Chapter 2

The Start of Something Amazing

“Magic, at its core, is a system developed by a mortal intellect for the manipulation of the systems of reality. To master magic is to master its functions and the functions of reality itself.”

-5, On the Nature of Magic

Eliot

It took two weeks for the caravan to reach Carton City. Eliot achieved more in those mere two weeks than he had in his entire life. He’d already met and interacted with everyone in the caravan while they stayed in the Town of Flora, so it wasn’t too much trouble for him to study magic with them around.

For the first few days, he walked near the back, reading the journal his mother gave him. His brain had never been more stimulated. The journal jumped into explaining the various functions of the system that is magic without much preamble. The first pages detailed how numbers were expressed using a decagon and adding various accents, like double lines or dots, to mimic the base ten number system they already used. The following pages mapped out the impractical measurements that magic used and their corresponding symbols.

Luckily, whoever wrote the journal was conscientious enough to include conversions to the standard metrics used in the Crucible Empire. Without it, Eliot would have been hopelessly stumped as soon as he started, cursed to spend his time contemplating what the abyss a cubit was—which was, for some reason he couldn’t comprehend, the metric that magic used for length. Also, because he’d never learned, if a small ruler and enough context clues to work out how the ingeniously straight-forward metric system worked wasn’t included, he would have been similarly plighted by what the abyss a meter was.

When he finally pieced together what the prefixes meant and all the dots connected in his brain in a beatific epiphany, he couldn’t stop himself from audibly squealing with glee. Interrupting the casual conversations happening around him and making him look like a weirdo. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t have cared less. His epiphany didn’t stop at just the understanding of measurements, it also struck him that the portal spell didn’t use cubits as its measurements, like—if the journal could be trusted—every other known spell.

On the third day, after figuring everything out, he told the people he was on comfortable speaking terms with that he would go into the forest to collect samples and that he would keep pace with them. Obviously, they had reservations concerning his safety, but he convinced them that he could handle himself with a dazzling display of his mana.

He bolted deep into the woods the second he was out of sight, and immediately manipulated his mana to cast the portal spell without catching his breath. Once he knew what to look for, it was easy spotting the two sections of the spell that decided the distance and size of the portals. His new knowledge of the number system told him that when Karl Favesh cast the spell, the second portal opened somewhere six thousand, five hundred, thirteen somethings away from the Town of Flora. His epiphany, specifically learning the abbreviations of metric units, led him to realize that the previously unknown measurement the spell used was actually kilometers for the distance and centimeters for the radius.

After the runes denoting the numerical distance, instead of an arm with its palm down that represented a cubit, there was a rune that looked suspiciously like someone flipped an M on its side and connected its legs with a K. It ended up looking something like an upright rectangle with an arrow pointing left. And now that he knew what a kilometer was, it was obvious what it meant. The same could be said for the rune after the numbers specifying the radius that was obviously the same thing only with a C, and ended up looking like a pie with a piece missing.

Sure enough, when he used a sideways M for the units of the distance, two spiraling portals opened in front of him, exactly one meter apart. He stood rooted in place, powerlessly mesmerized by the mystical sight. The portals were perfect circles, exactly ten centimeters in radius, with borders of compressed space, blurred and steadily rotating. They gave a reality defying impression similar to a blackhole. In a daze, Eliot put his hand through, raised it over the cusp of the second portal, and waved at himself. His trance melted away with an astonished chuckle.

He walked around the portal in front of him to stand in between the two, and saw the back of an infinite corridor of himself leaning forward and gazing into the first portal’s second side. Things got infinitely more trippy when he stuck various amounts of his body in. Eventually, he stopped himself and closed the portals before he ended up spending the whole day playing with them. He proceeded to sit down and internalize everything he just learned, doing his best to ignore how the forest ambiance grated on his nerves.

The first and most relieving thing he learned was that when used not over continental distances, the portal spell’s mana cost was practically nothing. It did need a consistent drain of mana to say open, but even that was negligible. He calculated later that it required fifty percent per second of the spell’s initial cost. When the initial cost of opening it with a meter distance was nearly too minimal for him to notice, the short range mana cost could be completely disregarded. He calculated in the coming days after rigorous experimentation that the initial cost of opening a portal a kilometer away was just about seventy percent of one of his gales. Thanks to the easy conversions of the metric system, he found that opening a portal a meter away was just about seven hundredths of a percent of one of his gales.

The second thing he gleaned was that the portals connect on both sides. Each portal had a side one and a side two that connected to the same side of the other portal. He assumed that the directional orientation of the portals was specified by a rune in the spell he didn’t know yet, so for the time being he could only open portals where the outer-sides of the portals connect to each other as side one, and the inner-sides of the portals connect as side two.

The third thing he noticed was the most confusing. When he cast the portal spell, the first portal opened wherever he mentally specified without any sort of change to the runes. Just to see if he could, he cast the spell so that the first portal opened a kilometer away and the second portal opened a kilometer away from the first portal, in his direction. Effectively, it was the same thing as casting it regularly. There was no practical difference between the first and second portal after being cast. It was perplexing because he couldn’t for the life of him understand why he could mentally choose the location of the first portal. Like he’d always thought to be true, and like the journal said, absolutely everything that a spell did needed to be specified in the casting of the spell. He ended up assuming that he was missing something and filed away the dilemma for future research.

So, four days in, he completed his primary objective of figuring out how to cast and use the portal spell. He spent the rest of the week experimenting to find the exact mana cost of the spell and calculated that he didn’t have anywhere near enough mana to be able to portal directly to Everveil. At least, not yet.

In fact, he realized back when he first tried to cast the spell, he was completely wrong when he thought he’d almost successfully casted it. With the mana he had back then, he would have needed eighty times the total amount he had in his storm or an eight hundred percent increase in purity to cast it successfully.

On the second day, however, he found that his Spiritual Awakening was an on-going process. He woke up with more and purer mana than he went to sleep with. The same thing continued the rest of the week. He ended up with triple the amount and a twenty-five percent increase in purity for a total of three and seventy-five hundredths times the spell power, or three hundred times what he had before his awakening started. Part of the reason he only finished calculating the portal spell’s mana cost at the end of the week was so that he could make sure his measurements were applied to the purity of mana he would have for a while.

That left him with more than enough mana to make the trip to Everiveil—he had enough mana to keep a portal from The Town of Flora to Everveil open for five and a half seconds, to be exact. Although he would have loved to skip to Everveil the morning of that eight day, he had no idea how much he’d already traveled. He wasn’t keen on figuring it out through trial and error, either. His only real option was to wait until he reached Carton and figure out the distance from there.

He was mostly fine with that since it gave him an entire week of free time to spend reading his journal. Also, now that he knew portals, he went into the forest every morning, found a good spot he would study in for the day, and used a portal to catch back up with everyone else. He had a few run-ins with monsters, but nothing he couldn’t portal away from.

After the number and measurements sections, which were written like diagrams, the actual meat of the journal started, along with a first person point of view and some of the author’s personality. It was written more like a diary than he’d expected. Eliot actually liked the change of pace. It was evident that whoever wrote it was conscientious and seemed as pedantic as he was. She would go on at length about the finer details, her hypotheses, and any useful insights or breakthroughs.

His enjoyment in the journal sparked an interest in the author’s identity. Originally, he didn’t ask for a name because he didn’t want to be pressured into meeting or seeking out a random person, especially when he knew she probably looked up to his mother. Now, though, he made a mental note to ask when he went back home.

The actual material concerning magic that he was able to read in the second week was all about mana manipulation training. No matter how dense or plentiful, an unspecialized mage’s mana dissipates into the ambient mana quickly after coming into the physical plane unless used in the casting of a spell. All this time, he assumed it had something to do with a reaction of some sort that unspecialized mana had with the air. The journal told him that it was simply impossible according to the laws of reality for unspecialized mana to exist on the physical plane for more than a few moments unless it was directed towards the casting of a spell, which would give it a specialization. Otherwise, unspecialized mana would return to the spiritual plane and join with the ambient mana, regardless of the physical environment.

Because of that limitation and in order to cultivate a strong foundation of magic ability, unspecialized mages especially need to invest extra effort into mana manipulation training. It wasn’t enough to move mana around in the spiritual body either because mana in a being’s spiritual body was much easier to manipulate for that being and would yield little results.

He focused on three exercises since the author focused on three and he trusted her judgment. The first was to use nothing but mana to hold something up. It was recommended to start with something light then work up to a hand where the weight is adjustable. From that exercise, he figured he did have a larger mana storm than normal, at least more than the journal’s author since it sounded like she ran out of mana in less than a minute holding up an apple whereas he could keep it up for two and three-quarters minutes.

The second exercise involved creating an as detailed as possible replica of something using mana. It was recommended to start with things that had more defined shapes and less detailed faces then work up to more complicated things. It was the one he struggled with the most because he constantly had to replace the mana that dissipated. The most he could do within his time frame was a mostly faithful rendition of a small leaf. The difficulty actually sky-rocketed the larger the object was, even if it was a definite shape with blank faces like a large book because larger meant more mana to manipulate and replace at the same time.

The third exercise was the easiest. Basically, it was to make mana go as fast as possible. Of course, there was a little more to it than that. For higher levels of difficulty, it was recommended to move in a complicated pattern, try changing directions without losing speed, and generally try to have as much control with as much speed as possible.

While he practiced his mana manipulation, the last and final thing of note he learned during his travel was a valuable life lesson: not everything written in a book is true. In tandem with his growth of mana, his spiritual senses also grew sharper. On the ninth day, he found he could focus his spiritual sight enough that he could more or less see into the spiritual plane. If he squinted hard enough, he could see the ambient mana as if he were in a mana well and he could see spiritual bodies.

He’d been under the impression that they were invisible even in the spiritual plane. Evidently, that wasn’t the case. It resembled something along the lines of a cellophane film that covered everyone from head-to-toe. However, his spiritual body enveloped the space a few centimeters further outside of his body and was much more opaque, like he was wearing a gray suit of malleable, form-fitting armor, hence the name Mage Armor. It was a little boring, but at least the name was apt and reasonable, which made it the antithesis of mana well.

Thinking about it, he had already seen clues as to the truth. In his conversation with Karl Favesh’s spirit, Karl Favesh mentioned Cel’s clapping. That wouldn’t have been possible if the spiritual body was invisible. It wasn’t exactly reality shattering, but it was a good reminder that he should operate with a healthy level of skepticism, especially when his information was coming from books that were out-dated a decade ago.

On the thirteenth morning, Eliot just finished recharging his mana storm after an exercise when the forest opened before them to reveal Carton City. In the Crucible Empire, settlements were given rankings depending on variables such as population, economy, guild presence, level of infrastructure, and more. To qualify as a city, a settlement needed to fulfill two prerequisites: it must have a Mage’s Guild and infrastructure composed primarily of brick, stone, or a similar material.

The outskirts of the city didn’t leave much of an impression. It looked exactly like the Town of Flora, only more dull and lifeless. As he walked deeper in, however, everything dramatically increased in quality. The barren dirt and lackluster flora were replaced with coherent, delineated stone walkways, stalwart wood-brick buildings, and clearly cared for, well-placed patches of pleasant vegetation. The closer to the heart of the city he got the shinier and more impressive everything was, also the denser the people became. It was then he noticed that the people of Carton wore an overwhelming amount of animal-fashioned clothing. Hide, leather, feathers, and furs made-up practically all of the clothing the people wore.

After passing a vendor selling a variety of meats on a stick, it hit him that he hadn’t seen any fields yet. Carton seemed to be fueled mainly from hunting instead of farming. Taking two seconds to think about, it made perfect sense. Beyond its rampant verdure, the Town of Flora was strategically positioned outside of the forest where it could benefit from the forest’s resources while still having large swathes of open, flat land, and not have to deal with the detriments of either. If the land wasn’t so perfect for farming, there would probably be more of an even split between farming and hunting. But, as things were, hunting simply wasn’t worth the effort when farming provided so much more for less investment.

