Kor had fallen into a rhythm, balancing his attempts at mana practice with late-night reading, until exhaustion and Talen tag-teamed him. The Verdanian boy turned off the lights with a wry remark: “Both people and plants need their darkness at night if they want to stay healthy.” Kor opened his mouth to protest, but was too tired to muster any argument. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The room descended into a peaceful gloom, save for the faint glow of mana radiating from Talen’s plants.
The steady chime of Kor’s alarm clock nudged him awake. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, expecting to find the room steeped in the stillness of early morning. Instead, he blinked at the sight of Talen, already dressed and tending to his flourishing miniature jungle. The sunlight filtering through the curtains refracted against the crystal palm centrepiece, casting dancing rainbows across the walls.
Kor shuffled out of bed, his hair an unruly mess. He squinted at Talen, who was pouring shimmering, mana-laced water into the plant tubs, each droplet glinting like liquid starlight.
“Mana water?” Kor mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep as he stretched, stifling a yawn.
“Something like that,” Talen replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he carefully adjusted a trailing vine.
Kor nodded absently, pulling on fresh robes and fumbling for his glasses. As soon as they settled on his nose, the room sprang into sharp focus. The vibrant greenery, the glint of mana-infused water, and even the soft motes of dust floating lazily in the sunlight seemed alive with a quiet, magical vitality.
His stomach gave a plaintive rumble, drawing his thoughts back to more immediate concerns. “Hey, Talen. Want to grab a bite to eat before class?”
“Already ate hours ago,” Talen said, his tone light, though the glint in his eye hinted at some unspoken amusement.
Kor shook his head in disbelief. “Just how early do you get up?”
Talen gave a knowing smile, leaning back against his desk. “Early enough. Don’t stuff yourself too much, Kor, or you’ll regret it in combat class.”
Kor sighed, tugging his robe into place. “You’re probably right. But a brain like mine doesn’t work for free.”
The two exchanged a chuckle before Kor grabbed his things and headed out. The hum of campus life greeted him as the dormitory gave way to the bustling pathways of Conflux Academy. Students hurried to and fro, their diverse attire a patchwork quilt of cultures and worlds, and the faint tang of mana charged the crisp morning air.
After a quick, depressingly light breakfast—a few slices of toast and some watered-down crystal juice—Kor set off toward the field listed for practical combat. His schedule was still light, with only three mandatory classes spread thinly across the week. While the gaps in his timetable offered ample opportunity for study and practice, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his academic potential had yet to fully ignite.
Today was Mystday, the second day of the week. The thought struck Kor as he walked, his curiosity meandering toward the origins of the week’s names. Each planet had a day, except for Nexus, the Academy’s home world. Perhaps it was an acknowledgment of their magical significance? Lexica, his own world, sat as the final day of the week. That seemed fitting, given their reputation for prioritising technology over magic.
The sight of the combat field cut short Kor’s musings on history. His classmates had already gathered, clustering into small groups. The sight filled him with a mix of anticipation and nerves. He adjusted the straps of his pack, squaring his shoulders as he headed over.
He spotted Marcus first this time, the young man surrounded by several students, including the twins Kor had met previously. Seeing them made his stomach twist. Marcus’s easy charisma and confidence had been reassuring at first, but his relentless assertiveness was wearing on Kor. It was hard to tell if Marcus saw him as a friend or a project.
Kor hesitated for a moment, his nerves playing havoc with his gut. One twin, Kelleth, spotted him, nudging his brother with a smirk before the two of them fixed their gaze on Kor, their identical expressions oozing disdain.
“Ready to show us what you’re made of, Lexican?” Kelleth called, his voice dripping with mockery.
Kor swallowed hard, forcing his feet to carry him forward. What were the odds they’d be sharing a class for what was undoubtedly going to be his worst performance yet?
As he reached the small group, Marcus’s face lit up. “Kor! Fantastic. We’re in the same combat class. This will definitely give us a leg up when we take Advanced Combat together.”
