There were thirty students in the aqua class, most of which closed their eyes the moment they sat down on the outer perimeter of the water.

From the central tube, a sudden pull began appearing, before the water transported the professor to the surface.

It was quite impressive, the way his gills filtered water, the streams moving to follow his every whim. Where Lumen was a class in precision and presentation, Spatium was heavily focused on morality, and Necros told us how to properly choose who to kill and who to revive, Aqua was a class of grace and serenity.

“What is it that comes to mind when you hear the words Flow and stagnant?” Our teacher asked, the system appearing before each of us.

“Answer this, and depending on your answers, I will structure my lessons. Of course, I have my own interpretation for each of these words, but one of the most important aspects is the variety. Nobody of liquid is ever the same, even if you do your best to reproduce a lake perfectly, a few weeks, months or years will change the lakes in different ways, depending on the smallest actions. Liquid takes the easiest path to anything, and Aqua is the easiest path to power. Magic is only held back by the casters creativity, and in this class, we will learn to view the world in all of its colors.”

Then, he turned silent, all of us concentrated, some people writing, others staring blankly.

I was prepared, fifteen years spend in a school system that mostly awarded interpreting a text the way you guessed your teacher would interpret similarly, I knew the kind of person standing before me.

He was the type of artist that had to get a job as a teacher, because the job pays enough for his passions.

The way he moved, talked and even his look held an impressive amount of wonder.

“Flow: A collection of movements, often used to describe life force or liquids that move. It can also be used to describe a state of creativity, where producing art becomes slightly easier.” It was my first answer, and I liked it. Flow was the thing souls did when I drank them, and it is the aspect of aqua I feel most directly connected to.

“Stagnant: A form of failure, when something no longer progresses, and begins to reek.” Maybe I was a bit harsh on the second word, stagnation something I despised deeply, even on the more successful of days, a stagnant person was bound to be nobody, and nobodies were the kind of people that died long before their bodies gave up.

As soon as I sent these messages, the teacher looked at me with something between concern and curiosity. He hated stagnancy too, I just knew it from the way he stood there, always moving despite the world around him being almost still.

More and more send their opinions, thoughts and interpretations towards him, knowing that their voice had an impact.

As the last person refocused on the teacher, the water had been turned into a steady flow, creating a whirlpool around us.

“Many will wonder what this means, and most of you answered in pretty obvious ways, but it excited me to announce that most of you are more fascinated with flow. Usually, I would have to explain the beauty in movement and change, for you although, I will need to teach you the beauty of stagnancy, what it means, it’s dangers and its opportunities. I once laughed at that, you know? The Idea that something that no longer grows and changes can be beautiful.” The water suddenly stopped moving, and instead resisted all movement, like a frozen prison of some kind.

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“I want you to look inside and wonder, search for stable things in your life, that you do not want to change. Is it a person you wish to be eternally the same? A place you want to protect from decay? Maybe someone you fear could be too powerful, should he change even a bit? I heard all of those before, and many have made this stagnancy the reason for their own growth. Each of you has a goal, and if you could send the name of something you want to remain stagnant, send it to me now.” The lesson reminded me more of group therapy, rather than a proper lesson at school, and yet, I found myself pondering.

I hoped my friends would grow, the borders of kingdoms were of no concern to me, and the only creature I wanted to remain stagnant was the demon lord, who, in his wisdom, would probably have to die for me to be immortal.

Gods and demons should die, and not remain as they are. Everything else could grow and change in every possible way.

I ran through my mind like a kid in a sweets store, pulling things open in hopes of something I did not want to change, and suddenly, I froze.

“Of course. They don’t change, and I do not want them to change.” I said, my eyes growing wide as saucers when my hand finally clasped around the concept.

“Sygils should never change.” I wrote to him. Everything else had to change for me to achieve anything, but sygils, the type of magic most inherent to the multiverse, was important. I would be no one if they changed, hundreds of lifetimes would be wasted the moment they changed.

“What you just wrote is the core of your power, something without which you would have no ambition or power to grow. Preserve it, remember it, and be ready to protect it with your life. I do not care for the wrong reasons you tell everyone. For without this constant, you would be a nobody.” I suppressed a laugh. Imagining how people hoped to have their home stand in a few years, have someone still be the same person, or hoping for some achievement to not go away.

Stagnancy was beautiful. It was beautiful because the laws everything worked on were clear.

Science, magic and alchemy all rely on the fundamental truths the multiverse is build upon.

“Now you know, but I am unsure whether you understand. I ask that each of you meditates on these thoughts for a while, ponder them, accept them, and most importantly, appreciate what you do and do not have.” With that, the class ended, and I stumbled out of the room, and while my feet hit the ground, my mind was somewhere else, a distant calling drawing me in.

It was the smell of power, and like a hare, I took the bait.

Slowly, the hallways turned darker, older languages replaced the ones I had learned so far, and instabilities in space threaded, the path taking me deeper.

When I finally realized what had happened, I stood before a room, a skull in the center of a whirlpool was before me.

“Know that death is coming.” I said, almost on instinct as the corrupt open decay spell flooded from my fingers, the stone sucking me in before I recollected what I had just done.

As soon as I was inside the room, everything overwhelmed me.

Welcome, youth leader Ragnar. For entering a deathgate base, please inform the highest local commander.

You are the highest local commander, please open the deathgate, so your allies can return.

It was funny, a simple structure in the center of the room, similar to the portal structure of the spatium trial, once almost brought this school to its knees, and despite the missing power source and something that looked like a key, it was in nearly perfect condition.

As I pondered this, a voice came from the walls, probably a recording.

“We need a death crystal. If we do not reopen the gate, the teachers will find and kill us. Come on, we can probably even escape!” Someone screamed, a different boys voice answering.

“It is locked, I brought the key to the headmaster you are all going to die.” Suddenly, a memory appeared in my mind, the boy that wanted to open the gate putting a knife through the others lung, and pushing him onto the power source slot, the gate opening for a second, which he used to step through.

“A human sacrifice allows for one time use to enter the deadlands.” An older voice said, a memory of someone that resembled my spatium teacher.

“But generally, the keystone and a source stone will decide which realm opens.”

My new goal was clear, as the room shifted to dispel me from it, making me stand before an old painting, with necros and spatium fighting inside.

This was my way to the deathgate, and for this to work, I needed to steal a key from the headmasters office.