Caelum stretched as the first rays of dawn filtered through his window, casting a soft golden hue across his room. Nyx was already awake, her sleek black form perched on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily as she watched the sun rise. She had become his unofficial alarm clock, nudging him awake each morning before the academy began to stir. At first, he hadn’t thought much of it, but now he realized just how much his routine had shifted in such a short span of time.
As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, Caelum couldn’t help but smile at Nyx. She had curled into her small, shadow-like form, but the bond between them was palpable, even in these quiet moments. His mind flickered back to the night before, when she had transformed in front of Seraphine. The look on her face—the awe, the surprise—still lingered in his mind.
“Thanks for waking me again,” Caelum murmured to Nyx, who responded with a soft purr.
He took a deep breath and rose to his feet, slipping into his usual clothes before heading out. It was still early—his morning walk to the library had become a personal ritual before classes. The academy grounds were serene at this hour, the magic in the air subtle but ever-present. Caelum enjoyed the stillness, the way the world seemed to glow in purples, oranges, and golds as the sun slowly climbed higher. There was something about these moments that made him feel at peace, a calm before the day’s inevitable rush.
As he walked, his thoughts wandered back to Nyx. There was something curious about her—something he hadn’t fully grasped yet. It wasn’t just that she could transform; it was the fact that, aside from Seraphine, no one else seemed to notice her. Most students and professors couldn’t see her unless he specifically introduced her. At first, he had thought it was a quirk of the bond, but now it was beginning to feel like more. Was it a protective mechanism? Or perhaps something inherent to her nature as a familiar?
Caelum made a mental note to investigate further. The library held vast amounts of knowledge—surely there would be something about familiars and their visibility—or rather, invisibility. It could be an advantage, but it also meant he needed to be more careful. The bond between them was still new, and there were layers to it that even he didn’t fully understand.
He sighed softly, pushing those thoughts aside for now. The day ahead was packed, and he was particularly looking forward to his first Smithy class. There was something about working with his hands, the idea of shaping raw materials into something useful and powerful, that excited him.
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As Caelum stepped into the smithy, the atmosphere enveloped him immediately—a potent mix of heat, noise, and raw energy that seemed to pulse in the very air. The clanging of metal against metal echoed from every corner of the room, each strike reverberating through the floor like a heartbeat. The smell of charcoal and molten iron filled his lungs, thick and heady, a scent that spoke of transformation and power. It was as though the forge itself was alive, a beast of heat and flame, demanding respect from those who dared to work within it.
The walls of the smithy were lined with tools—hammers, tongs, chisels—each one gleaming with a faint magical aura, imbued with enchantments to withstand the intensity of the craft. The forges, scattered around the room like glowing beacons, belched fire and smoke, their flames flickering with hints of magical energy. Caelum could feel the latent mana in the air, mingling with the heat and the raw materials, waiting to be shaped into something greater.
At the center of it all stood Professor Darius Malven, a towering figure whose presence seemed to command the entire room. His skin was weathered and darkened by years spent in front of roaring forges, and his muscular frame spoke of a life dedicated to shaping metal. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the room with the same intensity as the fire that crackled behind him.
“Smithing,” Malven began, his voice a deep rumble that cut through the clamor of the forges, “is not just about brute strength or muscle. It is an art, a discipline, and—most importantly—it is about control.”
He paced in front of the class, his steps measured and deliberate, like a blacksmith walking between his tools. His gaze locked onto each student, his presence demanding attention.
“In this room, you will learn to master the balance between heat and pressure, between force and precision. Your magic will become an extension of the tools you wield, guiding the metal to shape itself according to your will.”
He stopped, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Who here has an affinity for Fire or Earth?”
Caelum raised his hand, along with several others. His heart thudded in his chest, the anticipation of what was to come mixing with a growing excitement. He had always wondered how his balanced affinity—strong in both Fire and Earth—would play out in a craft like smithing. This was his chance to find out.
Malven’s eyes swept over the raised hands, nodding in approval. “Good. Those of you with Fire and Earth affinities will find this work comes more naturally. Fire controls the heat, Earth shapes the metal. Together, they form the foundation of smithing. But don’t think that means it will be easy.”
His gaze shifted to the students with no raised hands, lingering on those with different affinities. “Those with Water or Air affinities may find the forge more challenging, but that does not mean you are at a disadvantage. Precision is key in this craft, and many great smiths excel in the finer details—jewelry-making, intricate engraving, and delicate work that requires a steady hand and an artist’s eye.”
