The academy's bell tower chimed, its boom rattling through every window. Joe gathered the children. Milla yawned, her braid half undone, as Joe lobbed a rock cake at her. She snagged it with one hand, crumbs scattering across her boots.
"Today's registration day," Joe barked, tapping his toe impatiently. "Don't embarrass me."
Alan finished brushing Emma's hair, his own tunic left unbuttoned, while Emma stood rigidly, clutching a frayed ribbon.
Families flooded the streets. Parents tugged children's collars straight, toddlers wailed, and boys and girls shoved through the crowd. Wisps of chimney smoke curled into the pale sky, mingling with the warm aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby bakery. Joe forged ahead, his bulk parting the sea of bustling bodies.
Ahead, the academy loomed. Its amber towers stretched skyward, their intricate carvings seeming to twist and writhe under a lingering gaze. Stained glass flared like dragon scales, splintering light into emeralds and violets across the cobblestones. The iron-bound doors stood open, clerks shouting names from within.
As they entered, the Great Library stood to their left. Endless rows of shelves sagged under the weight of scrolls and tomes. A sharp, earthy breeze drifted past, tickling Milla's nostrils.
"Ahh-chhoofff—Thud!" A book tumbled from its perch.
To their right, noise erupted from the training grounds outside. Crowds gathered to watch duels as dummies shattered into straw and wood shards. A boy launched flames at a target, torching a scarecrow's hat. Across from him, a girl summoned vines that choked a dummy. Further away, sparks scattered as two swordsmen clashed, earning gasps from parents and cheers from children.
Joe shouldered through the registration hall's jammed entrance. Inside, clerks dripped sweat onto papers, pen scratching. A line snaked past stone pillars—children fidgeting, mothers smoothing hair, fathers muttering advice. Loss in the mix, Emma stepped on Alan's heel; he hissed. Milla crushed the last rock cake crumbs in her fist. Somewhere, a baby cried. The hall buzzed like a hornet's nest.
Alan pulled Emma's braid when she lingered, nearly swallowed by the sea of bodies. Her eyes locked on the carving on the walls, where silver letters conveyed the rich tapestry of their history, interwoven with magic.
—
In their world, magic was not just an essence—it was an ocean: vast, alive, and teeming with power. Yet, each individual was bound by the constraints of their bloodline. Magic flowed like a magnificent current, but every person served as a vessel, shaped and limited by their innate attributes. These attributes determined not only the forms of magic they could command but also their connection to the divine.
The gods had divided magic into seven primal elements: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Wood, Light, and Dark. For peasants, mastery of even a single element was a marvel. Among the nobility, wielding two elements was considered a birthright. The rare few who could command three were celebrated as prodigies, blessed by the gods themselves. Yet, throughout all recorded history, no one had ever mastered more than three elements. Scholars insisted that this was an immutable ceiling, an unbreakable law of nature.
Magic was not conjured from nothing. It required mana—a raw, invisible energy coursing through all living things. Mana served as the fuel that powered every spell, but like any resource, it was finite. The stronger the spell, the greater its cost. A mage's prowess was measured by the capacity of their mana pool and the potency of the magic they wielded. Typically, evaluating a person's mana pool alone was sufficient to determine their rank.
Society placed immense importance on this ranking system, a hierarchy that dictated one's place in the world. The system categorized mages based on their mana pools:
Newborn (N): 5-30 mana
Beginner (G): 30-100 mana
Intermediate (F): 100-200 mana
Advanced (E): 200-500 mana
Master (D): 500-1,000 mana
Virtuoso (C): 1,000-5,000 mana
Luminary (B): 5,000-10,000 mana
Archmage (A): 10,000-50,000 mana
Sage (S): 50,000-100,000 mana
Enlightenment (Z): 100,000+ mana
These ranks were a rough framework. The higher the rank, the broader the range, making precise measurements impossible. Beyond a certain point, raw numbers alone couldn't capture the complexity of a mage's abilities.
—
"Names!" snapped a clerk, ink smeared across his cheek. Joe shoved the trio forward. Outside, the bell tower chimed again.
