A few seconds stretched into moments as the young man lay, unmoving, on the planked floor, a little puddle of blood seeping from under his motionless face. His eyes remained fixed, directly in front of him, unnerving still and unreactive, and still retaining a hint of black spite. Despite the unexpected nature of his fall, no thoughts rushed through his head; neither shock nor rage flew into his mind after being tripped. He sighed inwardly after laying there for around ten seconds, then pulled himself up smoothly and gracefully, turning his head towards the left side of the door, where the offending leg has caused his untimely stumble, already plastering a quiet smile onto his now innocent face. He opened his mouth in the same motion, the beginnings of a humoured laugh escaping his lips, before he froze, cutting off the little chuckle.

There was no person, and no leg; nothing at all by the side of his door. It had been as if nothing, and no-one, had even been there in the first place. There were no footsteps on the slightly dusty floorboards but his own, but in the distance, the boy thought he heard the barest hint of raucous laughter. Three people, or more. Staring down at the ground while also slumping down the wall to the floor, he chuckled bitterly and briefly, and as he shifted his gaze to the window of the corridor in front of him, the trails of tears began to trace themselves down his face.

He remembered everything: from the kind of boots worn by the offender, their average size based on the length of their leg, and even the family they came from by their unique clothing. But it was unnecessary, because he knew exactly who had tripped him, and there was nothing that he could do about it, anyway. Barely thirteen in a building teeming with teenagers and young adults, the boy was already at a huge disadvantage when it came to the social and physical hierarchy. And to top it off, he was the only one among the academy of prodigies who, despite his magical aptitude, had absolutely zero skills or traits whatsoever. While only around 30% of the modern population were able to channel and perform magic, everyone had their own unique skills and traits according to their personality and their physicality. Each individual had (at least) three specific categories of attributes which determined their magical ability. The first was the basis of all of their magic; their 'element'. There were an innumerable amount of these, and they all came in different variations. You could receive something cool, and mystical, like the common 'fire' and 'water' elements, but also some more complex elements, such as 'bone' or 'flower'. The second attribute was the 'trait'. One could potentially receive multiple different 'traits', or even the same 'trait' multiple times. These were determined by the 'element' of the person, which in turn depended on their personality. However, the concept of an 'element' depending on personality didn't and had never applied to someone's mental state, but instead to the nature of their soul. One's soul in the world of magic was immutable and immovable, and the purest essence of their soul would influence their resulting 'element'. 'Traits' were like extensions of one's own element, allowing them to manipulate the latent magical energy in the air in different ways, and to different extents, to fuel their third attribute; their 'skills'. For example, the master of the magical academy had the elements 'steel' and 'sound' available to him, and his known traits were 'Resounding', 'Durable' and 'Malleable'. The first allowed him to multiply the power of his sonic skills many time over, the second caused his metallic skills to be denser and stronger, and the last granted him better magical control and efficiency over all of his skills. One's 'skills' would usually be unique to the person due to the influence of their own soul, but could also be learned, unlike traits or elements. Skills involved the intricate and often instinctual flow of magical power through the user into the environment around them, and with incredible diligence and practice, they could hypothetically be copied from others. However, this idea remained impractical, since magic couldn't be directly seen; it wasn't really magic, just energy after all. In addition, while skills depended on the user's element and traits, they also required perfect clarity of mind. The despondent boy knew well that 'magic' was a superficial description of the truth of the mystical abilities of the modern age; it was truly a strange and mystical depiction of 'entropy'. All that mages really did was instinctively manipulate the distribution of energy within their area. For example, the one who had just hit-and-run the brooding young man had the element 'fire'. One of his skills allowed him to set fire to objects near to him. This was caused by his subconscious ability to move in such ways that caused heat to become concentrated in clusters, causing things to set ablaze from a distance. Years of solitude had allowed the nameless boy to plunge himself in an abyss of knowledge; his lack of traits or skills and even an element despite his mental aptitude for magic caused him to be gently cast out of the academic community at the academy by the Grand Magister, but this in itself had turned out to be a small blessing. The immense library, unused by the students, contained a plethora of literature for the boy to immerse himself into, including history, various languages, and most importantly, science. The knowledge contained within the ancient collection of books was surprisingly cohesive with modern ideas, and cross-referencing things that he learned in them with information on the Technet. Countless pages and wikis later, he had amassed a staggering quantity of information, which, unfortunately, he himself had no idea how to apply to real life.

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However, this small distraction from his status as a magical failure allowed him to take some solace in his lonely existence. The ink on aged, yellowing paper was unjudging and comforting, and helped him to shield his burdened mind from disaster. Recalling this fact with a grim smile, he rose, wiped his bloody nose defiantly, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet, and began to make the trip down a flight of questionable stairs to the bottom floor, and from there to the underground, where the massive library dwelled, undisturbed. Besides, his stomach was beginning to growl and rumble; he had missed dinner cleaning up the mess from a shattered window caused by one of the students' various 'accidents', which seemed to happen unerringly in his presence specifically. The boy paused briefly, and a tiny smirk began to stretch across his face as he stepped down the spiralling stairway.

'Coincidences, coincidences...' he thought, continuing on the long journey to the subterranean regions of the Academy of Echoes.