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Before a smooth silver half-length mirror, a tall, slender figure in silver-gray robes carefully trimmed his appearance.

Beautiful black hair and beard fell with the snip of the scissors, scattering across the warm wooden floor.

Those were the remains of three years gone by, the waste of his body's renewal.

A large flock of winged Dust Sprites bustled across the floor, gathering the fallen strands.

Then, at a certain moment, the snipping stopped.

The Dust Sprites on the floor and in the air scattered at once, as though fleeing an imminent ripple of power.

A moment later, the pile of hair on the floor ignited without a sound. Pale phosphorus fire burned without heat, destroying the material and erasing every lingering trace and causal connection attached to it.

A wizard could never leave a biological sample of himself anywhere beyond his control. It was the Curse School's favorite kind of medium.

Soon, the hair had burned to blackened ash, then vanished entirely.

Among the Dust Sprites, a pretty girl with two pairs of gray wings and a long braid fluttered closer. Gathering her courage, she landed lightly on the figure's shoulder and peered curiously into the mirror.

The silver mirror reflected a young man with short black hair.

His features were handsome and striking, his skin fair, and his deep-blue eyes were like an infinitely tranquil lake.

There was none of a young man's restlessness in those eyes. They held only the stillness of an ancient well, the absolute reason forged through long years spent in the company of dry truths.

The young man's face was remarkably calm. He had an air of learning about him, composed and reserved, like a modest, wise scholar or an understated, elegant nobleman.

But that was only the surface. Beneath his skin flowed energy