Saul stood at the edge of the gathering, surrounded by a sea of eager students. Their chatter buzzed like static, charged with anticipation for the duel unfolding at the center of the training grounds.
"Get ready for an epic showdown," someone near the front called out, practically vibrating with excitement.
Amused, Saul let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "It won't last long," he said, dusting off the hem of his black robe. "One move. Finn's going to wipe the floor with them."
The conversation around him faltered. Heads turned.
A scoff came from the left. "Speak for yourself!" a student snapped, sharing a high five with a grinning friend.
"Come on, Saul," another chimed in, eyes alight with curiosity. "Spill the tea—how's Finn gonna dominate this time?"
"Fill me in on how Finn's going to dominate another student," He said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Laughter erupted around him. Saul's face flushed—part embarrassment, part frustration—but he forced a calm expression.
"Just wait and see," he muttered, defiance edging his tone, though the slight quiver betrayed the pressure he felt under their gazes.
Today marked the much-hyped magic face-off at Crimeton Academy, where senior students flaunted their mystical Mojo. Saul knew Finn would win—he had no doubt—but even if he were right, no one here was ready to take him seriously anymore.
It hadn't always been this way. When Saul first arrived at Crimeton, he'd made waves—his knack for occultism and deep-rooted knowledge had thrust him into the spotlight. Overnight, he became a prodigy. But fame in these halls was a double-edged sword. Jealous seniors saw him as a threat, and when his classroom progress slowed, the same crowd that had once praised him turned ruthless.
As he turned to slip away from the crowd, a figure blocked his path.
Rebecca, a senior. A little shorter, a lot sharper, and never one to miss a chance to jab.
"Leaving already, Saul?" she asked, arching a brow. "Before you go, maybe you can explain that whole tree-hanging incident from last week?"
The crowd roared.
Saul's fists clenched at his sides.
Then—crack. A thunderous impact silenced the laughter, like bones colliding with steel.
All heads snapped toward the center. Dust billowed, then cleared.
There stood Finn—grinning smugly over his fallen opponent. One move. Just as Saul had said.
And yet, no one looked his way. Not even Rebecca. Her indifference cut deeper than the laughter.
"Way to go, Saul," someone offered half-heartedly, giving him a pat on the back. He gave a faint nod, a quiet smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"Look at that," another sneered, "the outsider trying to play prophet. Why not hang out with the first-level scrubs, Saul? Maybe they'll be impressed by your sixth sense."
The words stung, but they also lit something in him. A slow-burning fire. He turned away—not in defeat, but in choice. These people didn't see him. Not yet.
Across the courtyard, his eyes found Miss Rob's classroom. Miss Rob was known as a no-nonsense, hot-headed teacher, but Saul sensed she had a soft corner for him. An upper-level hydrokinesis session technically off-limits to him. But rules had never done much to stop Saul.
He slipped in through the back, sliding into a shadowed seat at the far end. Miss Rob paced at the front, her voice sharp and commanding as she unpacked the day's lesson. Water danced at her fingertips—fluid, dangerous and alive.
This was advanced material but apparently Saul wasn't here to catch up. Thanks to the guidance of the old man Saul knew more than the level he was at, he was here to show himself and eventually, the rest of them where he truly belonged.
As the minutes crawled by, a heavy drowsiness crept over Saul. His eyelids drooped, and Miss Rob's voice—so familiar by now—became a distant murmur, drowned beneath the haze of his thoughts. She was instructing the class on channeling elemental water via a core crystal, but Saul, in his own words, already possessed "extraordinary wisdom," and so, boredom overtook him.
His head eased onto the desk, and reality began to blur—until it was shattered. But her hawk eyes caught his snooze act. "And, oh, was she mad?"
"Saul Quinn, on your feet!"
The voice cracked like a whip. Miss Rob's tone, sharp and seething, sliced through the classroom. All heads turned in unison, necks snapping toward the source of disruption. Saul jerked upright, dazed, as a ripple of snickers spread across the room. Disheveled and red-faced, he felt the weight of a hundred eyes upon him. But none bore down harder than Miss Rob's—her gaze like twin daggers of disdain. Feeling a pang of guilt stab him right in the gut. His shoulders slumped, and, man, he wished he could just turn invisible, or maybe just melt into the floor and escape the spotlight of attention.
"Do you intend to live like this?" she demanded, her voice thick with disappointment. "You hold a golden ticket to Pearson's Academy—an institution reserved for the most gifted. Keep on this path, and you'll squander that privilege."