Kor blinked, surprised. He’d almost forgotten about that. He vaguely remembered saying he’d think about it, but it seemed Marcus had already decided for him. The idea of passing basic combat felt daunting enough; Advanced Combat sounded like a nightmare.
“Everyone, this is Kor,” Marcus announced, his tone as warm as ever. “He’s from Lexica, the same as me, but without quite the same advantages as myself. Be sure to give him plenty of pointers, and we’ll get him up to speed in no time.”
Several of the students regarded him with polite disinterest, murmuring vague acknowledgments. Only the smallest girl offered a proper greeting, her shy smile a welcome reprieve from the others’ stoic faces. Kor managed a nod in return, his cheeks flushing slightly.
Marcus quickly reclaimed the group’s attention, launching into a story about his last birthday party. The twins laughed at all the right moments, their smug expressions making Kor’s irritation simmer. He stood at the edge of the circle, feeling like a messy fraction that didn’t quite fit into the equation.
The timetable hadn’t listed a professor for this class. Before Kor could wonder why, a familiar figure strode toward the group, his imposing frame unmistakable.
Master Terrak. The severe professor from the cafeteria moved with purpose, his dark robes flaring with each step. His stocky build and the faint lines etched into his face spoke of a lifetime spent in discipline and battle. Steel-grey eyes swept over the group, weighing and measuring each student as though assessing their worth.
“Students, attend!” Master Terrak’s voice hit them like a physical force, halting all conversation in an instant.
They quickly formed up in front of Master Terrak, Kor estimating around thirty students, just like his other classes.
“I am Master Terrak, and the lot of you, no matter your upbringing, are unfit.” His steely gaze lingered on Kor for a moment longer than felt comfortable. “Unlike many of the other professors here, I won’t accept any half measures. And, unlike most, I have the authority to disqualify you from Conflux Academy instantly if I find your resolve lacking.”
A stunned silence fell over the group. Kor’s stomach twisted as a shiver ran down his spine. Surely that couldn’t be true? The other students exchanged glances, their eyes wide.
A half-smile broke across Master Terrak’s face. A sharp and humourless thing. “We’ll start with the basics. Five laps around the field. No walking.”
The group hesitated, confusion clear. Kor, however, had been expecting something of this nature. Dropping his pack, he launched into a lumbering jog. A few other students followed suit, but the majority remained frozen, clearly unsure whether this was a drill or a genuine order.
Marcus quickly caught up to Kor, his long, powerful strides eating up the ground with ease. “Good read, Kor,” he said, flashing a grin. “Let’s show them what we Lexicans are made of, eh?” With that, he powered ahead, effortlessly pulling to the front. The Solarian twins were hot on his heels, their competitive spirits ignited.
Behind Kor, Master Terrak’s voice cracked like a whip. “What in the void are you waiting for? MOVE!”
Kor didn’t dare glance back, focusing instead on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the taskmaster. A familiar swell of mana rippled from behind him, galvanising him to move like never before.
The training field stretched wide before him, its lush grass glimmering faintly with mana. The turf was neatly manicured, but here and there were scorch marks—small craters left by mana explosions, evidence of past exercises. Yet, even as he passed them, the grass seemed to be repairing itself, the scorched blades knitting together with an almost hypnotic rapidity. Whether this regeneration was because of an active spell or an inherent property of the grass itself, Kor didn’t know. The burning in his lungs and the ache in his legs prevented him from contemplating it further.
His brief stint near the front was short-lived. By the halfway point of the first lap, most of the class had overtaken him. Only a chubby Netharian girl lagged slightly behind, her determined expression making it clear she wouldn’t stay there for long. Kor puffed and panted, his breath ragged as he fought to keep his legs moving. The faint hum of mana in the grass, a constant presence, felt like a taunt, its vitality mocking his flagging energy.
He barely completed the first lap and already his lungs were burning, and his stomach tied in knots. His pace slowed to something halfway between a jog and a walk, his entire body protesting the exertion. Master Terrak’s gaze felt like a physical weight on his back, pushing him forward with sheer intimidation alone.