With a final glance around the room, Malven gestured toward the forges. “Enough talk. It’s time to work. You’ll start with something simple—crafting a basic dagger. Learn the feel of the metal, the rhythm of the forge. Let your magic guide your hand, but don’t forget—you are the master here. The forge responds to your will, not the other way around.”
Caelum moved to his assigned station, a small but sturdy forge that glowed with a warm, welcoming light. A lump of raw iron sat waiting on the anvil, dull and unremarkable in its current state. Tools were laid out neatly beside it—hammers, tongs, chisels—all glowing faintly with enchantment. The heat from the forge washed over him, not uncomfortable but intense, like standing in the presence of something ancient and powerful.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he picked up the hammer. His fingers wrapped around the handle, feeling the weight of it, the way it balanced in his hand. It wasn’t just an ordinary tool—it was an extension of him, a conduit through which he could channel his magic.
His eyes flicked toward the forge, watching as the flames danced within, their heat radiating outward in waves. He could feel the pull of the fire, the way it called to his mana, eager to be used. His Fire affinity responded naturally, instinctively. He didn’t have to force it; the connection was already there, ready to be harnessed.
Caelum placed the lump of iron into the forge, watching as the flames licked at the metal, slowly turning it from dull gray to glowing red. The heat intensified, but Caelum remained calm, his control over the temperature precise. His Fire affinity allowed him to regulate the intensity of the flames, ensuring the iron was heated evenly without burning it too quickly.
Once the iron was glowing with the right heat, he pulled it from the forge and placed it on the anvil. The metal was soft now, malleable, ready to be shaped. He raised the hammer and brought it down with a steady, controlled strike. The sound of metal meeting metal rang out, a clear, resonant note that echoed through the smithy.
Each swing of the hammer felt deliberate, purposeful. With every strike, Caelum channeled his mana into the iron, guiding the shape of the blade with both physical force and magical influence. His Earth affinity allowed him to sense the structure of the metal, how it responded to each impact, how it needed to bend and stretch.
He lost himself in the rhythm of it. The clang of the hammer, the roar of the forge, the feel of the metal shifting under his hands—it was intoxicating. His muscles ached, but it was a satisfying burn, the kind that came from hard work and focus. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he hardly noticed, too absorbed in the process.
As the minutes passed, the dagger began to take shape. What had started as a simple lump of iron was now a sleek, slender blade. The edges gleamed under the forge’s light, the surface smooth and flawless. Caelum had tempered the blade carefully, quenching it in a mana-infused oil at just the right moment to harden the metal without making it brittle. The balance of the dagger felt perfect in his hand, its weight distributed evenly, its edge sharp enough to cut through the air with a soft whistle.
He stepped back, holding the blade up to the light, marveling at his work. The polished surface caught the glow of the forge, reflecting it in a way that made the dagger look almost like a piece of art rather than a weapon. The metal shimmered, the result of his precise control over the fire’s heat and the timing of the quenching process.
Caelum couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. This was more than he had expected. The dagger wasn’t just functional—it was beautiful, crafted with a level of precision and care that surprised even him. But what he didn’t realize, at least not yet, was just how exceptional his work truly was. His natural affinity for Fire and Earth, combined with his balanced control over both, had resulted in a blade that was far beyond what a first-year student should have been able to create.
Yet, for now, his achievement went unnoticed. Professor Malven was busy overseeing the other students, each of them focused on their own projects. Demonstrating everything from how to hold the hammer, distinguishing the metals temperature from its color, and where to strike the steel billet. The clang of hammers and the hiss of quenching metal filled the air, and Caelum’s small victory was lost in the noise.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He carefully set the dagger aside, feeling the satisfying weight of accomplishment settle over him. There was something about this—about working with raw materials, about shaping metal with his own hands—that felt right. It grounded him in a way that magic alone didn’t. This was tangible, something he could see and feel, something that existed because of his skill and effort. Pulling materials from his ring, he began again.
As the class wound down, Caelum glanced around at the other students. Some were still struggling with their projects, their blades uneven or brittle, while others were just beginning to understand the rhythm of the forge. He felt a quiet confidence settle in his chest. This was only the beginning, but he had already found something he was good at—something he could excel in.
And though no one had noticed his work today, Caelum knew it wouldn’t stay hidden forever. His success, like the blades he had just forged, would shine when the time was right. But first, reflecting on his deminishing supply of materials, he would need to find a way to afford his new passion.
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After lunch, Caelum made his way to the enchanting classroom, anticipation bubbling within him. The journey through the academy's winding halls had become almost second nature, but the enchantment wing was still somewhat new. As he approached the doorway, he felt the atmosphere change. Unlike the bustling hallways or the roaring forges, the air here was thick with arcane energy, alive with potential. Intricate runes and symbols covered the stone walls, glowing faintly, as though they held centuries of wisdom within their etched curves.
