The class of students filed silently into the large open space of the practice room. It was one of four such rooms under the campus grounds, a place specifically designated for many things, from experimentation with volatile magic to duels between students or faculty. Such things were common, as duels between notable mages tended to get… hectic. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were lined with runes that dispelled magic on contact, ensuring that nothing would get horribly out of hand.

“What are we doing back in the practice rooms?” One of the students, a green-robed Journeyman asked of his nearest classmate. “We have practical exams coming in two weeks. I’m tired of these rooms.”

“Practice is important,” his classmate said. She was picking idly at the hem of her new crimson-red robe, the sign that she’d skipped a class after their last final examinations. She’d worn the robe for months now, but she still took great pains to keep it in good condition. “You don’t want to fall even more behind, do you, James?”

James scowled at her, and at the red robe she wore. Even after months of seeing it, he was still annoyed that she’d been promoted from grey to red, and he’d only gone from grey to green. It was still impressive that he’d been promoted one class after half a year, but it smarted to know that his friend, who he’d considered to be at the very least equal to him, had shot past him. Just you wait, he said silently in his head. I’ll pass you up and get Master first.

Speaking of Master, there was someone new in their midst. A tall and lean older student. Their robes were the deep blue of a Master, and, unlike Teresa’s robes, they weren’t in perfect condition. There were signs of dirt and even some singing at the sleeves and hems as if he’d either failed at some spell he was practicing, or he’d been in a fight. Both signs pointed to someone inexperienced, and, in Jame’s opinion, didn’t belong in the bearing of a Master of the college.

“Stop staring,” Teresa hissed at him, noticing where his eyes were. “You always piss off Masters that you don’t like.”

“That’s not true,” he shot back, returning his eyes to her and resuming their discussion. “I just think he shouldn’t look so shabby. He’s a Master, after all. He should be more proper.”

“His robes aren’t that bad. You’re the only one who’s a neat freak.”

“Says the woman who spent their dinner period redoing the stitching on hers because she messed up one stitch,” he growled back. But Master Moran, their teacher, had entered the training room, so he clamped his jaw shut, not keen on his teacher hearing what he really thought and assigning him extra work. If the new arrival in the blue robe heard his remarks, he showed no sign of it. He was absorbed in a tome he was holding.

Now that he was paying proper attention, James could see that the new Master was a Marked One. His markings had been developed quite a bit, with dark rings around his eyes and the bares hint of a chain that wrapped around his head, like a headband of runes. His eyes were also moving really fast as if he could read each page of the tome in two seconds flat. Yeah right, he thought. Even the most talented mage in the College, Archmage Bragg, couldn’t read that fast.

“He’s obviously putting up a front,” he muttered under his breath. Teresa elbowed him in the ribs, letting him know he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d intended. “Ow! Stop that!”

“Quiet now!” Master Brent Moran said. At once, the idle chatter among his class faded away, and he nodded. “Now. I’m sure you’re all up to your neck with revisions for the upcoming exams.”

A few mutters of agreement came in reply. Some looked confident, others harried, as if they wanted to bolt from the room, not wanting to waste even a second of time they could otherwise put to revising. Moran continued. “Well, today will be a short lesson. I just want to go over the basics of magic, specifically of casting for you, to help you keep a level head for the exams.”

James raised his hand, and Moran called him out. “Yes, Kenik?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Master Moran,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all, “But we’re third-years, sir. We’ve already been over the basics several times.”

Teresa didn’t elbow him in the ribs this time, but only because it would be seen by the teacher. But she did scowl, and hiss out of the corner of her mouth, “Idiot.”

“Then please tell me,” Moran said, his voice dry, “What is the most basic form of spellcasting? What are the basic principles involved in performing magic?”

James, in spite of the opinions of his classmates, was a smart student. He had to be to make it to the third year. He rose to the challenge. “The basic form of spellcasting is guiding mana with an incantation, forming and directing it to do exactly what you want. The more complex the incantation, the more powerful the spell.”

“Very good,” Moran said. “And what is the advanced version, which surpasses the basic technique in speed and utility?”

“Speed casting,” he said promptly. Then, as Moran frowned, he realized his mistake. “I mean, Silent Casting. It’s the direct manipulation of your mana without the guidance of incantations. Harder to master, but much faster.”

“Again, very good. And what is faster than silent casting?”

