Al returned to Sunstrider Isle, the place where the dream began, in less than two days.
He deftly drove off the treant saplings that were nearly overrunning the area and approached Dath'Remar's shrine with mixed feelings.
The bronze plaque beside the shrine read: "Here stands the shrine of Dath'Remar, in memory of a noble elf. Let all who see it remember his sacrifice, for it was because of him that our lives endured. Quel'Thalas thanks him."
His small, tender hand gently stroked the massive stone tablet, its surface covered in intricate golden-red patterns, elegant and mysterious.
Al gazed at it for a moment, then walked somewhat wistfully up the steep slope beside the shrine. He stared silently out at the Great Sea, where the sky met the water.
"I'll safeguard these four thousand years of heritage..."
This was Kaynell Sunfire's twenty-eighth year working at Falthrien Academy, which amounted to little for the long-lived high elves. Today, however, was different. In view of his extensive teaching experience and his newly earned fifth-circle Archmage certification, the dean had made an exception and promoted him to substitute associate professor of evocation.
"To get straight to the point, the construction of spell models directly determines how far you can go on the path of the arcane..."
Brimming with satisfaction, Kaynell stood at the lectern and held forth, his Mage Hand controlling a piece of chalk as it wrote intricate Thalassian on the blackboard. Thoroughly engrossed in his lecture, he sent spittle flying everywhere. The little elf nearest him helplessly wiped the saliva from his face, looking as though he had nothing left to live for.
Looking at the high elf youngsters seated below the lectern, Kaynell wore an intoxicated expression. Suddenly, he frowned, picked up a piece of chalk, and hurled it toward a corner of the classroom.
"That blond boy down there, stand up!"
A whole crowd of blond high elf children rose noisily to their feet.
Kaynell waved them back into their seats, his face dark with exasperation. He paced over to the corner and looked at the little elf sleeping soundly before him.
"Ahem." Kaynell cleared his throat.
The little elf remained unmoved, even letting out faint snores.
"Stand up!"
At the end of his patience, Kaynell roared. A mere youngster actually dares challenge an associate professor's authority, he thought indignantly.
The bubble in his nostril burst. Startled, the little elf sprang to his feet on reflex and looked blankly around him.
The children burst out laughing, and the entire classroom became a sea of merriment.
"Very good. I'll remember you. What-is-your-name?!"
Veins bulged on Kaynell's forehead as he ground out each word.
"This old man is named Aier Salona."
A brief silence followed.
"Y-you-you, what did you say your name was?" Kaynell asked in a panic, as though he had heard something terrifying, ignoring Al's use of "this old man."
Al rubbed his bleary eyes and looked helplessly at the flustered "young fellow" before him.
"This old man is named Aier Salona. What is it, young fellow?"
Like a face-changing opera performer, Kaynell swept the lingering anger from his face and spoke with a fawning expression.
"So it was you, Councilor Sarona, sitting in on today's class! Oh, this memory of mine. I just thought it was a little cold and worried you might catch a chill. Please, go back to sleep. I'll keep my voice down, keep it down. Haha, hahaha."
"Never mind. I'm awake now anyway. Carry on with your lecture. I have some business with Dean Faselyn."
Al shook his head, clasped his hands behind his back, and leisurely strolled out of the classroom with the bearing of a veteran official.
Kaynell Sunfire: I'm done for...
Al clearly had no intention of taking revenge on a "young fellow." He really did have business with Dean Faselyn.
Falthrien Academy had been founded in the second millennium after the Highborne crossed east and established the Sunwell. Over two thousand years of gradual development, it had split into two colleges, one for mages and one for priests, headed respectively by Faselyn, dean of the mage college, and Fengdelor, dean of the priest college.
The entire structure bore the high elves' favorite golden-red colors. Its soaring spires pierced the clouds, while its solid foundations were rooted at ley line nodes to facilitate the drawing of arcane energy.
Al strolled leisurely along a corridor winding through the air, reaching out to touch the transparent wall of air. This was a permanent arcane barrier, intended to stop insufficiently skilled mage apprentices from falling.