Carton was the direct opposite. The Feral Continent had a nigh endless supply of animals to the point that over-hunting was almost impossible, as long as it was prolific species taking the brunt of it. Located where farming would be far more difficult and there were monsters abound, relying on hunting wasn’t just plausible, it was the most beneficial course of action.

He let his thoughts wander as his legs subconsciously carried him closer to his destination. How was it that they got their water? A river or stream was the only thing he could think of, that and catching the occasional rain fall. However, in that case, Carton would have to draw from multiple sources to be able to sustain itself. If so, did Carton have the same level of plumbing as the Town of Flora? If they did, he imagined it would have to be a lot more complex than the system he knew. How did they lay pipes when trees and other plants were in the way? Where were they even getting their stone from? He hadn’t seen anything remotely related to mining.

His day dreaming came to a halt in-step with his legs as he arrived at his destination. The Mage’s Guild towered before him, made of stone and wood, haloed in the golden rays of the early sun. Above the entrance hung a sweeping banner powerfully depicting a prominent red rune against a blue background. Eliot dropped everything and opened the back of his journal. He found that the author put a compendium of important runes that were used in a variety of spells in the back of the book, starting from the last page and working in reverse. Quickly, he read that the rune stood for Kelvin, the unit that magic used for temperature.

Eliot absorbed the information as he slid the journal in a safe pocket inside his messenger bag, and walked inside with a blooming grin. The interior was practical rather than the grandiose he’d imagined. Stone pillars and supports peppered the large wooden room, clearly bisected between work and play. On the left, three attendants behind booth-like openings leading into a busy room of paperwork, serviced three lines of equally long lengths. Beyond that, on the left side of the far wall, was a sprawling chalkboard with differently sized posters pinned up. Directly left of the entrance, a wide staircase led to a higher level.

The right wall mirrored the left, only they served food and drink and they had significantly longer lines. Where there was empty space on the left, the center-right side of the room had an array of six person tables, all filled with people enjoying their food. On the far side of the right wall was a similar board with posters depicting the food and drink they served.

Eliot made a beeline for the left board. As he approached, he saw with more clarity that each poster had an impossibly realistic picture of a local animal, as if someone directly transferred a sighting of each monster from the eyes of the witness in ludicrous detail. He looked up in awe at the top-leftmost monster, labeled a raptor. Through the bordering foliage, as if he were hiding in the brush himself, he saw a bipedal, avian creature with two miniscule front arms and a set of powerful hind legs, both ending in razor-sharp talons. The particular raptor in the picture looked to be about half the height of an average human and covered in feathers colored shades of green, with quills lining its arms. Its body resembled that of a regular flightless bird that narrowed into a small tail behind it and into an angular head with a pointed brown beak in the front. It had vertically slit, black pupils surrounded by a yellow-green sclera that bore intently at its out-of-frame prey.

Eliot raised his hand to touch the poster in astonishment. Even confirming that it was two dimensional with his touch couldn’t break the illusion placed on his eyes. He’d seen plenty of raptors before in person, but even his memory wasn’t as detailed as the poster.

“Hey, kid, you’re in the way,” sounded a gruff voice directly behind him.

Eliot flinched out of his stupor and hastily moved to the side. The man who spoke stood just taller than Eliot with broad shoulders and was clad in parts of platemail, namely a mail shirt under a cuirass with metal vambraces, rerebraces, and gauntlets. Meanwhile, his lower half was effectively unarmored, only wearing thick hide leggings and heavy boots. Strapped to his back, was a gleaming, iron cruciform sword and a bronze—or a rusted beyond recognition—buckler.

The man had a cleft chin with stubble, crew cut dark hair, and fierce brown eyes, completely ignoring the picture in favor of the much smaller, hand-drawn images below it, each one next to a cut out square with numbers written in chalk.

“Excuse me,” Eliot spoke up, “I’m new here. Can you tell me what you’re looking at means?”

The man glanced at Eliot out of the corners of his eyes before looking back at the poster and saying, “You look young to be hunting by yourself.”

“Is that what that is? How much coin each part of a raptor is worth?” Eliot guessed.

“Yeah . . .” rumbled the man, slowly shifting his gaze back onto Eliot. “Listen, kid, you don’t look like you’d be able to survive an hour in the forest. If you’re really hurting for coin, you should try being a calligrapher for the guild or something, instead. With your pretty boy face, they might even have you as an attendant for the mages.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he chuckled. “I’m a mage myself. I was only looking for curiosity’s sake, but it does look interesting.”

“A mage? Can you prove it?” asked the man, brow raised.

Eliot manipulated a splash of his mana as he explained, “I’m not specialized, though.”

“Would you be willing to join my group?” offered the man in a hushed voice.

Eliot suppressed a smirk. With that reaction, it was beyond obvious that mages willing to hunt with non-mages, or even willing to hunt at all, were a special commodity.

Eliot adopted an apologetic smile and said, “Sorry, I have other plans for the day.”

The man’s face fell glum, but he nodded and walked away in acceptance. It really was a shame. Eliot had always wanted to try hunting, and he would have joined them without a second thought if he didn’t have more important things to do.

He turned on his heel, leaving hunting behind to make his way up the second floor. When he turned the corner at the top of the stairway, he found himself in a short hallway that almost immediately dead-ended at a wall. Eliot raised his brow with a hum, considering the wall in interest. It was a test of some sort, obviously. If you didn’t want just anyone entering the Mage’s Guild proper, the simplest solution was to set up an entrance that only a mage could pass. Meaning, he most likely had to do something with his mana or spiritual sensitivity to get past the wall.

Just as he thought, after probing the wall with Mana-Sensitivity it proved to be a physical illusion. He closed his eyes, reassured himself that the wall was just an illusion, and stepped right through. On the other side was a homely lounge with cushioned chairs arranged around tea tables and magically lit in such a way that it would be easy to both read and sleep. The far left wall had a door near the right corner, and in the wall immediately to his left was a singular booth, leading into a small square room with a bell on its counter and an identical door.

Eliot nodded his approval of the room as he walked over and tapped the bell. A dark haired woman wearing a bright, ostentatious uniform flung open the door in a rush, a minute later.

“My most sincerest apologies, I was too focused on my reading, I assure you I won’t be late again,” she apologized with a bow.

“It wasn’t too long,” Eliot shrugged.

“Oh!” she started after taking a good look at him, “Forgive my rudeness, I had no idea the Guild had a new Magus.” With another deep bow she said, “I’m Fivona. It’s the utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” he responded, frowning at her obsequious show.

“What can I help you with? Have you already been given your license?”

“Actually,” he prefaced, “I am a mage but I’m not a member. I just wanted to get a look around.”

“Please excuse my jumping to conclusions,” she bowed. Again.

Eliot sighed, letting all the annoyance leave him early before he did something stupid. After all, what was he going to do about it? Pick a fight with an experienced mage and get royally served if not out-right murdered by a fireball? If he wasn’t going to do anything about it, he had no right to complain.

“Were you thinking of joining? Many assume that only learned mages can join, but really anyone of any skill level that is mana sensitive can join.”

He shook his head, “No I don’t think now would be the best time for me to make a commitment like this. Also, I’m Eliot, just by the way.”

“I know,” she responded, “I didn’t recognize you right away, but I realized you must be Eliot Reileus from the Town of Flora.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, pleasantly surprised. She even said his last name like Reilues, with the second E accenting the U, not entirely silent but not fully pronounced. It was the first time someone pronounced it right on their first try. Although, it was a Procudean family name, so that was to be expected.

She explained, “It’s rare for someone to be mana sensitive near the Empire’s edge because of the smaller population, so we make it a priority to take note of anyone who is. If you were to join, we’re fully equipped with all the resources you need to learn magic and eventually specialize. The only thing we would ask in return is that you remain a member afterwards.”

Eliot dropped his face into his hands. The entire time it was that easy? All he had to do was make his way to Carton and they would teach him practically for free? For something he was probably going to do later, anyway?

“Is . . . something wrong?”

“No, nothing at all,” he assured with a smile, biting the inside of his cheek to calm down. “Can I ask a few questions?”

She nodded of course

“What would you say are the biggest benefits of joining your guild?”

She launched into a pitch like it was second nature. “Without a doubt, it would be our resources. Even a non-member can buy or trade for spells, materials, and knowledge from us. As a member you would have access to a large amount of books and spells for free and you would have discounts on any materials or rare books and spells.

“Additionally, as you can imagine, all of our members are mages and more than a few of them are influential. No one realizes before joining the benefit of all those connections. I know there’s a stigma for all mages being rude, but I assure you most of the members are more than happy to help out if you were to ask them. After all, helping another member helps the Guild as a whole.”

“When you say the Guild, is that, like, a competition thing, or?” Eliot asked next.

“Forgive me but I think you have the wrong impression. When I say the Guild, I mean the one and only Mage’s Guild. All of the locations across the Empire are connected. We may be on the outskirts, but we share the same pool of resources and members as the Mage’s Guild in Everveil. If something is particularly rare or hard to get, it may take some time to transport it, but that’s about the only difference,” she clarified.

“So, becoming a member here is the same as becoming a member in Everveil?”

“The same,” she confirmed.

“If you don’t mind, can I ask something about yourself?” After she nodded her permission, he asked, “Do you get any extra benefits for working for the Mage’s Guild?”

“Oh, no, I’m a mage myself,” she revealed.

Pulling his face in confusion, he asked, “Then, why in the world are you working as an attendant?”

“I choose to,” she answered. “We have other attendants that are employees, not members, but I choose to do it myself whenever I can. This way I can talk with and get to know everyone well. I believe that if you treat others with kindness, they’ll treat you the same, and I haven’t been proven wrong so far.”

“Mhm,” Eliot intoned, crossing his arms in thought. “If you’re a mage, why did you come in so panicked and apologetic? That’s not exactly my definition of kindness.”

“I thought you were Grand Magus Rein.” She chuckled bashfully as she told him, “I’m not as good at this job as the workers we’re already paying, so Grand Magus Rein said if I don’t get better then I can’t do this anymore.”

Eliot grinned, reminding himself that, though it’s usually correct, he shouldn’t assume the worst of things from the get-go. “Alright, I get it now. Good luck with that. Can I ask one more unrelated question before I go?”

“Thanks, I’m going to need it. Ask away.”

“Do you know if there are any cartographers that have or can make me a map of the Empire with accurate distances between settlements?”

She thought for a moment before saying, “I’m pretty sure no one would have that on hand and making a commission would probably be expensive and take at least a week.”

“I see,” he muttered, disappointed. His entire plan hinged on getting that kind of map. It would undoubtedly be useful in the future, as well.

“But,” she cut into his thoughts, “We may have something here. I’ll be right back.”

Just as she said, she returned a few minutes later with a large, yellowed parchment. On one side was a detailed map of the empire with distances between settlements. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Eliot nodded, “This is exactly what I wanted. What do you use this for?”

“We don’t use it for anything, yet. All Mage’s Guilds have a map exactly like this one so they can reference it when setting up Public Portal Transport. But it’s only useful when you have Public Portal Transport, so this one’s just been collecting dust,” she elucidated. “Give me a second and I’ll make a view capture of it.”

Fivona flattened the map out in front of her and picked up a much newer piece of parchment of similar size. Staring intently at the map, daffodil colored mana seeped from her fingertips and collected onto the page in the shape of runes. Within a few seconds, the runes bloomed, sinking into the parchment and rising again as an exact replica of the map.

Eliot took the map she handed completely starstruck. “This is amazing! How much is it?”

