Minbasha 1, 350 AOR
As one would guess, Aldera’s uniforms were as lavish as the academy itself.
The black slacks and matching boots may have been somewhat simple, along with the crimson button-up, but the fabric and stitching were made to be both comfortable and form-hugging. Despite that, the uniform was flexible, allowing Cal to move as he pleased. On top of that, Aldera’s uniforms came with different options, including a black sleeveless vest with intricate embroidery, a black coat with coattails, or a black hooded cloak with the inside stitched crimson. Since it was still the middle of summer, Cal opted to just wear the button-up with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His outfit wasn’t complete though as he looked at the opened gift his mother had told him to open on the first day of classes.
Black in color and positioned like an X, Lisa had gifted Cal a new sheath. It was a simple present, but he’d had his old sheath since he first received his daggers at ten years old. They were plenty worn, so Cal was almost glad to get rid of them, especially since the new sheath also matched well with his outfit.
He looked at the hanging mirror between the bookshelves and fireplace, ensuring his shirt was tucked, his belt was tight, and his sheaths were secured. Once content with his appearance, Cal looked over his reflection’s shoulder as the bathroom door opened and Ray stepped out, blonde hair wild and the top buttons of his untucked uniform popped open.
Cal looked back over his neat uniform before wondering who of the two really grew up in a palace or farming village.
“Morning,” Ray yawned as he grabbed his satchel at the foot of his bed.
Cal nodded and grabbed his own before following Ray out of the room.
The window-filled hall on the fifth floor—where their room resided—allowed the mild warmth of the morning suns to wash over Cal and Ray as the latter began patting his hair down into its typical middle part. Once he finished, the prince summoned water in his hands and splashed his face.
“So… How did you become a Proversum?”
Ray looked at Cal and tiredly shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… learned magic. When I was three, I unconsciously casted my first spell—used Sound Magic and made a servant go deaf for a few hours. My mother saw that, and as a magess herself, she began training me once I turned five. She only taught me the basics, but I fell in love with it, so I started teaching myself even while Mother and my teachers taught me. I became an Artisan Elemental by twelve, but a snowball effect followed, and at sixteen years of age, I became a Paragon, thus a Proversum.”
“You’re a prodigy.”
Ray shrugged. “That’s what everyone called me. I’ve hit a bit of a slump though. Putting aside the fact that higher classes are naturally more difficult to learn, many forget the human element of learning magic. We’re not omnipotent. We have limits. Being capable of mentally retaining and gaining the knowledge of different magics is nigh impossible. There are countless spells, rules, drawbacks, and weaknesses; they all need to be taken into account, especially when it comes to the human psyche. Many magi have gone mad trying to become the Erfum Mashum. Rahshib Kyrn was a mage who lived nearly a millennium ago. He reached Savanthood, but one day, his mana chords simply exploded. The poor fellow was on the loo when it happened. I say all that to say that magic—as vast, unrestricted, and powerful as it is—is dangerous on psychological and biological levels.”
“You’re saying that you’re scared,” Cal stated.
“Of course,” Ray scoffed. “We’re all scared of something. More often than not, we fear what we love most. In my case, magic. I’m sure you’re the same.”
“What would you know about me?” Cal groused, somewhat peeved by the prince’s assumption.
“I kid. I kid,” Ray laughed as he bumped Ca’s shoulder.
Rolling his eyes, Cal looked ahead as the duo entered the Hall of History, a cylindrical tower. Its center was hollow as a spiraling staircase wrapped around the inside of the vertical hall’s walls. On the walls between the banisters of each floor, hundreds of paintings hung. Each and every King of Elda, all of Aldera’s headmasters, Elda’s history, and many more; however, all those paintings moved. The kings and headmasters observed passing students while portraits of war illustrated battles of magic and bloodshed.
“Watch out!” a student shouted behind Cal.
Moving to the side, Cal watched as three students ran through the hall behind him and jumped into the hollow tower from the fifth floor’s platform. He and a dozen more students rushed to the stone banisters and watched the three soar through the tower before using magic right as they reached the bottom floor to soften their landing.
“What the hell?” Cal whispered, utterly amazed by their stupidity.
The prince laughed in amazement. “Let’s do that too!”
