The atmosphere in the opulent room hung thick with sheer concentration. With enough space to house an entire family, the walls seemed to fall down on Aldric, each a reminder of the position he was in, and the home he had lost. His brow furrowed intensely as he turned every strand of attention inward, weaving it with the fibres of his being to gain absolute awareness of his form. Nothing escaped his notice. The polished wooden floor supporting him from below, the soft material of the eveningwear he had been gifted, the locks of his hair still clinging to his neck from his bath.

He allowed every sensation to flow into his body, supported by controlled breathing. He guided the information from his senses to the centre of his chest, where he felt his kiln burning. It radiated heat, even now he could feel it. After Seraphina healed him it only seemed to grow hotter, but no matter how much he pushed against it, he could not bring it to fill the rest of his body with fire. Since that night he had been repeating this ritual. A shiver descended his spine, but he refused to budge. He demanded his power to come forth, to mingle with the world beyond in the way he had grown so accustomed to. It wanted to be free, he could feel the fire within screaming to be cast out, to be shaped into something more.

With trembling hands, he touched the tips of his fingers together, trying to will the fire to follow the traces that had been seared into his soul. He tried coaxing the flames out, tried to free them from their confines. He could not understand how they could call him healed. How could this possibly be the natural state of his being? He opened his eyes, his view of the room distorted. Quickly, he wiped his arms across his face and blinked a few times to dispel the disruption.

Aldric was not a fool. He knew he commanded his current position solely for his magical ability. He was certain that if he could reclaim his former power he could prove himself deserving. That afternoon he came face to face with a much harsher reality. He had been thrown around like a sack of flour, in a casual display of power that he could never have matched. Astra was stronger than he ever was, and that fact left a bitter sting in his chest. She deserved his post much more than he did. They were right, he was a peasant. He had only come this far because he caught the Archmage’s eye, and if he could not manage even a single spell, that attention would shift to someone more promising. More deserving.

Again, he tried, dismissing his opulent surroundings. The soft bed that left him restless, the secure walls that suffocated him, the frequent meals that made him ill with fear and guilt. Faced with every luxury anyone could dream of, he wished for nothing more than his clearing in the forests of Valexia. Memories of his last day there replayed in his mind. Part of him regretted deeply that he chose that village over his home. He gave up everything for them, and they rewarded him by locking him away and threatening to put one of those infernal collars around his neck. Another shiver rocked his body, this one having little to do with the cold.

If he could not prove what the Archmage suspected dwelled within him, he would lose everything, and be at the mercy of the world again. Aldric far lacked the strength to handle manual labour, and without his magic, he was worthless. He was no stranger to using illicit means to survive, but without the power to protect himself if something went wrong, he would be imprisoned or killed before long. If it came to that, he would rather die on his terms. It was a foreboding thought, but one that kept sleep a faraway concept, a hope that only grew dimmer as the days receded and the inevitable loss of the Archmage’s patience became more imminent.

After his confrontation with Astra, he would already be in the Academy’s lesser graces. Disgracing the Archmage by being unable to summon a single spell during the first practical arcana class would be tantamount to signing his own exile. The desperation clung to him like the hands of death, and here, in the most isolated hours of the night, it threatened to overwhelm him entirely. Even as he stood and fell onto the soft bed, his mind raced, and his body refused to rest, until the sun greeted him through the stained windows.

With bleary eyes, he rose and walked to the wardrobe where his uniform hung. He gently shook off the remaining dust, ensuring it looked pristine before donning it. The ribbon choked around his neck, a constant reminder that he was not welcome in this uniform. He studied himself in the mirror, every inch of his reflection seeming out of place. With a last glare of disdain at his visage, he left the room, walking slowly to the Academy. It was still early, so early that most of the castle’s staff had not begun bustling about yet. Aldric considered it the perfect time to leave before more people could see him dishonouring the Royal Academy and the Kingdom by daring to wear its colours.

