On October 3, 2019, the world ended. Strange portals that are now recognized as Gates appeared across the world at a rate of almost a million per day, and monsters unlike anything humanity had ever seen creeped out of them in tides. The first Towers rose through the center of every major population center.
Complex electronics began failing in the immediate aftermath. At the time, the cause was unknown, but we are now aware that this was cause due to the sudden inundation of flux particles—that which is colloquially referred to as “mana.”
The world ended, but humanity did not. Even as the cities broke, the nations of the world organized responses. Guns, bombs, and baser weapons served as a first line of defense against the monster tides.
Ten days after the first Gate manifested, groups of humans gained the ability to use what we now call magic.
Initially, humanity believed these independent groups to be superhuman; blessed, perhaps, by the Gates or Towers. Within weeks, however, the truth began to spread.
Magic is not strictly supernatural—in fact, it is everything but. It is an observable phenomenon regarding the use and perpetuation of flux particles that enforces action upon matter. Some have called for it to be redefined as a subsection of physics to little avail.
As the monsters evolved, so did humanity. Our species is nothing if not adaptable, and we rose to the challenge. Magical technology advanced at a rate not seen since the race to the moon. We started winning. The Gates became a secondary threat, the Towers a footnote meant only for those arrogantly foolish enough to try climbing them.
Inevitably, we reached the point where our greatest enemies were not the monsters but each other. On January 1st, 61 AFI (After Flux Integration), World War III began.
It lasted a grand total of seventy-three days and resulted in over two billion casualties. We feel the effects still.
Trained summons from the Gates, magically-augmented nuclear bombs, and paragon-class spell formations proved too devastating for even modern humanity, and an uneasy peace formed more out of a mutual understanding that the human race would not survive continued war than any real basis for it.
It is now 74 AFI. The state of the world has changed so quickly that it does not even faintly resemble the world of two decades ago, let alone pre-FI. Tensions are rising once more. Territory conflicts abound, and every nation continues to stockpile unregistered paragon-class magicians, ignoring the Beijing Accords. The median lifespan of a new military-grade flux user is less than five years, and those who last longer will face hardship beyond human imagination.
This lecture is not intended to scare you. It is a base representation of what our world is today. If you wish to abandon this life, this is one of the last chances you will get.
Nobody? Good.
There is a name for those of us who remain, for those of us who will fight against the dark knowing that a brutal end may wait for us.
Mage.
- Opening statement to the class of 74, First National Academy Auria
#
The thing they don’t tell you about pseudo-military magical academies in Auria is how boring a threat on your life can be.
Today was the entrance ceremony, which was a painful necessity for admission into First Academy. If his time with the country had taught Syl anything, it was that they would stand on ceremony even in the face of death.
It was also the first time that a member of the royal family was going to enter a public magic school in almost a century, which left him on guard duty.
He wasn’t sure why she was doing it, to be honest.
Though Auria operated as an ostensibly democratic monarchy, the royal family was still a high-priority target for any agents of opposing countries, of which there were far too many. The nation was a splinter of what the history books told him had once been the United States of America, and the other remnants were none too friendly towards each other.
Syl, of course, kept this silent when the princess was next to him. Her last name had been changed for security purposes, but he knew from experience that there was no such thing as perfect information security. Anyone who searched hard enough would find her eventually.
“It’s the first day,” said Bianca Ashwood, perfectly ordinary magician-in-training who was certainly not the child of a paragon-class mage and ninth in line to the Aurian throne. “Aren’t you excited, Syl?”
“No, not particularly. I’m class 3, which means it’s a miracle I’m even here. Even if there’re more resources here than the lower schools, I’m not exactly going to be making use of all of them.”
“I keep telling you that you should have just taken the offer, Syl,” she said with all the politeness that being a princess demanded.
“I’m not going to use royal favor to put myself somewhere I haven’t earned,” Syl replied with a sigh. “Are you trying to give us away as fast as possible? What kind of class 1 student would I be? The practical exams showed that I’m not the kind of magician you want to see in the fast-track course. Also, your tone is too measured. Look around you. Nobody human talks like that.”
Only class 1 students and a few class 2s had come so far, but there were a healthy number of them milling about the academy courtyard, walking or sitting around the expansive open space in the center of the castle-like shchool.
There were separate ceremonies that both of those classes needed to undergo before the full-school one. Beyond that, it was clear that the class 1s were largely from more influential families, and wherever there was influence, there were those who were just barely relevant enough to know they weren’t at the top of the totem pole. Many of the class 2s were split, trying to worm their way into existing class 1 friend groups.
