“The key for this is patience. You don’t want to rush the spell, or you’ll lose control of the mana. Timing is important.”

He paced around the group of students, his keen eyes glancing at each one as they struggled with the challenge he’d set them. Well, not all of them were struggling. It was a new class, but he could already see the few who had a natural gift for this. That was due, no doubt, to the fact that the College had put more effort into fostering mages who could cast silently or use no incantations. It was the way that Samuel had learned magic, and he was already recognized as a master of the craft.

As such, the Prime Magus had asked him to teach a new class centered around his style of magic. Samuel had been hesitant at first, not sure that he could be said to have a set style. But after a little experimentation, a few talks with Grimr, and considerably more time doing his own experiments, Samuel had come to realize that it was possible. It wasn’t the idea of interacting with other people that had given Samuel pause, but rather the weight of responsibility that a teacher experienced. It was a different calling than he was used to, and he had virtually no experience in the field.

His lack of experience had been a big setback in the first term of the year, but he took time to iron out the flaws in his teaching style. He found that he had an easier time of it when he led the class through practical demonstration, rather than forcing them to memorize theories. As Grimr had told him long ago, each mage develops a unique feel for their mana, so his ideas might not work for them. He had to explain the magic itself and try to lead them through the process. It had taken a lot of practice in the first term, but he was confident that he had it down.

Now it was the second term of the year, and he had a few talented prospects. Ava Thunderborn was the first, a wild-haired Journeyman from the nation of Knireth. She’d traveled from her home, on the most western coast of the world, and had applied herself with an intensity that the others in his class lacked. He knew that her goal was to master magic and begin educating young mages in her own country. Samuel recognized that thirst for knowledge and had accepted her into his class without question.

And then, of course, there was Johnathan Moran. He was burlier than the average mage, a sign of his life behind a plow. He’d been raised on the farm, and already had some skill when it came to interacting with plants. He’d learned organically, and when he’d signed up for Samuel’s class, he’d already been proficient at controlling his mana. This made him and Ava the standouts in the class, who only knew the basic principles involved in silent casting. Even with this first exercise, having them practice pulling, pushing, and spinning their mana, Samuel could easily spot their strengths, and, by respect, the weaknesses of the others.

“Stop!” He called, his voice ringing out across the training field. The class reluctantly lowered their hands, looking a bit disappointed. “I thought I told you not to rush it. Connecting with your mana takes time. It is a delicate process that takes practice and patience. Observe.”

He came to a stop directly in front of the class and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to put any real effort into controlling his mana by now, but he felt this simple action would impress upon them the need for focus. He seized control of his mana, which had been swirling slowly in his own body, and expanded it outwards. It spread for a considerable distance before he stopped, easily encompassing the twelve spread-out students. They gaped in amazement as they watched the screen pass over them. Each new student, regardless of their individual skill levels, never failed to react in this manner when he demonstrated the basic spell.

“Have a guess,” he said, opening his eyes. “What is the main benefit of extending my mana this way?”

Silence fell upon the students. Well, he’d expected that in any event and wasn’t troubled by it. He swiveled his head to the side to stare pointedly at Ava Thunderborn, who was chewing her lip thoughtfully as if an idea had just struck her. She glanced up as she felt him watching her, and he raised an expectant eyebrow. She opened her mouth at once to reply, then hesitated, and closed it. Then, with a deep breath, she opened it again and spoke.

“You can sense anything that comes into contact with your mana,” she said, sounding uncertain. “So by expanding it, you’re increasing the range that you can expand it by?”

“You are partly correct,” Samuel said, smiling at the girl. “We can only sense things that have an energy of their own, or else a mind of their own with this technique. Still, you got the core idea correct. Well done.”

She nodded silently, obviously trying not to look too pleased with herself. He resisted the urge to smirk at that and turned to face the rest of the class once more. Then another thought occurred to him, and he turned to face Moran. “Moran. What is the main benefit to using magic without incantations?”

“You’re faster than the average opponent,” Moran replied at once. “While they take the time to say an incantation, you are unhindered, and can cast right away.”

“Correct,” Samuel said encouragingly. “But what is the main downfall of this method?”

That stumped Moran for several seconds. After all, the students had taken this class because they believed nonverbal magic to be unmatched. In their minds, it was the epitome of magic and had no obvious downsides. But his question had prompted the thought to form in Moran’s mind, and, with an encouraging nod, he urged the boy to give it now.

“Well, I suppose if you’re not concentrated, your chances of succeeding in a spell are significantly diminished.”

“Correct,” Samuel repeated. “Now for all of you. Listen to me closely, and follow my example. Close your eyes.”

They did as he suggested without hesitation, closing their eyes and assuming concentrated expressions. “Good. Now, imagine that there is a shroud of mist inside and around your body. It is cool and light.”

