Kor left Spire Alpha behind, each step a heavy burden. The night pressed down, a suffocating cloak of gloom that mirrored the darkness within him. The academy’s judgment, like an invisible weight, bore down on his shoulders. Far overhead, the city’s shield glimmered golden under the pounding rain, a stark reminder of his folly.
Two hundred credits. The number echoed in his mind, cold and relentless, as though the Dean had carved it into his bones. He traced the enchantments woven into his sleeve—once a symbol of belonging, now an accusation.
The academy’s luminescent crystals cast long shadows across the walkways. Kor blinked rapidly, determined to hide the moisture threatening his vision. Surely there had been some mistake. He’d never even heard of such a punishment, let alone for such a minor infraction. All he’d done was leave the campus, and all of this just for a voided plant?
How was he supposed to catch up now? Three hundred credits had seemed an impossible mountain when he’d first learned of it—him, who’d never touched magic before coming here. But five hundred? If he placed poorly at the end-of-year tournament, he’d need to score at least 80 credits out of a maximum 100 from each of his six classes. The math crashed through his mind like a death sentence. Even the academy’s top students rarely achieved such scores.
All of this and he hadn’t even addressed the revelation of the Nul’var. He shuddered reflexively, each new burden piled onto his shoulders until he could barely breathe. The onslaught would have broken anyone—and here he was, only just emerging from the ranks of the least capable students. How could he be expected to help, to grow strong enough to make a difference, when at every turn he was cut down, his future scattered like leaves in a storm?
“Two hundred credits.” The words fell from his lips, bitter as ash. Five hundred to pass, and he hadn’t earned a single one. The enormity of it pressed against his chest, his breaths growing shallow under the crushing realisation.
Block N’s smooth stone facade shimmered with embedded mana runes. Kor caught his reflection in the door’s blue glow—a stranger stared back, hollow-eyed and diminished. That bright-eyed boy who’d arrived full of wonder and motivation seemed centuries gone.
He paused at the edge of the doorway. The Dean’s face flashed in his memory—that casual dismissal, as if ruining Kor’s future, meant nothing more than signing another piece of paperwork. His nails dug into his palms until they left crescents in the flesh, marking the moment when despair began to curdle into something harder, something hot and sharp and dangerous.
A part of him wanted to blame Talen. It would have been so easy to lay this at his friend’s feet, to lash out and vent the anger coursing through him. If Talen hadn’t insisted on pursuing that ridiculous plan, none of this would have happened. Kor’s fists trembled, a dull throb radiating from where his nails bit into his skin. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, the night air mingling with the faint emanations of mana-infused stone.
No. That wasn’t who he wanted to be. This wasn’t Talen’s fault. It had been his choice to go along with it, his decision to take that risk. He hadn’t even considered the Dean might have been tracking his movements—hadn’t thought through the consequences. If anything, it was his own lack of forethought that had doomed him, not Talen.
“Every choice,” he whispered, exhaling slowly, “was mine.”
The words settled, their weight both damning and clarifying. He pushed through the doorway, the bustle of student life washing over him in waves of noise he barely registered. When he cracked open his room’s door, Talen’s verdant jungle greeted him—vines curling along walls, Morthus pot now resting beside the massive crystal palm that shimmered in recognition.
“Kor! How did it go?” Talen shot up from his desk, nearly tripping over a fern. His wiry frame was taut with concern, eyes wide beneath a tangled mess of hair. He crossed the room in two long strides, the tension in his posture unmistakable.
Kor hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the door. “Not great,” he admitted, his voice low and strained. He stepped further inside, his feet heavy against the wooden floor. “Dean Velleth barred me from going home for the holidays... and he fined me 200 credits.”
Talen froze mid-step. “What?” The word came out sharp, almost a shout. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Is he insane?” The walls seemed to shudder as Talen’s anger flared, the crystal palm tree pulsing with a deep crimson glow. The smaller plants around it trembled, their leaves rustling as though caught in an invisible wind. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before, Kor!”
Kor crossed the room and dropped onto his bed. The mattress sagged beneath him, and he stared at the floor, unable to meet Talen’s eyes. “He said the academy is cracking down because of the Voidling incursions. Taking everything seriously, he called it. I’m lucky I wasn’t expelled.”