“That one’s on the house,” she said, smiling in glee. “Seeing your first reaction to a spell is payment enough. Eventually you get so used to magic that it isn’t magic anymore. I know that’s probably hard to believe right now.”

“No, I get it. With enough time, just about anyone can get used to just about anything,” he said, studying the map to find the distance to Everveil.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you need that map specifically?” she inquired.

“I’m going to portal to Everveil,” he answered simply.

“Everyone knows the farthest portal is in Relice,” she said slowly.

Eliot smirked, looking up. “Exactly, so I thought I’d make my own.”

Mana billowed from his core like carbon dioxide from a bonfire and funneled into runes in front of him. The space behind him was brutally ripped apart, resulting in a large portal swirling into existence. Fivona’s Jaw dropped in awe.

Eliot waved as he turned and stepped through the portal, letting it close behind him. Stepping through, however, his foot passed through empty space. He plummeted through the air and hit the unforgiving stone ground with a crack. Along with the severe pain, all at once he was hit with a sickening nausea and a smell so putrid it felt like someone jabbed him in the nose. His low groan was cut off midway by a gag that led into him throwing up his insides. After what felt like an eternity of his stomach doing jumping jacks and throwing up bile, he rolled against the nearest wall and used it as support to heave himself onto wobbly legs.

Grabbing his bearings, he finished his groan from before with an added whimper at the end. His left arm throbbed, his head pounded, his left ankle seared at the slightest pressure, his insides felt like someone went at them with a jackhammer, and, to top it all off, every time he inhaled his diaphragm threatened to launch into another fit.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to move his map out of the way in time and vomited all over it. It didn’t matter much practically since he’d memorized it already, but he had something of an irrational attachment to his possessions. Even if he did just get it, losing it made the situation that much worse. Now he was in pain and annoyed.

Using his right hand to cover his nose, he limped out of the alleyway. Immediately, bright light stung his eyes, blinding him and making him stumble past the safety of the wall. He bumped into someone and fell hard onto his back. He let out a high pitched moan as he writhed in agony. He clawed his way to the nearest wall and sat up against it, wincing the whole way through.

As he squinted through bleary eyes, however, the pain momentarily vanished, replaced with unbridled awe. A massive amount of people streamed through the wide street, packed shoulder to shoulder, and closer in many cases. His definition of a crowd was obliterated. ‘A lot’ couldn’t even begin to describe how many people there were. There was an entire ocean of them. More people than he could comprehend. He knew everyone in his village and everything about them, but for once in his life his brain couldn’t begin to keep up. His head spun trying to imagine what it would be like to keep track of them all, their names, appearances, family members, friends, acquaintances, vocations, wants, abilities, day to day life. In the end, his brain short circuited completely after attempting to compute the fact that this was one street of what must be hundreds, making up an unfathomably large concentration of people.

“Nearest supports are that way,” said a passerby, motioning with their chin.

Eliot locked onto them with his eyes, the simplicity of singular focus easing him out of his stupor. He didn’t process the meaning of their words until well after they’d disappeared in the throng. Eventually, he somehow managed to stand up and drag himself the direction he was given, using walls as a crutch the whole way.

Walking through the streets of the Metropolis felt like he’d portaled to an entirely different dimension. One made solely of stone and metal, and that smelled worse than he thought possible. It certainly didn’t help that his senses had just become three times sharper than the average person's. Even amidst the head swimming pain, he couldn’t believe that the legendary Metropolis was so repugnant. How did other mages breathe without puking every five minutes? Did they just wait until they got used to it? Why didn’t they just get rid of the stench? There had to be spells for that.

Thankfully, as a temple of the Church of Life came into view, two people dressed as clergy ran over to help him. Pretty much being carried the rest of the way with their help was blissful compared to having to make his way through the crowds on his own. They brought him into the church and called for a Priestess Lydia.

A woman in vivid green robes and long blonde hair hastened to his side, telling his helpers to put him on a pew.

“What happened?” she asked, sweeping away his bangs to check his forehead.

“I fell—!” was all he could manage before crying out due to her hiking up the legging of his left leg.

“What really happened?” she demanded, her hand coming away slick with bright red blood he didn’t know was there.

“From the second story,” he gasped in between labored breaths.

Her frown deepened. “Do I have permission to scan you?”

“Do what you need!” he hissed.

“This might feel weird, but don’t fight it,” she advised, pressing a hand against his chest.

He felt an abrupt force punch into his chest, shattering his Mage Armor and invading his body. His lungs seized and he shuddered violently as what felt like cold water flushed through every corner of his body. His mana surged to defend him as a deep-seated instinct. In a flight of adrenaline, he focused his mana sensitivity to its limit and clamped down on his mana with everything he had.

Within seconds, the process finished and he wheezed a relieved breath in. The ‘cold water’, he realized almost too late, was Priestess Lydia’s mana. If he hadn’t stopped his mana from trying to repel hers, things would have ended with four blasted-apart corpses, most likely a caved in section of the temple, and many wounded or dead. Plastered in practically every book on magic he’d ever read in big bolded letters was never let two mages’ mana touch.

Everybeing’s mana held a certain amount of ego naturally from interacting with and existing inside a being’s bodies. Ego was a technically theoretical substance that made up a being’s consciousness. Although no one has been able to prove that it exists, the idea and properties it was theorized to have explained many unknown phenomena and everyone pretty much operated as if it did exist. It was said that, similar to mana, Ego had a nigh infinite amount of strains to the point that everybeing possessed an entirely unique variation. The main thing everyone knew it for is that it’s extremely volatile and reacts with everything that can reach it.

For some reason, whenever Ego came into contact with Ego that was different in any way, it would result in a cataclysmic explosion, the more Ego the worse the explosion. Even the tiny amount that was in two drops of mana could cause an explosion powerful enough to level a regular sized building and do significant damage to the buildings around it.

After recalling her mana—that Eliot could now see was hospital white—instead of putting it back into her Mana Storm, Priestess Lydia formed it into a massive wall of runes. The spell—or spells for all Eliot knew—matured in an instant, mending his body in a wave of relief. In seconds, all of his wounds were healed better than new.

He heaved a sigh, but killed any budding happiness when he saw that Priestess Lydia was still grimacing.

“When you fell from the second story, you were casting a new spell for the first time, weren’t you?” she presumed.

“Yeah, kind of,” he nodded, rubbing his sternum, “Does that have anything to do with why my chest still aches?”

Her face shifted to pity rather than concern as she broke the news, “You have soul damage.”

Eliot couldn’t help beaming in delighted confusion. “My soul is damaged? As in the essence of my being?”

Priestess Lydia hunched, sitting on the back of the pew behind her. “This isn’t a good thing,” she said dourly. “He’s not endangered anymore, you can go,” she told the other helpers. As they left, they flashed Eliot sorrowful eyes.

Seeing this, Eliot curbed his enthusiasm, at least on the surface. Regardless of how horrible a fate he had, learning anything about something like the soul was too exciting. “How bad are we talking here, chest pain for the rest of my life or something more?”

“It’s hard to be certain, but likely far worse,” she started slowly, “A Mage’s Mana Sensitivity is linked to the strength of their soul, and every spell they cast puts some strain on it. Having a soul with even the smallest amount of damage wreaks havoc on Mana Sensitivity and manipulation.”

Eliot frowned, casting his focus into his spiritual body. He manipulated his mana through rapid shape changes and a gauntlet of complicated movements. “Honestly, it feels easier to manipulate,” he said with growing thrill.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! It’s way easier.” To prove it, he manipulated his mana out in front of them and formed a detailed miniature of Priestess Lydia, the only difference besides color being an air of etherealness from his unspecialized mana.

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked, perking up at his skilled display.

“Yeah, I’m—wait,” he cut himself off. The blood drained from his face as he realized, “It’s way less pure than it should be. It’s . . . barely thirty percent as pure as it was before.”

Priestess Lydia slumped back down. “It’s rare, but soul damage can also manifest as a loss in mana purity. That also explains why it’s easier to manipulate.”

“If it’s because of my soul, does that mean I’ll never be able to increase the purity past this?” Eliot questioned anxiously.

“Unfortunately, nothing is set in stone when it comes to soul damage. It’s possible your mana will never be able to get purer, or it could be that it’s harder to refine, or do nothing besides what it’s already done. But not all is lost. From my scan, it didn’t appear to be very severe. I’m not saying it’s certain, but for minor cases like yours there’s a good chance that it will eventually heal.”

“I see,” he said, frowning in thought. “I assume the strength of a soul grows as a mage’s abilities grow, right?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “But, again, nothing is certain when it comes to soul damage.”

“Alright,” he shrugged, “At least, now I know not to try that again for a while.”

“It’s good that you’re taking it well. Not many people know, but being optimistic improves your chances of recovering,” she told him cheerfully.

Eliot pulled his legging back down and stood up. “So, how much is this going to cost?”

“Nothing. Simply taking care of yourself is payment enough.”

“Really? Hauling me inside and healing all my injuries is free?” Eliot questioned skeptically.

“Of course,” Priestess Lydia assured, “The only thing it costs me is mana. Mana that I’ll recharge in a matter of hours.”

Seeing that he wasn’t being scammed, he half-bowed and said, “Thank you so much! Honestly, I don’t know if I had enough to pay.”

Walking down the temple’s stairs, he seriously considered if his worldview was too pessimistic. He assumed he would have to fend for himself outside of his town and that he was going to run into bias everywhere, but experience was showing that genuine human kindness really did exist.

After spending some time ogling at the neat brick-roads, street lamps, huge buildings, people, and lack of any nature whatsoever, he approached a team of guardsmen. They all wore polished half-plate and wielded spears with shortswords at their hips; two out of the seven had crossbows in place of spears.

“Excuse me, Guards?” he grabbed their attention. “I’m a mage that just arrived in Everveil and I was hoping I could have some directions to the Arcane Academy.”

The man in front whom Eliot assumed was their leader immediately said, “Of course, Honorable Magus.” He turned to his left and ordered, “Jimmy, escort his lordship to the academy.”

A slim man not much older than Eliot stepped forward and saluted, “Yes, Captain. Right this way, Honorable Magus.”

The way Jimmy moved, carried his weight, held his spear, looked, and spoke made it painfully obvious that he was new to the Guard.

As they walked away from the rest, Eliot stuck his hand out and introduced himself, “I’m Eliot, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Forgive me, Honorable Magus, but I’m not worthy of fraternization with one such as yourself,” Jimmy apologized hastily.

Eliot grimaced on the inside. There was what he’d been expecting. “We’re far away from the rest of your squad. I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said with the best charm he could muster.

Jimmy hesitated but reaffirmed, “I’m truly sorry, Honorable Magus, but I’m just not worthy.”

Eliot let it drop. He figured he probably looked like one of those assholes that pressured their ‘lessers’ into disrespecting them so they could punish their ‘lessers’ for their own enjoyment. “Well, honestly, I come from pretty far away so I don’t really know how the people in Everveil treat mages. Why is it that your captain called me ‘his lordship’? I thought that was only used for nobles.”

“Wow, you must come from pretty far away,” Jimmy let slip before correcting, “Um, I mean, mages are all potentially really powerful so it’s natural that we should show them at least as much respect as nobles.”

“Alright,” he accepted, “Next question: so I’m not trying to insult the Guard or anything, but I noticed some shops just leave their wares out in the open for anyone to take. Is the Metropolis really that safe?”

Jimmy laughed, “Of course not, Magus, those wares aren’t out in the open. They're behind a clear material called glass.”

“Glass, huh?” Eliot repeated, peeling off to get a closer look at a shop with a window.

He noticed the glare as he got within a few meters, but kept going until he could see his reflection and reached out to touch it. “There really is something there!” he exclaimed in wonder. “This is amazing!”

