And considering that this is the only place inside the city walls where you can reliably find a warlock, or send a message to the High Warlock, Wilbur imagines that there are also a lot of officials who enter this building regularly. He doubts that they would appreciate magic being shoved in their face. Warlocks have an important role in city-states like Hypixel. They drive out malicious spirits and monsters, bless harvests, and conduct funerals. Not to mention that they are some of the strongest innovators in the fields of engineering and medicine. But that doesn’t stop the general public (and even higher-up government officials) from being uneasy with what they’re capable of. Because they are a pillar of so many communities, warlocks have had an in with political leaders since magic was first discovered. While it isn’t as common now, when governments were less organized and more prone to conflict, an argument between groups of warlocks could provoke a full-blown war.
(There is a story that has circulated through farming villages for centuries. It goes like this: two factions of warlocks from neighboring city-states got into a disagreement over who was teaching magic the right way. An apprentice from one of the factions decided that to put the argument to rest, he would challenge an apprentice from the other faction to a duel. In a fit of misplaced pride, his opponent accepted. They chose to duel in a small clearing of grass that intersected the borders of their factions. It is said that their casting sent fireworks into the sky, and sparks onto the ground. The fire consumed acres of crops on either side of the border. By the time the fire was extinguished, so were the lives of the two young warlocks and countless farmhands. Both factions blamed the loss on the other and used the resulting food shortage to pit the people of the city-states against each other. You can imagine how the rest played out.)
There is also the fact that some of the senior warlocks who serve on the Council of Governors look like they could have witnessed the foundation of the city. It doesn’t help that those same governors act like snobbish nobility too good to speak to commoners. Legislative meetings are normally open to the public, but that has never stopped the Warlock Governers from insulting and degrading the working class at any opportunity. There are a lot of rumors concerning the side-effects that come with magic, many of which are rooted in the behavior of these very old, very influential people. Needless to say, none of them are very nice. Wilbur is desperately hoping that not all warlocks are complete dicks. After all, that woman who runs the jewelry stand didn’t seem offended by the presence of mere mortals. And the warlocks who used to frequent the stadiums during tournaments never seemed to get overly upset when they lost their bets. But if he’s wrong, then he might just hop on the next wagon out of the city and try and catch up to Technoblade.
Realistically, he knows that isn’t an option. According to the people he and Techno had interrogated a few years ago, the people who make it in are immediately shuffled away to be ‘bound to the magic’ or something. Very ominous and slightly concerning, if he says so himself. Wilbur doubts they would let him run away after that, it would definitely be a safety hazard. Maybe he could ask before he and Magic tie the knot…
Enveloped by his thoughts, Wilbur doesn’t notice when a warlock enters the room with…is that a birdbath? It is the woman from before, followed by a train of floating chairs, stools, and tables. She walks to the middle of the hall, close to the fireplace, and places the birdbath down. She widens her stance and makes a gesture with her hands. A smooth stone platform slides out from the wall in front of her. It isn’t very tall, perhaps only up to Wilbur’s knees. Stairs materialize on all sides of it, short and wide. The pieces of furniture place themselves in a semicircle facing the applicants once the stone has settled. She places the birdbath in the middle of the arrangement and then takes a step back to admire her work. All of the applicants who are still wandering the alcoves begin to make their way back to the middle of the room, anxious not to miss anything. The warlock rubs her hands together, and shoves them in the pockets of her robe, feeling the chill of the room, before audibly cursing and whirling around. A few people laugh quietly, and she blushes but doesn’t acknowledge them. She moves one hand to draw a circle in the air and the other to make a few harsh gestures. Then, she spreads her arms wide and holds them there for a moment. Thin spheres of light shine around the torches in the room, glowing brightly and then shattering in a mute display of magic. Heat floods the room immediately, and the applicants watch as the woman turns around and repeats the spell, releasing the shields on the other half of the room. Once she finishes, she hurries away for the second time.