“That’s not luck!” Talen’s voice cracked with disbelief. He began to pace, the energy of his anger spilling out in sharp gestures. “There are rules for this kind of thing. He can’t just fine you like that!”
Kor leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Apparently, he can.” He glanced at Talen, whose expression was a tumult of outrage and helplessness. The air between them seemed to thrum with tension.
Talen stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe my mother can do something. She has influence... she might be able to—”
Kor shook his head. “Unless she’s the First Magus himself, I doubt it’ll make any difference.” He gave a dry, humourless laugh. “Honestly, if it weren’t for Professor Oak, I’d be facing a 400-credit fine.”
“Oak?” Talen’s eyebrows shot up, the surge of anger tempered by surprise. “I didn’t think he was the type to help students out.”
“Me neither, but he convinced the Dean to see reason. The Dean’s hate feels almost personal, like every Lexican on campus personally offended him.” Kor sighed, and the conversation paused, the silence stretching as his friend’s expression shifted. The wild fury in Talen’s eyes dimmed, replaced by a grimace of guilt as he realised who truly stood at fault.
Finally, Talen approached Kor’s bed, kneeling down, his voice quiet now, almost breaking. “Kor, I’m... I’m so sorry. If it weren’t for me, none of this would’ve happened.”
“It’s fine, Talen.” The words left Kor’s lips hollow and unconvincing. Talen didn’t budge, his expression locked in a storm of guilt and self-reproach.
“No.” The firmness in Talen’s voice was unexpected, a rare steel cutting through the tension. “It’s not fine.” He leaned forward. “You’re my friend, Kor. And I... I dragged you into this mess. I’ll do whatever I can to make it right.”
Kor’s lips curved into a fleeting smile, faint but genuine. “Thanks, Talen.” He extended a hand, and Talen clasped it instantly, his grip steady and warm.
For a moment, a strange spark of connection flickered between them—ephemeral and unexplainable. Kor’s breath caught as the sensation rippled through him, and from the look in Talen’s wide eyes, he’d felt it too.
Yet another odd occurrence to round off the day, perhaps something to do with Talen’s specialty as a Synergist. They exchanged a glance, the unspoken question hanging in the air, before Kor shook his head. They’d figure it out later.
The exhaustion of the day had grown too intense, pulling at Kor like a physical force. He stretched, his shoulders releasing their tension with a groan that seemed to come from his very bones. His gaze drifted to the ceramic pot holding the Morthus seed, sitting quietly beside the crystal palm. “You got it back, all right?”
Talen nodded. “Yeah. A second-year helped me carry it. But I don’t expect it to do much for a while. They’re notoriously slow to grow.”
“Okay.” The word slipped out, barely audible. Kor’s shoulders sagged as he turned to his pillow. “I think I’ll turn in early. I just... need some time.”
“That’s fine, Kor. Tomorrow we’ll get to work.”
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Kor managed a weak sound of agreement as he kicked off his shoes and tugged at his academy robes. They fell in a heap, a testament to the day’s battles. The coarse texture of the sheets scraped against his skin as he burrowed under the blankets, seeking their familiar warmth like armour against the world.
Darkness flooded the room as Talen turned off the lights. In the quiet, everything rushed back—the weight of expectations crushing his chest, the sneering faces of his peers burning behind his eyes, and Tortoise’s prophetic whispers echoing in his skull. It all swirled together, threatening to drown him. Yet even his anxiety felt distant, muted by sheer exhaustion.
Tomorrow, he would attack his studies with a vengeance. Tomorrow, he would face the challenges anew. But tonight, the world had beaten him down to his foundations. He needed the mercy of sleep; a few precious hours without thoughts or feelings, just the quiet embrace of nothingness.
As he curled into himself, the day’s events circled like vultures above his restless mind. Then—a whisper of magic brushed against his consciousness, gentle as a parent’s touch. His connection to Tortoise flared to life, warm and steady as a heartbeat. The familiar presence settled over him like a second blanket, and Tortoise’s sleepy voice carried with it a profound sense of safety: “Rest easy, Kor. I’ve got this.”