“It’s a somewhat recent discovery of our alchemists,” Jimmy told him, clearly proud.

Eliot belatedly noticed a man that looked like the owner glaring daggers at him from inside. Jimmy returned the glare, cowing the man into standing down.

Eliot stepped back and asked, “Am I not supposed to touch it?”

“It can get smudged if someone touches it, but you shouldn’t concern yourself with that.”

“No, I think I should. How much does it cost to clean?” he frowned.

“You can’t clean it with just soap and water or else it will leave marks. You have to use another new alchemical invention to keep it perfectly clear. I don’t know exactly, but I’ve heard it’s a few hundred gold,” Jimmy explained.

“Oh. I’ll make sure to come back later,” he reconsidered, secretly freaking out at even the mention of a sum that large. “Say, how much would it cost to buy a piece of glass like this one?”

Jimmy sized it up, “I’m no expert, but considering its size, I’d guess no less than twelve platinum.”

“Oh, so not much then?” Eliot said nonchalantly, continuing their walk.

Jimmy’s moment of frozen-stiff-with-shock was about a thousand times more tame compared to how Eliot felt on the inside. A single gold was enough to make him balk. The mention of platinum forced him to imagine how drastically different life would be like if his family had anywhere near that amount. Obviously, he was mage about to learn at the best Arcane Academy on the Two Continents, so he was bound to be making that kind of money soon. But he saw nothing wrong with basking in the revelry of being a simple peasant for now, at least on the inside.

Also, he made a genuine mental note to repay that shop owner. If the people in Everveil were anything like the people in the Town of Flora, gossip would undoubtedly spread like wildfire amongst mutually concerned groups. The last thing he wanted was getting a reputation among the shopkeepers as a wreaker of assholery and glass smudging.

Eventually, as they walked, the already wide street opened into a large plaza. The previously indomitable buildings peeled away to either side, lining the far edges of what he now saw as a massive academy campus. The mutedly-colored bricks sprouted into a sprawling mural that snaked around the connecting plazas, circling the campus proper like a moat. Surrounding the inner-campus was the first collection of adequate greenery and color he’d seen in the short hours he’d been in Everveil. It was a beautiful mix between urban and forest he would later know as a park, dotted with cushioned benches. In the middle of it all, a sleek black and white castle furled in a maze of interconnecting mini-structures, haphazardly warped in physics-defying orientations resembling the vague shape of a classical castle. Amidst the chaos, five spires—one in each corner and one in the center—rose above it all, whose heights forwent soaring into the sky and ascended directly into Paradise.

Taking in the discordant excuse for an awe inspiring structure, Eliot furrowed his brows in genuine confusion. “What in the Abyss is that!” He threw his hands up at the castle. “Just because you can use magic to ignore gravity and material strain doesn't mean you don’t have to worry about how it looks. It’s a freaking eyesore! Don’t get me wrong, the fresco is nice and Everveil is in dire need of more vegetation, but everyone has to agree that pathetic waste of resources is uglier than a warg’s ass.”

Jimmy cracked a smile at the crass comparison, sharing, “Everyone secretly thinks so.”

“Please tell me the royal castle isn’t like this.”

“Praise Life itself, it isn’t,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Good,” Eliot sighed. “It’s been an honor being escorted by such a promising, up-and-coming guardsman,” he nodded.

“You speak too highly of me, Magus,” Jimmy deflected with a humble salute. “Maybe,” Eliot shrugged, “But where I come from we see the Guard as the life saving protectors and enforcers that they are. If you ever need a favor from a mage, for anything, seek me out.”

“I doubt it, but you ever need a favor from a guard,” Jimmy returned the gesture.

After parting ways, Eliot strode towards the castle in a positive mood. And yet, walking through a familiar grass field, he felt he was missing something. There was something he meant to do after leaving home but hadn’t yet. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. It made him feel halfway between energetic and restless.

Partway through his journey, he spotted a gaudily dressed trio he assumed were either well-off or full-on noblemen. Getting closer, from the way they walked, it was obvious that it wasn’t a group so much as a popular kid and his lackeys. That with his dirty blond hair and clear blue eyes, made Eliot sure that the leader was a prominent noble with followers that were probably from lesser noble families, or possibly junior members from the same house. From the sheer amount of expensive jewelry and the haughty air he carried, it was unlikely the lead would settle for an entourage any less than that.

A strange sense of anticipation welled up in his chest as he closed the distance. Almost subconsciously, he sharpened his Mana Sensitivity in preparation. “Excuse me, do any of you know where I can find the headmaster?” he asked with an extra serving of politeness.

Despite walking towards them, the trio turned to look at him as if they just noticed his existence. The extra to the lead’s right immediately turned his nose up in scorn. “You dare! Have you—” The lead, losing much of the arrogant air from earlier, cut him off with a gesture. “Bu—”

“It’s fine,” the lead insisted in a smooth voice. “Though he looks a peasant, he is a mage, as we are. I am Mark Laireiz Medici, heir to House Medici. I’ll forgive you for your ignorance so long as you correct your mistaken honorifics henceforth.”

It was then that Eliot remembered what he’d forgotten to do. Sure, he could repeat his question in the same tone as before, add a ‘your lordship’ and bow, and possibly even make a noble acquaintance if he played his cards right. But if he did he might as well have stayed in the Town of Flora. Admittedly he was being dramatic, but he promised himself he would let loose and stop humoring every idiot he crossed paths with. Done were the days where he forced himself to play nice for the sake of his family and friends. In the Town of Flora, making an enemy meant you would have to deal with that enemy constantly. But here, the academy itself was big enough that he might never cross paths with the trio ever again.

Not to mention, he wasn’t just a kid with Mana Sensitivity anymore. He was a mage, one destined for great heights. Afterall, before even his Spiritual Awakening, he had enough talent for the spirit of an archmage capable enough to make a portal spell to take him on as a disciple pretty much the second he laid eyes on him. He didn’t care if he was the only real option, Karl Favesh’s spirit seemed approving enough.

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Eliot sneered maliciously. “You’ll forgive me?” he scoffed.

Mark’s benevolence quickly soured into blatant irritation. “You haven’t the slightest idea who I am, do you?”

“I’ve got a good idea: prominent noble house, probably a bit richer than most of the other houses. Your father probably holds a respectable amount of sway in the king’s court, and by extension you will in the future. But I couldn’t care less about any of that. I’d sooner fuck your ugly hag of a mother than apologize to the likes of you,” he spat.

Just as he expected, a casual, vulgar insult made the trio’s faces flip from conceited to mad with rage. Mark lowered his chin and gripped the sword at his side with white knuckles. His eyes burned with an unyielding yet refined wrath only a court-trained noble could pull off. Of course, Eliot wasn’t stupid enough to initiate conversation any where near sword range.

The first to attack was the idiot on the right. Pitiful, wispy, gray mana formed a line of four runes, swiftly amassing to spit out a thin bolt of lightning. Accompanied by a deafening clap of thunder, the bolt sprang towards Eliot much faster than he could react, striking him in the chest. However, his Mage Armor briefly flickered into existence, blocking the bolt with ease.

Eliot laughed malevolently. “You call that magic?”

The trio’s anger tempered into caution. Mark, specifically, manipulated semi-liquid mana Eliot guessed was roughly seventy to eighty percent as pure as his mana once was, and faster than he could even now. It poured into a much larger spell, condensing to a point before springing into a pale-blue hemi-spherical forcefield around the three of them.

In response, Eliot drew back his left fist and loosed it with the full weight of his body behind it, just as his father taught him. A portal opened in its path, allowing his fist to smash into the face of the right lackey. The lackey fell to the ground, out cold. Curiously, on his way down, he passed right through the forcefield.

Eliot half-giggled-half-winced as he pulled his aching hand back, letting the portal close. “Ow! That hurts a lot more than you would think,” he said with a wide grin, shaking the pain away.

The duo, now, hesitated in shock. Eliot decided since they bore witness to his one and only spell he needed to neutralize them before they grabbed their bearings. Two portals opened beneath each of their right feet, making them fall with strangled yelps. Their left legs bent at odd angles, and from the scrunched up look on Mark’s face, he’d twisted his ankle. From the pain, he lost his focus and the forcefield winked out.

Next, Eliot cut off his mana powering the two portals for a split second. Just as he’d hoped, the portals shrunk instead of closing altogether, squeezing the upper thighs of his captives like physical bonds.

He allowed himself a second to take in the scene and come down with bubbly laughter. Their right legs flailed wildy a few meters in the air where he’d designated the second portals. The whole thing looked wrong, like the situation was taken out of a reality bending nightmare. The disfigured castle in the background definitely didn’t help.

Eliot walked up to Mark and unsheathed his sword, which had juted against the ground and hit his face with its pommel. Eliot held it up to judge its shine and swung it a few times to test its weight.

“I think I’ll take this,” he decided, nodding approvingly.

Mark growled and directed a sloppy punch at his leg. It hit with so little force that his Mage Armor didn’t trigger.

Eliot lifted his leg, smirking down at him contemptuously, and stomped on his ankle. Mark shrieked in pain, tears collecting at the corner of his eyes.

“Hurts doesn’t it? Also . . .” Eliot crouched to examine Mark’s face, reaching out to turn his chin left. “I don’t think that’s enough to leave a lasting bruise where everyone can see.”

Eliot stood, pulled his hair, and kneed him. The sickening crunch of cartilage sounded as his nose gave way. When he let go, Mark hunched over with a whimper. “That fixes that,” he said cheerily.

As he walked away, resting the sword on his shoulder, he told them, “I’m not exactly sure what happens when the portals close while something is still in them, but I think we can all guess. You have until I run out of mana to get out of there.”

After he made it a distance away, though, his smile faded somewhat. That didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. It didn’t feel bad at all, but it didn’t feel good. So, he wasn’t a sadist, which was nice to know. He didn’t think he was, but it was nice to confirm. Besides, wasn’t the point to make an enemy? Just to see what it was like? Sure, he rationalized before that the academy was huge, but after all of that he had no doubt in his mind that Mark Laireiz Medici was going to want revenge. Probably those extras, too, though he never got their names or told them his, now that he thought about it. Regardless, Eliot’s excitement returned in full as he fantasized about all the dastardly plots Mark Medici could pull as a noble to get back at him. It wouldn’t hurt if he was talented in magic, as well.

After hopefully securing a life-long rival, Eliot continued towards the warped Academy proper. Navigating the school was as nonsensical as he expected. Most of it was just hallways. More and more hallways. All decorated with the same orange and blue carpets, crenel-like windows, boring stone walls, and elaborately framed pictures—of which, he spotted Karl Favesh in a few. That wasn’t the problem, though. He had near perfect memory, which usually meant an impeccable sense of direction. The problem was the place had gravity and spatial shenanigans up the wazoo. He really should have accounted for that considering the atrocious architecture, but he didn’t figure it out until he tried going only straight and found himself back in the room he started.

An hour and forty-two minutes later, he stumbled upon a map on a courtyard wall. After memorizing it, he was relieved to see that the academy’s design had some sense put into it. Honestly, it had a lot of sense put into it. Yes, most buildings—they were called buildings on the map based on the subject of the rooms there, even though they were all connected and technically one building—didn’t connect with the ones right next to them. However, they were connected with the buildings that had subjects related to each other. And the courtyards were designated as conjunctions of a sort. They all had a map, were connected to multiple buildings with subjects of zero relation, and all connected to each other. It worked out that, once someone got used to it, they could get to literally anywhere on campus from anywhere on campus within five minutes, at a walking pace—Eliot did the math, just to be sure.

He was outside the headmaster’s office in less than three minutes. He also learned, from studying the map, the entire center turret was the headmaster’s. What he did with all that space, space that was probably made bigger with spatial magic, Eliot had no clue.

