Kor arrived at Professor Moss’s classroom early, surprised to find that he wasn’t the only one. The setup was utterly unlike the morning’s structured environment. Gone were the rows of desks and chairs of a normal classroom. In their place, an array of cushions arranged haphazardly across the floor, all facing an empty chair and a chalkboard that loomed like a silent judge.
The students had already scattered across the room, some cross-legged, others fidgeting as they adjusted to the unfamiliar seating. As Kor scanned the faces, a familiar voice called out.
“Over here!”
Relief washed over him as he saw Talen waving him over. Kor made his way across the room and settled onto a cushion beside his roommate, his substantial frame sinking deep into the soft fabric. The belt around his waist pinched slightly as he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.
“Are we really going to be sitting on the floor every lesson?” Kor muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
“Tradition,” Talen said with a smirk. “Supposedly, it helps foster creativity in spell creation.”
Kor raised an eyebrow. “Have you created many of your own spells?”
“Outside of the usual mana control techniques, I’ve come up with a few.” Talen’s tone was casual, but his grin hinted at pride. “Why do you ask?”
Kor hesitated. “I’ve heard all this talk about how mana is unique to each of us, but why does everyone seem to use the same basic spells—like that mana-ball and the force-field thing?”
Talen chuckled. “That’s because we’re first years. A lot of students won’t even figure out their specialty until halfway through the year.”
“Really?” Kor’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes. The usual way is to get tested by Ether’s Archive. A few of us, though, already learned back on our homeworlds.” Talen’s grin widened.
More students filtered into the room, settling down on the cushions. The hum of quiet conversation filled the space.
“Does that make you some kind of prodigy, then?” Kor asked, his eyes widening.
“Nah,” Talen said, leaning back with a self-assured grin. “But I’m definitely above average.” He shot Kor a meaningful look. “You’ll want to catch up as soon as possible, Kor.”
Talen leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I can’t give away any secrets here, but there’s more to the Academy than the professors are letting on. You’ll need all the magical ability you can muster.”
Kor’s mind reeled as Talen leaned back. He wanted to press for details, but the sudden creak of the classroom door cut through the chatter. The clock-tower’s hourly chime sounded out, all eyes turning as Professor Moss entered the room.
The man was tall, his hunched shoulders lending him the air of someone perpetually burdened by an invisible weight. His ash-brown hair was thin and unkempt, a testament to years of neglect. Grey eyes, half-lidded and disinterested, scanned the room, sweeping over the students with a look that could curdle milk. He wore plain, slightly wrinkled robes, carelessly pinning his Academy badge to one sleeve instead of near his heart as tradition dictated.
Without a word, Moss made his way to the empty chair at the centre of the room, his movements as deliberate as they were devoid of enthusiasm. He sat with a sigh, steepling his fingers as his deadened gaze roamed over the students, lingering on each one as if weighing their worth and finding them lacking. The hum of chatter dwindled to silence under the weight of his unspoken disapproval.
“Right then, first years,” Moss intoned, his deadpan voice doing little to inspire confidence in Kor. “Let’s get started with the basic control exercise you should already have learned.”
Kor stiffened slightly. He’d spent the morning practising mana control and had even made some progress—halting though it was—but the professor’s tone still sent a pang of doubt through him.
“I want each of you to form a ball of mana,” Moss continued. “This is the first requisite in proper spellcasting. Without this basic level of control, you won’t be able to move on to the more delicate control exercises.”
Moss paused, his eyes scanning the room, as though expecting resistance. “Now,” he drawled.
Kor shut his eyes, tuning out the ambient surge of mana as other students conjured their spells. He extended his senses, searching for the thread of mana within himself. Slowly, he coaxed it outward, envisioning the sphere he wanted to create.
The mana responded, forming the beginnings of a sphere. But as Kor focused, he realised his control was slipping. The spell leaked energy almost as quickly as he fed it, its surface fraying at the edges. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow as he tried to stabilise the shape, increasing the flow of mana as carefully as he could manage.
