Strategic-class magicians placed second on the totem pole of rankings, a significant distance above master-class and an even more significant one below paragons. There were in the realm of one thousand registered strategic-class magicians compared to over a hundred thousand master-class and exactly fifty-two paragons, and it was commonly believed that the real number was over five times that many.

Even then, they were a rareified few amongst the magic community. A single strategic-class magician had magic that was capable of devastating a city, with some even rising to the level of outright razing one.

General Allison Violet, sometimes referred to in hushed whispers as the Butcher Queen, was one of the latter group. During World War III, she’d used strategic-class magic to control the bodies of fallen magicians, temporarily reanimating corpses and squeezing every last drop of magic out of them. Despite her age, she looked no different than she had at thirty, a marked benefit of the effects of advanced magic. It was said that even one wrong look at her could render a magician useless, setting triggers in them that would result in instant death if they disobeyed her.

Syl dropped the salute and made eye contact with her, offering the strategic-class magician her son’s FCD back while he continued to suffer on the ground.

“I don’t think Drew is going to be able to handle this for a while,” he said. “Would you mind taking care of it for him? I fixed the alignment, by the way. It was slightly overspending on projection-type spells.”

She accepted the staff, never taking her eyes off Syl. “I take it you’re the one responsible for leaving my son on the ground like that?”

“You have a tracker on him,” Syl said. It wasn’t a question. “Smart. Prismatic children are always at risk of enemy action, and this academy isn’t as protected as a family fortress would be.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It was,” Syl said.

“Drew challenged Syl to a duel, ma’am,” Bianca added, standing a respectful distance away.

“That much, I can see. What I don’t is the fact that a first-year is still standing and my son appears to have suffered enough blunt force trauma that he’ll need a healing pod.”

“General Violet,” Uriel said, still standing at attention. “If I may?”

“At ease, Major,” Allison replied. “Rank is for outside the classroom. My only relevant title while at this academy is Professor.”

“We should have footage of what happened after the duel,” Uriel said. “Waylan, if you would?”

“On it,” Waylan said, scurrying back to the control panel he’d used to modify the arena settings.

Syl explained what had happened in dry detail to the general while they waited. He left out a few key points that wouldn’t matter in the context of this conversation, but he covered it well enough.

“In my humble opinion,” Syl concluded, “You’re going too soft on your son in a number of different ways.”

“Syl,” Bianca hissed. “Not the time or place.”

“I’ll admit that it’s been some time since I’ve met a first-year this bold,” the general said. Her eyes sparked with a carefully controlled flash of free magic. Not a threat, but a warning. “Do elaborate.”

“Professor, if I may be so rude,” Uriel interrupted, “He’s clearly already been through a fair amount. Please forgive—“

“Of course,” Syl said, interrupting the senior student’s interruption. “First point of order. He hasn’t been trained to handle his spells backfiring on him. I counter-cast him—“

“Impossible. Even assuming you pre-emptively learned counter-casting, you’re still a first year. No matter how talented, you simply don’t have the resources to counter Drew. Are you carrying a jammer? Crystal interference could have done it.”

“No, and I’m willing to be checked for one,” Syl said. “The point remains whether or not I was illegally using a jammer or counter-casting. Our enemies don’t care about our laws. What will Drew do if he tries to use Violet Eyes on a terrorist and crystal jamming sends the spell right back in his face? The answer, it seems, is die. He can’t afford not to be practicing this.

“Which brings me to my second point. You’ve been keeping your son out of danger.”

General—or Professor, Syl supposed—Violet’s lip curled. “You make dangerous assumptions. An accusation of interference with military assignments as a member of academy faculty and a prismatic family member carries a great deal of wait.”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything, ma’am,” Syl said. “Just observing. He wasn’t able to compose himself in a duel against a first year. I believe you’ve gone on record saying never to underestimate an opponent, no wonder how weak they may seem?”

“Words to live by.”

“I agree entirely. Drew, apparently, does not. Not only did he tell me what spell he was going to use, he did so in excruciating detail, allowing me to start my counter-cast early. Imagine if this was a real battle. What if I’d brought a gun? They’re less effective against magicians, true, but Drew was standing out in the open and monologuing. With a standard full auto, even a non-magician just needs one lucky shot. You can review the footage yourself. He might have been in a real combat situation, sure, but he certainly doesn’t act like he’s ever needed to worry for his life. When he actually does, it’ll be too late.”

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“Hm. There may be truth to that.” To her credit, the strategic-class magician didn’t react violently. Syl had been prepared for that, given the character of the ones he personally knew, but she seemed to be on the reasonable end. That made sense, given her position.

Waylan came with a hologram projection programmed into his FCD, copied straight from the arena cameras. They waited in silence as Professor Violet watched the entire duel and the events that had transpired afterward.

The footage ended, and the professor turned to Syl.

“He tried to attack you outside of the ring,” she said, disgusted. “That is a violation of not only academy rules but federal law.”

Syl shrugged. “He was still woozy from Violet Eyes, which I’m told is a very disorienting spell, and the backfire worsened things. I can’t blame a cornered rat for biting, and I imagine that’s what he felt like. Given how he was speaking both before and after, I doubt losing to a first year was particularly good for him.”

“Are you implying that you don’t wish to push charges?” Uriel asked. “You would be well within your rights to.”

“It would be bad for the academy, which need to maintain the image of peace in a turbulent world,” Syl said. “It’d also put a target on my back, worsen my relationships with the general here, and generally be a pain. I broke regulations too, I’m sure.”