Outside the door, two guards identical in looks and equipment to the guardsmen he’d just met, stood with forward facing eyes and blank faces. Eliot had hoped he would find something a bit cooler, but it did make sense. Afterall, what kind of self-respecting mage would want to stand outside of a room all day. Honestly, he didn’t know how any self respecting human being could put up with that level of boredom and meaninglessness in their lives. They would have his respect if the qualities needed to do that didn’t necessarily mean they had to be somewhat simple minded.

As he was sure they’d done a million times, before he could enter they crossed their spears and said, “State your purpose.”

Eliot fished out the letter he’d put in a special pocket to make sure it wasn’t creased in any way, and answered, “I’m here to talk to the headmaster about a letter of recommendation.”

The guards took one look at his letter and dropped their stony faces. “You expect us to believe you have a letter of recommendation from Karl Favesh?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “It’s the truth, but from your reactions, no I don’t. Just see for yourselves.” He proceeded to use the portal spell to flick the top of their helmets.

Immediately, they retraced their spears and said, “apologies, Magus.” The one on the left knocked respectfully on the door before announcing, “A mage to see the headmaster.”

“Allow them in,” called a muffled voice on the other side.

The guards opened the doors for him into a quant office. Straight across from the entrance was nothing but a blank wall. On the left was a bookcase and a door he assumed led higher into the tower. Like the Mage’s Guild, the room was perfectly lit without an obvious source of illumination. In the middle of the room, a red and golden carpet laid under two padded chairs, facing a wooden desk. Sitting at the desk, the headmaster looked a normal man with boring brown hair and a short-cut, well-groomed beard. The only exciting thing was that he wore a mauve colored robe with an abstract basil-green pattern. Something about the pattern gave Eliot a sense of pulsing, almost as if they were meant to be veins, but the unnerving feeling it gave off made him think otherwise. It was common knowledge that a mage’s robes were supposed to artistically represent their specialization. From his robes, the headmaster’s specialization certainly wasn’t good-aligned, neutral at best.

The doors closed with a soft thud as Eliot took the nearest seat.

“What is it?” asked the headmaster, only glancing at him before going back to paperwork.

“Well,” Eliot started, clearing his throat, “I’m here as the discipulus of a prior teacher here: Karl Favesh.”

The headmaster froze. “What is it you said?”

“I’m here as Karl Favesh’s discipulus,” he repeated, taking out the letter and placing it on the desk. “He was only able to teach me for a short time before he passed, but he gave me a letter of recommendation in order for me to complete my studies here.”

The headmaster rose from his seat, fury present on his face. “How dare you? How dare you waltz into my office spouting lies and toting forgeries to take advantage of a good man’s memory!” The headmaster disintegrated the letter with a touch.

At this point, Eliot was reevaluating who Karl Favesh was. Was pretending to be someone’s discipulus something people did often, or what?

Frowning, he replied, “If you’d bothered to read the letter first, you would know I’m telling the truth.”

“Enough,” growled the headmaster, “I advise you to apologize and make certain I never see you again, or I’ll kill you where you stand!”

On one hand, Eliot was disappointed. Both that the headmaster was an idiot and that Karl Favesh was seemingly on good terms with that idiot. On the other hand, the feeling of an archmage focusing their Mana Sensitivity felt like experiencing a sunrise for the first time. With a sun of pure, unadaltured power. He was tempted to tell him off just to witness the reality bending abilities a true master of magic had at their fingertips. The only thing that stopped him was the absolute certainty that he would be utterly obliterated by the first spell.

Instead of saying anything, he simply cast the portal spell. Just like the guards, the headmaster froze in his tracks.

“You’re telling the truth,” the headmaster spoke breathlessly. “But how? Karl disappeared more than a year ago.”

“Technically, I never actually met Karl Favesh, I only ever came into contact with his spirit. He appeared in my town’s graveyard for seemingly no reason. When I spoke to him he asked if I were a mage and after impressing him with my abilities he taught me the portal spell and gave me a letter of recommendation,” Eliot explained, closing the portals.

The headmaster fell back into his chair, his face a mixture of emotions, primarily mourning. “I apologize,” he said solemnly, wiping a hand over his mouth and beard. “When you claimed Karl was a teacher, it was clear that you knew very little of him. I figured you a charlatan.”

“Ah,” Eliot intoned, “Well, I’m afraid I do know very little. As per usual with spirits, he remembered little about his life besides his regret, which was never being able to find a suitable discipulus. Aside from his creation of the portal spell, the only thing I thought I knew was that he taught here. If that isn’t true, what is his connection with the academy?”

The headmaster reached into one of his drawers, taking out an expensive alcohol and two ornate glasses. He poured two shots, downed one, and slid one towards Eliot. “Karl Favesh was a close friend and my predecessor,” he said while pouring himself another drink. “Karl was always more suited for theoretics and experiments; I was much more focused on practicals. And yet he could fight on equal terms with me, better, I think, as we grew older.”

He downed his drink and poured another. He stayed silent for a few moments, swirling the liquid in his glass, then got up to face the blank wall. The stone bricks blinked out of existence to reveal a sweeping view of Everveil. But not from the tower. They appeared to be looking from a mountain top in the mountain range north of the Metropolis. The true majesty of Everveil’s polished, quartz walls wrapped around the beating heart of an empire. Eliot had to resist the urge to get up for a better look.

“Where I focused on myself, Karl single-handedly founded, funded, and populated the first major arcane academy since the culling. One that would go on to inspire the rise of many more across the Two Continents. He had much more ahead of him, but the fates thought differently.

“Shortly after perfecting the portal spell, he came to me and said the world is not what it seems. He spoke of entirely unexplored planes of existence and untapped uses of magic. It’d be a farce to say I understood any of it. Nevertheless, he made me swear to him that if he should not return within half a year, we should consider him dead and I should preside over his pride and joy, this academy.”

He turned back towards the desk, the wall phasing back into vision. Slumping into his chair he sighed, “I gave him every argument why he should reconsider a venture so dastardly, but alas he was unconvinced. Now, here I am, a shadow of the grand teacher, mage, and man he was, threatening his final legacy.”

Eliot sat in his chair making all the appropriate faces; however, on the inside, he was completely unmoved. As interesting as it was hearing about Karl Favesh and whatever that culling was that he mentioned, he didn’t want to get wrapped up in the emotional train-wreck the man was clearly going through. The whole interaction felt weird in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“Perhaps,” Eliot agreed with a nod, “But you realized your mistake before it was too late. And now that I’m here, the right path is clear, which isn’t always the case.”

The headmaster regained his composure and cleared his throat. “Right you are. I apologize you’ve had to see me this way.”

He moved to put the alcohol away, prompting Eliot to down the vile liquid so he could give his cup back. It took everything in him not to break into a coughing fit. Whatever he’d just drank was orders of magnitude worse than the weak ale he was used to. Never before had it been so painfully obvious to him that alcohol wasn’t an actual drink, it was a certified poison. Why anyone would drink something so disgusting just to lose their coordination and act like a man-child, he didn’t have a clue.

“You’ll be enrolled immediately. Unfortunately, orientation was long ago and your rooming situation will require a few days to sort out. If you’re without an inn in mind, I’d recommend the Garden of Eden. It’s a mage exclusive inn with many amenities. I’ll send word the moment your room is ready,” the headmaster laid out.

“Thank you,” Eliot said with a bow as he stood up.

“If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask,” the headmaster offered.

Eliot nodded and portaled out onto the street, glad that was over with. Now, though, it seemed he had a few days to kill before his schooling started. His immediate priority was finding an inn. Obviously, he wasn’t going to stay in the one the headmaster recommended, so he looked around until settling on a higher-end but non-exclusive one.

His second priority was finding a way to make money. He knew from the beginning he was going to have to deal with it sooner rather than later. The amount of money his parents gave him was enough in the Town of Flora to buy a house. In the Metropolis, however, it was barely going to last him days. Luckily, he already had a few ideas. As painful as it was, the first step was to sell the books he’d brought with him. All the books on magic and science were unfortunately so out-dated that they were next to worthless, but if anything his fiction books appreciated over time.

Hoping that would be enough, next he paid a visit to one of the many Mage’s Guild locations in Everveil. There he bought a duplication spell; with some left over money, he also bought a hand mirror. From there, he duplicated and sold items until he had enough to buy a full-sized pane of glass. Finally, he approached Warren Canmore, the shop owner he’d offended by marring his glass. For the low price of seventy platinum and a twenty percent discount on everything in his store, Eliot sold him five panes of glass and promised to replace his glass once free of charge if it was ever damaged.

It was good enough to last him a fair while, but he still needed to come up with a more long term solution. Everything he did to earn that money was completely illegal. He was warned multiple times when he bought the duplication spell that selling anything he duplicated was against the law. Part of the spell marked everything he made so that someone who knew what to look for could tell that it was duplicated. For the most part, though, those restrictions existed for actually rare items like important books, pieces of art, and magical paraphernalia. In fact, most businesses with mages in their employ had licenses that allowed them to duplicate specific goods. As far as glass went, it would function perfectly, wasn’t likely to be checked, and every deal he’d made was too low-profile to leave a paper trail. In fact, if by the sixth copy the duplicated material didn’t start warping, he would have exploited it much more.

That done, Eliot stood in the middle of the street, mesmerized by the flow of people all around him. He forced himself to breathe in the acrid smells until his lungs threatened to pop. His brain identified and focused on each smell. Regardless of his disgust, the Metropolis was his home now. No where was perfect; if garbage, body odor, and feces was the price, it was about time he got used to it. On the breath out, he let everything fade back into perception. It wasn’t suddenly ok, but he did feel like the sensory overload was more manageable.

He turned on his heel and delved into the nearest alley. The next order of business was shopping. Both for necessities and souvenirs for his family when he inevitably portaled back soon. Before he could rouse his mana, however, a dagger lodged into his thigh. He dropped to the ground face-first with a gasp. The dagger pulsed with electricity, causing his body to lock up and seize. A gruff hand pulled his spasmining head up by his hair.

“Anyone recognize him?” asked a man in a black cloak, turning his head to look behind himself.

Close to twenty blobs of shadow stepped into his focus. All of them men and women in matching cloaks, each taking a turn to look at him and reply in the negative.

The man grunted, “Whoever you are, you fucked up like something else. First time in history two Xethers have been tasked with killing one person.”

“Maybe he walked in on some noble’s fucked up kink,” posed a voice.

“That’ll do it,” shrugged the lead, lifting Eliot’s head and preparing a dagger.

Between the hyperventilating, painful muscle spasms, and confusion, Eliot was a mess of scattered thoughts. But as the man lifted the dagger up to his throat, a coherent panic burned white-hot in his chest. He wasn’t afraid of death like many others were. He would die one day, just like everyone else would. He felt there was some comfort in that. It wasn’t fear that filled him with panic, it was regret. He couldn’t die now. He’d barely started, barely taken the first step towards everything he’s ever wanted. He was meant for more than this. There was still so much he needed to do and experience. There was still so much magic he left undiscovered. He refused to go now, when he was so close to everything he’s ever wanted.

As he felt the cold edge press into his neck, he gripped his mana and shoved outwards. Gaseous mana exploded from every part of his body, sending the man tumbling and him flipping a meter from the ground. With the world spinning and the ground jumping up to meet him, he made himself a promise that he would stop getting himself in these situations. He landed on his back with a predictable crack. Through the familiar pain, he heaved his head left to see what became of the assassins. The man he’d hit was already on his feet with the dagger still in hand. The rest had their weapons out and knees bent, ready for Eliot to do something. When it seemed he couldn’t do anything else, the lead walked forward with a grimace. But Eliot had thought ahead, he focused his last bit of mana then—suddenly, the man’s head flew off his body and a figure in a billowing blue cloak appeared at the bottom of his vision. The mana that was supposed to open a portal to the nearest guardpost, fizzled into air as he lost focus.