Only able to turn his head and release a surprised Huh, Cal did not have the chance to react before Ray grabbed his wrist and jumped over the banister. It dawned on Cal that the Prince of Elda was a troublesome person as they flew headfirst down the corridor; however, any chance to shout at the prince was shattered as Ray pointed his hand beneath them. An ice-blue energy gathered in his palm, and with an exhilarated grin, Ray shot out a blast of ice, one that soon turned into a path that he skated down while Cal was dragged behind.
Cal finally found his voice, annoyingly shouting out at Ray while the prince heartily laughed, ignoring Cal until they reached the bottom. When Ray hit the marble floors, the change in the surface caused him to trip over himself and roll into a wall—still laughing—while Cal continued sliding on his back until he hit something that was most definitely not a wall, but rather something that buckled backward onto him; in this case, a person.
Books splayed every which way with Cal and the stranger muttering their confusion and pain, Cal became well aware of the light poundage on top of him, as well as the feeling of a million eyes looking down at him. Opening his own, Cal found himself looking up into storm-ladden oceans, deep, dark, and dangerously mesmerizing. One word came to mind.
Beautiful.
Beneath long lashes and brows furrowed in irritation, her ocean blue eyes drowned Cal as he observed her somewhat hollow cheeks, dainty nose, and small pink lips that were currently twisted into an agitated scowl. For the life of him, Cal could not fathom an expression belonging to someone with such beauty.
“Are you—”
Cal’s attempt to question the girl’s well-being was swiftly shot down as a resounding smack echoed through the Hall of History, followed by his head snapping over and a stinging heat searing through his cheek. When Cal had enough bearing to realize what had just happened, his eyes shot open and narrowed; however, as if she hadn’t just slapped him, the girl’s ocean-blue pools crinkled in regret. It was a flash of emotion, one that faded by the time she blinked again.
Countenance irritated once again, the girl pushed herself off of Cal’s chest and began collecting her things. Cal picked himself up and watched as the crowd around them whispered—not at Cal, but at the girl—their eyes mocking as they pointed and chuckled. His gaze drifted back to the brunette, her dark waves tied into a haphazard ponytail in the back; a curtain of bangs covered her brow while a few longer strands framed her face in the front. She wore the girl’s equivalent of the school uniform. That consisted of a frilled blouse the color of blood—tied at the neck by a long black ribbon—a black skirt that fell to mid-thigh, and a pair of black stockings that rose to just above her knees.
Many students opted to wear the warmer-weather variants of the uniform as it was still summer, but Cal had also seen some of the female students wearing ankle-length skirts instead.
Cal’s attention shifted from the girl to one of her books. He grabbed it and a few others before crouching down and handing them to the girl. Her head was lowered when Cal calmly handed them over and attempted to catch another glimpse of her eyes.
“Here.”
As he hoped, her ocean blues looked at him beneath her loose bangs. The eyes he looked into were horribly familiar, and for a brief second, he could’ve sworn her eyes reflected the same feeling as they subtly widened and softened; however, the brief second was replaced by annoyance once again before the brunette clicked her tongue and snatched the books from Cal’s hand. She then briskly stood and pushed her way through the still-jeering crowd surrounding them.
When she was gone, Cal finally rubbed the side of his face and stared off to where she left.
“You alright?” Ray questioned as he jogged up to Cal and offered him a hand. “I didn’t mean to send you flying into that girl. What’s her problem anyway?”
Cal continued looking to where the blue-eyed girl ran off before he stood up—not accepting Ray’s hand—and sighed. “Don’t pull that shit again, Your Highness.”
“My apologies, sir,” Ray said with a faux gruff voice before pointing to the hallway pinned between a courtyard and an open-air hall overlooking the front garden. “Shall we commence to class, sir?”
“Shut up,” Cal groused despite commencing to class with the laughing prince beside him.
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For better or worse, Cal was always being watched. Whether or not it was the inquisitive eyes, his family’s worried gazes, or the glares of his enemies, Cal was always being watched. And despite being hundreds of miles from home, surrounded by people he’d never seen or spoken to, he was still being watched. However, the reason why wasn’t directly him this time, and that’s because it was the towering prince who had become glued to his side since the confrontation with Latiss the previous day.