Never one to get lost easily, Aldric quickly made his way to the training hall where all practical classes would take place. That’s what Miss Eriston called it, but stepping into it he saw that it was little more than a large patch of ground surrounded by high walls. The ground was riddled with clear signs of combat. Against the far wall was a bench with a waist-high wall before it. Aldric could only guess that this served as spectator seating. Against the wall nearest the entrance was a series of crates and chests, a large table, as well as a wall full of hooks that held various weapons and tools that would likely serve some purpose in their education, though it was doubtful that Aldric would ever learn what that purpose was. He went and took a seat on the far end of the bench, looking to the ground and waiting. It was not long before the heavy silence enveloping him was broken.

“Truly? That seems more like cruelty than training,” Lucas’s voice came, moments before he and Roland entered the training hall.

“I do admit, it seems strange,” Roland agreed with a sigh. “But he is the greatest warrior in the kingdom. Even if I do not understand his methods, I must assume they are correct.” The two looked around the room, their eyes falling on Aldric. Both hesitated for a moment before Roland stepped forward. “Good morning, Aldric.”

“Good morning,” Aldric muttered.

“How are you feeling after your…” Lucas began, trailing off as he fished for the right words.

“I’m fine,” Aldric said, his gaze still locked on the floor. Lucas and Roland traded glances with each other, then stepped back towards the door, giving Aldric some distance. They continued their conversation in a more hushed tone, just below the range of Aldric’s hearing. Before long more voices joined the fray as the others joined, first Astra and Vincent, then Mary and Seraphina. Each pair seemed content to give the other plenty of breathing room. The last of the students to enter was Elisa, followed shortly by an old man with a pompous air about him.

“Alright, students, that is quite enough,” he announced in a nasal voice. “Come now, we do not have all day.” The eight students quickly and instinctively fell in before him. “My name is James Kainsly, though you all will address me as Mister Kainsly. Today we shall see how talented each of you are in the arcane arts. If you show promise, your talent will be nurtured and grown into a mighty ability. If you do not, skill will be hammered into you where talent lacks. If you graduate from my tutelage, you will do so as a formidable sorcerer. Your journey starts here.”

He turned around and pulled a long, flat box from the pile against the wall and placed it on the table. He opened it along a hinge, revealing a plush interior with twelve slots. In each slot rested a small engraved metallic plate with a crystal clear gemstone in the centre, and above each plate a dot was engraved into the wood, each filled with a different coloured pigment, ranging from red on the left, to violet on the right. He picked up the plate from underneath the yellow pigment, pinching one side with each hand.

“This is a very simple tool,” he explained. “Some of you might already be familiar with it. It is a magic indicator. It uses a runic spell that detects whether you are outputting the correct colour of mana. It has a fairly wide tolerance, so even the slimmest of lenses will be able to activate at least one of these.” By now Aldric’s curiosity became too much to exist, and his hand shot up, mimicking what he had seen the others do the day before. “Ah, the Archmage’s apprentice. It is an honour to have you in my class, young man. What would you like to know?”

“What’s a runic spell?” Aldric asked, the words nearly falling over each other as they rushed out of his mouth. Mister Kainsly’s smile faltered, replaced with pursed lips. Looking around, the others seemed to have a similar reaction.

“Of course, he does not know,” Astra muttered, glaring at him. Once again Aldric was struck in the stomach by the gaps in his knowledge. It looked like everyone, even Roland, knew this simple fact.

“Runic magic is… it is a simplified way to cast magic,” Mister Kainsly explained, hesitating slightly. “By creating specific patterns on a surface and channelling the correct mana through it, you can cast spells. It has some utility, but it has too many drawbacks to make it useful beyond key circumstances. Any material will naturally resist the flow of mana, so it requires significantly more mana than casting naturally, and engravings can not be too complex without the mana scorching and destroying the surface, so we are limited to fairly basic spells. Fortunately, this is one of the key circumstances runic magic thrives. The engraving is simple, and these plates are copper, which is fairly conductive to mana.” He hands the plate to Aldric. “Just pinch both sides and let your mana flow into the plates.”