A pleased female voice filled the paralyzed silence that followed, “There’s nothing like killing assassins to feel better about myself.”

After a moment, every cloaked figure, without exception, dropped their weapons and ran as fast as they possibly could.

“Of course no one is stupid enough to try fighting,” she growled in annoyance. “I miss the days when no one knew who I was.”

Just like before, she blinked across the alley, leaving carnage in her wake and blood flying through the air. Eliot couldn’t catch any of her movement, but what he could see made him swell with awe. She killed every single one with a precise cut to an important artery or vein. In a span of seconds, the walls cried red and all but one lay dead. The assassin in blue appeared a few steps ahead of him, lifting the survivor by the neck with a single hand; not a drop of blood on her.

She threw him on the ground like discarding a piece of trash. “Congratulations, you’re the lucky one that lives,” she snarled in a strained voice. Eliot recognized it as a tell-tale sign that she was making her voice deeper than it normally was. “Tell your superiors that this one’s mine.”

The survivor wasted no time bolting out into the street. It was only after that Eliot realized the dagger had stopped shocking him. He, an expert at being injured by now, got to his feet and hesitantly eyed his savior.

As he tensed his jaw to say something, she blinked directly in front of him, looking up into his eyes and making him suppress a flinch. Her hood—that he assumed magically obscured her face with a layer of darkness—slipped back, giving him full view of her face. A million thoughts engendered in his mind as he came to a shocking revelation: she was a noble, a very pure one. Long, curly locks of honey blonde hair reached down to her waist, framing a face of pale skin and wide blue eyes, clear as a summer sky. From the blatant intensity of her eyes locked on his, it was obvious that whatever he felt looking at her, she felt as well.

Before he could figure out what to say, she asked, “Why am I so attracted to you?”

Eliot’s brain short-circuited. His heart raced in his chest hard enough to rock his ribcage and he was acutely aware of the copious amounts of blood running down his leg. After everything he had to go through in such a short amount of time and being caught off-guard with a sudden attraction he could only assume was romantic interest, he struggled to form a coherent thought.

Then, when he finally mustered the will to formulate words, she stepped back and flushed in embarrassment. “Did I just say that out loud?” she squeaked.

Off of pure reaction, Eliot reached forward and tried to assure her that it was ok. Tried because she immediately stepped forward, pressing her knife against his throat and said, “Yeah, I’m running with that. I’m attracted to you.”

She continued moving forward until she shoved him against the wall, adding, “But the last person I was attracted to destroyed five settlements and massacred thousands. So who the Abyss are you?”

Eliot, getting dangerously light-headed, decided he would let his raw emotions take the wheel and see what happened. A wide grin bloomed across his face as he introduced himself, “Eliot Reileus, humble mage in training. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“No, it most certainly is not. I have a knife to your throat, you shouldn’t be smiling, damn it!” she complained, pressing the dagger hard enough to draw a curtain of blood.

“I can’t help it,” Eliot said quickly, “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever seen.”

Just like before, she retreated with a blush. Stumbling over her words, she stammered, “What? I’m—neither—you’re . . .” Eventually she gave up on words and let out a frustrated growl.

The thundering crash of distant guards snapped them back to reality. The blue clad assassin shifted between Eliot and the approaching guards in indecision for a few long moments. Finally, she turned away from both of them and tensed into a half crouch.

Realizing what she’d chosen, Eliot blurted, “Next time, I’ll try not to be so helpless!”

She disappeared with a violent gale of wind, leaving a spider web of cracks in the stone ground. The guards getting closer, Eliot dropped to the ground and adapted a look of horror. They streamed into the alleyway and checked the bodies with practiced efficiency. Instead of help, two guards shoved his face against the ground and twisted his arms.

“I’m the victim here! I was stabbed!” he tried.

“Save it,” was all he got as a response.

Thankfully, Jimmy’s voice sounded to vouch for him, “Wait, he’s telling the truth. He’s a mage, I escorted him to the Arcane Academy just yesterday.”

It was only after approval from their captain that they helped him up.

“We’re getting you to a support, but first you need to tell us what happened,” demanded the captain.

Eliot took a second to compose himself before spewing, “I was just making my way back to my inn when twenty assassins came out of nowhere and tried to kill me. But before they could, another assassin in blue came and killed all of them, and I would’ve died, too, if you were any slower!”

Every guard present visibly tensed at his words. “Are you sure it was blue?” barked the captain.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he nodded feverishly, “Why?”

The guards took a collective moment to swear under their breaths.

“You really think it’s Beelzebub, sir?” Jimmy asked, practically shaking.

A guard next to him snapped, “Think! There’s no one else that can do this to twenty fucking Zephyr-level Serpentine Brotherhood members.”

“Who’s Beelzebub?” Eliot questioned.

In lieu of an answer, the captain put a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, you’re the first to survive one of her assassinations.” He looked to the guards previously restraining him. “Get him fixed up,” he ordered.

“Wait,” Eliot protested, “Won’t someone tell me what’s going on?”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until getting healed and several hours later that he got answers to his burning questions. Asking around with a few golds gave him access to an abridged history. Beelzebub first appeared seven years ago, sneaking into the castle and assassinating the crown prince, Howard Crucible. Everyone assumed she was some sort of legend from outside of the Crucible Empire employed by conspiring nobles, but she was quick to prove them wrong by spreading her terror to the common populace. It became clear that she was simply an insane, murder-hungry monster with terrifying abilities. Over the course of seven years, she’s murdered hundreds at seemingly random—from unsavories like other assassins to random civillians. They know she’s female because she’s made a habit of openly toying with the guard, which for some reason is the only population that’s seemingly not on her kill list. Regardless, she’s made it perfectly clear that no one is safe from her blades, if she really wanted them dead.

Except Eliot had the privilege to know that Beelzebub wasn’t some random person, she was a noble of the empire. If the commonwealth ever figured that out, it was likely there would be revolts and riots. If other nobles figured that out, the Crucible Empire might see its first civil war. More interesting than any of that, though, he was attracted to her. For the vast majority of his life, Eliot was convinced he would never meet anyone that met his expectations. How could he not be interested when she looked to be as old as him, yet was capable of killing twenty infamous assassins in the blink of an eye. And that would have been enough for him. But the best part was, from her actions, not only was she insane and insanely powerful, she seemed interested in him, as well.

The entire situation simply didn’t feel real. All his life, Eliot had been able to fit everything around him into predictable patterns: science to describe the world, his own intuition to describe people. His meeting with Beelzebub was a stark reminder of the importance of variables. Reality was ultimately a chaotic thing. The vast majority of the time, it could be predicted, but rarely it could do something completely unprecedented for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Regardless of its ludicrous nature, it meant his future in Everveil was going to be much more interesting than he first thought.

Eliot woke up the next morning feeling far less enthusiastic about things. The supports—which he found was the name for medical mages—that the guard assigned him clearly weren’t as good as Priestess Lydia. He still felt weak from blood-loss and his thigh throbbed with phantasmal pain. Then, there were the implications of the assassins that he’d ignored the day before. He really should have seen it coming, but it seemed Mark Medici’s idea of revenge was assassination. It was stupid of him not to take something like that into consideration. Of course Mark Medici would throw money at the problem instead of personally settling the score.

Finally, there was his interaction with Beelzebub. Eliot had long since thought himself above the carnal desires that drove everyone else, but he too could be attracted to someone, after all. At one point, he would have been annoyed, but Beelzebub’s display of prowess was enough for him to put aside his pride and admit he was downright infatuated. Everything he learned after only made him more impressed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he was supposed to approach someone like that. Her victims were completely random at completely random times and places. There would be nothing he could do if she decided to avoid him. Even if he somehow tracked her down, she could move fast enough that it looked to him like she was teleporting. Or maybe she was just teleporting. At his level of power, he had no idea. All of that meant it was likely going to be a long time until he would have another chance to win her over.

He had a small hope that his excitement would fade by then, but knew full well it probably wouldn’t. He was obsessive. The last time he was that overjoyed about something was when he met Cel and Maybell for the first time. And that resulted in him and Cel being practically inseparable for four years.

Regardless, he put it out of his mind and went about his day looking over his shoulder for any more assassins. He spent the next two days shopping and sightseeing. He got a souvenir for each member of his family, several books for Maybell, and even managed to find the perfect present for Cel: a flintlock revolver. Eliot knew Cel well enough to know that Cel would appreciate something practical the most. The second he laid eyes on the revolver, even from the little he’d heard about firearms in the Town of Flora, he knew he was buying it. He also splurged for a second one that he could study. When all was said and done, half of his money was spent. As much as he wanted to revel in his peasant ways, the grandeur of spending that much money pretty much forced him to acclimate.

Thankfully, no more assassins ambushed him. Obviously, he knew he had Beelzebub to thank for that. After murdering almost every assassin sent after him and sending the one survivor with a message, he felt confident no one was going to have the audacity to target him in the foreseeable future, no matter how much money Mark Medici threw at the matter.

Finally, the morning of the third day, he was delivered a parcel from the Headmaster. Along with learning the man’s name was Lander Dresn, he received his room number, a metal card, and a letter. After feeding the card some of his mana, a complex pattern etched itself into both sides. The letter explained that the card was linked to his room’s security wards and that he needed to give it some of his mana. Doing so keyed his mana signature into the wards, letting him open his room either with the card or a simple pulse of mana. Eliot didn’t understand why he needed a card if he could open it with pure mana, if anything it seemed like a security flaw.

He ignored that, though, in favor of gathering his things and portalling to his room immediately. It was only after the fact that he realized portalling might not have been the best idea. Whatever spacial magic was being used on the campus, it interfered with his portal’s targeting. Instead of a random stairwell, his portal opened in the middle of the mess hall, where near a hundred people were eating breakfast. The large gathering fell silent and collectively stared at him with wide-eyed awe. After a second of surprise, Eliot shrugged and walked to the north-east tower. It didn’t matter much that his anonymity was compromised. He wasn’t planning on being especially discreet, so his talents were always going to be ousted eventually.

Once at the tower, Eliot climbed twenty flights of stairs. Before his Spiritual Awakening, it would have been dreadful. Now, it was a light exercise. He instantly found his room out of the four on the floor and walked in. The circular room was more than spacious enough for two people, and perfectly symmetrical down the middle. Each side had a lavish bed with a chest nearly half its size at its foot. To one side of the bed was a massive chifforobe, complete with a full-length mirror, built into the wall. To the other side was a full-sized desk, plush chair, and lamp. Whereas the left-side desk was clear besides the lamp, the right-side desk had two stacks of hefty textbooks. Directly across from the entrance, set into a deep windowsill, a large window, larger than any shops’ he’d seen thus far, illuminated the space in natural light.

The second he set eyes on it, Eliot knew the windowsill would make an excellent reading nook. Partly because his presumed roommate was comfortably reading a book on said sill at the time he walked in. His roommate was obviously a few years older than Eliot. As much as Eliot felt he was still a boy, as he was sixteen, he was technically an adult. The young man with golden-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and clearly defined jaw-line had none of the juvenile features Eliot still sported. The embroidered white-gold button-up jacket, leggings, and boots were completely at home on his figure and magnified his authoritative presence. Together, it screamed noble, incredibly pure noble.

While Eliot froze in the doorway, pondering the best way to go forward, the man set his book aside and stood up.

“Henry Crucible,” he introduced himself with a bright smile and offered a hand. “I presume you’ll be the one I’m rooming with.”

“Eliot Reileus,” Eliot returned the favor tentatively. “I get the feeling that I’m supposed to drop to one knee. But I also get the feeling that you don’t necessarily want that . . .”