Moss’s voice cut through the classroom. “Those of you who’ve succeeded move to the left side and take a seat.”
Kor cracked his eyes open, his sputtering orb barely holding together. He glanced around and saw most of the students already standing and moving to the indicated side, their glowing mana spheres shimmering with stability. His own creation wavered dangerously, and with a last flicker, it collapsed.
“Void it!” Kor cursed under his breath.
“The rest of you, to the other side,” Moss said, his tone flat and unyielding.
Kor exhaled heavily, getting to his feet. Only two others joined him in the failure group: a pair of Lexcians with long, narrow faces that mirrored each other’s expressions of frustration. As he shuffled to his seat, he heard faint chuckles from the successful students. The word “Lexican” floated in the air like a barb, drawing a flush of anger and shame to his cheeks.
Stolen story; please report.
Talen shot him an apologetic look from across the room, but it did little to ease Kor’s humiliation. He lowered himself onto the cushion, feeling the weight of his failure and the unkind stares of his peers settling over him like a suffocating shroud.
“Those of you who possess the most basic level of control,” Moss began, his gaze sweeping over the successful students, “we’ll start working on the first spell variant I expect each of you to master before the end of term.”
Raising a hand, Professor Moss conjured a small cube of mana above his palm, its edges perfectly crisp and sharp. “Unlike a sphere, the edges of a cube will test your control, as you will soon find out.”
His grey eyes turned toward Kor and the twins, his disapproval palpable. “As for the rest of you, work on developing your mana control, and be quick about it. Conflux is no place for those lacking talent.”
With that, Moss turned his attention back to the successful students, leaving Kor and the others to stew in their collective failure. One of the pair leaned closer, his voice a low whisper. “That’s not fair. We don’t have a history of magical study back on Lexica. How does he expect us to keep up?”
Kor shook his head. He felt the injustice as keenly as they did, but he would not let it stop him. The first two candidates he had to surpass were sitting right beside him, and their defeatist attitude only fuelled his determination.
He hadn’t aced his studies back home, had his entire life upended, just to play second fiddle to the magically gifted students. If he was going to study magic, he was going to win.
With that thought, he settled back into a meditative pose, closing his eyes even as the twins’ bickering grew louder. However, before he could dream of besting anybody, he had a basic sphere of mana to form. He’d made progress that morning, and even if he couldn’t catch up today, it was only a matter of time.
The rest of the class passed in a blur as Kor lost himself in focus. Every attempt at forming the sphere felt more difficult than the last, but he pressed on, refining his control bit by painstaking bit. By the time the session ended, the intense focus had left Kor exhausted. His limbs felt heavy, and his mana control had entirely eroded.
As he trudged out of the classroom, Talen caught up with him, matching his stride as they joined the flow of students heading back to the dorms.
“Not to make things harder on you, Kor,” Talen began, conjuring a small vine with a casual flick of mana that twisted around his wrist, “but Combat Fundamentals is going to be much harder than Moss’s class.”
Kor turned, still drained from his exertions. “What do you know?” he asked, his curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion.
Talen offered him a regretful look, the vine continuing to twist around his arm. “The focus of the class is on fighting, which means you’ll have to start beating other students in duels.”
“Oh.” Kor’s heart sank at the thought.
Talen nodded gravely. “If you want to stay on your instructor’s good side, you’ll need to work hard. And… you’ve got another disadvantage.”
Kor frowned. “What?”
Talen’s vine shot out playfully to poke Kor’s stomach. “You’re fat.”
“Hey! Aren’t we supposed to become wizards, not soldiers? What’s wrong with a little extra weight?”
“A little?” Talen grinned, clearly enjoying himself. Kor opened his mouth to retort, but Talen raised a hand to forestall him. “Seriously, what’s the best way to deal with an opponent’s spell?”
Kor thought for a moment as they reached their dorm. “I don’t know, a counter-spell?”
“Hah! Not many control wizards of that calibre running around. No. The easiest method is to get out of the way.”
Kor blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean move, Kor. You know, run or jump out of the way.”