The room itself was vast, lined with workstations and enchanted shelves that seemed to organize their own contents. Each shelf pulsed with faint magical auras, books and scrolls gently rearranging themselves as students approached. The air hummed with faint whispers of ancient spells, the residual effects of past enchantments lingering in the space. It felt like walking into a living archive of magic, and Caelum couldn’t help but feel a thrill run down his spine.
Professor Raelis stood at the front of the room, tall and poised. His robes shimmered with threads of magic woven into the fabric, and his movements were fluid and deliberate, as though he was in constant communion with the magical forces surrounding him. His sharp, discerning eyes swept over the students as they settled in. Caelum took his seat near the center, his scribe—an elegant, silver-tipped tool he had purchased at the Market—resting on the table in front of him.
"Enchanting," Professor Raelis began, his voice smooth and clear, "is one of the oldest and most precise branches of magic. It is not about brute force, but about subtlety, balance, and control. A well-placed enchantment can turn a simple object into something extraordinary, while a careless one..." His gaze lingered for a moment on a nervous-looking student in the back, "can lead to disaster."
He flicked his hand, and with a soft hum, the objects they would be working with appeared in front of them. A simple, silver goblet and a crystal pitcher filled with water materialized on each desk, both gleaming under the classroom’s faint, magical light.
“Today,” Raelis continued, “we will begin with a basic task. You will enchant the goblet to draw water from the pitcher no matter where it is placed in the room. It sounds simple, but the enchantment must be precise. If the connection between the two is flawed, the results can range from a harmless failure to... unpredictable. Contaminated water, poisonous reactions, even explosions. So—control, precision, and focus.”
Caelum leaned forward, studying the goblet in front of him. It was beautifully crafted, smooth to the touch, and just weighty enough to feel substantial in his hand. But it was inert—just metal. His task was to breathe life into it, to give it a function it didn’t have before. He could feel the excitement building in him. This was what magic was about: creation, transformation, turning the ordinary into something remarkable.
The first step was hand-enchanting, infusing the object with raw mana. Caelum closed his eyes briefly, centering himself, recalling the mana control exercises Professor Vanis had drilled into him. His breathing slowed, and he let his mana flow through him, guiding it from his core to his fingertips. The scribe in his hand thrummed with energy, a delicate extension of his will.
He placed his hand over the goblet, hovering just above its rim, and let his mana pour gently into it. The sensation was familiar by now—mana flowing like a warm current, filling the object without overwhelming it. He had to be careful not to flood it; too much mana, and the enchantment would destabilize. Too little, and it would fail to activate.
Slowly, the goblet began to glow faintly, a soft, silvery light emanating from the metal. Caelum could feel the connection forming between his mana and the goblet, a tether that linked his energy to the object. It was a delicate balance, but one he managed with ease. His training with Professor Vanis had honed his control to a fine edge.
Once the goblet was infused, it was time for the more intricate part: the inscription. Caelum picked up the scribe from the table, its silver tip gleaming as it responded to his mana. He could feel the magic in the tool, designed to channel his energy into precise patterns on the object’s surface.
He visualized the runes in his mind, pulling from the vast archive of knowledge he had absorbed from the library and his own studies. The symbols floated before his inner eye, each one representing a different aspect of the enchantment—connection, flow, sustenance. As his archival ability grew stronger, it wasn’t just about remembering anymore; it was about seeing. He could now mentally project the runes onto the goblet before he even began to inscribe them, a shimmering blueprint that guided his hand.
Carefully, he began to trace the first rune onto the goblet’s surface, the scribe leaving behind a faint, glowing trail of magic. The runes flickered softly, pulsing in time with his mana as they took shape. Each line had to be perfect, each curve precise. One misplaced stroke, and the entire enchantment could unravel.
His hand moved steadily, the projection of the runes hovering just above the metal as he inscribed them. The goblet seemed to respond to the magic, almost vibrating under the touch of the scribe as the enchantment took hold. He could feel the connection between the goblet and the pitcher beginning to form, a magical thread weaving between the two objects as he completed the final rune.
The moment he finished, the runes on the goblet flared with light before settling into a soft, steady glow. Caelum sat back, exhaling softly. It was done.
He placed the goblet on the table, then pushed it slightly farther from the pitcher. With a mental command, he activated the enchantment. Instantly, water flowed from the pitcher into the goblet, filling it to the brim without spilling a drop. The magic was seamless, the flow perfect. The goblet refilled itself as though by some invisible hand, the water cool and clear.