By the time Kor reached his third lap, Marcus had already lapped him, offering a brief word of encouragement before surging ahead again. The twins, meanwhile, were locked in a fierce race with several other students, their faces flushed with effort but still managing smug glances as they passed him.
When the laps finally ended, Kor all but collapsed onto the ground, his limbs trembling and sweat pouring from every pore. His chest heaved as he lay there, utterly spent. Around him, the other students caught their breath while Kor remained doubled over, gasping. The twins exchanged snorts of derision, their laughter grating against his pride.
Oddly, Master Terrak offered no words of critique or scorn. Instead, his voice rang out, addressing them all.
“Every lesson from now on will begin with the basic five. Even if you fail out of the academy, you are destined for the military, and trust me when I say their standards for fitness are much, much higher.”
Kor barely registered the words, his focus consumed by the desperate task of catching his breath. Master Terrak’s stony gaze swept over them all before continuing.
“Now, as you’ve likely heard, this class will focus primarily on combat. Each of you, no matter your eventual specialisation, will need to both form and break a solid mana barrier. An easy task, many of you may be thinking. You can already do that much. Wrong.”
With a flick of his wrist, Master Terrak conjured a mana barrier. The fluctuation of mana was so smooth and precise that Kor couldn’t detect even the faintest trace of the man’s spellcasting. The shimmering wall of energy stood before them, its presence almost tangible.
“Which of you fancies yourself a prodigy, with firepower unlike any other?” His voice was a low growl. Several students stepped forward, including the Solarian twins, their eyes bright with competitive fire. Marcus, surprisingly, held back, his usual confidence replaced by caution.
Master Terrak’s cold smile returned as he gestured toward the barrier. “This barrier is the minimum standard I expect each of you to be capable of both making and breaking if you expect to pass this class with even a basic grade. Each of you take your best shot. Break it now, and I’ll grant you a full 100-point pass for my class.”
A murmur rippled through the group. Terrak wasn’t playing around. The others quickly formed a line, with Kelleth shoving his way to the front. He gathered his mana with practised ease; the energy radiating off him in waves. Kor couldn’t help but be impressed despite himself; the sheer amount of mana Kelleth summoned was remarkable.
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The air around Kelleth seemed to shimmer as his mana coalesced into something intangible. It wasn’t the simple orb of mana they’d practised earlier. Moments later, his energy spiked, and with a grand, sweeping motion, he brought his hand down. The spell materialised as a wind blade, a sharp, cutting force that slammed into the barrier with uncanny power.
Kor’s eyebrows went up involuntarily. A perfect line was gouged into the shimmering wall. It didn’t pierce through, but it was enough to draw a faint nod of approval from Terrak.
“Not bad. Not bad at all, kid,” Terrak said, his tone grudgingly approving. “Before the year’s out, we’ll turn you into a monster. Now let’s see what the rest of you have got.”
Kelleth puffed up with praise and made room for the next student. Kor rose unsteadily to his feet, his curiosity piqued.
Next up was the Netharian girl from Marcus’s group. As Terrak refreshed the barrier, she stepped forward with a quiet determination. Her mana seemed to cloak her movements in shadows, tendrils of darkness twisting and coiling around her arms. With a focused gesture, she unleashed a volley of shadowy daggers, each one aimed precisely at the same spot on the barrier. The impacts built upon one another, driving deeper with each successive strike. The barrier shuddered but held firm. Though she fell short of piercing it, Terrak gave her an approving nod, his earlier frostiness giving way to a growing respect.
Several other students followed, each bringing a unique form of magic to bear. One girl conjured seeds that exploded into a spray of tiny projectiles, peppering the barrier with bursts of energy. Another enveloped the shimmering wall in a dense, smothering fog, her mana diffusing through the air with a heavy presence. Then came Teneth, whose frozen flame spell shattered against the barrier with an audible crack, its lack of power evident despite its intricate design.
All the while, Kor couldn’t help but notice Marcus. While the others took their turns, Marcus stood at the back, his eyes half-closed, as if in meditation. Only when the line dwindled did Kor realise that Marcus had been quietly gathering his mana all along. What had started as a subtle accumulation of energy now swirled palpably around him, the ambient mana bending toward him like leaves drawn into a vortex.