Syl could respect wanting a better position, but he had none for people abandoning existing connections in pursuit of possible new ones.
“Please,” Bianca said, visibly struggling to adjust her tone to sound more like the casual chatter around them. “You and I both know that if the practicals were any more thorough, you’d be above me in placement.”
Syl shrugged. “They measure important aspects of casting. I didn’t meet the mark on any of them, so it’s only fair.”
In fact, he had done so poorly on the practicals that it was only his perfect score on the written theory aspect of the admission exams that had even qualified him for First. That was nearly unheard of, apparently, which had come as a bit of a surprise when the theory had been so surface-level.
Almost unconsciously, his hand went to the flux casting device embedded just under the skin of his throat.
“If you say so, Syl,” Bianca said, hands clasped behind her back. “Will you be attending the ceremony?”
“You know I have to,” Syl said.
The entrance ceremony took place in a hall that seated all six hundred new students—a hundred class 1s, three hundred class 2s, and two hundred class 3s, the latter of which Syl was in.
Six exits, twelve potential points of entry, he thought as he took a seat towards the back. Magical ventilation, windows reinforced but not blurred.
There were enough countermeasures to prevent basic attempts on student lives, but this was no military fortress. Syl double-checked the FCDs at his wrists, ensuring that they were both active in case of emergency.
“A little antsy, are we?” a voice interrupted his self-check. “Is this seat taken yet?”
Syl looked up to see a red-haired boy a bit younger than him—eighteen or nineteen, maybe. He’d unbuttoned his uniform, and his shockingly messy hair was definitely not up to standard.
“No,” Syl said. “Feel free to take it.”
The messy boy sat down, reclining as much as he could in an auditorium chair, and started fiddling with what looked like a baton. He turned to look at Syl after adjusting it a bit, smiling.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Name’s Lyon. Lyon Red. You?”
Syl raised an eyebrow. Red?
Reds were one of the seven great prismatic families. They were duelists, known for creating some of the most lethal single combat mages of all time. That wasn’t the kind of name that ended up in class 3. Unless…
“Yes, that Red,” Lyon answered the unasked question, rolling his eyes. “I’m a bit of a black sheep, one might say. So, who’re you?”
Black sheep. Syl could guess why. Lyon wouldn’t have been allowed to keep the Red name if he had failed his practicals like Syl had, so that meant unruly temperament and poor test scores.
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“Syl,” Syl said. “Ward of the state, so Auria’s my last name. No real name, though.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lyon said automatically.
“Don’t be. I was too young to remember my parents. It was quick. They were in New Oceania.”
Lyon winced.
“A bit heavy to put on you during introductions,” Syl said. “What’s your specialty?”
Full combat track, he guessed. Duelist, probably.
That made the boy brighten. “I’m going full combat track.”
“Is that your FCD?” Syl asked, pointing at the baton.
“Sure is,” Lyon confirmed. “I might not look it, but I’ve got pretty good practicals. Just can’t do theory for shit. What about you?”
“FCD engineer,” Syl said. “Among others. I’m quite bad at practicals. My casting speed is on the lower end.”
Bianca had been correct when she’d said that Syl would have ranked higher if they had measured other aspects of magical power during the practical exams, but the exact factors that made him powerful were also what hampered him.
Syl checked his right FCD one more time as the rest of the students filtered into the auditorium, tapping the display open.
User: Syl
FCD: IMMP-R
Type: Preload Multipurpose
FCD Attributes: [Speed - C] [Precision - S] [Capacity - NOT DISPLAYED] [Power - NOT DISPLAYED]
Age: 18
Known Spells: 104
Flux Particles: [NOT DISPLAYED]
Loaded Spell: [Flash Step] (C)
His flux pool was certainly on the higher end, especially for his age, but magic didn’t like being penned up in a vessel with a less developed body like his. Over the years, the flux present within him had damaged his vocal cords beyond repair. A custom FCD let him speak, but it required constant flux supply and prevented him from using his voice as an active component in spells.
Magic was a field of science just like any other. Humanity’s understanding of it was still incomplete, but they understood enough of it to know some best practices in the realm of casting. Spells worked much, much faster with verbal components fast-tracking certain aspects of the spell, but since Syl could no longer use his voice to carry flux properly, his casting speed for a good chunk of magic had been severely crippled.
“Wow, is that a custom?” Lyon asked, eyes widening as he pointed to Syl’s FCD.
“You also have a custom,” Syl pointed out. He hadn’t studied the baton very closely, but he knew the Reds.
“Yeah, but that looks like an Incarnate model,” Lyon said. “Do you know how hard those are to get?”