Saul said nothing, but his eyes burned—not with shame, but with quiet resolve. He recognized the truth in her words. She wasn't trying to crush him; she was trying to wake him. Every top school, whether in the empire or across the pond, had no room for slackers.
Taking a breath, he spoke, "I've been thinking about where I'm headed."
Miss Rob arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Enlighten us, Mr. Visionary. What grand plan has come from your deep reflection?"
Saul lifted his chin, a rare grin tugging at his lips. "A small step, but I intend to become a spiritualist."
Silence cracked into laughter. It started as a titter, then snowballed into an uproar. Students leaned into one another, whispering, giggling, incredulous.
Unlike ordinary occultists, spiritualists harness the power of the universe's elements. While becoming an occultist was the dream of many, becoming a spiritualist was the aspiration of every occultist. However, spiritualists were incredibly rare, with only one in thousands of occultists achieving this prestigious title. Even Miss Rob blinked, her face livid, thrown off her rhythm and for the first time she momentarily forgot all about teacher etiquette.
A boy from the back hooted, "Saul's daydreaming his way into legend!"
Another snorted, "A spiritualist? He can't even stay awake in class!" "How this loser even dares to think about achieving it?" "And what's more funny is, he is calling it a small goal!" For a fleeting second, even Miss Rob wondered if this was some kind of teen joke. "Hold up. Do you realize you're pretty much the rookie of the year in the occult world?"
Laughter echoed like a jeer from the walls. Becoming a spiritualist—one who communes with the raw forces of the universe—was a dream harbored by many, but achieved by few. To declare it so lightly was, in their eyes, folly.
"Enough!" Miss Rob roared, her voice silencing the chaos. Her face was flushed, torn between anger and disbelief. "Out, Saul. Now."
Feeling humiliated, Saul had no option but to comply. With his head hung low, he shuffled out, each step from the classroom ringing like a gavel in a silent court.
The whispers followed him like shadows through the corridors. Mockery spread fast. By sunset, his name had become a joke, his ambition the latest punchline.
Seeking solace, Saul wandered to the edge of the training grounds, where the fading light spilled gold across the worn earth. Beneath the boughs of a great tree, he finally allowed the weight of the day to collapse upon him. Tears slipped free—silent, bitter—but not broken. No, he would not break.
Under the dusty hues of the setting sun, from his pocket, he drew a cluster of arcane crystals, some where colourless while others humming with a mysterious power. But it was a deep, mesmerizing blue crystal that caught Saul's attention. Holding it close, Saul closed his eyes, surrendering to meditation, seeking solace and strength within himself. But, man, peace can be as fleeting as a shooting star.
A pesky tap shattered his stillness. Standing above him were Rebecca and her pack, smirking like wolves circling prey.
"Well, well," Rebecca crooned, her voice honeyed with venom. "Word is you've set your sights high. Spiritualist, was it?"
Her brother Finn stood beside her, arms crossed, grinning.
"All that special recruitment, and it went to this guy?" Finn jeered. "What a waste you're just a wet firecracker!" "You should've handed it to Rebecca from the start," another added.
Saul rose slowly. He met their eyes, unflinching.
"You think you know who I am," he said, his voice steady. "But you don't. And your words won't shape my future,."
"My journey is my own, and I won't be deterred by your negativity."
The air thickened as hush fell. For a breath, even the wind seemed to hold back.
Saul gathered his belongings and brushed past the bullies, determined not to give them the satisfaction of witnessing his despair. But just as Saul thought he could escape unscathed.
Then, sneering, Finn snarled, "Looks like you dropped something."
Before Saul could react, a force slammed into him like lightning. He hit the ground hard, the taste of dust sharp in his mouth. Surrounded by the heartless bullies, Saul struggled to regain his composure.
Dazed, he barely registered the air growing thin as Finn lifted him skyward with an unseen grip. With blurred vision, he heard Finn taunting,
"Lesson one," Finn said coldly. "Respect your seniors."
Then he let go. Saul crashed to the earth, breath knocked from his lungs. Laughter rang around him.
But even through the pain, Saul's spirit would not yield. Blood at the corner of his mouth, he glared up at Finn.
"You'll pay for this," he whispered. Hailing his gears and rising to his feet with every ounce, he turned and walked away.
With every step, the laughter behind him faded, but the fire within him grew.
"I will become a spiritualist," he vowed beneath his breath. "Even if I have to turn the world upside down to do it."
With a newfound resolve burning within him, Saul walked away, leaving the bullies behind. He had one goal in mind: to become a spiritualist.