ance pushed open the door to his room, the soft creak of the hinges the only sound in the quiet hallway. He had spent longer in the library than expected, and as the evening set in, most students were either at the dining hall or winding down after a long day. The subtle warmth from the setting sun filled the room as he stepped inside, tossing the pile of books onto his desk with a thud.

The moment he did, he heard a shuffling sound from the other side of the room, followed by the soft rustle of fabric. He glanced over to find his roommate, Oliver, sitting on his bed, flipping through a notebook. His silver hair caught the fading light, giving it a soft glow.

Oliver looked up, his pale eyes meeting Lance's with a quiet, unreadable expression. "Back from the library?" he asked, his voice calm, almost serene.

"Yeah," Lance replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just trying to figure things out. It’s been... a lot."

Oliver nodded slightly, as if understanding without needing much explanation. He closed his notebook, setting it aside before standing. "I get it. Everyone’s trying to find their place here. Some of us just do it... differently." His gaze lingered on Lance for a moment, though not in judgment, more in quiet contemplation.

There was something about Oliver that made it hard to pin down what he was thinking. He wasn’t exactly warm, but he wasn’t cold either. His presence was subtle, like a shadow that never drew attention to itself. From what Lance had gathered during their brief interactions, Oliver was someone who preferred to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Any luck with the books?" Oliver asked as he gathered some clothes, heading toward the small bathroom attached to their dorm.

Lance hesitated. "A bit. I’m still trying to figure out what it means to have a wisp as a companion. It’s... different from what I expected."

Oliver paused by the bathroom door, turning back with a slight, almost knowing smile. "Different doesn’t always mean bad. Sometimes it just means you’ll have to figure things out your own way."

Before Lance could respond, Oliver disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room a moment later.

Lance sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at the pile of books. His thoughts drifted back to the library, to his conversation with Felix and Bella, and to the quiet frustration that had been building inside him since his summoning. He had wanted something powerful, something that would make him feel like he belonged here. A companion that could set him apart, give him an edge. But instead, he had gotten a wisp—a mischievous, cocky creature from the Plane of Fury, whose magic was more chaotic than anything else.

What does that say about me? he wondered. What kind of mage am I supposed to be with a companion like that?

The doubt was familiar, creeping in like a shadow, feeding on his uncertainty. He had felt it ever since the day of his summoning, that nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him he wasn’t enough. That he wouldn’t live up to his parents’ legacy. That a wisp wasn’t good enough.

But then, as he sat there, the weight of those thoughts pressing down on him, something inside shifted. He thought about what Oliver had said—figure things out your own way. And he thought about what the book had said about communicating with companions, especially those from the Plane of Fury.

Hard to manage, chaotic, but not weak.

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The wisp may not have been what he wanted, but it wasn’t powerless. The power was there, hidden beneath the chaos, waiting to be tapped into. And wasn’t that the whole point of being a mage? To take control, to shape the magic inside you, and make it your own?

Lance stood up, pacing the small room. His mind raced with thoughts, memories of his training with his mother, of the countless stories he’d heard about mages overcoming their weaknesses, becoming stronger not because of what they had been given, but because of what they had made of themselves.

He wasn’t going to let a wisp define him. If his companion was difficult, then he would be the one to master it. He would find a way to use its chaotic energy, to bend it to his will and make it work for him. No more doubt, no more second-guessing. He was going to take control of his life, of his magic, and of his future.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Oliver stepped out, towel draped over his shoulder. He glanced at Lance, noticing the change in his expression. "You alright?" he asked, his voice low, but curious.

Lance nodded, a newfound determination settling in his chest. "Yeah," he said quietly, but with a confidence he hadn’t felt before. "I’m good."

Oliver gave him a slight nod, as if sensing the shift in his demeanor but choosing not to comment on it. "I’m going to head down to dinner. You coming?"

Lance shook his head. "I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve got some things to figure out first."

Oliver didn’t press, just gave another small nod before heading out the door.

As the room fell silent again, Lance sat back down at his desk, picking up one of the books he’d borrowed. This time, as he read through the pages, the words didn’t feel as daunting. The path ahead might be unclear, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He had made a decision.

He was going to take control.

Suddenly, a flicker of something strange pulled at the edges of his consciousness. A faint, almost playful presence made itself known, tickling the back of his mind. It wasn’t a voice exactly, more like an instinctual sense—like a nudge.

Lance froze, his breath catching in his throat. The wisp?

He remembered the book’s advice: Calm yourself. Reach into yourself. Feel for your companion’s presence.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing as he focused inward. There, deep within, he could sense it—faint, but unmistakable. A shimmering presence, like a mischievous spark waiting just out of reach. He stretched out his thoughts, gently nudging toward it.

Hello? Lance projected, unsure if it would work.

At first, there was nothing. Just the faint hum of energy that he could only barely perceive. But then, there was a sudden flicker of amusement—a sensation, not quite words, but a distinct feeling of smugness.

Then, unexpectedly, a voice—clear, sharp, and full of arrogance—echoed in his mind.

"You know," it said, its tone dripping with mockery, "the only reason I haven’t bothered communicating with you is because you act like a whipped dog. Even Oliver is more confident than you."

Lance blinked, stunned. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but that was not it.

The wisp continued, its voice lazily amused. "No companion of mine is going to be a weakling. But... you finally came around." There was a pause, then a slight chuckle. "You’re not bad for a mortal, honestly."

Lance felt a mixture of indignation and surprise bubble up inside him. "I—" he started, but before he could gather his thoughts, the wisp cut him off.

"Oh, and don’t let those useless scraps of paper fool you," it added, its voice turning sharp with condescension. "No amount of meditation or clearing your mind will get you to communicate with your companion. It all happens if the companion wants to."

The arrogance in its tone stung, but there was a truth to it that Lance couldn’t deny. So, all that effort... didn’t matter? he thought, feeling both frustrated and oddly relieved.

The wisp, sensing his thoughts, snorted in amusement. "Don’t look so shocked. You can’t force a connection, mortal. But... now that you’ve finally grown a spine, maybe we’ll get somewhere."

Lance took a deep breath, his initial shock fading into determination. "I’m not going to be weak," he said aloud, even though he knew the wisp could hear him inside his mind. "I’m going to master this—you and everything else."

There was a pause, and then, faintly, the wisp’s voice responded with a soft, almost approving hum. "We'll see."

Lance opened his eyes, the room coming back into focus. His heart was still pounding, but now there was a strange, almost electric energy coursing through him. He had made contact. It wasn’t a full conversation, but it was something.

He was going to take control—of his magic, of his companion, and of his future.