“Good eye,” Syl said. “I’m well aware.”
Before Lyon could ask more questions, a bell chimed, bringing the auditorium’s attention to the front and quieting the room.
As the highest-scoring representative of this year’s class, Bianca would have some speaking part here, which was the most likely point for enemy action. Syl doubted that it would happen here, though. There were instructors and student leaders present, both of which should possess A-class or even tactical-class magic.
The most elite students here would continue on to graduate years, entering a part-military part-political outfit that both participated in actual combat situations and oversaw the school. Unlike the previous equivalents in preparatory high school, said outfit had real influence, its participants universally at or above military-grade proficiency and mostly coming from influential families.
The university would have been short on experienced instructors without them, mostly because magicians who were capable of teaching were largely on military assignments or dead.
One of those rare retired survivors was the first to address them. Two-star General Allison Violet was pushing fifty years old but was still the same strategic-class magician who’d constructed the bulk of Auria’s defenses and minimized casualties during World War III.
“On October 3, 2019…” she started.
“Hey,” Lyon said quietly. “You’ve heard this all before, right?”
Syl’s attention was entirely on their surroundings. No student would have been able to sneak a weapon into the entrance ceremony, which was one of the few school events attended by active non-student members of the great prismatic familes. Security had been raised to the highest point that it would be at this entire semester.
Outside, magical and technological surveillance monitored the event. While the bulk of that would be from the families themselves, there was always the possibility of an outsider looking in.
“Hey,” Lyon said again, a bit louder. “You there?”
“I’ve heard the speech,” Syl replied at a more reasonable volume. “Not this exact variant, but I’m more than familiar with the history.”
“Thought so. Knew you wouldn’t just be a normal class 3.”
That set off alarm bells in Syl’s mind, but Lyon wasn’t indicating that he had any more information than a hunch, so he let it slide. “I could say that about you, too. A Red in class 3. No respect for conduct, and you look like you just got picked up off the street, but that’s all fake. What are you doing here?”
“Oh you caught that?” Lyon asked, his voice dropping low. “For your information, I like it this way. Also, that’s classified.”
“I’m sure it is,” Syl said drily. “What a prismatic scion’s had for lunch is probably classified, too. Let me guess. Monitoring the class 3s for potential diamonds in the rough to recruit? Undermining resistance against prismatic hegemony? Maybe you’re looking for a few specific threats?”
“Not so loud,” Lyon hissed, which drew some stars from the students around them.
“You’re being louder than I am,” Syl said quietly. “You’re only going to draw attention to yourself if you make a scene. Relax.”
Lyon relaxed.
“You know a lot about the prismatics for someone who’s not on our radar at all,” Lyon said.
That wasn’t entirely true, but there was no point in letting Lyon know that. “I’m good at noticing patterns. That’s all.”
Syl’s focus returned to the spell he’d been maintaining since the ceremony had started, a simple dual-process one that he’d designed for himself during… a time he preferred not to think about.
Sure enough, there were dozens of different spells and drones aimed at the ceremony from the outside, but most of them were from sources that Syl recognized, with some distaste.
One of them, though…
“Lyon,” Syl said.
“What’s up?”
“Tell your family or your handler or whoever your point of contact is that there’s an outsider watching,” Syl said.
Throughout the auditorium, mostly concentrated in the front, Syl noticed a few others tapping away on displays only they could see or fiddling with their FCDs. He wasn’t the only one who had noticed, then.
“What are you talking about?” Lyon said after quite a large delay.
“You’re not good at this whole subterfuge thing, are you? Bianca is about to speak. Just be quiet and do what you have to do.”
#
After the ceremony was finally over, Syl found Bianca talking with a couple of older-looking students with different uniforms that indicated they were in the second, graduate phase of schooling. Judging by the sigils on their uniforms, they were all from prismatic families.
“Syl,” Bianca said. “What did you think?”
“It was a good commencement,” Syl said. “Memorable enough to leave an impression on the students while staying mostly risk-free. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing here?”
“Jennifer,” a tall, glasses-wearing woman said. Her sigil marked her as coming from the Viridian clan, and her FCDs were well-tuned enough that Syl could take a reasonable guess as to her class. “Eighth year, class 1. FCD engineer. Treasurer for the Graduate Reserve. Pleasure to meet you…”
“Syl.” He extended a hand, which she shook. “First year, class 3. Unspecialized, but looking towards FCD engineering. If you ever happen to have a spare moment, I’d be interested in trading notes.”
