Countless innocent young women turned their heads as one, their sparkling eyes locking onto Duke like he was a walking marriage proposal dipped in glitter. Their rosy cheeks flushed, their breath caught in their throats, and for a split second, the collective hormones of Northshire Monastery threatened to combust.
As was tradition, the annual trial wasn't just an exam—it was a full-blown magical circus. Newbies came to prove themselves, but upperclassmen from the Warrior Academy, Thieves Academy, and other fancy-sounding institutions were also present, either helping out or looking cool while pretending not to gawk.
While commoners watched wide-eyed, the real connoisseurs of magic were twitching with disbelief. Sasha, a second-year apprentice at the Wizard Academy and assistant to the old wizard, looked like she'd just seen her thesis burn before her eyes—with fireworks.
"That... that wasn't just a Fireball," she gasped, her hands shaking. "That was Pyroblast-level devastation! Duke used the Fireball spell model to recreate a Pyroblast! Are we sure he's not a polymorphed dragon?"
Another apprentice muttered, trembling: "Even some formal wizards can't pack that kind of punch. He made those straw men look like discount tinder."
"No way," Sasha whimpered. "He's just an apprentice, but... I'm jealous. I want to be like him. I want to be him. Wait, no, I want to marry him... Damn it!"
Meanwhile, the teachers of the Wizard Academy were losing their collective minds. News of Duke's explosive talent spread faster than a sneeze in a crowded tavern.
"HA! Take that, Dalaran! You think you have your Kael'thas and Kel'Thuzad hold any sway? We have DUKE!" an elderly mage bellowed while throwing confetti made of fire.
In the not-so-glorious world of mage politics, Stormwind had always played second fiddle to Dalaran. Sure, they had Khadgar, but he was a lone candle in a hurricane of Dalarani brilliance. Medivh was too solitary to count.
But now? Now they had something better.
An evil grin spread across the faces of Stormwind's court wizards. They didn't just see a boy. They saw a comet of fire about to scorch every record in the books.
Meanwhile, Duke was not having a good time.
"King Llane Wrynn... court wizard Medivh... oh no... OH NO!" Duke paled as his gamer instincts screamed in his mind.
The timelines were clicking into place.
The Dark Portal would open soon. Gul'dan, that fel-powered muscle-head, was gathering the orcs. Stormwind would be toast. Llane would die. And he, Duke, would be smack in the middle of it.
Joy of being a magic prodigy? Replaced by existential dread.
A cold sweat soaked his back. "There's no safe place. Ironforge, Lordaeron, all of it gets hit. Orcs, Scourge, Burning Legion—they're all coming. No vacation, no peace. Just one apocalypse after another."
If he wanted to live, he had to be strong. Not strong. The strongest.
No more dreams of coasting through wizard school and retiring early. He was either going to become a god-tier archmage with world-shattering power or end up as some undead grunt's chew toy.
That night, Northshire Monastery hummed with excited gossip. From his room, Duke leaned on the windowsill and heard his name praised like a hometown hero.
"Phew! Being a celebrity isn't half-bad," Duke whispered with a grin.
"Yes... it's a pity it only lasts half a day."
WHACK!
"UGH!" Duke didn't even get to react before his vision spun like a tavern dancer on payday.
He felt a sharp pain—a dagger to the back of his neck.
Poison!
His limbs turned to jelly, his brain scrambled like breakfast eggs. He saw it in the system interface: a big, fat skull floating above his attacker.
This guy's a raid boss-level thief!
Before he could scream, his mouth was forced open. Something was shoved in. Bitter. Dry. Probably poison. Possibly poop. He prayed for poison.
"Mmmph!" he groaned as his body went limp.
Through fading vision, Duke caught a glimpse of a black-scarfed face. No name. No answers. Just that smug, dagger-happy face.
The last thing Duke saw before darkness took him was the thief scooping him up like a sack of potatoes and leaping out the window.
"Woooo..." he moaned into unconsciousness.
And thus, Duke's first day as a magical prodigy ended not with glory... but with a sap to the skull and a one-way trip to who-knows-where.