Wilbur startles at the sudden change in temperature but immediately starts rubbing the feeling back into his hands, careful to avoid jostling the application forms under his arm. He stays near the back of the group, savoring the warmth on his back. When he can move his fingers properly again, he pulls out his papers and pages through them one last time.
He looks up when the applicants near him start whispering, all staring at the archway to their left. The woman has returned, thankfully faster than the first time she left. She is accompanied by quite a few warlocks, who follow behind her at a sedate pace. Once they reach the tables and chairs, the woman stops and allows all but one of the magicians accompanying her to file into their spots. Once they have, she takes her leave once again. The final warlock walks to the center of the semicircle created by the tables and stands behind the birdbath, calm gaze roving over the crowd. The whispers among the mass of young adults cease, but it would be impossible not to notice the way the applicants steal glances at the warlocks and quickly avert their gaze. Wilbur doesn’t bother looking away every three seconds. He’s in the back, and he doubts any of them would be able to pick him out. Granted, "in the back" doesn’t mean much, in such a large space.
There are six of them if he only includes the ones sitting down, two to a table. Wilbur would bet good money that all of them are very high up in the warlock ranking, even he doesn’t think the High Warlock is here. He pauses, looking at the center table. If I’m wrong , he muses, it’s definitely one of them . Something about the people sitting there strikes him as off, but he can’t put a finger on the reason. Well… aside from the obvious. A relatively unpopular rumor floating around in cities is that some warlocks develop inhumane features if they are strong enough and survive long enough. But most people have never met a mage with this so-called manifestation of magic, so very few actually believe it. But Wilbur can testify, with absolute honesty, that the sight in front of him proves that rumor true. The woman behind the birdbath has brown horns curling along the sides of her head, almost entirely obscured by her curly white hair. They remind Wilbur of the sheep he would see being ushered into the city square during the farmers market. Four of the others have noticeably non-human features. One has a thin, whip-like tail, and three have wings of various shapes and sizes. Two of them sit at the center table.
The warlock furthest to the left is wearing black robes with dark green and red accents. His hair is blonde, long enough that he has pulled it up into a bun on top of his head. His expression is smoothed into a placid smile, and his hands are clasped on the wooden table in front of him. He’s sitting on a stool, to make room for the large wings attached to his back. They are black, feathered, and make Wilbur think of the crows he has seen perching on street lamps or hopping outside restaurants. To the far right of the table is a woman in deep purple robes. They shimmer slightly in the light of the torches. She wears a black veil over her face, pinned into her hair, and Wilbur cannot make out any of her features. Her hair is a dark brown and styled in artful braids and waves, falling past her shoulders and down her back. She, too, sits on a stool. He can’t help but notice that her posture is impeccable. Her wings are scaled, almost reptilian. Wilbur glances up at the painting of the Ender Dragon on the ceiling, unable to stop his brain from making the connection. Her wings flare when the warlock standing in front of the birdbath pulls a scroll from her robes and begins reading.
“Welcome, future apprentices, to the Warlocks Office! Today, you will showcase your merit in front of a panel of judges who will determine whether or not you deserve to join the ranks of Hypixel's warlocks,” She clears her throat and makes a flourishing gesture with one hand. The bowl of the birdbath erupts into three-foot-high flames before calming and lowering to a more manageable height. The crowd gasps and whispers to each other. They quiet quickly once they realize that she has stopped speaking.
Here come the nerves , Wilbur thinks, stomach rolling. He tries to calm down by reminding himself that the warlocks approached him , that night in the stadium. Why would they waste their time inviting him to apply if they weren’t going to accept him? But for all he knows, they could have spoken to every person here as part of some advertising scheme. This is a much larger turnout compared to their last ceremony, after all… No. He is Wilbur Soot. If this door is closed to him, then he has hallways full of open ones that would welcome him happily.