The other council member scoffed. “We don’t need any bottom feeders trying to latch onto us. Try staying in the school for a year, then ask again. You’re just going to go to the front line anyway. What kind of notes do you think you can offer?”
“Excuse me,” Bianca said, her voice polite but her expression threatening death, “What did you just say?”
“Drew,” Jennifer said. “Not the time.”
“Drew,” Syl said, looking at the taller man in the eye. “Violet, I assume?”
“Yes, and you would do well to respect that name,” Drew Violet said. “Your kind won’t even be in the school after your fourth year. Lieutenant in the GR. Sixth year, class 1.”
So he was one of these. Syl had been ready to run into someone like this, but that made it no less irritating.
“Nice to meet you too,” Syl said. “The same offer stands, but I imagine you don’t have anything interesting if you’re just a soldier. Bianca. We need to go.”
“Is that so?” the princess asked. “It was lovely chatting to you both. We can continue tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Jennifer said. “The president will be here then.”
“Hold on,” Drew interjected, staring Syl down. “You can’t tell me that you’re following this guy.”
Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I can.”
“Are you planning on stopping us?” Syl asked lightly. “I don’t believe you have the right to do that in your position.”
“No,” Drew said, “but I would suggest that you learn your place.”
Syl smiled. “I know my place just fine.”
#
Three and a half kilometers from the academy, a drone settled down inside an abandoned warehouse. Romeo Seven, the alias of the masked drone operator, collected it and readied it for data transference. The drone’s inbuilt FCD triggered, quickly forming a ritual circle underneath the device and the operator.
It did not complete its process before it simply shattered, the magic pattern dissolving entirely.
Romeo Seven had believed his operation to be uncompromised, but he prepared for emergency anyway. With his gun-mounted FCD, he activated the perception-type Transparent Scan spell, letting him see heat signatures through the walls.
There. There was one figure walking outside, hand raised to its ear like it was calling someone.
Without hesitating, Romeo Seven fired. His FCD automatically applied a dual-process spell to each of the bullets, removing the sound and increasing the velocity. It made his shots more precise, lethal, and nigh undetectable in an area with no sensors.
The heat signature flashed, blinking out of sight and avoiding the bullet.
What?
There it was again, nearly twenty meters away. Romeo Seven fired again—but then the figure flashed again, and the spell on his rifle failed, the bullet going wide.
Another flash, and a chunk of the warehouse wall was simply missing.
A man walked in, apparently unconcerned by the gun still pointed at his head. He was dressed in the uniform of First National Academy and had no visible weapons of his own. If he was a magician, though, he needed no weapon.
Romeo Seven cursed, but realized quickly that the uniform had the sigil representing class 3 on it. The lowest one at the academies, it meant that in a battle of magic, he would be useless.
“What are you doing here, kid? You shouldn’t be here.”
In lieu of an answer, magic swirled around the student’s arm once again.
“Last chance,” Romeo Seven said. “You don’t have the mana for this, kid. You should get out of here before you get hurt.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty.”
The operator took that as a sign to drop his rifle and draw a pistol-shaped FCD, aiming a projection-type spell at the stranger—who waved his hand, apparently causing the spell to disperse. A wave of incredible energy crashed into Romeo Seven as runic circles started working their way up both the students’ arms.
What the hell? That kind of power… it was more than even the class 1 students should have been able to manage. It was more than he could manage.
“Sonic Burst,” the student said casually. “They sent someone whose best personal defense spell is B-class? You must be expendable.”
The magic swelling around his arms intensified.
Dual casting? How can a student—
Another flick of the hand later, Romeo Seven was suddenly missing his hands.
Even as his mind blanked with pain and terror, a small part of him realized that the stranger hadn’t spoken a single component of his spell.
“Hello there,” the student said coldly, his eyes completely dead. “Should we talk about who you’re working for?”
“W-wait,” the operative said, his vision clouding as blood spurted from the stumps where his hands and FCD had been. “I can—“
Text scrolled across his screen, flux particles swirling in his brain.
Operator [Romeo Seven] has been compromised. Initiating self-destruct in [10] seconds.
“No!” he cried out, scrabbling at his neck with arms that could do nothing but spill blood over it. “No! Not like this. You promised!”
The student crouched down, looking into Romeo Seven’s eyes—but it was clear that his true gaze was fixated far beyond the operator himself. A strange gaze bored into the FCD that had been planted at Romeo Seven’s brainstem.
“More expendable than I thought,” the student said. “Don’t interfere again. You won’t like what happens.”
He turned away.
“Wait!” Romeo cried out desperately. “Help me! I’ll, I’ll, I can—“
Thank you for your service.
Self-destruct initiated.