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He quickly hands out the other plates, enquiring with each student what colour their lens is and selecting the closest remaining plate. He began feeling the familiar flow of educating again, but it was shattered by the boy on the other side of the line.

“What do you mean you can not cast magic?” he asked.

“My kiln burns too weakly for my lens’s colour to be detected,” Roland explained. “I have never been able to cast magic. The Archmage confirmed it as well.” Mister Kainsly’s eyes widened as Roland spoke.

“Well, this is certainly… unorthodox,” he said, trying to make sense of what he heard. “You are here under the Commander’s recommendation, so he must believe you deserve to stand here. I suppose learning about magic will still be of use, even if your talents are purely physical.”

“I will do my best to learn all I can,” Roland said, bowing slightly. Mister Kainsly nods, a slight smile returning to his face.

“You and the Saint can stand aside for now,” he said. “You both are unique cases. I will develop a proper training regime for each of you later.” Turning to the rest, he instructed them to pour mana into their plates. Astra was the first to comply, the gem in her plate shining a brilliant amber that cast an eerie glow on her skin. Vincent was hot on her heels, a gentle green light emanating from his plate. One by one, all the other students displayed proof of their magic, save for three. Roland and Seraphina, both of which had no plates, and Aldric, whose knuckles were white with the force of his grip on the plate.

“Aldric, is your plate the wrong colour?” Mister Kainsly asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been told that this boy was blessed with a lens that covered the entire spectrum, a rarity which he had never heard of, let alone had the honour of educating. Without waiting for a response, he took the plate from Aldric’s grip and handed him another. Aldric took it with trembling hands, his eyes locked on the small gem embedded within. Moments passed, to no effect.

“Is this some kind of joke, boy?” Mister Kainsly demanded.

“No, it’s… I-” Aldric stammered, his voice quivering. Mister Kainsly roughly grabbed the plate from him, handing him the one Elisa held.

“Surely you can summon up some blue mana, can you not?” Mister Kainsly challenged. “The Archmage’s apprentice should not act the jester. Come now, boy!” Aldric began shaking more violently.

“I don’t… Sir, I can’t-” he tried.

“Can not what? This is the most elementary of magics!” Mister Kainsly exclaimed.

Aldric looked up at him, then at his peers. His eyes widened as the world around him closed in. The faces of his fellow students loomed over him, their presences growing ever taller. He could see Astra sneering.

She was right. They were all right. He did not belong there. He could never belong there. The training hall spun around him, the berating voice of Mister Kainsly sounding farther and farther away. Before he could collapse, he locked his gaze on the door, bolting to it at the fastest speed he could manage, and disappearing back into the Academy’s halls. For a moment everyone was too stunned to speak. They all looked at each other, then back to the door. Roland was the first to move, starting for the door, but a small hand on his arm stopped him.

“I will go see if he is alright,” Elisa said, walking to the door before Mister Kainsly could object. He was still too caught in his stupor to respond, and only regained his bearings after she was already gone.

“Alright, with that disruption out of the way, let us continue,” he said, trying to re-establish his command over the students.

In the halls Elisa paced slowly, trying to find any sign of Aldric. He was shockingly fast and easily disappeared into the shadows. Even so, in the silent halls of the Academy, even the slightest sound travelled far, and it was not long before Elisa came upon Aldric, sitting with his knees to his chest underneath the staircase.

“What do you want,” he hissed.

“Roland told me what happened,” she said, crouching down next to him.

“So, you’re here to laugh? To gloat?” Aldric spat. Elisa took a breath. She could see past the shell of anger and hate Aldric had put up, and underneath she found a wellspring of fear.

“You can not force it, Aldric,” Elisa said.

“What choice do I have?!” he barked, finally meeting her gaze. “How long do I have before I lose the graces of the Archmage? I have nothing to go back to! This is my only chance, and I can’t cast the simplest of spells!”

“That is not what I meant,” Elisa said, putting a hand on his arm. His eyes softened, ever so slightly.

“Then what do you mean?” he prompted.