“My name is Puffy, and it is in your best interest that you listen to my directions. If you don’t, then the best-case scenario is you walking out this door with a few missing fingers. I will be doing my best to help you avoid any permanent damage, but if you are uncomfortable with the possibility of injury, then now is your time to leave.” No one moves. The hopeful apprentices might have entered this hall with very little understanding of what being a warlock means, but every single one of them knows that it is a dangerous job. They would not have come if they weren’t prepared to face the consequences of playing with magic. A small smile crosses Puffy’s face. “Good. Now get in a line.”
There is a short pause as she waits for them. The line they make isn’t great, but it’s functional, and that seems to be good enough for her. She slips the scroll back into her sleeve and crosses her arms.
“Here’s how this is going to work. You will come up here when it’s your turn and stand right there,” she points to a spot a few feet in front of the flaming birdbath. “I will ask you your name and you will respond in this format: first name, spelling, last name, spelling. I will ask you if you have any experience with magic, and you will respond with a yes or no. I may ask you to elaborate accordingly, in which case you may answer with full sentences. You may not be vague. Try to answer as concisely and succinctly as possible. It is incredibly important that you direct all of your answers towards the flame, not me. Once I have made sure that your answers have been accepted, you will throw your application papers into the fire. Then, your job is finished. Any questions?” Wilbur does not expect anyone to speak up, even though all of their minds must be full of questions waiting to be answered. He has ended up in the first half of the line, somehow having been pushed to the front by all of the people who were desperate to stay in the back. His mind is racing, but he doubts that any of his thoughts could be formed into understandable questions. He is startled when the woman at the very front of the line raises her hand. She has pink hair, and Wilbur feels a small tug on his heart at the way it reminds him of his best friend. But it’s a bit darker, a bit more vivid, and he is able to push the feeling away easily enough. She is much shorter than him, but the way she stands communicates a sense of confidence that makes her seem larger than she is. She also has mittens attached to the sleeve of her jacket. Fucking smart, that is, he scowls, remembering the cold from earlier. I should have thought of that. Puffy looks at her and raises an eyebrow, and the woman takes that as a signal to continue.
“Does throwing the papers into the fire do anything? If we decide we want to back out after that, can we?” She asks, voice level. But Wilbur can see that she shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her coat the second she began talking, and finds peace in the fact that he is surrounded by like-minded, nervous, young adults. Puffy smiles again, considerably warmer than the last time.
“A very smart question. I was going to go over it after your questions, but I suppose I could do it now, instead. That is, unless anyone else has anything to ask?” She waits but eventually takes the silence as an answer. “Your application papers should have everything we need to know about you on them. This fire is a direct connection to the stream of magic that all warlocks draw on. By burning your papers in it, you are…introducing yourself to the stream. And while we will judge whether or not we think you are a good fit for our program, the fire will tell us if the magic favors you. I am afraid that if you are introduced to the magic and it favors you, we cannot allow you to turn back. At least, not without a formal agreement that you understand that we may be obligated to…deal with you, should you cause harm to those around you. This introduction is not the formal binding that you may have heard of from others. That will occur later on in the day, once we have determined who will move on. But it does develop your connection to magic, and without experienced warlocks to guide you, an accident will likely occur. This having been said, we can teach you to manage the power that comes with the introduction if you decide not to bind yourself to the magic entirely. But no, you cannot just return to a normal life if you are accepted.” Puffy pauses for a moment. She holds out her hand and a glass of water appears in it. Similar glasses appear in front of each of the other warlocks. They drink in unison, and the applicants shiver. “This is why I will warn you one last time. If you are not willing to become a warlock, if you have any doubts at all, please leave. It will save us all a lot of time.”
Once again, no one moves. Puffy claps her hands, water disappearing into a cloud of sparkles, and sweeps her hands outwards in a welcoming gesture. “Then let us begin!”
She waves the first applicant up, and the pink-haired woman walks to the spot in front of the birdbath. Her knuckles are white where they clench her application papers, but her back is straight and her stance is grounded. Wilbur is terrified. He really does not want to watch someone lose their fingers. He can tell that a few of the people near him are similarly concerned, by the way they fidget in place. He refuses to count the number of people in front of him. It looks like a lot right now, but he doesn’t want to break that illusion.