He’d seen it in the halls, especially as throngs of students practically parted with each step Raymond Crim took, but as they entered their first class of the day—homeroom—Cal became all too aware that being acquainted with royalty made one just as famous… to a lesser and possibly worse off degree. Most of the looks he was given were mere curiosity, wondering who the stranger next to the Prince of Elda was; however, every now and then, Cal caught a glimpse of envy, anger, and sometimes even interest. He ignored them as best as he could, but having so many eyes looking at him at once put him on edge more than he’d like to admit.
Upon entering homeroom, however, all eyes shifted on them.
The room, as tall as it was wide, was arranged with a small platform at the front of the room—several chalkboards on the wall behind it with a podium in its center—and ten rows of tiered seating with three desks in each row, each one large enough to sit three chairs behind them. Across from the entrance was a wall of windows. The ceiling-tall glass offered a warm glow in the classroom while also providing a view of the forest and a clearing in the woods that made up Grounds Three.
Oddly enough, the room remained silent. The students’ eyes remained on Cal and Ray, but as they climbed their way up to the seventh row and took a seat at the desk closest to the wall of windows, chaos ensued.
“Hi, Prince Crim!”
“Lord Raymond! How have you been? Is your father well?”
“Prince Crim! Have you received my father’s letter?”
“Prince Raymond! Who’s that guy beside you?”
“Is he a friend?” That statement was followed by a gasp. “A lover?”
Cal ignored the few fascinated faces that followed the question while also watching as Ray spoke to the large group of women with practiced ease, his tone soft and words genuine. He wore his signature boyish grin while conversing with the women, throwing his hands around in an animated fashion once he began recounting the story of how he and Cal met in an exaggerated fashion. Despite his behavior and the much livelier expressions he wore, something was off. It reminded Cal of the previous afternoon in the Noble District.
He would finger the sides of his pants at times, look off into the distance, and every now and then, past the blinding smile he wore, his eyes would darken, only to shine again seconds later. Still… the way Ray behaved was much more honest than when they were hounded by the nobles.
It was like he still valued interaction, even if it had nothing to do with him explicitly. Cal could tell as much once Ray spoke of their meeting and what classes he’d be taking for that semester. Aside from that, the conversations drifted back to his princely standing and father.
Pity was indeed something Cal felt toward Ray.
However, Cal ignored the thought—as well as the few girls glancing at him—and retrieved his journal and pencil as students continued to fill the class until a short jingle of bells signified the start of the period. The students talking to their friends returned to their seats, including the ones hounding Ray. Left alone, the prince collapsed into his chair and sighed, arms and head limp as he let his body decompress.
“Pain in the ass,” he mumbled, loud enough for just Cal to hear.
With the seat between him and the window still free, Cal set his satchel on the chair and looked ahead as the door to the class opened. Expecting their homeroom professor, every student sat up in their seats, posture rigid as they looked dead ahead. When the blue-eyed girl from earlier walked in, however, everyone relaxed, expressions disgruntled as some pointed glares at the girl. With each twitch of her eye and stomp of her boot, the brunette, clearly vexed for reasons unbeknownst to Cal, paused and looked for a seat. Cal did the same, and at the same time as her, he realized that the only available seat was the one next to him. Their eyes met before her expression quickly soured. She then looked around the class one more time, just to reach the same result. When their gaze met again, she inhaled deeply, made her way up the steps, and stopped in front of the chair next to Cal.
“Move it,” she said, eyes glancing down at Cal’s bag.
Cal’s stolid expression met her irritated one. “You’re not going to apologize for slapping me?”
“You’re not going to apologize for slamming into me?”
Cal harrumphed and glanced to his side. “You’re not going to apologize for sending me into her?”
Realization dawned on Ray’s face as he looked over and realized what was happening. He chuckled sheepishly. “Ah, right. Sorry, Cal.”
Cal nodded and looked back to the brunette. “Sorry…”
“Annabelle… Annabelle Sylvest,” she grumbled. “Sorry… Cal?”
“Gray will suffice,” Cal responded before moving his bag. “Sorry, Sylvest.”
Sylvest harrumphed and threw herself into the chair. After that, she didn’t say a thing, only looking ahead as her leg jostled in place.