That question stumped him, as Master Moran had intended it to do. “Err, there isn’t a faster method, Master Moran. The only way to improve your speed is with practice.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’d be wrong, Journeyman Kenik,” the teacher said. Normally, the class would have laughed, but they were with James on this point. Seeing that they weren’t convinced, the teacher gestured toward the back, where the new Master was still reading. “Master Samson, if you’d please come to the front.”

The blue-robed figure snapped his tome closed and pulled up one sleeve. He shoved the book into one of five square patches of black on his arm, obviously a storage rune, and walked forward. Master Moran raised one hand to indicate him to the students. “This is Master Robert Samson. He graduated two years ago, after five years of study, and is undoubtedly the fastest mage in the college.”

The students looked dubious. Even Teresa interrupted, the doubt obvious on her face. “Even faster than Archmage Bragg?”

“Much faster,” the teacher said emphatically. “Master Samson, would you care to demonstrate?”

He made an upward gesture toward the back of the room, summoning a target. Master Samson gave a quick nod and retrieved another tome with a quick summoning gesture. This one floated in the air between them, and those nearest could see it open to a random page bearing runes and words. James snorted without quite meaning to. He was going to read an incantation as he cast? That was slower than even the most basic method.

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Then, without warning, the target burst into flames. The crowd of students gasped in surprise, then looked around for the mage who had cast the spell, because it obviously couldn’t have been Samson. Master Moran cleared his throat to gather their attention, then pointed at Samson again. “Watch more closely. Master Samson, another spell, please. Perhaps a projectile this time?”

Robert Samson nodded again, and this time, raised one hand. They stared at him intently and saw his eyes focused intently on the tome in front of him. It flipped to a new page, this one bearing the basic firebolt spell. In less than a second, such a firebolt leaped from his hand and struck the target dead on, splintering the already burning weakened wood into shards.

“What the-” one student gasped. But it was James who voiced their thoughts first. “But he didn’t speak! If he’s casting with an incantation, we should have heard it!”

“Incantations don’t have to be said out loud, idiot,” Teresa said, then grimaced as she realized she’d insulted him aloud. “Sorry, Master Moran. But the incantation for Firebolt isn’t a short one. Even the fastest take about five seconds to finish it.”

Moran didn’t say anything, but he did turn to Samson, making a slight gesture, inviting him to explain. With a grin, he turned to face the class. “You’re quite right. Normally it would take much longer. But I read it in about half a second.”

Teresa blinked at him, shocked by the reply. James was no better off. He shook his head. “There’s no way you can read that fast.”

“Even if you could,” Teresa added, “That only works for casting spells. For defense, you’d have to be quicker than your opponent. You can’t do that if you’re reading as you cast.”

“Ah,” the Master said. He pointed at James, inviting him forward with a beckoning gesture. Master Moran, grinning, stepped away to give them space. “Allow me to demonstrate. You. Attack me.”

Robert waited patiently for the student to come up with a solution. He could recognize the struggle. Quite apart from not wanting to attack someone else, least of all a Master, he completely doubted that the attack would be blocked. He let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Just have a little faith. If I’m wrong, you won’t be penalized.”

The student, Kenik was his name? He thought so, but he’d been distracted and couldn’t remember. His memory was horrible compared to even the most novice mage. Kenik bit his lip doubtfully but conjured a dart of solid air. A wise choice, he thought, watching the spell activated. To him, with the enchantment of the rings around his eyes, the action was slow, and he could identify each key point of the spell as it flared to life. If he couldn’t block it, the worst that would happen was him getting knocked on his behind and getting winded.

But, as he knew he could, he shifted one of the runes on his right arm, placing it on his palm before the spell was even released. He could do that faster than he could read. Mere inches from contact, his counterspell destroyed the bolt of wind, resulting in nothing but a slight breeze that ruffle his robes. He shook his head slowly, knowing that the casual gesture would only infuriate the student. “Too slow. Try again.”

Kenik, whether out of shock or annoyance, did indeed try again, but this time he didn’t bother weakening the spell. Bert watched the activation, noting with careful scrutiny as the element changed to fire, and broadened, coalescing into a basic firebolt. Child’s play, he thought. He cast his counterspell again, shredding the spell when it was within five feet of him. He didn’t give Kenik time to think. “Again!”