Marcus stepped forward, and Kor felt a ripple of anticipation sweep through the group. Even Terrak seemed to sense it, snapping to attention as Marcus placed his hand against the freshly restored barrier. What followed was nothing short of extraordinary.
Two things happened almost simultaneously. First, the mana Marcus had been building erupted with precision, channelling into a single, devastating point of impact. The air quaked as the spell struck the barrier with enough force to make Kor’s teeth rattle. Second, Terrak reacted with a speed Kor hadn’t yet seen, his own mana flaring out to reinforce the barrier at the exact moment of impact.
A deafening crack split the air as the two forces collided. The shimmering wall fractured under the assault, a spiderweb of cracks radiating from a small but deadly hole punched into its surface.
Shocked gasps erupted from the other students. Even Kor, who had expected Marcus to excel, stared in amazement. Whatever Marcus’s specialisation was, it was far beyond anything Kor had encountered before. The sheer control and raw power on display left him awestruck.
The sternness fell away from Master Terrak’s face, giving way to something Kor had never seen before - a flash of genuine admiration. He crossed the field to Marcus with purposeful strides, and when he spoke, his voice carried an unfamiliar note of respect.
“What is your name, lad?” Terrak asked, his tone almost reverent.
“Marcus Tallow,” came the confident reply.
“Marcus Tallow,” Terrak repeated, as if tasting the name. “You are something else. If I hadn’t reinforced the barrier, you would have broken it several times over.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with approval. “You are going to take Advanced Combat Studies.”
“Yes, sir,” Marcus replied, his tone eager but measured.
“Very good,” Terrak said, nodding to himself. “With the right training, we’ll get you into the top five students, if not higher.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m eager to learn from a master such as yourself.”
The other students exchanged glances, their awe unmistakable. Marcus’s display of raw mana was so overwhelming it seemed no one could ever match it. Still gasping for air, Kor felt a surge of determination taking root in his chest. The gap between them loomed like a mountain scraping the heavens, but Kor refused to see it as impassable—after all, every summit could be reached given enough will and resolve.
This was the difference between the elite and everyone else. Kor still struggled to form the simplest mana constructs, while Marcus wielded power that even the academy’s teachers respected. Yet the starkness of that contrast only fuelled Kor’s resolve. Far from discouraging him, it lit a competitive spark, daring him to rise to the challenge.
His thoughts turned to his father, a man lauded for his intellect and steady perseverance. For years, that paternal benchmark had anchored Kor’s ambitions. But now, witnessing Marcus’s mastery, Kor realised a new standard stood before him, high enough to feel impossible. And impossibility only whetted his appetite for success. If his father had taught him one thing, it was that no problem was truly unsolvable; the solution lay in persistence and methodical effort. Marcus was that new peak—and Kor would not stop climbing until he reached it.
The display had stirred the other students. Whispers of admiration mingled with competitive murmurs as dozens of eyes tracked Marcus’s movements. Master Terrak’s stern gaze swept over the assembled students, commanding their attention.
“The rest of you might as well have a go, too. It’ll give me a good idea which of you shows real potential.” With a wave of his hand, Terrak refreshed the barrier, taking Marcus aside for a quiet conversation.
Nobody was keen to follow in the wake of Marcus’s performance, but after Master Terrak’s bark of impatience, everyone got in line. Relief washed over Kor, as only a few other students had unlocked their specialisations. One boy unleashed a flash of light that practically blinded them all, followed by a girl who projected a wave of what Kor could only describe as happy mana.
One of the other students snorted with laughter. “You were meant to break the wall, not comfort it, Beth.”
She blushed crimson, burying her face in the crook of her arm. “I thought it might decide to let down its guard if I was nice to it,” she mumbled, drawing a rare chuckle from Terrak.
“Next!” Terrak called, his voice laced with faint amusement.