A wave of energy flowed through him, not forceful but inevitable as the tide, dissolving every care and concern into peaceful static. Pure silence filled him, blessed emptiness washing away the day’s wounds. Gratitude bloomed in his chest, a last warm spark before his mind finally began to let go. As sleep pulled him under, he managed one final, drowsy thought: “Thanks, Tortoise.”
Kor awoke to the pale light of dawn filtering through the dormitory window, the vestiges of exhaustion still pressing on his limbs. The events of the past days loomed large in his mind—Dean Velleth’s harsh judgment, the mounting pressure of credits, the looming expedition.
Occlune had finally ended, and with its darkness gone, a spark of ambition flared within him. If life was going to shove him down, he’d rise back stronger. Dean Velleth and his hatred of Lexicans be damned—he would prove his worth beyond question. He had two days until electives began, and if Talen was correct, about a month till the expedition that could offer him much-needed credits. But only if he was ready.
Talen was already awake, his green-tinged hair tousled as he sorted through a chaotic collection of vials and scrolls. When Kor shared his plan, Talen’s face split into a grin—sharp and brimming with determination. “Then let’s get started,” he said. Gone was the easygoing roommate. This Talen had a mission, and Kor was at its centre.
The morning began with small exercises, the kind that required Kor to focus on the fundamentals he’d often overlooked. Talen showed the delicate art of mana manipulation, as he manipulated tiny objects at a distance before getting Kor to repeat. However, before he could get a grasp, his roommate had moved on to the next exercise, forming a light source.
This pattern continued, with short intermittent bursts of activity before moving on to a new topic. Apparently, interleaving his practice this way was one method for improving his learning efficiency. Another was regular testing as Talen slammed him with question after question on various bits of magic lore and arcane theory that Kor struggled to recall.
By midday, the two ventured to the training fields. Talen wasted no time hammering Kor on the nuances of combat fundamentals—details the academy barely touched on in class. He attacked with vines that lashed unpredictably, forcing Kor to defend desperately. “Faster, Kor! Read the flow of my mana.” Talen’s voice cut through the air as he stepped forward, energy crackling around him. “If you’re too slow, even the strongest barrier won’t save you.”
Each hastily formed snowflake lacked efficiency as he scrambled to parry the barrage, his energy draining fast under Talen’s demanding regime.
When Talen finally shattered his last shield, Kor collapsed onto the grass, panting heavily. But Talen was unrelenting. “Get up. Run laps until your mana refills.”
Kor shot him a look of disbelief, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?” Talen’s tone came out sharp, his arms crossed in a way that brooked no argument. Gone was the gentle Verdana native; in his place stood a taskmaster who would have made Master Terrak proud. “The sooner you recover, the sooner you can stop running.”
Kor dragged himself to his feet, his legs burning as he jogged. Each step was a struggle, his body screaming for rest, but he pushed through. He focused on the rhythm of his breathing, on the faint trickle of mana returning to his core. Between the ache and exhaustion, a grin tugged at his lips. Talen’s magical foundation held a wealth of untapped arcane knowledge, and Kor was determined to soak up every drop.
Even their brief break in the cafeteria offered little reprieve. Talen scrutinised every plate Kor picked, pointing him towards options brimming with “essential nutrition.” As Kor chewed a bland piece of mana-infused broccoli, Talen regaled him with tips on balancing his diet for optimal magical and physical performance. “My mother’s a health fanatic.” Talen let out a short laugh, the first sign of levity all day. “She drilled all the right foods into me when I was a kid.”
The relentless pace continued into the next day. By the time training with Marcus’s group rolled around, Kor was already feeling the changes. His mana control had grown sharper, his spells flowing with newfound precision. His body, though still sore, moved with a flexibility he hadn’t felt before. More importantly, a stubborn core of determination had settled within him—a quiet, unyielding resolve to push forward, no matter how steep the climb.
The spire loomed tall against the shifting skies of Conflux, its crystalline structure gleaming faintly in the iridescent light. Kor approached with steady steps, his stomach knotting as the murmur of voices drifted down to him. As he reached the gathering, the eyes of the group turned to him, their expressions ranging from sympathy to unease.
Marcus broke through the crowd first, pushing past Teneth’s smug form with barely concealed urgency. Every line of his face etched concern as he hurried to Kor’s side. “I’m sorry, Kor,” His voice was low but earnest. “Teneth just told everyone about what happened.”