A new spell. It started as fire, but he could tell that, before it coalesced to be released, it shifted shape, forming a wide fan with three different points. A shattered spell, he thought, that would fly in from three different directions. Trickier to counter with just the single-point rune, he thought. He switched to the offensive counter rune, and shattered the individual bolts with a swipe when they were less than a foot away from Kenik.

Some in the class let out a whoop of surprise and delight as they saw that third spell dismantled, and so quickly that they could barely recognize the motion. Kenik was ready to cast another one, but Robert put up both hands, signaling him to stop. “That’s enough, Kenik.”

The young man looked disappointed to be shocked out of his focus, but he accepted the end of the demonstration, and returned to his friend, looking shaken. It was a common reaction for Robert. Mages strived for years to master their speed, and to see it so easily beaten wasn’t a reassuring experience. Of course, it offered very little comfort that only he could achieve that result due to his unique nature.

“Now tell me,” he asked the class, with Master Moran moving to stand at his side. “Did Kenik make any fundamental mistakes in his spellcasting?”

They thought it over, and most of them shook their heads. One voiced his opinion in the negative, and Robert nodded in agreement. “Correct. He did everything right. So. What was the deciding factor in that short duel?”

“You were faster,” a green-robed student offered.

“Obviously, yes. But that’s not what I’m trying to point out here. To be specific, what was different in that duel from other duels you’ve seen?”

They mulled that over. Obviously, his entire practice was foreign to these third-year students, and even to the more advanced among them in their final years or year of study. Finally, it was his red-robed Adept friend that spoke up, sounding uncertain. “Was it the fact that you had a different approach to the magic, and he couldn’t adapt to it?”

Bert pointed at her. “Correct!”

He could see that they were still doubtful, so he continued. “To tell you the truth, for my first two years, I was the slowest student in the entire school’s history. I couldn’t remember incantations at all, and had to read as I cast.”

Ironically, it was a Marked One among the students that figured it out. He spoke up with a gasp. “Your markings. They’re augmenting your eyes, letting you read faster.”

“Yes! Also, this ring around my head speeds up my thought process. Combined, they let me cast much faster, even faster than the speedy method of silent casting. And I can take in information faster, so I was able to identify his spell as he created it, which meant that I could react more quickly.”

“But that’s because you’re a Marked One, then,” Kenik said. He was scowling now, obviously feeling a bit cheated.

“Really?” Rober asked, crossing his arms. “You don’t see a single thing in that instance that someone who doesn’t have my markings could do?”

That stumped them for a good few seconds. He couldn’t blame them. It was a strange concept to grasp. But he also knew that they had to grasp it on their own, or the lesson would be wasted. Unsurprisingly, it was Teresa who spoke up. “Reading the magic is something we could do. If we pay attention to the spell as it’s forming, we could have an advantage in speed for reaction time.”

Robert glanced at Master Moran and noted the pride on the teacher’s face. “Your key student, I take it.”

The older man nodded, smiling widely. “Excellent attention, Adept Beran. But there’s also something you could learn in how he casts, and use it to help your own technique.”

She didn’t take as long to grasp the second point. “He’s more efficient. If we focus on efficiency, we’ll be faster. And we’d use less mana because our techniques would be sharper.”

“Exactly,” Master Moran said. He shook hands with Robert, thanking him for his demonstration. “I’m glad you could find the time to take a break and help out, Master Samson.”

Robert grinned easily. “My pleasure. You helped me figure out the finer points of evocating in Destruction classes, after all. Least I could do to return the favor. Call me again whenever you need.”

“And that,” Master Moran said, addressing the class, “Is a good reminder that, no matter how long you’re a mage, there are still chances to improve. Even I’ve benefited from studying his technique. And that, Kenik, is why it’s never a bad idea to re-examine the basics.”

Now the class did laugh at his comment. Moran didn’t leave them much longer to enjoy the moment, however. “Now. Break into pairs, and work on both offense and defense. Keep it low-powered, but focus on efficiency. When defending, focus on your opponent’s actions. Really watch what they’re doing.”

They broke up as they were told, and they all looked eager to try it out, easily forgetting their nerves about the impending exams. That was precisely the point of the lesson for Moran. Give them some time for harmless, beneficial practice. But more importantly, challenge their thinking as mages. There was nothing wrong, after all, with a little magical paradigm shift.