Beside him, the prince prodded Cal’s ribs with his elbow, eyes humorous. “How fascinating. Quite the turn of events, huh?”
“I’ll punch you,” Cal grumbled, the edge in his voice causing Ray to mockingly gasp.
However, right as the prince opened his mouth to retort, the classroom’s door opened, and this time, it was indeed their professor who walked in, proven by the sheer aura stemming from the person who walked in.
Like steam rising from a boiling pot, invisible mana poured off of them in waves, displaying a power that would take Cal five lifetimes to mimic. He was a very tall man, and despite the prestige of his profession, he was considerably young. He had sharp, electric blue eyes and black hair that was swept back except for in the front, where his tousled bangs complimented his youthful facial features, adding to the insouciant air about him.
“I should’ve seen this one coming,” Cal mumbled.
“Morning, you conceited brats. My name is Julius Airetore, and for the next four years, I’m going to be your homeroom teacher.”
If the excited whispers of the women—and Ray—meant anything, they undoubtedly approved of Airetore. Conversely, if the muttered whispers of the men in the class meant anything, they undoubtedly didn’t approve of Airetore.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Call me Professor Airetore. Anything else will result in me lighting you on fire, understood?” he asked, eyes scanning over the class until they eventually paused on Cal. It was only for a second, but the professor smirked before he moved on. “I will also be your instructor in a number of your classes over the next four years. This includes Reinforcement Magic, Dark Arts Defense, and Magic Circles. If you wish to speak, make it worthwhile; if you wish to be a nuisance, I will deal with you accordingly; and if you wish to be the best version of yourself, I will be here to guide you. Understood?”
The class nodded.
“Good,” Airetore said as he placed his hands in his coat pockets.
Seconds later, the chalk on the board behind him began to hover in the air before scribbling on the blackboard, spelling out three words.
“Test of Competency,” Airetore motioned toward the board with a nod. “This test is your first exam, which will begin once I finish here. I will keep this brief. The Test of Competency is a test that does what its title states. It tests your competency. At Aldera, it is vital that magic is both used and understood; however, as of this moment, you must simply use it. This will allow me a better gauge of your abilities, which will allow me to help you better understand your own power. It will also be the first score added to your squad’s ranking.”
A wave of whispers swept over the class as the masses questioned Airetore’s words. It was a brown-haired girl’s hand that slowly rose and hushed the crowd.
Airetore looked down at the girl. “Grace Prath, yes? Do you have a question?”
She looked as if she wanted to crawl away from Airetore’s gaze, but she eventually spoke up. “Uh, yes sir. Um… What do you mean by squads… and rankings?”
Airetore nodded and walked off the stage and toward Prath’s desk in the middle of the first row. “It’s determined that at the beginning of your first day of school, those you initially sit with will be your teammates through the four years you attend Aldera—” Cal glanced at both Ray and Sylvest— “Together, the three of you will take on an assortment of tasks. This includes homework, mock battles, midterms, and finals. You are responsible for one another, which will teach you to work with those around you. That said, Ms. Prath, these two ladies—Lady Rafierre and Princess Availius—will be your teammates for the next four years. They may even become lifelong friends of yours, so treat each other well.”
Ray, who had initially sat rather relaxed in his seat, perked up and looked down at Prath’s desk, surprise on his face. Cal allowed curiosity to get the best of him, but not wishing to be heard, he lowered his voice. “What is it?”
Ray continued his staring as he whispered back. “That’s Violet Availius, daughter of the King and Queen of Everhold. The Elf Princess… Why the hell is she here?”
Cal’s eyes marginally widened before he followed Ray’s gaze to the girl sitting on the left side of Prath’s desk. Sure enough, past the princess’ pale silver hair, the definitive feature of an elf was clearly visible: her long, pointed ears, which twitched before she slowly looked over her shoulder… right at Cal and Ray.
“Can she hear us?” Cal asked, relatively alarmed that she suddenly turned toward them, revealing beautiful mint-green eyes that one could only truly find on a princess.
Ray seemed about as shocked as Cal. “I don’t—”
“Prince Crim, Mr. Gray…” Airetore’s voice suddenly called out. “How bold of you to be a nuisance so soon. Would you care to explain yourselves?”