Kor groaned. “They aren’t going to make us run laps or anything, are they?”
Talen laughed. “I don’t think that’s standard procedure, but judging by your waistline, I bet they’d be willing to make an exception.”
Kor groaned louder, and Talen chuckled as they reached their room. The banter eased the weight of the day’s failures, if only a little. Talen’s attention immediately shifted to the veritable forest of plants covering the room, and Kor collapsed onto his bed.
Maybe Talen had a point about his weight, but his first priority was developing his mana control. He’d get in as much practice as he could manage, but there seemed to be a limit to how much he could do in one session before running out of juice.
He shrugged off his backpack as the mattress creaked softly under his weight. The familiar ache in his shoulders ebbed as he set the bag down, pulling at the straps to loosen it. His fingers slipped inside, seeking the copy of Basic Mana Control he’d borrowed for his studies. Instead, his hand emerged clutching The Logos.
He frowned, turning the book over in his hands. The blue cover shimmered faintly under the light, its surface almost alive with an otherworldly energy. Patterns etched into the material repeated infinitely, looping back into themselves with an almost hypnotic precision. A faint hum emanated from the book, a vibration that sent a tingle up his arm as though it recognised his touch.
Kor hesitated, biting his lip. Basic Mana Control would have been the sensible choice—straightforward, practical. But as he stared at The Logos, curiosity gnawed at him. ‘A brief look wouldn’t hurt,’ he thought, his resolve softening.
Slowly, he cracked open the cover. The faint hum grew louder, resonating clearly in his mind. The pages glowed faintly, their text shifting and reforming as though the book itself adapted to his comprehension. Intricate diagrams adorned the margins, layered with notations in a flowing, ancient script.
Kor took a deep breath and began to read carefully.
“To seek the Logos is to seek the thread that binds all things,” the first line read, its elegant script drawing his eyes across the page. “Reason is the light that penetrates the veil of chaos, revealing the hidden patterns beneath.”
The diagrams beside the text caught his attention. They twisted and spiralled endlessly, each segment mirroring the whole in a way that felt both orderly and incomprehensible. He traced a finger over one, marvelling at how it seemed to shift subtly under his gaze, as if alive.
“In every fragment of existence lies a reflection of the whole,” the book continued. “Through understanding these reflections, one may glimpse the infinite, the rational, the true order of the cosmos.”
Kor’s brow furrowed. The words hinted at something profound—a framework not just for magic, but for reality itself. The looping patterns on the page seemed to pull at his mind, a silent invitation to delve deeper, to uncover what lay beyond their intricate, infinite repetition.
He turned to the next page, and as the text began to form, the letters seemed to shimmer with a newfound intensity. “To grasp the Logos is to demonstrate mastery. Reason alone does not suffice. No more shall this book be read with mortal instruments.”
Kor’s eyes widened, and he let out an exasperated exclamation. “More tests?” he muttered, half in disbelief. Adjusting his glasses, he reached out to turn the page. His finger slid away, unable to make contact with the edge. He tried again, his touch repelled as if an invisible barrier protected the parchment.
Leaning back, he analysed the cryptic wording. “Mortal implements,” he mused aloud. The phrase gnawed at him, its meaning eluding easy comprehension. Was this a reference to his inability to touch the book directly? He sighed, resigning himself to the realisation that the book would not allow him to proceed without using magic.
The thought sent a wave of frustration through him. His control was lacking and attempting any form of mana manipulation with such a profound book seemed unwise. The realisation hit like a stone dropping into his stomach—he had reached a dead end.
With an exaggerated sigh, Kor closed the book, relieved to find that it hadn’t barred him from moving it entirely. Even the Logos seemed to advocate for his growth, pressing him to hone his control. Setting the enchanted tome aside, its infinitely swirling patterns lingering in his mind’s eye, he reached instead for the copy of Basic Mana Control. If mastery was the key, then he had no choice but to start from the beginning.
As he opened the mundane book and began to study, the spirals and loops of The Logos danced in his subconscious, a silent reminder of the mysteries waiting just beyond his reach.