“You’d be correct,” Henry confirmed in high spirits, “Please, be as casual as you’d be with any other. If you were forced to maintain formalities for the duration of your tenure, it would most certainly be exhausting.”

“Then, should I refer to you as Prince or . . . ?”

“No titles are necessary. Simply Henry will do fine,” he assured.

“Alright,” Eliot not-so-really accepted.

On one hand, as far as he could tell, Henry was being completely genuine. In fact, upon closer inspection, he noticed severe bags under his eyes half-covered with makeup, and his movements were just too slow to be from confidence. Although Henry tried to hide it, it was obvious to Eliot that he was incredibly tired. On the other hand, a jaded part of Eliot couldn’t believe that the Crown-fucking-Prince would be so willing to rub elbows with someone like him, regardless of how spent he was.

Henry added, “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of claiming a side before you were present. The majority of my belongings are yet to arrive; if you so wished, it would be no inconvenience for me to relocate.”

“Nah, it makes no difference to me. Either side is as good as the other,” Eliot shrugged as he dumped his meager belongings, clothes, sword, and all, into the chest.

There was no real way for Eliot to address his doubts without being antagonistic, so for the time being, he would play along. It meant less effort for him, after all.

He shifted his attention to the books on the desk. Reading the titles of the top two took his breath away. The collection of twelve large books were all magic textbooks in perfect condition. So pristine that Eliot doubted they had ever been opened before. He gently ran his hand across the burnished bindings, helplessly mesmerized.

“To be truthful, I’m awfully curious as to your circumstances.” Henry’s words yanked him out of his stupor. Annoyance gnawed at him, but he couldn’t afford to be rude.

“The headmaster didn’t fill you in?” he questioned, turning around and sitting on the desk. If the prince wanted him to be casual, he would be casual.

Henry shook his head. “No. Until this morning, I was under the impression I’d have a room to myself. Not that I’d like a room to myself, it's simply a matter of course.”

“They really sprung it out of the blue like that?”

Henry chuckled dryly. “It’s more typical than you’d think. However, it does lend to my interest. I’ve never once heard your name, yet you’re sufficiently influential for Headmaster Dresn to have you board with me.”

“Influential isn’t exactly the right word,” Eliot said as he braced his elbow on the books beside him and propped up his head. “It’s more personal than clout.”

“I’d venture to presume you’re family if it weren’t for the evident differences. There must be a friend with whom you’re related,” Henry posited.

“Yup,” Eliot nodded sagely. “The question is who and how.”

Henry narrowed his eyes in thought for a few long moments. Finally, his eyes widened and excitement danced across his face, threatening to grow into a beaming grin. “You can’t be related to the late Archmage Karl Favesh, can you?”

“Allow me to reintroduce myself.” Eliot hopped off the desk and flowed into a bow. “Eliot Reileus of the Town of Flora, Discipulus of Karl Favesh, at your service.”

“The last I’d heard of Karl Favesh, he’d gone missing and presumed dead. Has he returned?”

Eliot let a silence pass before saying, “No. Unfortunately, he’s truly gone. I only learned under him for a short time before he passed. Now I’m here to finish what he started.”

“I see.” Henry adopted a solemn look. “My deepest condolences for your loss. I apologize if I’ve aggravated any grievances.”

“No apologies are necessary. Any regrets Karl Favesh had are now my responsibility to rectify.” It was sentimental drivel, sure, but he meant it. The rational part of him knew it was all luck, but despite that he did feel a slight debt to Karl Favesh. It was inevitable that he would learn magic eventually, but who knew how long he would have had to spend in an abyss of boredom before that happened. For that alone, Karl Favesh deserved something from him. That wasn’t even mentioning the whole succession thing Karl Favesh alluded he would be forced to resolve.

They talked for a few more hours until they settled into agreed silence. Of course, Eliot spent the rest of the day reading through the top textbook, aptly named the basics of mana manipulation. Sadly, he already knew most of everything it had in its four hundred large pages from his journal. It basically just repeated the same things in a bunch of different ways. On the bright side, he did learn a host of new shaping exercises ranging in difficulty.

The next morning, it was the day Eliot had been waiting for his whole life: first day of classes. Sometime before they woke up, two letters were delivered telling them which class and room they were in. They were in the same class, which was to be expected.

From what Henry told him, the Arcane Academy of Everveil had ten classes, from class-one to class-ten. The lower the number, the lower the class size and apparently the more talented the students were. As far as scheduling went, there was only one two-hour instruction period per day at mid-day. Outside of that time, the many cutting-edge facilities the academy housed were free for the students to use whenever they pleased. Eliot was almost surprised that the academy was so well thought-out: even from his minimal experience he knew magic was more rigorous training and practice than study. Then he remembered he was judging the school with the wrong criteria. It wasn’t Lander Dresn or any random idiot that made the school, after all, it was Karl Favesh. Who, according to literally every one he talked to, was a one in ten generations genius.

Although the classroom wasn’t anywhere near as decadent as he’d imagined it to be, it was still interesting due to sheer novelty. It was a room slightly larger than his dorm, with the same omnipresent lighting he’d seen at Carton’s Mage Guild. The floor rose into stair-like tiers on one side where the desks were, so the second row was above the one in front of it. As Henry had said, there were only ten desks, four in the first row, six in the second. Scrawled across each desk was a holographic name. Once he sat in the one that had his, it faded. Aside from Henry being directly behind him, he was pleased with his seat: the leftmost in the front row. It was exactly the one he would have chosen given that freedom.

As people arrived, Eliot’s assumptions were proven correct. For all he knew, they could very well be the most skilled mages in the school, but he knew for a fact they weren’t the most talented. The reason being that they were all nobles. It was likely they were only in the class because they had private tutors since the second they showed signs of Inchoate Sensitivity. That or the academy simply couldn’t afford to offend by putting them in a lower class. If it was a genuine measure of talent, simply from the population difference, a vast majority of the class would be peasants like him. He wasn’t bitter about it like he was some other things, it simply reinforced some of his views.

Henry and Eliot were the first to get there by far. After sitting down, he still had ten minutes until the class actually started. It was during that time that he realized his last-minute enrollment in the class had to have kicked someone out. It was likely most of the nobles in the class assumed or had direct confirmation they would be in the first class. He imagined whomever he’d replaced was probably having a particularly horrible time at the moment. He almost broke into laughter at the idea, but remembered where he was and managed to contain himself.

“Sucks to suck,” he thought with a shit-eating smirk.

Eventually, only a few minutes remained until the start of the class, and the last few people streamed in one after the other. Despite his deep musings, Eliot’s attention snapped to an interesting classmate: a woman in a silver-hemmed white cloak with a matching blouse and shiny-black leather leggings and boots. The lack of neutral colors was still an obvious indicator of noble richess, but the rarely used black and what many would call borderline cross-dressing for a noble lady showed indifference towards social pressures, a likely earned confidence, and a strong sense of independence. The main reason she caught his eye, however, was the fact that she had deep green hair and golden saucers where her pupils and irises should be. Eliot’s eyes were the same, only harder to notice thanks to the dark color. It was obvious whatever he had she had as well.

After walking in, she scanned the room, nodded to someone behind him, and started for the unclaimed seat on his right.

As she sat down, she looked at him and said, “No.”

That made him realize he’d been staring. Not his brightest moment. Still, he had to suppress a grin. Automatically assuming what someone was thinking then acting on those assumptions with no proof whatsoever was practically Eliot’s trademark. Being on the other end was entirely too amusing.

“Pardon?” he asked innocently.

She scowled and without turning to look at him she said, “I don’t care who or how important you think you are. Whatever it is you want, the answer is no.”

“What if I said I don’t want something from you?”

“Then you’d be lying,” she insisted, rolling her eyes.

“I guess I do want something, so technically you’re right,” Eliot admitted with a shrug.

“Just,” she sighed. “Shut up.”

“Why is it that you automatically assume what I want is a bad thing?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re undressing me with your eyes like a damn degenerate,” she seethed, whirling to glower at him.

Eliot was slightly taken aback at that. When he was a child, long before he ingratiated himself to his townspeople and before he learned how to act, it was extremely frequent that he was described as a freak, with particular attention given to his unnerving gaze. He dismissed it as xenophobia, but maybe there was more to that than he thought.

On the surface, though, he immediately shot back with similar energy. “You seriously think I’m attracted to you?” he laughed mirthlessly, his words suddenly dripping with disdain. “Who do you think you are? The world doesn’t revolve around you, spoiled noble brat.”

“You’re just another ignorant idiot that blames nobles for your own pathetic existence. It’s not my fault you have the charisma of a public enima,” she spat.

Eliot couldn’t help himself. His facade of hostility crumbled into laughter. “That one was actually pretty good,” he praised breathlessly. “I’m gonna have to steal that.”

Faced with his genuine mirth, the woman's loathing tempered into irritation.

“What the Abyss is your deal?” she snapped.

Still full of smiles, he explained, “I don’t have a deal, I’m just here to learn some magic.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied him for a few seconds before saying, “I can’t tell if you know exactly what you’re doing or if you're just an oblivious moron.”

“Who knows?” he feigned with an exaggerated flourish of his hands. “Henry might have an opinion, if you asked him.”

Her brow raised in shock and she turned further to ask Henry a silent question. Although Henry was known to be lax when it came to proper etiquette, no one dared to actually humor him. No one besides her, and now Eliot.

Henry, uncertain how to conduct himself, shrugged and nodded. “Perhaps, query as to his identity.”

Obviously irked, she begrudgingly introduced herself, “Penelope Evergreen. I’d offer my hand, but you’re insane enough to address the crown prince without any honorifics so I get the feeling you don’t like noble customs.”

“Eliot Reileus of the Town of Flora, Discipulus of Karl Favesh. It’s not anything against nobles specifically, I just don’t like to play by other peoples’ rules.”

Silence reigned supreme. Penelope stared in slack-jawed-awe, as did many others in the room. It was only an instant, though, until she regained her wits.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” she huffed.

Eliot chuckled, “Yeah, I do actually.”

“I don’t suppose Henry was subjected to the same treatment?”

“Gods no! I’m not that crazy,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “But you, Lady Evergreen, are fair game. First impressions are always so boring, why not spice them up?”

“Figures,” she deadpanned. “And if we’re going to be sitting next to each other, Penelope is fine. You know I’m only an Evergreen in name, besides.”

Eliot had read her name beforehand, but she clearly thought he was more informed than he actually was. He had zero knowledge of her or the Evergreens. That didn’t matter, though. Regardless of how capable she thought he was, he’d managed to make up for his initial blunder and then some. Overall, it was an absolute win.

“To be perfectly honest, I was a little shocked by your hair and eyes. How did that come about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Who knows,” Penelope drawled sardonically. “Why do you look like an emancipated zombie?”

Eliot snorted and almost shot back, “I have my parents to thank for that.” But stopped himself just before it left his mouth. Now that he thought about it, neither of his parents could be blamed for his appearance. He didn’t have the broad shoulders or the especially masculine facial features of his father. Nor did he have the graceful complexion and vibrant hair of his mother. Instead, he got his mother’s soft features and inability to put on any fat whatsoever and his father’s outrageous height growth. His pasty complexion was also from his father while he got his mother’s inability to tan and proclivity to sunburn. His father could tan no problem and his mother’s skin tone was naturally a few shades darker than pale, so they weren’t plagued by the same issues.

Finally, while he shared hair color with his mother, his hair was flat and helplessly straight like his father’s. Whereas short brown hair only complemented the rest of his father’s rugged features, no matter what Eliot did with his hair he hated how it looked. He hated how it looked short slightly more than he did when it was long, but in consequence it made him appear even more feminine. His family had goaded and dared him to wear Elizebeth’s clothes in the past. Predictably, there was almost no indication that he wasn’t a girl when he dressed the part. While all of his features came from his parents, they couldn’t be faulted that he inherited the worst possible combination from them.

