All Cedric needs is a grand breakthrough to solve all his problems. To earn respect, to earn the right to stand tall and proud--so he tells himself, anyways.
Showing up to the yearly Conjurer’s Conference after having ruined the last one, nearly conquering a kingdom, aiding one of the most evil sorcerers of this generation—some would call that a bold move.
Not that Cedric considered himself that. Not even remotely. Not even after all the change he’d gone through. Pathetic, wasn’t it?
Nevertheless, he was one of the only sorcerers to tread up the steps to Hexley Hall on that fateful morning, wand clutched as he levitated several boxes behind him. The one benefit of signing up for a presentation booth was that he earned the privilege of coming in early to set up his materials.
Though he wanted to at least have Sofia around as an assistant (a role she soon volunteered for when she heard of his plans), sudden schedule changes meant that she’d be gone on emergency Protector work throughout the day. Perhaps it was for the better.
That way she wouldn’t see me utterly humiliate myself when I bungle—
He yelped as he snapped back to reality, catching his boxes in another floating spell before they hit the floor. Another wizard behind him yelled at him to move it, which put an end to his self-pity fest before it got to the parade. At least it was a stranger who caught him, rather than the…
Urgh. The headmaster.
The new headmaster of Hexley Hall was a boney, straight-laced woman who regarded everyone with an iron glare. After one too many concerns were brought up regarding the ethics of sorcerers in this day and age (Hexley Hall Prank Day, the Order of the Wand, Grimtrix orchestrating said mass kingdom takeover despite being the former headmaster renowned for his goodness) Miss Dragonsbreath elbowed her way into the role to, in her words: “Teach these kids the difference between being a grand sorcerer and being a nuisance best fit for jail cell cobblestone.”
A wave of relief washed over Cedric that he graduated when he did.
She ruled the Conjurer’s Conference with an iron fist—trustworthy, good sorcerers volunteered to watch exits, secret rooms locked away, shushers watched every corner of the library. Cedric offered a meager hand some months ago, but Dragonsbreath slammed the door in his face. Of course! Despite King Roland’s best efforts to quiet news of Cedric’s attempted coup way back when, some of the guards had big mouths. It came as no surprise she considered him a massive liability.
Cedric plopped his boxes onto the tiny table set aside for him, tucked in the back of the main conference room. At least he got a chance to prove himself. He couldn’t waste it—not again.
He flicked his wand and pulled piles of magical materials out of each box. Potions, a sundial-shaped object with a fine point akin to a unicorn’s horn sticking out of the center, and various magical charms flew out and sorted themselves accordingly. They all related to the subject of his research, a side project he’d taken up in his spare time: curing magical ailments that many sorcerers would turn their chin up at.
After managing to pull Sofia out of an amulet that another, greater sorcerer struggled to pull someone else out of after years of travel, Cedric couldn’t help the twinge of pride that took root in his heart. If he could pull together spells and people in the heat of the moment and overcome a powerful jewel, what else could he do?
Who else could he help?
His first project, the one he planned to present to the other sorcerers, took inspiration from the predicament of his sister’s: it allowed for the caster to learn the magical components of the affliction in front of them. If a potion caused it, it’d tell you which ones. If a magical object caused it, it’d identify what kind and its powers.
Simple on the surface, yes, but a massive breakthrough. No longer were the days of combing through tomes aplenty, chasing down dead ends, or uncovering artifacts that promised power, only to grant the wrong kind of power needed to solve a predicament…now, the problem would appear right before your eyes.
It made diagnosis possible, and the cure reachable.
However, one problem remained. A spell as powerful as this required not only perfect concentration and enunciation from the caster, but a heart of pure confidence, of unwavering dedication to help. He felt fairly sure he could muster three out of four, but—confidence.
Confidence.
No, that’d be the hardest. When the other sorcerers looked at him, mocked him—how would he be able to demonstrate his spell? Just the image in his mind made him wince. His hands shook, but before he pulled down his sleeves to hide that—
“Oh~! Cedric, it’s a real surprise to see you here!”
…It couldn’t be.
Cedric’s neck creaked as he turned to the left, a familiar face leaning against a table covered to the brim with toys. His rounded features, his carefree grin, they all felt odd on his face, especially since the last time Cedric saw Greylock, it was after he’d landed in jail for overthrowing the royal family of Rudistan.
“You’re out of prison?”
Hardly the most flattering greeting, but they were the first words to tumble out of his gaping mouth. Greylock flashed a half smile and shrugged.
“Community service. They’re trying a new program out, and I guess I was lucky enough to be its first participant? The king always had a soft spot for my tricks, even after everything.”
Hmph. Cedric had half a mind to let the conversation die there, but a spiteful part of him couldn’t let it lie.
“Doesn’t sound like you had much time to practice your routine, then.” Urgh, how he hated the voice crack that slipped in there.
“Is that so? By the way,” Greylock looked down, “Your scarf is crooked.”
Cedric tried. He really, really tried to resist the temptation, but after a minute of willpower, he groaned, looked down, and got greeted with a flick of the nose via phantom hand.
Greylock snickered, stiffening up after a glare from Dragonsbreath.