“Mana can not be forced out,” she said. “You can not command your kiln to burn any more than you can command your heart to beat. It happens naturally, and you must align yourself with it. Do not fear it. Do not try to bend it to your will. Just feel the heat your kiln gifts you against your skin. It is gentle, but it holds immense power.”

Aldric looked at his hands. They still grasped the engraved plate. He took a deep breath and turned his attention inwards. His kiln burned hotter than ever, and he still could not touch the fire as he could before, but he could feel the heat. It radiated throughout his body, all over his skin. Compared to the fire, it was nothing, but perhaps Elisa was right.

He focused on his fingertips, where they gripped the plate. All over his body, the heat radiated, pulsing and flowing across his skin. His memory drifted to the rainbow that he saw captured on the table. He tried to picture it inside of him, shining from the fire that burned in his chest up to the very edges of his awareness.

It moved and flickered, like the fire itself, dancing in a brilliant fashion. He stilled his core, not demanding, but allowing the flame to settle. The waves settled underneath his skin. This was a new feeling, but one he welcomed. Gently, ever so gently, he pictured them shifting, the gradient moving over his body. Inside, the flame seemed to flicker again, changing the rays it cast.

“My lens…” he whispered. He felt Elisa’s grip on his arm tighten slightly in anticipation, but he did not let it break his focus. His mind raced, finally connecting everything the Archmage had taught him together. It was not the heat he felt. It was the light itself, shining through his lens and into his body. The flame never flickered, his sight on it only shifted. Attempting to apply this new understanding, he moved the light against his skin again, until similar spots occupied the tips of his forefingers and thumbs. Finally releasing a breath he had not known he was holding, he pictured the light shining through him, passing through pinpricks in his fingers and into the plate. A small squeal beside him made him open his eyes. The gemstone embedded in the plate shone a staggering blue.

“You did it!” Elisa praised, her grip on his arm shaking again. Aldric could not acknowledge her. He could not take his eyes off the glowing stone. Elisa watched him, feeling a swell of relief in her heart. A moment later she felt a familiar but unexpected sensation on her cheek. She reached up to hesitantly wipe away the tear. The feeling in her chest only seemed to grow, far beyond what she expected.

“I can do magic,” Aldric whispered, his voice cracking.

“Yes, you can,” Elisa said, gently taking the plate from him. He looked at her for the first time, concern quickly replacing the reverence.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“Because of you, Aldric,” she said, wiping more tears from her eyes. “Your spell projected your emotions onto me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back slightly. She quickly put her hand on his arm again to hold him in place.

“You do not need to be,” she said, laughing. “I am grateful to feel this with you.”

“I can do magic,” he repeated, a genuine smile manifesting on his face for the first time since he had lost his home. “I won’t be sent away!” He quickly grabbed the plate again, focusing on the gem and trying to repeat what he had done. Moments passed, his excitement quickly fading.

“Nothing is wrong,” Elisa assured gently. “It just takes some practice. You did it once. You will do it again.” The mounting fear dissipated leaving a confusing mixture of emotions for Aldric to process.

“Thank you, Elisa,” he said, dealing with the most immediate of his feelings. Elisa seemed to be caught off guard by his words.

“You know my name?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” Aldric said. “I heard it when Miss Eriston used it. I know everyone’s names.”

“That puts you ahead of Roland,” Elisa grumbled. “I had to reintroduce myself to him yesterday.”

“He’s a good man,” Aldric said, standing and gathering his composure. “I don’t think I can bear to look at them anymore. I behaved horribly.”

“He holds you in high regard,” Elisa said, standing as well. “He will forgive you if he has not already.”

“I can’t stay. I need to master this skill immediately,” Aldric said, holding up the plate.

“I will tell them you fell ill and went back to the castle,” Elisa said, turning on her heel and walking back to the training hall, only pausing to give one more well wish over her shoulder. “Good luck, Aldric.”

“Thank you,” Aldric said, too quietly to be heard before he set off in the opposite direction, his heart filled with hope for the first time in his life. He passed by a window, catching a glimpse of his reflection. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders, admiring his visage. Perhaps, he thought, his uniform was not as ill-fitting as it seemed.