The world snapped back into focus with a jarring intensity. The hum of the hall, the curious stares of other students, the cold, polished floor beneath his feet—it all rushed back in. But the only thing Barry could truly process was the girl in front of him.
Belinda Frostvale.
Her eyes, wide with a confusion that mirrored his own, were locked on his. That single, fleeting moment of collision had stretched into an eternity, charged with a static energy that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with a shattered past.
Then, just as quickly, the shutters came down. Her expression smoothed over, the faint crease of pain on her brow vanishing as if it had never been there. The glacial mask of Belinda Frostvale was back in place, colder and harder than before. She took a deliberate step back, putting a precise, calculated distance between them.
"My apologies," she said, her voice as chilled and impersonal as a winter wind. She didn't wait for a response. Turning on her heel, she walked away, her platinum hair flowing behind her like a banner of ice.
Barry stood rooted to the spot, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. She felt it too. I know she did. The Voice in his head was mercifully, unnervingly silent, perhaps savoring the moment.
"Wow, dude, you just bumped into the Frost Queen herself," a voice chirped beside him. Chloe, Belinda's friend, was looking him up and down with undisguised curiosity. "And lived to tell the tale. Most people get frostbite. I'm Chloe. You're the new guy, right? Barry?"
Barry just grunted, pulling his hood back up and adjusting his bandana with a hand he desperately hoped wasn't shaking. He snapped the latch on his suitcase shut and shouldered past her, heading for the door. He needed to get out. Now.
Chloe, undeterred, simply called after him, "Tough crowd! See you in class!"
***
(ELEMENTAL LECTURE HALL - Later That Day)
The next class was Magical Aptitude and Theory. The room was a steep amphitheater, and the air smelled of ozone, chalk dust, and the faint, coppery tang of spent magic. Barry took a seat in the very back row, as far from everyone as possible.
The professor, a lean, hawk-faced man named Professor Vance with spectacles perched on the end of his nose, began his lecture. "Magic is intent given form! Will given substance! But all intent requires a medium, a... flavour, if you will. Today, we begin practicals. You will each be tested to identify your primary magical affinity. This is not a test of power, but of nature. Fire, water, earth, air, light... these are the pure, governable forms."
Barry's blood ran cold. Aptitude test. This was exactly what he'd been dreading. They would want him to draw on his power, to let it flow. And his power was a screaming, hungry thing made of blood and shadow. It was the antithesis of everything "pure and governable."
He watched as students were called forward one by one. A girl placed her hands on a smooth, dark obsidian slab. It glowed a soft, serene blue, and a gentle mist rose from its surface. "Hydrokinesis. Excellent control, Miss Petrov," Vance noted.
Then, a bulky, familiar figure swaggered up. Jax. He shot a smug glance around the room before slapping his hands on the slab. It immediately erupted in a violent, roaring cascade of flames that licked towards the ceiling before Jax pulled back, grinning.
"Pyrokinesis. Powerful, but brutish. Learn control, Mr. Bracken, or you'll burn more than the demonstration slab," Professor Vance said dryly, making a note on his clipboard. Jax's grin didn't falter as he returned to his seat, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Barry. They narrowed.
Barry looked away, his mind racing. He needed a plan. A cover. The Voice whispered, a sly, tempting sound.
"Let me out. Let them see true power. Let them burn."
No, Barry thought back, the command fierce and internal. There's another way. He had spent a decade not just running, but learning. His blood magic was a roaring inferno, but he had learned to siphon off the smallest sparks of it to fuel a different, more acceptable kind of magic. A magic of force. Of pressure. Of weight.
"Barry Crimsonwood. You're up."
The room went quiet. Every head turned to look at the hooded figure in the back. Barry stood, his movements deliberately slow, and walked to the front. He could feel Jax's predatory stare burning into his back.
"Place your hands on the resonance slab, Mr. Crimsonwood. Clear your mind. Let your innate energy flow into it," Professor Vance instructed.
Barry took a deep breath. This was it. He couldn't let his true power touch the slab. He focused not on the dark well of rage inside him, but on the physics of the world. On the pull of the earth. On the density of the air. He imagined a weight, an anchor, a crushing force.