“Now imagine that mist beginning to move. However, this happens is up to you. All that matters is that the mist begins to swirl. Watch it spin.”

This was the telling moment, he decided. It was the crucial step that showed who could harness control of their mana, and who could not. To his mild surprise, he saw more than a few fields of mana twitch. It could have been a flicker of their moods affecting it, or… There! Six mana fields began to spin, incredibly slowly. Thunderborn and Moran were seconds ahead of the others. Thunderborn’s aura, in particular, spun with respectable speed after the first awkward moments and began condensing. Then three more began to spin their mana, followed by two, and then the rest.

Excellent, Samuel thought to himself, but he didn’t make the comment. Instead, he kept his voice level and calm. “Now open your eyes.”

There were more than a few mutters of surprise as the students saw what they had achieved. A few turned on the spot, taken by the sensation of their mana whirling around their bodies. As was only expected, more than a few fluttered back to stillness as they lost concentration, but they still looked elated at the accomplishment. Samuel beamed at them in approval, then pointed a finger at Ava Thunderborn, snapping out an instruction before she could grow too comfortable.

“Push, Ava!”

Acting purely on instinct, and before her confusion and doubt could register themselves, she complied. With the usual smooth expanding action, her mana flooded out in a thin dome, extending nearly three or four feet around her. She looked up and to the sides in shock, a shock that was echoed in the gasps and mutters of her classmates. A fierce grin flashed on her face, the joy that only learning a new skill could provide. Of course, the moment she focused on her own pride, the screen retracted. Her smile faded, and she looked panicked as she tried to force it out once more.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Don’t worry,” Samuel said, his voice softer. “You did well. Now, all of you, let’s try again. Remember, mana that is in motion is easy to control. Without motion, there is no intent. Without intent, there is no magic.”

They gathered themselves hurriedly, focusing on their mental images. Only two of them needed to close their eyes this time to achieve it, a fact that filled him with hope. In no time at all, their fields of mana were rotating nicely, and a few even tried to push as Ava had. Slowly but surely, little bubbles were beginning to grow on the training grounds, surrounding wide-eyed and grinning students. Thunderborn and Moran, not wanting to be outdone, easily reached further than the others, about a dozen or so feet each. They grinned fiercely at each other, sharing in the excitement.

“Right, that’s enough,” Samuel said. “Excellent work, all of you. Feeling the pressure and flow of your mana is the first step to casting without incantations. Practice this basic motion for an hour each day, until our class next week.”

They all muttered in agreement, offering their polite farewells. The one Nihon-Jan student in attendance offered a bow that he returned smoothly, and they all departed back towards the main building, talking excitedly amongst themselves about the lesson. Samuel grinned as he watched them leave, feeling a swelling sense of pride in his chest. He was still very new as a teacher, but already familiar with the fierce pride in his student’s accomplishments.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a natural at this.”

Samuel turned to see a tall robed figure approaching him. The high cheekbones, faint elven features, and piercing green eyes identified the person at once. He offered a slight bow. “Prime Magus. Good afternoon.”

“Likewise, Archmage Bragg,” Aren Gorteau said. He adjusted his noble’s robes slightly and peered after the class as they walked towards the main building. “They seem to have some aptitude for the subject. You must be proud.”

“Well, they’re certainly capable of the basics, at any rate,” Samuel said nonchalantly. “We’ll see how they fare with the rest of it. Only four students decided to continue with my teaching after the last term, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Aren said. “They are dedicated students, and they have a promising future ahead of them. Not unlike yourself.”

Samuel ignored this obvious attempt to compliment and decided to change the subject. Aren Gorteau, younger brother of the current King, never came down to the College unless he had a reason. “How can I help you today, Prime Magus?”

Aren gave a slight wave of his hand to reassure him. “I’m just here on some routine business. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to take any of your time today. I just saw your class and thought I’d stop by to speak. You’ve been busy these past few months, it’s rare to see you sitting still for a moment or two.”

“Fair enough,” Samuel said, allowing a grin to breakthrough. “Which reminds me. I do have some business to attend to still today. If you’re on your way…”

He let the rest of his sentence trail off, and Aren took the hint. He gave a graceful half-bow. “Of course. Good luck with your business, Master Bragg. We shall speak again in the future.”

Samuel gave him a small wave as he departed, then headed in the opposite direction, towards the Proficient’s dorm. At this hour, many of them would be in classes, he knew. A few would be studying inside, taking advantage of a free period to catch up on work. Others, those who were all caught up, would be somewhere in town, presumably enjoying a few hours free of revision. But he was looking for one student in particular and knew that he could find him in the dorms at this time.

The Dorm Captain, a portly youth with a wispy beard, was snoozing lightly behind his desk as Samuel pushed the door open. He gave a slight snort and opened his eyes. Then, catching Samuel’s appearance, he jumped to his feet, a stricken look on his face, and gave a quick salute. He was startled, not expecting one of the Archmages to show up in their simple dorm without warning.