Around him, students launched their mana balls into the wall with varying degrees of success. Some spheres flew swift and true, while others seemed to lack genuine power. Kor watched intently, his mind cataloging each attempt - the tight, concentrated balls that packed more punch, the looser formations that dissipated too quickly, the different trajectories and speeds. Each success and failure was a lesson, and he filed them away with methodical precision.
When it was his turn to step up, Kor’s heartbeat raced as he closed his eyes and focused intently on his mana. He envisioned forming the sphere, willing the mana to coalesce into the shape he needed. But the weight of the students’ eyes on him, and the murmurs of impatience growing louder, gnawed at his concentration. Panic set in, and he gritted his teeth, pulling harder on his mana reserves than he’d ever dared before.
The energy surged to his call, wild and abundant. A glowing sphere burst into existence in his palm, larger and brighter than anything he had seen from his peers. It pulsed erratically, its surface quivering like an overfilled balloon. Kor’s heart sank as he realised he had poured far too much mana into it. The sphere’s instability was palpable, its edges flickering and trembling as though on the brink of collapse.
Urgency clawed at him. There was no time to refine or stabilise it. He had to act now. With a hasty motion, Kor thrust his arm forward, hurling the sphere toward the barrier. The orb streaked through the air, a radiant comet trailing tendrils of uncontrolled mana. Each pulse of light seemed to grow more volatile, the sound of its energy humming loudly in his ears.
Just as it neared its target, the inevitable happened. The sphere exploded a foot short of the barrier, a violent burst of light and sound that sent ripples through the ambient mana. A gust of displaced air ruffled Kor’s hair and tugged at his robes. The spell’s release was chaotic, reverberating in waves that left the other students shielding their faces.
He had missed. The realisation settled in his stomach like a lead weight. But as his eyes adjusted to the aftermath, he thought he saw it—a faint, almost imperceptible crack in the barrier’s surface. His breath hitched. Had he really done that?
“Thought Lexicans were supposed to be good at control,” someone jeered, breaking the silence. Laughter rippled through the crowd, stinging Kor’s pride as he stepped back into the line. His cheeks burned, but he kept his gaze fixed on the barrier. He had at least made a mark.
Master Terrak, who had been deep in conversation with Marcus, spun toward the group. His stern gaze swept over the students before he spoke, his voice cutting through the lingering chuckles. “I see that my work is cut out for me this year. Barring a few exceptions,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to Marcus.
“And as tradition dictates, today each of you will receive your Conflux Academy robes along with new student badges.” He gestured for the students to follow him, his tone brooking no argument. As they fell into step behind him, his voice carried easily over the sound of their shuffling feet.
“Your new robes come with a host of enchantments costly enough to make your eyes water. Self-repair and cleaning. They’re built to last, and anything short of a voidling is unlikely to destroy them.”
Kor couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. He’d been dreading doing his own washing, but here it seemed magic had eliminated one of his least favourite chores from back home.
“Your student badges, however, are what will save your sorry hides,” Terrak continued. “They are constructed from a special crystal, cultivated only here in Conflux. Imbued with dense amounts of mana, these badges will function as your personal lifelines.
“Each badge contains a personal barrier - a safety measure that activates in emergencies. These barriers will be essential to your training. In duels, your goal will be to trigger your opponent’s badge until it flashes yellow. If you hope to win any battles, you’ll need to master your barrier first.”
Kor trailed at the back of the group, listening intently as they approached the Academy’s distribution hall.
As they entered the large chamber, Master Terrak turned to address them again. “I haven’t got much time left today,” he announced, his tone brisk, “but starting with your next class, you can expect to begin combat training.”
“Do we get ranked or something?” one student asked hesitantly, drawing a few curious murmurs from the others.
Terrak’s sharp gaze landed on the questioner. “Yes,” he replied curtly. “Your position at the end of the year will form part of your final grade.”
Kor adjusted his glasses as he stepped into the vast hall, its high ceilings and glowing mana sconces casting an ethereal light over the rows of shelves and garments ahead. Falling into thought, he wondered if the other combat classes endured such rigid testing or if this was all Terrak’s own brand of teaching.