Caelum couldn’t help but smile, a sense of pride swelling within him. This was different from anything he had done before—creating something new with his own hands, his own magic. And yet, there was more to it. His archival magic had shifted during the process, becoming more intuitive, more visual. It was as if he was no longer just recalling knowledge, but shaping it in real-time, overlaying it onto the physical world before him. The implications of this were vast, and he knew it would only grow more powerful as he practiced.
Professor Raelis passed by, his sharp eyes inspecting the goblet and pitcher. He gave Caelum a brief, approving nod. “Well done,” he said quietly before moving on to the next student. It wasn’t a grand praise, but coming from Raelis, it was enough.
Caelum glanced around the room. Some students were still struggling, their goblets bubbling or shaking uncontrollably. One unfortunate student had accidentally summoned a geyser, which was now drenching the entire table. Caelum offered assistance where he could, quietly helping those around him as they tried to stabilize their enchantments.
By the end of the class, Caelum had not only enchanted the goblet but had also finished a side project—a small notebook that would refill its pages as they were used. It was a personal experiment, something he had been working on in his spare time. Watching the blank pages reappear as he flipped through the book filled him with a quiet satisfaction. This, too, was progress.
As the class came to a close, Caelum gathered his things, feeling the weight of the day’s work in his bones. The combination of physical labor in the smithy and the mental precision required for enchanting had drained him, but in a way that felt fulfilling. His skills were growing, and with them, his understanding of the magical world.
His stomach growled softly, reminding him it was time for dinner. But as he left the enchanting room, his mind lingered on the possibilities ahead. There was so much more to learn, and Caelum couldn’t wait to see where it would take him.
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Dinner was as lively as always in the academy’s dining hall. The sounds of students chatting, laughing, and recounting their day echoed through the vast room. The air smelled of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and rich mana-infused stews. Caelum spotted Seraphine, Aelric, and Elara at their usual spot near one of the large windows overlooking the academy grounds.
As he approached, Aelric waved him over, grinning as usual. “Caelum! How’s the forging going? Made anything that’ll slice through steel yet?”
Caelum chuckled, taking a seat across from Aelric. “Not quite, but I did manage a decent dagger today.”
Seraphine leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. “How did the enchanting class go? I heard Raelis can be a bit… particular.”
Caelum nodded. “He is, but it went well. Managed to enchant a goblet, and I even got a little extra work done on a personal project.”
Aelric whistled, impressed. “Look at you, overachieving again.”
Elara, who had been quiet throughout the conversation, set her goblet down and turned her gaze to Caelum. “You’ve accomplished a lot in just a few days. But I wonder…” Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a skepticism that hadn’t been there before. “You plan on continuing with this tutoring business, right? To earn extra mana stones?”
Caelum nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.
Elara’s expression remained unreadable. “And you think students here will trust a first-year from the mortal realm for tutoring? Why wouldn’t they just go to older students, or those from noble families?”
Her question hung in the air, cutting through the usual lighthearted banter of their group. Caelum felt the weight of her words settle in his chest. It was a valid question—one he hadn’t fully considered. Why would they come to him, someone with no pedigree, no connections to the nobility?
Seraphine was quick to jump to his defense. “Caelum’s incredibly gifted, and anyone who spends five minutes with him would realize that. He’s already helped several of our classmates, and I’m sure word will spread.”
Aelric nodded, adding his usual optimism to the conversation. “Exactly! Once people see what Caelum can do, they’ll be lining up at his door.”
But Elara wasn’t so easily convinced. “Perhaps. But you need to understand the politics of this academy. Pedigree matters here. More than you might realize.” Her gaze lingered on Caelum for a moment before she turned back to her meal.
Caelum didn’t have a response ready. He knew Elara was right, at least in part. The academy was filled with students from noble families, all of whom carried the weight of centuries-old traditions. And while he had excelled so far, there was no denying that his origins—being from the mortal realm—set him apart in ways that weren’t always advantageous.
The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, but Elara’s words stuck with him. As the group finished their meal and parted ways, Caelum found himself deep in thought. He would have to prove himself, not just through his studies, but through his actions, his skills. It wasn’t enough to be good; he had to be exceptional if he wanted to stand out in a world where bloodlines often outweighed ability.
As he walked back to his room, Nyx padded silently beside him, her presence a comforting shadow. Caelum knew that he would find a way to navigate this new world, but it would take more than just talent. It would take strategy, determination, and—most importantly—patience.
He smiled down at Nyx as they entered his suite. "Looks like we have a lot of work ahead of us," he said softly.
Nyx purred in response, her golden and draconic eyes gleaming in the dim light. And as Caelum prepared for bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the real challenges were only just beginning.