“Bastard,” Cal muttered as Ray sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.
Below the pair, along with the rest of the class, the Elf Princess lightly laughed behind her hand. She then waved at Cal and Ray while the latter stood from his seat. “Sorry, Professor Airetore. It was poor judgment on our part. We sincerely apologize.”
Airetore stared between the two before turning back to the platform. “Very well. I accept your apology, Your Highness.” Back behind the podium, Airetore continued. “Now then, in regard to rankings. Rankings are your squad’s place among the rest of the first-year squads. There are five hundred and forty students among the first-years, thus there are one hundred and eighty groups of three. Throughout all you undergo, you will earn points and aim for the top. If you place among the top ten by the time you graduate, whatever future you desire is secure. Whether that be as an Eldan Knight, teacher, lawyer, or mage. On top of that, you will gain a direct audience with King Kendrik, where you will be allowed a single ask. However, keep in mind that while you can earn points, you can also lose them. This stems from several things: misconduct, cheating, failing assignments, and anything else deemed harmful toward you, your peers, or this academy.”
Airetore tapped the top of the podium, and suddenly, a ray of light shot out of it before expanding into a box, revealing a list of thirty groups. “Our homeroom here has ninety people in it, so thirty squads. As you can see, everyone has zero points as of now. However…”
Airetore snapped his fingers, which in turn changed that.
“Because of their misconduct, Prince Crim and Mr. Gray have lost their squad fifteen points. Go ahead, laugh at them.”
Sure enough, next to the name Squad Eighteen and the names Raymond Crim, Cal Gray, and Annabelle Sylvest, their score showed the trio at fifteen points below zero, and of course, laughter erupted within the classroom with Airetore’s instruction.
Cal ignored Sylvest’s murderous glare as she looked like she were about to castrate him and Ray; instead, he focused on Airetore as the laughter of the class settled down and the professor moved on. “Fortunately for you three, our exam is starting now, so you will have the opportunity to make up for your mistakes. On that note, the Test of Competency is rather simple. All you have to do is line up when asked, then direct your strongest spell at a large orb, which will give me a rating of your magic in a lovely, little book.”
He snapped his fingers again, and this time, the room slightly shook as the desks began to flatten out to the size of a stack of paper and dance their way around the room before finding rest against the ceiling. Cal had to scramble to grab his items so they wouldn’t be crushed. At the same time, the tiered steps below stamped themselves out and lay atop the floor. As for the chairs, they began to levitate in the air before dumping the students on the ground and stacking up in the corners of the room behind the podium. Cal landed on his feet, giving him the chance to watch as the orb Airetore previously mentioned floated out of the newly opened wall the steps used to cover.
Airetore gathered the class’ attention and looked across the crowd in front of him. “Alright, brats… Shall we begin?”
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“Next up, Squad Seventeen.”
Sound in the lecture hall picked up as the Elf Princess and her teammates stepped forward to the designated line. Excited whispers and comments revolving around the princess’ beauty spread like wildfire, though she took it in stride while standing with a placid smile.
If Cal were to be honest, he found himself equally ensnared by her appearance, the word stunning simply not enough to describe the princess’ magnificence. She possessed striking features that were somehow both sharp and soft. Her chin and cheekbones might have looked like that of a marble statue, yet there was a hint of plumpness in her face, grounding Cal in the fact that, while she was royalty, she was still a person who aged like anyone else— which technically isn’t true since she was an elf, a race known to live upwards of a thousand years. Regardless, she was royalty, and fittingly so, her long flowing hair—a pale silver tone—was braided in a manner that looked almost like a crown from the way it circled around a cleanly tied bun. Her delicate features were further highlighted by her rosy cheeks and long eyelashes, highlighting the unmistakable air of maturity and graciousness surrounding her.
“Would you care to go first, Princess Availius?” Airetore asked.
“It would be my honor,” she smiled, her voice as delicate as a flower petal, but as firm as a great evergreen.
She peered at the orb about thirty yards away before pulling a white item from a round holster strapped to her back, shaped like a crescent moon. Once holding it, she snapped it outward. Resulting of the action, a bow appeared, snow white in color with symmetrical carvings gracing its vine-like body as jagged pieces protruded like leaves to a branch.