“Archmage Bragg!” He exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly with tension. “Good morning sir! How can we help you today?”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” Samuel replied dryly. Just how long had he been dozing? The Proficient looked aghast and adjusted his red robe. “Where is Proficient Tomas?”

“He is in the upstairs study,” The nervous youth said. “I think he might be catching up on some homework, sir.”

Unlikely, Samuel thought to himself but said nothing. With a brief nod, he swept past the youth’s desk and took the nearest set of stairs up to the second floor. Tomas had grown exponentially since he’d joined the College, and, with Samuel’s guidance, he’d excelled in his studies. He was incredibly smart, and, given the appropriate amount of time to study, his magical potential had fully taken shape. Samuel knew though Tomas didn’t, that the boy was marked for graduation at the end of the year, provided that he passed his final assessment.

The study was silent as usual, save for the sound of parchment rustling and a quill scratching. Without a hint of surprise, Samuel saw the back of his oldest friend’s son, his head bowed over a thick tome, quickly scribbling notes onto a single sheet of parchment. He’d already covered two feet of paper, and his writing was minuscule. Even Samuel couldn’t write as neatly nor as fast as Tomas, a fact that he still regretted to this day.

“Did you know that the Mitene Union launched an expedition just thirty years ago?” He asked, not even turning to see who had entered. This was an ordinary, routine meeting they had. “They wanted to pierce the barrier between the material and ethereal planes.”

Samuel crossed to the desk and picked up the tome Tomas was reading, turning it over to read the Spine. Mysteries of the Ethereal by Archmage Silver. Silver had been one of Samuel’s teachers, over a hundred years ago, when he’d first started his journey into studying the arcane arts. He gave an approving nod and returned the book to its original place. Then he sat across from Thomas and helped himself to some of the coffee that the boy had brewed.

“I heard,” Samuel replied noncommittally, putting his feet up on the desk. “But that book was written eighty-three years ago. It certainly couldn’t have told you about that. Where did you hear about it?”

“Master Wembly mentioned it in class yesterday,” Tomas said, not looking up from his parchment. “He hosted a lesson on the ethereal plane, and I asked if anyone had ever successfully traveled there or not.”

“Anyone who has been reported to either died or came back too mad to share,” Samuel said, taking a sip of the coffee, smacking his lips in appreciation. It was excellent, as always. “That’s all I know on the subject.”

“Yes, Master Wembly said much the same thing.”

“Yet you think otherwise?” Samuel asked. He recognized that look on Tomas’ face. It always showed when he felt he was nearing an answer that others said didn’t exist. “What makes you think that someone made it through that unspoiled?”

“Well, you did,” He said bluntly.

“That’s only a theory,” Samuel retorted at once. “Grimr thinks that’s what happened, but there’s no evidence. And as I’ve already said, I don’t have any memories of my time away from the world.”

“You’re not the only one I think went and came back unscathed,” Tomas said, lifting a hand to stop him. “Tell me. How much do you know about King Knarlick’s son?”

“Stephan?” Samuel asked, frowning slightly. The court had been keeping a close eye on the hot-headed youth who was heir to the Mitene Unions. “Not much. I hear he’s a bit of a paper tiger. Nobody expects him to be able to take over from his father.”

“That may be so,” Tomas said. He spun the book around and tapped a section of text with his forefinger. “But this here says that Knarlick’s son was part of the expedition into the ethereal plane. Despite how little we know about the ruling family of the Mitene Union, I don’t think I recall anyone saying that he was mad.”

“But he’s not a mage,” Samuel pointed out. “So he couldn’t survive such an ordeal, anyway. According to what Grimr told me, the ethereal plane feeds on your mana. If he barely has any, he would be killed. Perhaps it was another son, one who has been forgotten over the years.”

“People aren’t so easily forgotten,” Tomas said gravely. “Especially if they’re princes. I think it’s the same man. Stephan Knarlick went into the ethereal plane, and came back with new magic.”

“Well, I look forward to hearing how you prove that,” Samuel said, knowing when to stop arguing on an impossible target. He drained his cup and stood. “But for now, I need your help.”

“What could you possibly need my help with right now?” Tomas asked. “I’m up to my ears in research here.”

All voluntary, Samuel thought but didn’t say. “I need your experience as a merchant. You agreed that in return for me teaching you from time to time, you’d work as my apprentice and assistant.”

Tomas nodded slowly, not sure where this was heading. “I did. What do you need me to do?”

“Well, as you’ve noticed, I’ve left you alone for the most part,” Samuel said with a grin. “But now I’m opening a shop in the Market District. I’m going to start selling maps, enchantments, and other general magical tools. I need you to run the store for me.”