As the group slowed to a halt, Master Terrak gestured toward the rows of neatly folded robes and stacks of gleaming badges. “These will be your second skin,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Treat them well, and they’ll do the same for you.”
Hanging back from the others, Kor lost himself in thought. Combat training, ranking systems, protective barriers in their badges - it was all so much more intense than he’d expected. A mix of excitement and nerves churned in his gut as he wondered whether Master Terrak’s rigorous methods were standard for combat instruction, or if their teacher had developed his own particularly demanding approach.
Terrak clapped his hands, breaking the quiet. With a swift motion, he led them deeper into the hall and stopped before an ornate door etched with glowing runes. With a flash of his mana, the runes flared briefly before the door chimed and swung inward, revealing a room lined with rows of robes and stacks of gleaming badges, all neatly arrayed in meticulous order.
A small, grey-haired man rose from a desk near the back of the room, where he’d been bent over a thick ledger. His eyes twinkled with curiosity before narrowing slightly as he recognised Terrak. “Ah, Master Terrak,” he said, his voice gravelly but warm. “What brings you and this gaggle of fledglings to my domain?”
“Equip them,” Terrak instructed briskly. “They’re my new first years. I’ve got a pressing meeting to attend.”
The old man sighed, muttering under his breath as he shuffled around the desk. “Always dumping this on me, aren’t you? One of these days, Terrak, you’ll stay long enough to see your students through yourself.”
Kor’s attention drifted to the bronze-trimmed robes hanging in precise rows along the walls. The fabric shimmered faintly, each fold catching the light in subtle waves. The trim, a rich, metallic bronze, formed intricate patterns that seemed to shift and flow as if alive with mana. Each robe exuded an air of both practicality and grandeur, a clear testament to their enchantments.
“Step up,” the grey-haired man grumbled as he beckoned the first student forward. “We’ll need to get you all fitted properly. Not that Terrak ever gives me time to do it right.”
Kor sympathised with the old man as he eagerly stepped closer in line, his gaze still fixed on the robes. A flicker of excitement stirred in his chest as he imagined donning one of them. These weren’t just garments—they were a symbol of his place here, his first tangible connection to the Academy. Despite complaining, he quickly got to work assessing them.
When it was finally Kor’s turn, he stepped forward. The old man glanced at him, his sharp grey eyes briefly appraising. With a flick of his fingers, he cast a subtle spell, the air shimmering faintly around Kor as the man’s gaze lingered. Whatever the spell revealed seemed to satisfy him, and he gave a curt nod before turning to retrieve Kor’s Academy robe and badge.
“Hand over your old badge,” the man instructed, extending a hand.
Kor complied, hesitating only a moment before relinquishing the familiar object. The man retrieved a slender metal rod from his desk, its surface etched with faintly glowing runes that tingled against Kor’s mana sense. With a practiced motion, he waved the rod over Kor’s old badge, the air around it shimmering faintly before the glow dimmed. Then, with equal precision, he waved the rod over the new crystalline badge. A faint hum from the badge accompanied the motion, and the man gave a satisfied grunt before handing it over.
“All done,” he announced curtly, setting the rod aside.
Kor frowned slightly, curiosity getting the better of him. “What was that for?”
The man glanced up, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if deciding whether to answer. “Had to transfer your student information,” he replied brusquely. “Don’t want you getting locked out of your dorm now, do we?”
Kor blinked and nodded, clutching the new badge. The explanation made sense, though the process felt strangely significant. Softer than expected, the bronze-trimmed robe shimmered with life as the man handed it to him. The crystalline badge hummed in his palm, warm with coursing mana. His fingers traced its smooth surface as he considered that this small object was now his lifeline. As he focused on sensing the mana fluctuating within, he realised how much his limited perception held him back.
He moved aside to allow the next student to receive their robes. Mana perception was one of the core subjects in his Fundamentals of Mana class. Perhaps, given time, he would figure out how these magical devices were made. Even the little he could grasp seemed a tightly woven mesh of mana, conforming to patterns that he couldn’t even discern.