The door to Quillenâs office slams open. Akey stormed in, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to strike something. The older man behind the desk only adjusted his spectacles, looking at the student with the kind of wisdom and patience that came with age.
âThis is bullshit! I work my ass off until my hands bleed - what do I get? Crumbs!â Akey snaps, pacing around the cramped office. Quillen only raises an eyebrow, unsurprised as he reaches for the steaming cup. "And? You believe that makes you worthier? Just because you have more blisters to show?"
Akeyâs head snaps towards him. His jaw tensed like he wanted to argue, but after a beat, his shoulders sagged. He ran a hand through his tangled curls. âNo,â he admits, his hands unclenching. âBut itâs frustrating.âÂ
Quillen gives a soft hum, raising the chipped teacup to his lips. âThen give up,â he responds, almost dismissively, sipping his tea. âGo on, take the easy way out with the shroom like the rest of them.â
Akey glares at his calm, almost serene expression. "No,â he fires back, the defiant fire rekindling behind his tired eyes. Quillen gives a quiet nod, setting the cup down with a quiet clink. "Good."
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A first year magic school student who has been told all his life that he isnât enough and he should abandon his âtricksâ and go back to basics. Akey is determined to become something, to be remembered, to be relied upon so he works twice as hard as anyone else. Though sometimes you have to use harsher methods to catch up with the greats.Â
Age: 17-19
Akey is not the strongest and he knows it. Akey hates it that he can't lift boulders or do complex magic like others but he won't just roll over and take it.Â
Akey is a survivor and he will survive against people who can summon winds powerful enough to destroy a house or stop time with a snap of their fingers. Though Professor Kaelith Drass's words made Akey pause: âThese tricks workâbut will they make you someone you'd follow into battle?" Akey wants to be someone people rely on and trust in battle. He wants to leave a legacy, to be remembered.Â
He hates it that even if he works his ass off studying and training until he can't hold his spear anymore he still doesn't even get close to the top thirty in dueling. Akey despises it when professors and students call his spells âtricksâ because he knows that they are but what else is he supposed to do? That is all he has.Â
He hates it when they tell him to practice or go back to the basics, it feels like a slap to the face: that they are telling him: "You can't amount to anything, you should just stop." It takes all of Akey's self control to not snap at them.
Physical description: Akey is fairly tall with a slender build, he holds his head high but his shoulders always seem tense - from training or from something else. He has short curly black hair that falls into his sharp brown eyes, always seemingly looking around for weaknesses he can exploit. His lips are often cracked from dehydration or from clenching them too tightly during sparring sessions.Â
He wears weathered fingerless gloves to protect his âsoft princess skinâ as he so bitterly calls his easily blistered palms. He usually wears a bright t-shirt marked with soot and dirt and with a faded graphic design on the back. Faint scars trace his arms; a sign of the sleepless nights and anxious breaks in between training when he picks at his old wounds.Â
The faint sound of coins clinging can be heard with his every step from the small pouch strapped over his chest. Â
His old spear is strapped to his back, it has cracked and splintered more times then he can count but he doesnât want to replace it - Akey says it is his partner. He doesnât let anybody else touch it, let alone wield it. When lost in thought he often plays with the bright blue friendship bracelet tied around the shaft.