She took a deep breath and pulled the string back while simultaneously muttering words Cal couldn’t understand, though he quickly guessed that she was speaking in the Elven tongue.
The chant only lasted five seconds, but with each second that passed, visible light-green energy picked up from the tops of her right arm as whipping winds followed and flowed down to her hand. The bow was still without an arrow nocked; however, once her chanting ceased and the string was pulled to its tightest, the mana that was shrouding her hand shot into the bow’s rest before a light green arrow formed. Without a second to waste, she shot the arrow and it soared forward at blinding speeds.
When it struck the orb, the room thrummed with a booming hum, causing many to mutter their amazement. From the side, Airetore made a face of approval and looked down at the book in his hands. “Impressive, Lady Availius. Eighty-three points. Next.”
The princess smiled before the next girl stepped up.
Venella Rafierre, Cal assumed.
The name sounded familiar…
She had radiant brown skin and hooded eyes the color of copper. It was a beautiful combination, which was complemented by black hair that was twisted into multiple thick braids with golden rings clamping down on each lengthy lock.
She appeared cool and confident without a shred of indecision in her actions, especially as she crossed the line, grabbed the thin golden bracelet around each of her wrists, and pulled them off enough for her to grasp them with her knuckles. Before Cal’s eyes, he watched as the bracelet reformed around her fingers and took on the shape of…
“Are those brass knuckles?” Ray uttered.
Rafierre reached the orb and tapped it with a finger before smirking. Right after, she reared her fist back and slammed it into the orb. Cal could’ve sworn he had heard the orb crack, but the ball remained sturdy. Rafierre drew her fists back and reverted her brass knuckles back into bracelets before she slid them back onto her wrists with an unperturbed smile.
“Very good, Lady Rafierre. Seventy points. Ms. Prath, you’re next.”
The aforementioned, staff in hand—its color white with a dark blue orb enclosed in a diamond-shaped frame—nodded her head and stepped forward. However, she simply stood there.
Cal furrowed his brows the longer she remained frozen, only moving her head so as to look at everyone else around her. After ten seconds of Prath proving to be quite the nervous and indecisive person, she raised her staff—back and legs as straight as a strand of hay—and pointed it at the orb.
“Um… Stream!”
Following her half-hearted cry, the orb in her staff shined a dull blue before a very underwhelming amount of water shot out from it and doused the orb.
Prath looked like she wanted to disappear as a few students chuckled and Airetore coughed into his hand. “Oh, wow… Um, right. Ms. Prath, twenty-two points. Squad Eighteen, you’re up.”
The staff wielder’s head fell, though Rafierre had thrown an arm around the girl’s shoulder and wrapped her in a halfway hug, glaring at those who laughed at her.
Cal hardly spared it a second glance and made his way to the line. Unlike most groups before them, there was a fair share of talking going on as Cal and his new teammates were called forward. He could make a fair assumption of why that might have been…
“The world’s youngest Proversum, Raymond Crim…” Airetore called out once Squad Eighteen reached the line. “Please go first.”
It finally dawned on Cal that he wasn’t certain as to how strong Ray was. To be a Proversum meant he had mastered an entire class of Magic Arts, but as someone who’d been exposed to little magic in his eighteen years of life, Cal had no clue as to what that looked like. Ray avoided weapons and he was wholly devoted to magic. Cal couldn’t help but feel a hint of eagerness course through his body at the thought.
Such eagerness evaporated, however, once the blonde turned to Airetore, his smile somewhere between embarrassment and humor as he ran a hand through his hair. “Professor Airetore, I… sort of forgot my wand back at the palace. Is it fine if I just use my hand?”
“Seriously?” Airetore deadpanned. “You know a medium is used to regulate mana control and make spells more powerful, right, Prince Crim? To forget something so vital—hah, whatever. Go ahead.”
Ray nodded and turned back to the orb, this time with his hand outstretched. Like Cal, the excitement of the class had died down by a tremendous amount, shown in the muttered disappointment and sideways glances the students shared, some going so far as to not even watch. Cal couldn’t blame them since he had also wished to see the full extent of the youngest Proversum’s strength.
A few feet to his left, letting out a scoff, Sylvest muttered under her breath, “What a reliable prince.”