“What is your name?” Puffy asks, face void of the grin she was wearing only a few moments ago. Her expression is blank and her gaze is fixed on the girl. The applicant is staring directly into the flames, following the instructions Puffy gave earlier.
“Niki, N-I-K-I, Nihachu, N-I-H-A-C-H-U.”
“Do you have any prior experience with magic?” Niki hesitates, but only slightly.
“Yes.”
“Please elaborate.” Through the blank expression, Wilbur gets the distinct impression that Puffy is screaming ‘I knew it!’ inside of her head.
“My parents were both warlocks. They did not teach me anything before their passing, but I have a very basic understanding of household spellwork.” Niki takes a moment to formulate her answer before speaking, likely to make it as short as possible. Puffy looks appeased with the response, and gestures for her to burn the papers. Niki does so, tossing them into the flame with rigid movements. The occupants hold their breath as the fire roars. Then, it suddenly becomes purple, rising in height. Niki stumbles backward, shocked, but steadies herself. Puffy turns to her left and makes eye contact with a man who has the wings of a parrot. The man nods, and she turns to Niki with a smile.
“Congratulations, Apprentice Nihachu.” The great hall erupts in applause, all of the applicants pleased by the successful beginning of their ordeal. An optimistic tone has been set, and it lasts until the fourth applicant.
“What is your name?”
“Ivan, I-V-A-N, Grant, G-R-A-N-T.”
“Do you have any prior experience with magic?” The response comes quickly.
“No.” Puffy's hand extends toward the fire and Ivan throws his papers. The hall waits. Nothing happens. Puffy glances at the man on the left, and then gently dismisses Ivan. For the past three applicants, the fire had changed colors, or even just gotten taller. This non-reaction is a reminder that acceptance is not guaranteed, and it chills Wilbur. Because no matter how much he insists that he has other options, Wilbur wants to become a warlock. He wants to be able to do all those spells that the warlock from earlier did, with the stone platform and the torches. It bothers the rest of the applicants, too. There is no clapping as Ivan exits the hall through a side arch, only a self-conscious silence.
The line moves much faster after that. More people leave than join the accepted applicants on the far left side of the platform. In no time, it is Wilbur's turn. When Puffy waves him up, he walks across the platform cautiously, refusing to stumble. He meets her eyes for a brief moment before he reaches the fire. They are yellow with rectangular pupils, and he is once again hit with memories of sheep and farmers markets. He snaps himself out of it and looks into the fire, noticing the ashes of the other applicant's papers.
“What is your name?”
“Wilbur, W-I-L-B-U-R, Soot, S-O-O-T.” He does not misspell his name, and for that, he thanks the gods.
“Do you have any prior experience with magic?”
“No.” He doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have any magical parents (that he remembers), he has never seen a warlock perform a spell before now, and he has surely never done any magic by accident.
“Please elaborate.” The silence in the great hall is deafening, but Wilbur swears he can hear the brains of all the remaining applicant's screech to a halt simultaneously. It would be funny if it wasn’t Wilburs future on the chopping block. When all of the others had said no, Puffy didn’t ask them to elaborate. Wilbur resists the urge to look at Puffy for an explanation, and instead, he forces himself to keep his wide-eyed gaze on the fire. Elaborate on his non-existent experiences with magic…elaborate how? By now he has been quiet for too long, so he decides to do what he does best — bullshit it. It’s what he does when a gambler gets too pushy about playing another round, or when someone gets upset about losing a bet. Except there is no Technoblade to have his back if things go south. And he definitely can’t lie to magic . One order of completely honest bullshit, coming up.