Waylan shook his head. “Self-defense is allowed. Trust me.”

“I still don’t want to bother.”

“That’s Syl for you,” Bianca said. “He doesn’t want to get involved with anything, but he somehow does, every time.”

“Thank you, Bianca,” Syl sighed. “That was certainly necessary.”

“To be clear—“ Uriel started.

“No, I don’t plan on pressing charges. As long as Drew sticks to the terms of the duel and stops disrespecting Bianca, at least. And if you’re able to get him the training he needs. I get wanting to keep someone safe—“ at this, he sent an obvious look at Bianca, “—but there’s a limit to that. Also, someone should probably get him to the medical wing. I may have fractured one of his ribs. Possibly multiple of his ribs.”

“I will handle that,” Professor Violet said, drawing a pattern on her own wand-style FCD. A purple magic circle lit the ground under Drew. He got to his feet jerkily, as if he was a poorly-tuned animatronic. “House Violet owes you a favor, Sylvester.”

“I may come to collect on that,” he said. “If that’s all?”

“It is. I look forward to seeing you succeed. My office is always open to talented students, which you evidently are.”

With that, she left, taking her puppeted son and his FCD with her.

A collective weight seemed to lift off the shoulders of the two remaining Reserve members.

“That was interesting,” Bianca said. “Day one, and you’re already making waves with the faculty. I can’t say I expected any different.”

“If you count the entrance ceremony and pre-class events, this is day six,” Syl pointed out.

“How can the two of you be so calm about that?” Waylan demanded. “That was General Allison Violet! She’s a living legend, another prismatic, and a professor, and you just, what, you got away with insulting her son to her face?”

“We’re—“ Bianca started, before glancing at Syl and realizing the second half of the sentence would have been used to it.

She was supposed to be Bianca Ashwood here, and Bianca Ashwood, while talented, was not the kind of person who ran into strategic-class magicians every day.

“They’re not military,” Uriel said. “It’s impressive nonetheless, but they don’t have the same context we do.”

That’s right. I have more, Syl thought.

What he said instead was, “Bianca, your next class is soon, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “Don’t we have it together?”

“I believe we do.”

Practical Magic 101 was one of the few required classes that all three classes of student shared. There was no discrimination in who was allowed in, since it was one of the rare few classes with no attendance limit.

“If you have class, feel free to go to it,” Uriel said. “You might want to consider applying for military police, Syl. Reserve positions are technically open to all years, but it’s only MPs that tend to have superstars from lower grades.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m not interested,” Syl said.

“Entirely fair. I’ll also extend the invitation to continue joining us. Bianca is also a candidate for certain undergraduate facets of the Reserve, and it would be a waste not to have you there as well.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“On a more personal level,” Uriel said, “I’d like to get to know you better. Do you have any preferences for venue?”

Bianca eyed the graduate student with suspicion. “Aren’t you a little old for him?”

Uriel chuckled. “All assumptions when it comes to both of you, is it?”

“You can select a location,” Syl said. “I’m certainly interested in speaking to more prismatics.”

“Then how does the coffee shop sound? There’re private booths there.”

“That works. Now, Bianca and I should probably get going.”

“Of course. Don’t let us keep you.”

Bianca and Syl left together, walking to the massive indoor field where PM 101 would be held.

“I don’t trust her,” Bianca said as they walked.

“You don’t trust anyone,” Syl said. “Nor should you. Still, it’s probably worth integrating with her as a regular person. She’s talented.”

“If you say so,” she said. “I suppose it’s too early to say anything beyond first impressions.”

There were already a few dozen students gathered in the field, most of them separating into their own groups. It was clear just from a glance that they had largely split up by class, which was unsurprising.

The instructor was standing on an elevated platform. He looked to be about thirty, but given the amount of magic Syl was detecting from him, his actual age was probably greater. Syl almost mistook him for a statue, but the slight fluctuation in the flux emitting from him proved that he was, in fact, alive.

“This should be fun,” Bianca said. “I heard that we start actual dueling practice from the first day.”

“It’ll probably involve you,” Syl said. “It’s a first-year class, and you’re the year representative.”

“Almost certainly, huh…” Bianca trailed off. “It’d be nice to be ordinary from time to time.”

Syl snorted. “This is as close to ordinary as either of us will ever get. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

She sighed. “True enough.”

Since Bianca had been one of the speakers at the entrance ceremony, people started to come and speak to her, hoping to establish themselves in the circle of someone who was almost certainly going to be a leader. Syl went unfazed by the strange glances that the higher-class students kept on giving him and ignored every strong suggestion to go away. None of them wanted to piss off Bianca, who was clearly happy to have him there, so nobody tried to force Syl away.

This class had a total of a hundred students in it, most of whom showed up in the minutes leading up to it starting.

At exactly two o’ clock on the dot, the instructor started moving. A burst of flux enveloped him, drawing everyone’s attention forward.

“Welcome to Practical Magic,” he said. “My name is Professor Adams. By the end of this semester, a third of you will no longer be in this class.”

A spike of alarm shot through Syl as his awareness swept through the class. It wasn’t the professor’s words that had triggered it. Those were only to be expected.

No, it was the fact that there were at least three guns in the crowd, all three of which were obscured by stealth magic.

Nobody brought a gun to magic school to not use it.

“Now, then,” the professor said. “Let’s begin.”