Looking down at the high elf children playing beside the lake, Al smiled warmly.
"Knock, knock."
"Come in."
An aged yet resonant female voice sounded from within, and Al pushed open the door and entered.
Faselyn was twenty-five hundred years old that year and had already entered the final countdown of her life. Her hair had turned pure white, and crow's-feet had quietly appeared at the corners of her exceptionally well-maintained eyes.
"I've heard of you, Al."
Faselyn stopped her work and elegantly pushed up her slipping gold-rimmed glasses with a finger. Smiling faintly, she regarded Al with interest.
"My honor, madam."
Al bowed slightly, showing none of his usual irrepressible willfulness. This was the bare minimum of respect owed to an elder who had held fast on the front lines of education for two thousand years.
"No need to be so formal, child. Your grandfather and I are very good friends. Hasn't he mentioned that to you?" Growing increasingly pleased with the earnest, serious youngster before her, Faselyn smiled more brightly.
"Of course, madam. My grandfather told me that you are someone worthy of respect. Being able to work here is my greatest good fortune."
"Oh? That wasn't what that old rascal Belovar said in his letter." Faselyn looked teasingly at the awkward high elf youngster.
"Let's just let bygones drift away on the wind..."
Al scratched his head in embarrassment. He knew the dean before him was alluding to the four times he had previously rejected the academy's invitation.
"Well, Mr. Councilor, what brings you here?"
"You flatter me. Just call me Al, Lady Faselyn. Here's the thing: I have a tentative suggestion, and I hope you'll agree to it."
"Even the rising star praised so highly by His Majesty Anasterian has a suggestion for me? Then I'm all ears."
Faselyn chuckled, and coupled with the intellectual air she radiated at all times, it gave her a distinctive charm.
"Then I'll get straight to the point..."
"Please, go ahead."
No one knew what Al said in the dean's office, but by the next day, word had spread throughout the academy: the newly arrived Honorary Councilor Sarona would hold a large lecture at Whispering Pond in a week's time.
"Have you heard? That Sarona boy is supposedly giving a lecture in a week. What a joke. Belovar's grandson is only ten, isn't he? A little brat still wet behind the ears, imitating professors and holding large lectures..."
A brown-haired young apprentice whispered to his companion during class, looking rather disdainful.
"No way. No way! Someone actually hasn't heard of Al, the master alchemist? Does your village not have internet?"
"Huh? Huh? Huh?"
"Have you heard? Al, the master engineer, is holding a large lecture! In just a week!"
"Isn't Mr. Al a master of runes? Since when did it become engineering?"
"Don't sweat the details. I'm setting off tomorrow to grab a good spot."
"Archmage Al is giving a lecture! Let's all get in there together! Whether we can advance to junior mage depends on what happens in a week!"
"What? His Majesty the Sun King is making a royal visit to Whispering Pond in seven days to observe Grand Archmage Al's lecture?"
Walking through Sunstrider Isle's residential district, Al looked with a headache at a high elf couple carrying their luggage, their faces alight with excitement. It was easy enough to make out what they were saying: things along the lines of, "High Priest Al is teaching miraculous tricks to cure infertility! Anyone who wants children, charge with me!"
"This is getting more and more ridiculous! Why are rumors flying everywhere? Who exactly let the word slip?" Covering his forehead, Al quietly slipped away.
Kaynell Sunfire: With all this effort I'm putting into publicity for Lord Al, he'll surely forgive me and let bygones be bygones. Maybe before long, I'll get a promotion and a raise, become general manager, take over as CEO, marry a fair-skinned, rich beauty, and reach the pinnacle of life. Just thinking about it has me a little excited!
"I'm such a clever little fellow. Hehehehe." Kaynell drooled as he indulged in his mental orgasm.
Below the lesson plan, an elven youngster expressionlessly wrung out his soaking cuff and wiped his slick, gleaming forehead dry.
It's decided. Tomorrow, I'm transferring to the priest college.