“I have spoken to many warlocks in my line of work, though I have not witnessed any spellwork until today. My only other connection to magic would be my best friend, who had a harmless altercation with an untrained warlock as a child.” He says, heart beating a rhythm in his chest. He doesn’t know how else to explain ‘I have no magical experience.’ The warlocks he has worked with in the past have bet their money and left, no magic involved. But now that he thinks about it, he guesses he’s lucky that they never used any spells to sway the bet (he knows they didn’t because they never won). And Techno did have an encounter with a warlock as a baby, it’s why his hair is pink.
(He still remembers when Techno told him the story. It was probably a few months after they met, and they were sitting in an alleyway trading stories about their past. Wilbur had just told the story about why he decided to come to Hypixel. His parents had been subsistence farmers, but a drought had ravaged their crops and starvation took them. They had gathered all the food they could find, but it wasn’t enough for all three of them. Wilbur couldn’t point out when his parent’s meals began to get smaller, but he knew it happened. Because one day, they hadn’t gotten up to eat. A few days later, Wilbur collected all of their rations in a sack and smuggled himself in a wagon heading to Hypixel. They sat in silence until Techno spoke up.
“My sister turned my hair pink.”
“What?” Wilbur had laughed, nose and eyes red with the cold — not his tears.
“That’s what the villagers used to say, at least. They said that I had brown hair, but then one day it was pink. And that my parents went around telling everyone that my sister was gonna be a great magician because she could already cast a spell even though she was still a kid. They said her hair was pink, too, and that maybe she wanted us to match. I never knew her.”
“What happened?” Wilbur whispered. He wasn’t worried about not getting an answer, just that the fragility of the moment might be broken.
“They left me at a neighbors house to go the next town's market, but they never came back. The villagers never told me what happened, not really, but I overheard some of the men saying that mobs got them on the way home when I got older.” Techno’s eyes and nose were red now, too. Wilbur shuffled over and leaned against him. The rest of the night passed in a contemplative, but never uncomfortable, silence.)
Wilbur stares at the fire for a few moments, lost in his thoughts and memories. Finally, he sees Puffy’s hand move in the corner of his eye. He looks up and she nods at him, an odd look in her eye. Wilbur brushes it off and breathes deep, gathering his application papers and casting them into the flame. His heart had calmed after he gave his final answer, but now it pounds wildly in his chest. He watches his papers turn to ash, and scrambles backward as the fire becomes a deep red almost immediately. It shoots up into the air, and Wilbur wonders if it’s just his pride that makes him think that it gets taller for him than it did for anyone else. A small smile settles itself on his face, and it grows into a grin when Puffy receives a nod from the man on the left.
“Congratulations, Apprentice Soot.”
“Holy shit, holy shit, is this real life?” One of the apprentice’s whispers. Unfortunately for him, the rest of the group is silent, and the tunnel they are in echoes. A few people giggle, but Wilbur can empathize. He has just finished doing one of the most nerve-wracking things of his life, and now he’s on to the next.
Out of a hundred applicants, about forty-five became apprentices. Another ten were accepted by the flaming birdbath but had second thoughts. The apprentices are currently being led through a series of underground walkways by Puffy, while the others had followed the woman who originally brought them to the hall through another set of tunnels. He doesn’t know where the warlock judges went, but he is also quite certain that it isn’t any of his business. The paths they are traveling through are carved through the natural rock and are quite narrow. They have to walk in a single file line to avoid suffocation. Wilbur is incredibly thankful that he doesn’t have claustrophobia. But he is getting tired. They’ve been walking for a pretty long time.
Of course, it is at this moment that they stop, and Wilbur tramples the poor person in front of him.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” He apologizes, wincing. He has to spend the next five years with these people, running them over doesn’t make a very good first impression.
“You’re alright, it’s no big deal,” the person responds and Wilbur squints. It’s dark, but if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to make out some features, right?
“Niki, right? I’m Wilbur,” he offers, eyes focused on distinct pink hair. He has to salvage the situation somehow, right? Maybe making small talk is the way.
