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28 years after the death of Himmel the Hero, at the Northern Plateau Border Checkpoint, located in the Nachricht Region
Senken couldn't remember the last time he felt so disappointed.
Here he was, hoofing it on foot around the countryside, helping as he can, and he has been waylaid by something he cannot deal with.
Bureaucracy.
He could not continue his travels north unless he was, or accompanied by, a first-class mage.
Now, Senken understood that if he really wanted to, that limitation could be treated as a suggestion.
The guard before him could hardly be considered any obstacle to him. However, the issue lay in the entity backing the declaration he had just relayed to Senken.
The Continental Magic Association.
A quasi-governmental organization that acted as the ruling body for a majority of mages. A wide-reaching canopy of intent that was able to bar him from travel because he didn't have the necessary paperwork.
Setting aside the Empire far to the north, there existed no other similarly authoritative governing body of magic on this continent. So, without a mage certification from the Continental Magic Association, his status as a mage was about as good as non-existent.
Which, to say the least, was less than convenient.
"—so did you get all that?"
'Oh right, the guard.'
"Hm? Oh, yeah. Go on."
"Ok, now as I was about to say, if you can't muster a first-class mage to bring along, your remaining option is to acquire the 1st class mage certification yourself. Even should you be bold enough to consider taking that on, you'd first need a fifth class or higher mage certification to even qualify for participation in the 1st class mage exam."
"I see. Where are these exams held?"
"…you sure're ambitious, it isn't even six months until the first-class mage exam is scheduled to be held in Äußerst, and you aren't even certified yet! Y'sure you don't want to take the next one in four years? You're still just a kid; you've got all the time in the world—"
Senken leaned against the low wall of the footpath he had chosen to rest at, sighing gently to himself. He had moved from the gate upon hearing the news, but had stayed within the down for it, still needing to resupply and otherwise decide his next move.
Because there was nothing really stopping him from going north. Sure, if they truly cared they would send a first-class mage after him, but he doubted they would. So, he could just fly as high as he could tolerate and simply arch his way into the northern lands.
However, he was inundated with the knowledge of how to fulfill his goal.
To be a great mage. They quantified it. Become a first-class mage. Being one wasn't the same as being a grade 1 sorcerer, where that margin was simply "Exorcise grade 1 curses". This required a test, a series of tests. He might have the mana, the mental capacity, but there was still the chance of failure.
Still a chance to learn. To grow. To better himself and his spells.
His goal was to become a great mage, but only because it helped him experience what he truly wanted. That sensation of wonder back when he saw that old man blowing smoke into birds.
Magic, pure and simple, was the goal. So, naturally, to have the most access to magic, he would have to be a first-class mage.
The test for which is held in Äußerst.
Requiring as a minimum that he be a 5th class mage.
Six months from now.
Senken groaned, letting his head fall.
This bureaucracy sucked.
28 years after the death of Himmel the hero, at the Central Magic Organization Headquarters, in Strahl
Serie couldn't keep the pull of her cheeks down, a grin splitting her lips as Genau rounded the corner at a quickened pace, imperceivable to any that were not familiar with the man, unlike her.
"Genau," she said, a lightness in her voice as she crossed her legs. "What has you so hurried?"
Genau slowed, reaching the distance for casual conversation. "It's a development pertaining to the unregistered mage, Senken."
"Ah, the one who deftly handled an unnamed demon." Serie answered, showing she still remembered this particular incident. "What has changed?"
Genau, rather than speak, simply handed over a tucked letter, which Serie took, unfolded, and read quietly. Her eyebrows raised gently as she read the testimonial.
This Senken fellow was certainly an audacious one.
Turning her gaze back to Genau, she flicked the letter away, done with it. "Why bring this to me yourself, instead of writing a proper report?"
"I want to make a request." Genau answered, face stoic and voice calm.
Serie shifted her legs, even lifting her head from her hand. Rare was it for Genau to ask for anything, rarer still from her.
"You? A request?" Serie leaned forward in her chair, a coy smile on her face. "Speak your mind, my apprentice."
As Genau made his request, spoke his plan, Serie's coy smirk shifted into a wider, more profound smile.
Her apprentice had never been less boring.
28 years after the death of Himmel the Hero, at the Northern Plateau Border Checkpoint, located in the Nachricht region
Senken stared down into his coin purse with shock, dismay, and frustration followed by resignation.
Two copper coins stared back at him, one slightly bent, both dull from handling. Amongst them, there was a strand of his hair, and a few crumbs of a bread roll he had hastily bought due to its vibrant smell. Along the side, there was a grease stain in the general shape of his finger.
This was all that decorated the purse. Senken was flat broke.
So, he had no way to prepare for a trek south to wait out the winter. He would have to do it here, at the border checkpoint.
However, he had no ties to anyone here, so he had to figure out where he was going to stay during the winter.
The easiest, if harshest choice, was to simply be outside. He had the means of making a temporary shelter, an afternoon of gathering branches and sticks allowed him the framework to not only lay his accumulated furs upon, but to also make the frame for a mud oven.
He patted the mud into place, forming it and the chimney by hand. It would serve two purposes; one to keep him warm, and the other to be a source of income.
Although he has experienced the winters before, and knows he can weather them as is, he would prefer to be inside as much as possible. So, with his skillet, the various game and wild vegetables he had taken up in his travels, he would cook some simple food and try to earn enough for a room somewhere.
The next day, the wind was bitter, a sign of the encroaching frost, and Senken had been stroking his fire for a few hours. He had cooked his breakfast and lunch there, trying to coax anyone to come by and investigate the delicious smell, to inquire about getting some themself.
However, the wind was driving his potential customers away. He didn't have the space to offer customers a break from the weather, so many opted to simply stay inside rather than bare it for his hand pies.
That was, until, a shadow covered him, and he looked up to see a well-dressed man looking down at him. Dressed in dark blues, he had light brown hair combed to the side, the wind moving it but not ruining the style. With him being a mage, Senken would bet it was the effect of a rather vain spell.
"Are you…selling those?" The mage asked, and Senken nodded.
"Yeah," he answered. "How many do you want?"
"Just one."
Senken set about making the handpie, stretching the dough over the filling, venison and onion, before crimping it closed and laying it on the liquid tallow in his skillet to shallow fry. The mage just quietly watched, the sound of the wind the only accompaniment to the bubble and sizzle as the savory pastry was shallow fried.
Minutes later, the handpie was removed from the skillet to cool and drain, and the mage spoke.
"How much is it?" He asked, lifting a coin purse, far heavier looking than Senkens own.
"Oh, well…" Senken tried and failed to think of a cost in a timely enough fashion. So, he pivoted. "Try it, and you tell me."
The mage looked at him with a curious gaze, before picking up the handpie and taking a tentative bite, which Senken hoped was because it was freshly made.
The mage seemed to chew in slow motion, swallow even slower. His off hand was still in his coin purse; Senken could imagine his digits gently digging through the coinage.
A flash of movement had that hand lift from the bag, and Senken caught the payment as the mage began walking away. Opening his hand, he grinned with both mouths.
A single silver coin sat, cold in his palm.