“Har har,” Cedric grumbled, fixing his scarf regardless. “You’re still a comedian, I see.”
“And you’re still the same grouch.” Greylock crossed his arms and looked away with a small ‘hmph’, before he went to work organizing the plethora of trinkets on his table. “Tell me, why are you here?”
What kind of question was that? Cedric moved his round, pointed device to the center of his table. “Why are you here?”
“I’m just asking an old friend an honest question, you don’t need to snap at me for being nice.”
“…Demonstrating a new spell.” If he wanted to poke holes in his confidence, Greylock would have to try harder than that.
“Is that so? Tell me more.”
Cedric grumbled, laying a hand near his device. “First off, do you know what this is?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “It’s a small recreation of an ancient Maruvian device built for the purpose of correcting magical mistakes. This one’s nowhere near the power I need to recreate its effects, but it led me to another, grander—more practical idea.”
After a dramatic pause, he flicked his wand up, the tip sparkling. “A spell that identifies the elements of a magical ailment. In the hands of a skilled sorcerer, it could cure every mixed potion mishap, every unidentifiable curse out there.”
“…That’s amazing, Cedric!”
“Yes, yes, I know it’s boring—”
Cedric stopped. As though he’d been told an army of unicorns invaded the school, he turned to Greylock once more in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
Greylock’s playful, snide smile disappeared, replaced with a somber one. “It’s amazing. It’ll help the world, won’t it? So many kings will beg you to train their sorcerers to cast it.”
“I—well—er—”
The stutters slipped from Cedric’s lips as he hit his knee against the table, splaying some of the magic rings he brought across the floor. “Oh, Merlin’s mushrooms…”
He bent over to pick them up, only for Greylock to come to his side and assist him, dumping the jewels on Cedric’s table.
“I know we’re not friends,” he said, “especially after all I’ve done. But I envy you, Cedric the Great. You earned your title, unlike some of us.”
And with that, Greylock the no-longer-grand stepped away, turning his focus to his own display. Even if Cedric knew how to reply to that, even if he wanted to—he had a feeling Greylock wouldn’t know how to reply, hence his abrupt departure.
It was true. Cedric wouldn’t call him a friend after what he did. But after this tiny confidence boost—maybe he could call him a colleague, especially if Greylock managed to stay out of jail from then on.
Cedric took a deep breath. Raised his wand, and flicked it with confidence. The sorcerer’s secret, he thought, that advice ringing in his head ever since his fateful teaching day. Over the past few years, he took step after step towards being a better version of himself, whether he was aware of it or not. This conference would be his first chance showing the world that.
After all, Cedric the Great called himself that for a reason.
Right. He was great. He’d be great—no, more than that. He’d do great. Great things, everywhere, for everyone.
Unlike the many sorcerers who fell from grace around him, he’d be able to prove himself.
And so, when the time arrived…
The first sorcerer to arrive at his booth came as a surprise—but only for a few moments. After all, Merlin wasn’t a stranger. An idol to him, yes, but his heart warmed to know that the older man remembered him. Chose to see him demonstrate his abilities before anyone else.
“I—I’ve worked on this spong—spell , for a long time, especially after having my own loved ones suffer from ailmmh—ailments with hard-to-find cures…” He trailed off. It tinged his chest with an odd sting that he, after so long, thought of his sister’s struggles in the past tense, but he forced in a breath and kept going lest the one visitor he attracted lost interest.
“I believe it’s best demonstrated on a living subject.” Might as well get to the show. He picked up a random potion off his table—a combination of two others he mixed blindly—and poured it onto himself. “I don’t know the contents of this potion, so whatever the effects may be—”
“—It’ll be…something I can fix.”
A blast of white smoke covered him. When it faded, a pink mustache adorned his face, one that got a chuckle out of the other sorcerer. Though Cedric expected a crude joke, Merlin merely watched with a smile, even a gesture for Cedric to continue.
He took a deep breath and raised his wand. Just as he practiced it a million times before, just as he learned, just as he designed.
A wave of the wand and a whisper of the right words later, a mirage of two potion bottles appeared on the table. As if someone zapped the knowledge into his brain, Cedric recognized the substances instantly. He shuffled about the table and procured some rat whispers and a dab of unicorn hair, tossing them into the air and chanting another spell.
Carried on a gust of wind, the hairs grazed his face and shaved the mustache clean off, not a trace of it left.
Merlin’s eyes widened, and he clapped. “You managed to decipher the ingredients to that concoction with merely a spell?”
“A spell I weaved myself, yes,” he said. “To determine the ingredients of aberrant potions, and provide a path to recovery.”
“Amazing!” Merlin laughed. “Truly amazing. I knew you’d be capable of bringing us something special, Cedric.”
Whatever words Cedric brewed in his mind vaporized in the face of genuine praise. He despised his voice whenever he stuttered and stumbled, but for this moment—for this one moment, he hardly minded much.
“Tha…thank you. Thank you.” Cedric smiled back. Merlin offered to speak to him after the convention, to talk about getting his spell tested and printed into spellbooks across the world.
For a second. He wondered whether he deserved this.
But he put that thought aside.
Aside, where it’d rest in the past—while Cedric focused on the future.