I hesitate at the school gates, but Claire's steady presence beside me helps, as does the oddly peaceful atmosphere in the schoolyard. Even Finn just keeps his head down when we pass - though whether from fear or shame, I can't tell.

"It'll be fine," Claire whispers, squeezing my hand. "Just try not to make anything explode today."

I manage a weak smile. "No promises."

Inside, Mrs. Hemlock's classroom feels different. The practice crystals have been cleared away, replaced by neat stacks of theory books. Even Mira's usual array of healing crystals is notably absent, though I spot some scorch marks on her desk from yesterday.

Mrs. Hemlock doesn't call on me during morning exercises. Instead, she focuses on Mira, whose healing crystals still look a bit scorched from yesterday. "Remember class," she says, drawing neat diagrams on the board, "mana flows like water. Too much pressure and the channels overflow. Too little, and nothing moves at all."

The morning feels different somehow. After yesterday's drama with the crystal, I expected more whispers, more stares. But the schoolyard is oddly peaceful as Claire and I make our way to class. Maybe everyone's too tired for drama - even Finn just keeps his head down when we pass.

The lesson moves to theory, and I find myself actually interested despite yesterday's incident. Mrs. Hemlock puts aside her usual flow diagrams and instead writes "The Scales of Power" across the blackboard in her neat script.

"Today," Mrs. Hemlock begins, writing on the blackboard, "we'll discuss how personal mana develops and manifests." She pauses, turning to face us. "I know some of you have heard whispers about other forms of magic - the ancient Flows that run through our world, for instance - but those are topics for... different lessons. First, you must master your own inner power."

I slump in my seat, barely suppressing a groan. Claire shoots me a warning look, but I can't help myself. "When will we learn about the Flows?" I whisper to her. "I'm tired of basic stuff. We never talk about the interesting parts." It's not entirely true - half the time I can barely manage a proper light spell - but my frustration feels real enough.

"Patience, Miss Julie," Mrs. Hemlock says without turning from the board. Her chalk sketches seven distinct levels. "Understanding personal magic is crucial. Even those who work with... other sources must first master themselves."

She writes "The Scales of Power" at the top. "Magic resonates at different frequencies. The deeper the resonance, the more power you can access. Most people begin at Level 1 - what we call Echoes. Simple, instinctive magic that requires no incantation. Creating light, warming your hands, sensing magical presences."

Mira raises her hand. "Is that what we're doing with the crystals?"

"Some of you are already touching Level 2 - Murmurs," Mrs. Hemlock nods. "Basic spells requiring actual focus. Minor healing like you're practicing, Mira. Warming water, drying clothes, enhancing materials temporarily."

I copy everything dutifully, though my mind keeps wandering to grandmother's journal and its descriptions of deeper powers.

"Level 3 magics are called Verses," she continues. "These require sustained concentration - enhancing physical abilities, creating defensive barriers, manipulating existing elements. Most village mages operate at this level."

"What about combat magic?" Finn asks suddenly, earning disapproving looks.

"Yes, Verses can be used defensively," Mrs. Hemlock says carefully. "Though that's not their primary purpose."

"Level 4 - Resonances - marks the beginning of true mastery. Weather influence, major healing, elemental creation. Magic that affects the environment itself." Her voice grows more serious. "Few reach this level without years of study."

The class sits straighter, sensing we're entering more interesting territory.

"Hymns - Level 5 - are the first magics that can affect reality's fabric. Limited time manipulation, space distortion, matter transformation." She pauses. "These are restricted knowledge, requiring extensive training and supervision."

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"And Harmonics?" Rosso asks quietly. Everyone turns to stare at him.

Mrs. Hemlock hesitates. "Level 6 magics are... theoretical for most practitioners. They affect reality on a massive scale - widespread environmental manipulation, mass healing, fundamental energy transformation. The kind of power that requires a lifetime to master, if ever."

She draws the final level with slow, deliberate strokes. "And then there are Requiems. Level 7. Magic powerful enough to alter the laws of reality itself. But these are mostly historical records. The few confirmed practitioners..." She lets the sentence hang.