Two stones sat on the registration desk. The first was the mana stone, a white crystal that reacts to the presence of mana. Its glow reflects the holder's mana pool. The second was the attribute stone, smaller and shimmering, rippling like oil on water. When touched, it shifted colors: crimson for Fire, azure for Water, bronze for Earth, silver for Wind, emerald for Wood, gold for Light, and black for Dark.
Alan wiped his palms on his tunic before pressing them against the mana stone. Its milky surface glowed steadily—166 points. The proctor scratched the number onto his list without looking up.
"Attribute stone," he droned.
Alan touched the shimmering crystal. Flickers of red and silver light danced across its surface.
"Dual: Fire… Wind," the proctor announced to the clerk beside him. "Next!"
Emma stepped forward. Her handprint briefly blackened the attribute stone, like ink spilled on prism glass.
"One-twenty-four," the proctor said. "Dark… Next!"
Milla's mouth twitched when her earth-stained fingers triggered 130 points and a bronze glow.
"Save questions for orientation," the proctor said, waving her toward the exit. "All F-rank students, report to Hall Four."
By day's end, the proctor had stacked the results into a tidy pile. He skimmed the top sheet: rows of Fire singles, three Earth-Wood duals, and two Dark attributes, much like Emma's.
"Standard spread. But...we've got more Fire students than last term," he murmured.
His gaze halted as three names surfaced from the registry's pages—Nora Dawn, Gerral Harrt, Alan Gow. He slid their records to the top of the stack.
Name: Nora Dawn Age: 11 Mana: 203 Attributes: Dual—Light and Earth Background: Descendant of the Dawn House
Name: Gerral Harrt Age: 11 Mana: 176 Attributes: Dual—Wood and Water Background: Son of the 1st Party vice-captain
Name: Alan Gow Age: 10 Mana: 166 Attributes: Dual—Fire and Wind Background: Son of a third-tier blacksmith
The proctor carried the results to the headmaster's desk. "This year's registrants, sir," he announced, placing the stack before him.
The headmaster leaned over the papers, peeling through the top sheets. Gow, Harrt, Dawn. His finger hovered like a vulture eyeing rot. "Alan… Gowww?" The name oozed from his lips, syrupy and sour. "That name stirs an old man's memory."
The proctor adjusted his wire-frame glasses, their lenses flashing in the dim light. "Ferris Gow, sir. A third-tier smith in Nedr. He sells serviceable blades to the guild—not the sort that would sing to your ear, of course."
The headmaster snorted, shoving the sheet off the pile as if it offended him. "A common hammer-slinger sires a dualist? The gods must be drunk." His nail tapped the next name. "And this Harrt boy—Dnen's spawn?"
"Yes. And it seems he'd inherited both parents' attributes." The proctor nodded sharply. "The vice-captain has been boasting about Gerral's 'tactical versatility' in every tavern from here to—"
"Let the brute preen." The headmaster waved a hand dismissively, his attention sliding to the top name. His finger stabbed downward. "But this… Nora—Down. A Down seedling in our desolate soil?"
The proctor inhaled sharply. "Dawn, sir. Of the Frostgale's Lantern. Robert Dawn—the merchant-mind of their house—is Helen Dawn's brother. She sits among the Ten Lords. His fifth wife was…of lesser stock, a desert merchant's daughter."
"A commoner in the Dawn's bedchamber?" The headmaster mock-gasped, skeletal hands fluttering. "How modern."
The proctor's jaw tightened, but his tone remained measured. "Robert handles their coffers—a rather modest position for a noble—but his mastery of the Dawn attribute is second only to Helen's. Unfortunately, the girl's Light was tainted by her mother's dirt." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully so as not to bite off his tongue. "A strategic enrollment, sir. The mother's maneuver."
The headmaster's grin spread wide—a rusted hinge screaming. "So the Lantern gifts us its dimmest spark? How delightful." He slammed his palm on the pile. "Keep an eye on them. Nobles play chess with bastards and blacksmiths these days."