He placed his hands on the cool obsidian.
For a terrifying second, nothing happened. Then, a deep, murky grey light began to emanate from the slab. It wasn't bright or flashy. It was dull, heavy. The very air around the slab seemed to warp and bend, and a low, sub-audible hum filled the room. Tiny motes of dust in the air stopped drifting and fell straight to the floor.
Professor Vance leaned forward, his eyebrows raised in interest. "Fascinating. Not elemental. A physical force magic. Gravitational manipulation. A difficult and precise discipline. Quite rare." He made a note. "You may return to your seat."
A wave of relief so potent it made him dizzy washed over Barry. He had done it. He'd passed.
As he turned, Jax was suddenly in his path, blocking the aisle. "Gravity magic?" he sneered, his voice low enough that only Barry could hear. "Figures you'd get something boring and weak. Just like a scholarship rat. You think you're better than us? Think that little display with Frostvale makes you special?"
Barry tried to side-step him. "I don't think about you at all, Bracken."
The dismissal in his tone was the final spark. Jax's face flushed crimson. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, freak!" he snarled, and a ball of fire, small but searing hot, bloomed in his palm. He didn't launch it, just thrust it towards Barry's face as a threat.
Barry didn't flinch. He didn't even move his hands. He just focused. Redirect. Not stop. Redirect.
The fireball shuddered. Instead of flying forward, it collapsed in on itself with a sharp whump, as if sucked into a tiny, invisible black hole, and vanished without a trace.
Jax stared at his empty hand, stunned. Then, pure, unadulterated rage took over. With a roar of humiliation, he threw a wild, magically-enhanced punch straight at Barry's head.
This time, Barry reacted. His hand came up, fingers splayed. The words were low, guttural, and carried the weight of command. "Graviola Intensus."
The air around Jax solidified. A faint, shimmering, honeycombed pattern of distorted light flickered into existence around him for just a second. Jax's forward momentum halted violently. His face contorted in shock and strain as an immense, invisible force slammed down on him. His knees buckled, hitting the stone floor with a sickening crack that echoed in the silent lecture hall.
The entire class was on their feet, watching in horrified fascination.
Jax grunted, veins bulging on his neck and forehead. The insult of being forced to his knees before this nobody, this outsider, was worse than the physical pressure. He tried to push back, to rise, muscles screaming.
Barry watched him coldly, a flicker of the monster from the alley surfacing in his blue eye. He made a slight, tightening motion with his fingers.
The pressure doubled.
Jax didn't just kneel; he was driven downward, his chest and face slammed into the cold stone floor with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. He lay there, pinned, utterly helpless, a fly under a boot.
"Mr. Crimsonwood!" Professor Vance's voice cut through the tension like a whip. "That is quite enough. Release him. Now."
For a heartbeat, Barry held the spell, the intoxicating feeling of control warring with a decade of practiced restraint. With a slow exhale, he dropped his hand.
The invisible weight vanished. Jax gasped in a huge, ragged breath, pushing himself up on trembling arms. His face was a mask of fury, humiliation, and raw hatred. He looked at Barry, and in that look was a promise of violent retribution.
"Return to your seats. Now," Professor Vance commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Mr. Bracken, control your temper or you will be scrubbing alembics for a month. Mr. Crimsonwood... a word."
As the class slowly sat back down, buzzing with whispered excitement, Barry approached the professor's desk.
"That was a precise application of a very advanced spell, Mr. Crimsonwood," Vance said quietly, his eyes sharp behind his spectacles. "Precise, but excessive. We encourage control here, not domination. Do you understand the difference?"
Barry nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. "Yes, Professor."
"See that you do. Power like that... it draws attention. The wrong kind. Dismissed."
Barry turned and walked back to his seat. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, but only one pair felt like ice drilling into his soul. He risked a glance.
Belinda Frostvale was watching him, her expression unreadable. But in her glacial eyes, for the first time, there was no dismissal. There was only cold, calculating assessment. And a deep, wary suspicion.
The cover was blown, not in the way he feared, but in a way that might be just as dangerous. He hadn't revealed his shadow, but he had shown his fangs. And in a school like Bloodlore, predators always noticed a new challenger.