Kor’s gaze flicked to Teneth, whose pale, golden features were lit by a sly grin. The younger Solarian leaned casually against a railing, radiating self-satisfaction. How had he—? Of course. Dean Velleth was their uncle. Kor’s jaw tightened as the pieces fell into place.
“It’s fine, Marcus.” Kor squared his shoulders, meeting his friend’s worried gaze with unwavering resolve. “I wasn’t planning to end the year with only three hundred credits, anyway. This is just a minor setback.”
The moment of tension only held for a heartbeat before Marcus exhaled deeply, his trademark smile returning in full force. “That’s the spirit, Kor!” He clapped Kor on the shoulder, the power nearly staggering him. “Glad to see this won’t hold you back. We’ve got an expedition to prepare for, after all.”
Marcus turned back to the group, his infectious energy cutting through the lingering awkwardness. “Alright, let’s not waste time! It’s time for us to practise!” His enthusiasm reignited the others, who began chatting as they followed his lead.
Kor lingered a moment, his gaze locking onto Teneth’s back as they moved inside. The younger Solarian walked with an exaggerated confidence that grated on Kor’s nerves. He clenched his fists, the knot in his chest tightening. ‘It’s only a matter of time. One way or another, I’m taking him down a peg.’
Master Terrak awaited them, his stocky frame as immovable as he outlined the day’s exercises, starting with basic mana control. Kor’s heart lifted as they started with the mana-puzzles. ‘Finally,’ he thought, his pulse quickening. ‘A chance to show what I’ve learned.’
The first puzzle was simple. He’d already bested it multiple times now, thanks to Marcus purchasing one for him. Hovering his hands over the cube, he channelled his energy. The thread of mana ran stable and more responsive than ever, a testament to his relentless practice. Within moments, his mana glided smoothly through the twisting corridors of the puzzle, lighting up with a satisfying hum.
The second puzzle-box was more challenging. Its pathways twisted vertically, demanding a finer degree of precision and versatility. Kor’s brow furrowed as he carefully guided, navigated this fresh challenge, synchronising with his energy in a way he’d never managed. The flow came naturally now as his concentration deepened. Minutes ticked by as he worked, his focus unwavering as he delicately wound his way forward.
Kor’s world narrowed to the glowing thread of mana flowing forward. Each twist and turn of the puzzle demanded absolute precision – one tremor, one brush against those crystalline walls, and he’d find himself back at the beginning. His breath steadied as he guided the stream of power through another harsh corner, instinctively thinning it when the passage contracted.
The real challenge emerged ahead: a gap so narrow it resembled the visitor pass he’d powered. Sweat prickled his neck as his mana threatened to destabilise, its edges wavering like a candle in the wind. Kor clenched his fists, focusing entirely on his control. Gradually, carefully, he compressed the stream further than he’d ever managed before. The energy flowed through the gap with a hair’s breadth to spare.
When his mana finally touched the focal point of the puzzle’s heart, bright light bloomed in response. Kor’s eyes snapped open, hardly daring to believe it. The puzzle’s core pulsed with a steady glow – proof of his success. He looked up to find Master Terrak’s approving nod, and couldn’t help but grin. First attempt. He’d actually done it on his first attempt.
The third cube proved insurmountable, its shifting obstacles throwing him off repeatedly. Frustration crept in as he struggled to anticipate their erratic motion. Then he realised: Mana sensitivity. He closed his eyes, extending his awareness into the puzzle. The walls’ movements became a rhythm, a faint pulse he could feel rather than see. Though he didn’t manage to win, the exercise left him invigorated, a spark of determination igniting anew. ‘Next time, I’ll crack it.’
As they moved through a series of exercises, the group settled into a flow, each member focusing on their respective tasks. The air hummed with magic, broken only by the occasional grunt of effort or muffled cheer of success.
Finally, they turned to combat practice. Kor’s breath quickened as Master Terrak began pairing them off. His gaze locked on Teneth, who lounged smugly near the edge of the group. In their last bout, he’d lacked the power to break Teneth’s barrier. But this time would be different. He could feel the energy coursing through him, knew the potential power his fractal explosions held. Even though he’d yet to truly refine it, Teneth was in store for a bit of payback.