"What happened to them?" someone whispers.

"No one knows," she says simply. "Now then, back to Echoes. Who can demonstrate a proper light sphere?"

After Mrs. Hemlock finishes explaining the power scales, I can't help letting my mind wander to grandmother's journal. Claire catches me staring into space and pokes me in the ribs.

"Your face gets all scrunchy when you're plotting magical rebellions," she whispers with a knowing smile. "I can practically see you wondering if her journal mentions these power levels."

"Heh, caught me," I whisper back with a guilty grin. "Can't help wondering what else she knew about all this."

I try to look innocent, but she knows me too well. My fingers itch to check those ancient pages, to see if grandmother wrote about these same scales, or something deeper, older.

I sink lower in my seat, suddenly very interested in mastering the basics after all.

At lunch, Claire and I find a sunny spot in the courtyard. The weather is perfect - warm without being hot, with just enough breeze to rustle leaves. We share honey cakes that Emma's mother sent again (she must be baking daily now), and for a little while, everything feels almost normal.

"See?" Claire says, brushing crumbs from her dress. "Not every day has to be dramatic."

She's right. There's something peaceful about just being students again. Learning normal things. Practicing safe magics under careful supervision. Even the currents I usually see seem calmer today, flowing quietly beneath the surface of things.

Maya joins us briefly, proudly showing off a drawing she made in her class - a cat that looks suspiciously like Mrs. Hedda's black kitten. "Mrs. Reed says I'm getting better at staying inside the lines," she announces before skipping off to play.

The afternoon brings us to Mrs. Ursa's herb garden for practical lessons. Today we're learning to identify different plants - which ones heal, which harm, which can be used for cooking. She shows us how to recognize nightshade by its distinctive purple flowers ("Never eat the berries, children"), and how to tell the difference between healing chamomile and its poisonous lookalikes.

"See these jagged edges?" she demonstrates with a leaf. "Nature often warns us about dangerous plants. Sharp leaves, bitter taste, strong smells - these are the plant's way of saying 'be careful with me.'" She has us carefully feel different textures - the fuzzy sage, the sharp nettle (with thick gloves), the smooth mint.

"And this," she holds up a particularly nasty-looking specimen, "is what gave poor Mr. Weber that awful rash last spring. He thought it was wild parsley." The class giggles, remembering how the baker had turned bright red for a week.

"Always check the leaves carefully," she continues, passing around samples. "Some of our most useful medicines look very similar to deadly poisons. This one," she points to a delicate white flower, "can cure fevers if prepared properly. But its cousin," she indicates an almost identical plant, "will stop your heart before you hit the ground."

We spend the rest of the afternoon making careful sketches in our notebooks, noting the subtle differences between helpful and harmful plants. When I accidentally crush a mint leaf, the sharp scent makes my nose tingle, but in a normal way - no strange magical reactions today.

By day's end, as Claire and I walk home, she pulls me aside before we reach our usual parting spot.

"My house, after dinner?" she whispers. "We could... look at that book of your grandmother's. Maybe it explains some of what Mrs. Hemlock was talking about." She glances around nervously. "Just... please don't let my grandfather find out. He'd have my head if he knew I was helping you study forbidden magic."

I nod, trying not to look too eager. "Your window at moonrise?"

"And Julie?" She grabs my arm. "No crystals this time. Just reading. Promise?"

"Promise." Though even as I say it, I wonder if some promises are made to be broken.

We part ways, and I find Maya waiting at our gate, Mr. Whiskers clutched to her chest as usual. "Can we visit the kittens again?" she asks hopefully.

"Not tonight," I say, already planning my escape route to Claire's. "Maybe tomorrow."

She gives me that strange, knowing look she sometimes has now. "Be careful with prettier magics," she says in that odd voice that isn't quite hers. Then she skips inside, leaving me to wonder if she knows what Claire and I are planning.

I just hope we're ready for whatever we find in grandmother's pages

And that Elder Sven doesn't discover his granddaughter helping me unlock secrets he's tried so hard to keep hidden, pretty sure that this would not go down well with him at all.