Regardless of his admirers’ dissatisfaction, Ray raised an outstretched palm and flexed his fingers. Then he slowly closed his fingers to the point that it looked like a bird’s claw reaching for its prey. In this case, centered on his palm, his prey was a bright red flame that began to burn fiercely. The air in the classroom seemed to thin, causing many students to look back at Ray, their eyes widening. That’s when Ray’s hand began to shake. His free hand grabbed the wrist maintaining the spell, but it still shook. Despite that, the prince grinned wickedly while the flame grew bigger and bigger.
“Is that normal?” a student behind Cal asked their friend.
That’s when it happened.
Ray’s spell flickered. It occurred in the core. The ferocious spell blazed like Vrexa and Yanola, yet in its middle, a spark of blue shot out. Wind began to whip around the prince before tendrils of flames shot out of his spell, nearly swiping at a few closer students.
Cal took a step back, and Sylvest followed a second later.
“Prince Crim,” Airetore’s voice rose over the roaring of Ray’s spell. “Do you have control of your spell?”
Ray’s smile remained, elation in his eyes. “Just… One moment, Professor.”
At his words, the tendrils receded, and a moment later, the blue spark returned, followed by a hundred more until the entire spell burned blue and white.
“Prince Crim?” Airetore called again.
“I got it!” Ray shouted.
But it disappeared.
In the blink of an eye, Ray’s spell was dispelled.
The room froze, eyes blinking and mouths agape as Lumiriahn’s youngest Proversum, an Elemental Paragon, stood motionless. Airetore himself was surprised as he looked down at the book, then at Ray.
“Uh… Raymond Crim. Zero—”
“Hell’s Flame!”
Ninety heads snapped toward the prince, whose hand suddenly erupted into a blaze of purple, blue, and white. He lifted his palm toward the orb and released a flame both wide and tall, soaring toward the orb with an intensity so great that the students cried out as they fled to the chalkboards. Cal stood a dozen feet behind the prince, his heart booming as he watched the crying flames slam into the orb. The spell’s screaming roar and blistering heat dragged him out of his amazement, and once the spell ceased and the students realized it was over, words of astonishment exploded from the crowd of students.
Ray let out a haggard breath, turned to Cal, and smirked. “How about that, Cal?”
He could only inhale sharply and shake his head in disbelief.
How was that a weakened Raymond Crim? How strong was he normally?
Cal’s thoughts were numerous as he looked at Airetore, who looked down at his book and mumbled something under his breath before looking up. “Raymond Crim… Ninety-three points. Truly amazing, Your Highness.”
The rest of the class shared the professor’s sentiment as many congratulated Ray and chattered amongst one another about the sight they just witnessed. Some were awestruck, others were in disbelief, and a select few were clearly envious.
Cal felt a bit of each.
“Next.”
At Airetore’s signal, Sylvest stepped forward.
Cal expected people to look forward to his second teammate’s performance following such an amazing sight, but what he did not expect was the handful of harsh whispers directed at her while she stared at the orb. Even then, her expression showed a lack of concern for the insults behind her.
“I can’t believe they let orphan trash in here.”
“You think she’ll blow us up?”
“Don’t make eye contact with her. She might beg for money.”
Cal looked over his shoulder at the snickering offenders. They didn’t look all that important, and if he recalled correctly, they hardly scratched fifty points in the test. Cal turned back around, gaze relatively hardened. It was the second time he’d witnessed her be victim to several whispers, none of which were positive. He could only wonder why that was the case.
Nonetheless, Sylvest stood with her right arm stretched to her side and her fingers flexing. With the twirl of her hand, smoke and ash began to circulate her fingers before a spear as tall as Ray formed in her hand. Its body was an ashy color with thin lines of orange and red wrapped around it like the veins in one’s arms. Its blade matched its body’s color and was shaped like an arrowhead.
The sight of such a weapon was very new to Cal, as well as amazing. A spear is nothing, but to summon a spear, much less one that took on the appearance of the remains of a great blaze… It was nothing short of extraordinary.