“Hi, Wilbur,” Niki responds, smiling. They have gone back to walking at this point, the line had only stopped for a moment, but it had caused a bit of a domino effect. Wilbur swears he can see some sort of recognition in her eyes and hopes that she doesn’t remember his turn at the fire. The last thing he wants to do right now is talk about the latest addition to his nighttime anxiety fuel. Thinking about it, though. That’s something entirely different. He has felt a strange sense of curiosity welling up in his chest since he got on that platform. What made the fire so important? How did the warlocks know it was connected to magic? Why was Wilbur the only one asked any weird questions? He had tried to smother the feeling up until this point, but now he can’t see any reason why he should. He’s here , isn’t he? Why shouldn’t he wonder why? Of course, he will wait to ask. What if he asks too early and they decide his questions are unacceptable and revoke his apprenticeship. He is pretty sure that if the warlocks wanted to, they could just put him with the applicants who decided not to go further. No, he won’t risk that. He will wait until he has completed the final ceremony, then he will ask Puffy what happened.
Decision made, his thoughts rejoin reality. Wilbur is alarmed to find that Niki is in the middle of describing her life before all of this and frantically tries to piece together everything he missed. He doesn’t quite manage, but Niki doesn’t seem to mind and just asks him about his life. He answers, and their quiet conversation follows them through the tunnels as they walk to their next destination.
Binding himself to the magic turns out to be quite underwhelming, in Wilbur’s humble opinion. The apprentices are led into a small stone chamber with a circular pond in the middle. There are no decorations, just stone bricks, and the odd torch. They’re told to sit around it with their eyes closed. He remembers that everyone had hesitated for a good minute before Puffy repeated her order. Even then, they had all sat with identical feelings of ‘what the fuck is happening right now.’ Once they were in the circle, Puffy stepped gracefully into the pond, robes and all. She sat down in the middle of it and began moving her arms in a complex working. Things get a bit blurry from there. He remembers flashes of yellow that filled his vision until he closed his eyes, only to be replaced by browns and golds. (He asked Niki about what she saw the second he got the chance. Instead of brown and gold, she saw pink and blue. He had resolved to ask about that, too, whenever he got around to it.)
But from then on, he remembers very little. It was all a bit blurry. He came back to his senses in a large white room. His eyes felt heavy like he had just woken up from an unfulfilling nap, and his mouth was dry. Since then, he had been handed a cup of water by a warlock in white robes and had scrubbed the heaviness out of his eyelids. He assumes that the room is an infirmary, judging by the distinct smell that comes with constant sterilizing and the numerous cots resting along the walls. He is only somewhat surprised to see that all of the cots are occupied by apprentices, most of whom have already woken up. The last person wakes up as Wilbur finishes his glass of water, groaning and clutching her head. He winces, glad that he didn’t wake up with a headache.
A few moments later, he notices that something is off. He feels grounded in a way that he didn’t before. It should be a good thing, to feel more down to earth, but it is mostly just disconcerting. He swings his legs off the cot and lets his feet touch the floor. The feeling that encompasses him is impossible to describe. It is like he can follow the trails of magic in the earth all the way to its core, just by walking on the surface. He feels heavier, like something is tying him down, stopping him from flying away. It’s weird . But the longer he thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that he will get used to it.
Gazing idly at the apprentices around him, he can see who has figured out the change and who hasn’t. More than that, he can tell who has accepted this new part of themself, and who is still panicking. He can’t quite decide where he falls.
He spots Niki, sitting cross-legged on a cot along the opposite wall. Her eyes are closed, and it looks like she is meditating. But she is smiling, and she looks happy. The infirmary doors open with a flourish of magical sparks only a few minutes later. Puffy walks in, trailed by two of the winged warlocks from earlier. The man with the bun and the woman with the veil. They stop a few steps into the room, and Puffy clears her throat.
“Apprentices of the Warlocks of Hypixel, congratulations on making it to this point. I introduce to you, High Warlock Kristin, and her husband, Philza.”
Wilbur, staring at wings and glowing eyes, feeling strands of magic pull at the fibers of his very being, briefly wonders if he should have backed out when he had the chance.