Despite that, Eliot wasn’t bitter about it in the least. Although it wasn’t in any way scientific, it was obvious to him that there was a trend of give-and-take when it came to humans. More likely than not, if someone was extremely gifted in one area, they usually had an equal in value drawback in another area, or small deficiencies in a smattering of areas. If someone seemed to have it all, it was likely they weren’t long for the world. Just in recent memory that applied to Mary Garcia, a genius forgemaster years ahead of her time that revolutionized her field but whose talents were only recognized after a tragically early passing, and Karl Favesh, a genius mage years ahead of his time that revolutionized his field but just as he was truly starting to affect mass change, he disappeared from the face of the earth and while most of his research was recovered, precious little is understood since he was leagues ahead of anyone else on the Two Continents when it came to magic theory.

If an unfortunate appearance was the price he had to pay for magical talent and intellect, he would happily pay it in full. Charisma had far more to do with the psychological side of things, anyway. Not to mention, before he met Beelzebub, he had zero intention to ever be romantically involved with anyone. Though, to be fair, in the Town of Flora there was next to no one he deemed worthy of even speaking to him, much less worthy of his pursuit. He’d suspected it even back then, but now he knew for a fact that was only because of where he was. He’d been in Everveil for less than a week and he’d already met three people he rather liked. Including Karl Favesh and the author of the journal he was definitely going to track down, that was two more people he felt were more than worthy of his respect.

Not long later, before he could lose himself to his inner thoughts, their instructor, a Professor Lorento, arrived and started class. As he expected, Eliot didn’t learn much from the first class. However, what he did learn was more than enough to sate his impatience. Professor Lorneto started the class with a lecture about the essence of magic. It was well paced and thorough, but it boiled down to a few key ideas. Magic was nothing more than instructions for reality. The only reason it’s so complex is because reality itself is insanely complicated. The only reason it’s so hard is because the instructions themselves, known as runes, were created by a long forgotten civilization using their understanding of the world and their language.

Eliot mostly tuned it out since his journal explained the same thing only better. In fact, the professor’s statement ‘magic is nothing more than instructions for reality’ was technically false. That only applied to structured applications of magic like spellcasting and blatantly ignored many of its other facets. The journal’s definition ‘a system developed . . . for the manipulation of the systems of reality.’ was far more apt. A system, or in other words a replicable science, for the manipulation of the known laws of reality.

Afterwards, they were all given a small cerulean pearl that faded into black towards the center. It was explained that they tested the purity and amount of someone’s mana using delineated categories of mana quality and Standard Units of Magic, or SUM. Eliot’s ego grew a fair amount when his mana turned out to be low-lower quality aqueous. The main categories were separated into gaseous, aqueous, mucilaginous, and tangible. Each of those had the subcategories of lower, middle, and higher, that were then proceeded by low, middle, and high as well. Eliot was happy with his placement because it was expected for their class that the students would have high-lower quality aqueous mana by the end of the year. Aside from him, only three others had the same quality, two of those three being Henry and Penelope, raising his opinion of Penelope even more. Henry, though, was the prince, so it was to be expected, if not a little underwhelming.

He was also pleasantly surprised to see that an SUM was slightly smaller than one of his gales. He realized the next second that an SUM is the exact amount of mana needed to open a portal a kilometer away from himself. It was already obvious, but with that he was certain that Karl Favesh created the quality and quantity measuring systems. According to the pearl, his mana storm had twenty-two thousand, seven hundred, ninety-nine SUM, with an error of less than five thousandths of a percent. Despite the seemingly miniscule percentage of error, Eliot was well aware that that wasn’t as accurate as it advertised. When working with numbers in the tens of thousands, five-thousandths of a percent was much larger than it seemed. For instance, five thousandths of a percent of twenty-two thousand, seven hundred, ninety-nine was slightly more than one.

Eliot was proven correct, of course, when he measured his storm once more and it told him he had seven-tenths of a SUM more than his previous reading. While plus or minus one didn’t seem like a lot, the error was only going to get larger the larger his storm grew. Fortunately, Eliot knew the exact size of his storm in gales. A simple conversion told him that his storm’s actual quantity was twenty-two thousand, seven hundred, ninety-nine, and a half SUM. Even if he didn’t already have a unit system of his own, since an SUM was the exact amount of mana needed to open a portal a kilometer away, he was already intimately familiar with the amount. Just as with his gales, all he would need is a few seconds focusing on his mana to feel exactly how many SUM made up his storm. Given he was the only mage in the world that could use the portal spell, if someone didn’t already have a unit similar to his gales, it was likely they would never know exactly how much an SUM was.

In the end, though, Eliot realized he was being far too harsh. He couldn’t even begin to guess how the pearls functioned, and because they were made by Karl Favesh, he imagined very few people did, if that. Besides, in reality, exact units of mana were only needed if a mage wanted to use math to calculate mana costs beforehand. Being mana sensitive implied high sensitivity to the personal manastorm. Just as Eliot was already familiar with an SUM because of the portal spell, other mages would subconsciously be aware of the exact amount of mana a spell cost, and exactly how much mana they had after casting. Most mages simply wouldn’t ever need a number to represent an amount of mana.

Finally, about half way through the class, Professor Lorento gave them the rest of the class to practice a spell that was integral to every mage everywhere since the inception of magic: the cleanse spell. It was one of the oldest spells still known. In fact, it was made before the creators of runes came up with the complex system that they used to make nearly every other spell. Therefore, it was also the easiest spell to cast of all the spells still known. Its three runes were the outline of a humanoid, an amorphous blob with specks of more concentrated mana, and the right half of a cube with a line—originating from the midpoint of the cube’s right side—that curved downward a small distance. In other words, casting it was child’s play.

After Eliot cast the spell, before the runes engraved into reality and disappeared, a mass of excess oil, dead skin, dirt, and grime of all kinds collected into a ball around the runes. Embarrassingly, the process continued for an extended five seconds and resulted in a ball of pure filth fifteen centimeters in diameter. Despite his chagrin, he noticed that the ball of filth seemed to engrave along with the runes, which explained why the mana cost was laughable for the amount of work done. He took a few seconds to make sure he remembered physical substances could be used to pay for a spell.

Once done, he turned to flash a smirk at Penelope, but stopped himself when she immediately stood up—as did everyone else in the room. It took him half a second to realize everyone else already knew the cleanse spell. Because, of course they did. They all had tutors and, probably, years of experience on him.

Before getting up himself, he took the time to throw a small tantrum. No wonder all of them had radiant hair and positively glowing skin. In fact, he had no doubt there were tens, if not hundred, of grooming spells out there. No wonder nobles all looked amazing compared to everyone else. Those that couldn’t cast the spells themselves could pay a mage to do it for them. It wasn’t just about looks, either. Eliot felt amazing! Being thoroughly clean after living his life with a near permanent layer of filth was heavenly. It was doubly amazing because the cleaning also applied to his clothing. His clothes were cleaner than the day they were made. All without any of the damage, wear, or labor that was inevitably associated with a deep clean. He was well and truly immaculate.

Eliot exited the classroom to find Henry waiting for him, and by extension, his conversation partner, Penelope.

“I see that was your first cleanse. To be truthful, I assumed you already knew the spell. I mean no offense when I say you’re very cleansly for a townsfolk,” Henry complimented him as he drew near.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing compared to the genuine article,” Eliot laughed, rubbing his chest. “This is awesome!”

Henry nodded knowingly. “Unfortunately, nothing stands the test of time. It becomes usual.”

“I doubted it at first, but I glanced at your mana scores,” Penelope butted-in, “To be able to compare to us despite your circumstances does speak to your talent.”

“Obviously,” Eliot snorted with a roll of his eyes.

“Though, you still pale in comparison to Karl Favesh himself. I suppose his kind of talent truly is one-of-a-kind,” she added.

“I can’t be that far behind . . .” Eliot trailed off when he noticed their faces shift. Henry looked at him with something akin to pity. Penelope looked at him nearly as indignant as Mark Medici when he insulted his mother.

“You seriously know nothing about Karl Favesh, do you? You’re his gods damned discipulus and you haven’t so much as read his biography?” she asked him in utter disbelief.

Eliot hesitated before he decided to just tell the truth. “Well, to be honest, I had no idea who he was when I met him and he didn’t talk much about himself. I only found out he was famous after speaking to the headmaster.”

“You’re the worst!” Penelope exploded. “You have no idea how big of an opportunity you’re squandering!”

“Yeah, that is what I just said,” Eliot admitted. “But, I mean, what else is there to know besides that he revolutionized magic? Doesn’t every archmage do that? My knowledge is pretty outdated, but isn’t that kinda what you have to do to be called an archmage in the first place?”

“Karl Favesh was so much more than that! He was completely self-taught but was already considered an Archmage at the age of nine. Every theorem he came up with was infinitely more unbelievable than the last and yet he was right every single time. He created Public Portal Transport at ten. And to top it all off he was the youngest Demigod in known history at eleven!”

It was Eliot’s turn to be utterly flabbergasted.

“Paradisiacal shit!” he cursed, running a hand through his hair. “I knew the old man was powerful, but . . . shit,” he hissed. Suddenly, breathing became difficult and he had to place a hand against the wall to steady himself.

“It’s finally dawning on you how fucked you are, isn’t it?” Penelope jeered smugly.

Henry placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “There’s no need to be cruel, is there?”

“Yes there absolutely is!” she snapped, shrugging his hand off. “If I was ever that ignorant, I hope I would be berated just as bad to drive the point.”

“Yeah, Henry, she’s uh—she’s right,” Eliot laughed mirthfully. His brief anxiety fell away to glee and he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. “I needed to hear that. Now I know just how high the stakes are.”

“Good,” Penelope huffed, “So, what are going to do about it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do besides learn as fast as possible,” he conceded.

Penelope deflated with a sigh. “Good. Maybe now you won’t turn out to be a waste of time and effort after all.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eliot genuinely agreed. “But, in the meantime, do either of you two have anything important to do?”

“I don’t believe so,” Henry shook his head.

“No, why?” Penelope questioned.

“I was hoping to get someone to show me around.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much use. I’m not usually able to explore, myself,” Henry explained apologetically.

Eliot turned to Penelope with a sunny smile.

She begrudgingly said, “I suppose. Only because I really have nothing better to do.”

“Great!” he cheered, snapping his fingers for dramatic effect as he near instantly cast the portal spell. A portal opened beneath each of their feet.

Suddenly, they were plummeting through the air, two kilometers above the ground. Henry and Penelope, completely blindsided, screamed as loud as humanly possible. Penelope in particular found herself flipping end-over-end, her hair and cloak thrashing violently.

Eliot didn’t pay much attention to them, though. He was too busy reveling in the adrenaline. The wind roared in his ears and buffeted his body as if trying to lash at him. His heart hammered against his ribcage hard enough to fuel an entire city. Immediately he went half-numb, both from the cold and the pressure of the air as he approached terminal velocity. Never in his life had he felt so alive.

Thankfully, Henry was surprisingly swift to calm down. He balanced himself and even managed to drift closer to Eliot, all while wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

It was obvious he had some experience in free fall when he shouted to Penelope, “Spread your limbs!”

She did as instructed; eventually, she stablazed and relaxed some herself. It wasn’t long, though, until she discordantly screeched, “What is wrong with you!”

“Just enough to make life interesting!” he responded as casually as he could over the deafening wind.

“I promise you, if we die, I’ll bring us both back to life just to kill you again!”

“I’ll take that deal!” he shot back. With his sensitive hearing, he could just make out Henry laughing.

Eliot couldn’t help but feel this was the start of something amazing.