It came time, and Sylvest seemed ready to go as she tossed her spear up and down in her hand like she was testing its weight. She threw it up one more time, this time much higher, then proceeded to take a step forward and lurch into a throwing position before the spear had even reached her. As her arm moved in an overarching motion, her hand perfectly caught the spear before she launched the spear with a speed that would give Cal’s shoddy Lighting Armor a run for its money. Atop its already insane speed, however, the tip of the spear glowed a bright yellow and orange. It caused the spear to spiral at rapid speeds with a flame leading it to the orb. The spear connected and looked to disappear into the orb; however, on further inspection, it merely turned to ash following the devastating impact. Moments later, it reappeared in her hand. She turned toward Airetore.
“Annabelle Sylvest. Seventy-two. Next.”
The brunette nodded curtly and turned to Ray and Cal. The former lifted his fist toward the boys’ female counterpart. “Good job, Sylvest.”
She glanced at Ray, then at his fist, and turned her attention to Cal. “Don’t screw us over again.”
Cal looked at her blankly, confused by the hostility she’d shown for the umpteenth time in less than an hour, and disregarded the comment that clearly came with her sour personality. He then approached the line.
“Good luck,” Ray called out as he did so.
Upon reaching the line though, Cal realized something.
He didn’t know what to do.
He knew Torch, which would probably account for two points, and he also had Lightning Armor. That boosted his body’s speed, and as a result, strength too. It was sufficient, but it wasn’t anything that’d get them a ton of points. He had told Ray that he knew four spells, which wasn’t a lie, but the other spells he knew was an Earth spell that summoned a pillar of stone—something he used for a last-second defense—and then a Wind spell that shot out a burst of wind. That spell was one he had performed on a whim to help him harvest berries at a faster rate with high-speed winds.
…
High-speed winds…
Cal hummed in thought, dismissing the scornful whispers of his peers as he had been standing still for well over ten seconds. Glancing at Airetore, the professor nodded discreetly toward his back. Cal’s brows furrowed before realization dawned on him.
A medium.
Grabbing his dagger, Cal flipped the blade a few times while scrutinizing the orb, thinking about how he was about to attempt something he’d never done before. Then he sighed. “Here goes nothing.”
Like he’d done only a handful of times before, Cal sought the Lightning Mana coursing through his mana chords. When he found a manageable amount, he conjured the spell and pushed it to his right arm, covering the limb in a thin layer of blue lightning. With a deep breath, Cal then sought the light-green mana for Wind Magic. It took a bit longer as he didn’t often use Wind Magic; however, after another ten seconds, he found enough Wind Mana to match the Lightning Mana.
Inhaling, Cal then reshaped the spell.
The idea of spellcasting, as simple as it may sound, can be difficult. All one has to do is imagine what spell they wish to create. But, if there was a mistake—a single thing out of line—when it came to the imagining of the spell, it would fail. That said, Cal didn’t need to imagine a new spell, and that was because he simply reconfigured the standard Wind spell to replicate Lightning Armor. As he hoped, his left arm glowed light green as rings of wind coiled up his limb.
Cal exhaled, for the hard part was what came next.
In the blink of an eye, Cal pushed the Wind spell from his left arm and combined it with Lightning Armor. The combination of the two elements caused the energy around his arm to turn a pale yellow. It also caused Cal to gasp in pain. He expected it with the sudden combination of two magics, yet the pain was more than just indescribable. A heat similar to Ray’s Hell Flame’s scorched his limb, and in its wake, blood-red streaks began to protrude from his arm, as solid as a rock until they began to fade toward his shoulder.
Coming so far, and ignoring the taxing strain of using two magics without prior experience, Cal willed himself not to fail. So, grasping at his desire to prevail, Cal pushed every piece of the gathered mana to his dagger and reared his arm back. However, the second he swung forward, a spike of mana surged through his arm, causing Cal’s focus to drop.
Still, the dagger was released, ricocheting off the floor and into the orb. He didn’t even have a chance to think before he was flung backward alongside dozens of other students. When he had enough bearing to think, Cal sighed.
The spell must have backfired—caused an explosion of wind.
Groaning in frustration, but more so in pain, Cal eventually rolled himself over. An ecstatic Ray and peeved Sylvest looked down at him. Regardless, Cal’s concerns lay elsewhere.
For starters, his score…
“Despite your recklessness, brat. You earned seventy-five points. Congratulations.”
The second…