The teacher stood in the middle of the training field, his long red coat looking even darker now that it was soaked by the rain. Water streamed from the edge of his hood and dripped down his sleeve, but his voice stayed steady and clear.
"Everyone, the test is over. Return inside and change," he called out.
"Don't be impatient. Wait for your results. They'll be on the board by the end of the day."
The students began to walk toward the entrance — all except one.
Owen, a young man who had been at the academy for a whole year, still stood in the rain, focusing as if the cold water might wake something up inside him. His fists were clenched. His breath came out in white clouds.
"Ugh, I can't do this," he muttered under his breath. "I can feel the mana flowing, but I can't get it out… why?"
The others noticed and began to laugh at him. He was known as "The Vault".
His mana threshold was far higher than other students. His body could gather a huge amount of energy but he could not release it. The nickname, once said with curiosity, had become a joke.
"Give up already. You can't even cast a low-tier spell," one student sneered.
"You're just a pathetic vault. All that mana gathering for nothing," said another.
"You do know that to become a mage you have to be able to use mana, right?" a third added.
They were right. Owen had been at the academy for a year, learning every spell he could find, but nothing ever worked. He felt like a bottle that could be filled but never opened. The rain washed down his face, mixing with the heat of his frustration.
Fuming with anger, Owen let his rage take over. "Fine! I give up!" he yelled. "That's what you all wanted to hear?!"
Everyone fell silent, surprised at the outburst. Even the teacher blinked.
"H-hey man, we were just joking around," one of them said.
"Y-Yes, that's right. Don't take it personally," another muttered.
"Too late for that. It's personal now," Owen snapped. "I hope you all burn in hell."
He ripped off his soaked blue coat and threw it toward the teacher. Then he stormed past everyone into the building, the gold pillars in the hallway reflecting his angry expression.
Inside, the academy was warm and bright compared to the storm outside. The main hall stretched ahead like a long tunnel. Smooth stone walls rose high on either side, broken by tall windows where rain ran in silver lines.
The glass was set with faint runes that glowed softly, keeping the water and wind out. Along the walls stood statues of famous mages, their faces stern, their hands carved to hold crystal orbs that flickered with weak blue light.
The slippery floor made his worn-out shoes squeak with every step. He stayed close to the wall, afraid of sliding and falling like he once did before. The floor under Owen's feet was a pale marble shot through with gold veins. It was polished so well that it reflected the hanging lamps overhead.
The hall was full of life. Students moved past in groups, some whispering, some laughing, others glancing at Owen and then looking away again. A few slowed down, wondering why he was dripping wet while everyone else had already dried off with simple wind spells.
Finally, after five minutes walking through the massive academy, he stood before the principal's office. He hesitated — should he take back what he'd said, or follow through?
Owen gathered his courage and opened the tall, dark wooden door. The principal stood beside the window.
"Welcome, Owen. Take a seat," he said in a low, slow voice.
He turned around, walking toward his desk with his hands behind his back, his long silver beard hiding most of his expression.
"I'm guessing you're here because of what happened outside," the principal said quietly.
"Yes, sir, I—" Owen hesitated again.
"Take your time. Don't rush, child." the principal said.
Owen looked at him. For the first time since coming to the academy, he felt like someone actually wanted to listen, like someone finally cared.
"I'll be honest with you," Owen said. "I don't think I can continue in this academy. I've been here a year without progress, and I don't know what to do."
"I see," the principal replied. "So, you want to quit?"
"I want to keep learning, but there's no point in learning things that I can't use," said Owen. His voice cracked a little. He hated the way it sounded.
The principal's eyes softened when Owen spoke. He leaned back in his chair and put his hands together. For a while, only the sound of rain on the window filled the room.
"You remind me of someone," the old man said at last. "A boy who came here many years ago and thought he had no power." His voice was low but kind now. "Not everyone learns magic the same way. Some need to see the world outside before they understand themselves."
Owen frowned. "See the world?"
"There is a glade in the southern forest," the principal went on. "The academy uses it for advanced fieldwork. Mana currents there are wild, and rare herbs grow that react to magic in unusual ways. Normally, only upper-year students are sent, but…" He looked at Owen closely. "Your condition makes you a better candidate than most."
"My condition?" Owen asked, blinking.
The old man nodded. "Those plants respond best to contained mana reservoirs rather than streams. Most students leak energy without realizing it, and the herbs wither before they can be harvested. You, on the other hand, hold mana tighter than anyone I've seen. For once, that may be an advantage."
Owen hesitated. "You're saying you want me to collect herbs?"
"Yes," the principal said with a small smile. "Officially, it's part of your evaluation. Unofficially…" He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "The forest's mana flows differently from the neat patterns we teach here. Watching how life responds to it may teach you more than another month of spellwork."
Owen looked down at the shiny floor, where a small puddle showed his blurry reflection. He had expected to be punished, maybe even thrown out. Instead, the principal was giving him hope. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"Because," the old man said simply, "someone once did the same for me."
Owen looked up. For a moment he saw not just the principal but a mage with his own hard past. Owen nodded slowly. "All right. I'll go."
"Good." The principal wrote a quick note on thick paper with a quill. "Show this at the south gate at dawn. Your guards will be waiting. And Owen…" His eyes met the boy's again. "Rest tonight. The forest is alive in ways the academy is not."
Owen left the office with the paper in his hand, his mind full of mixed thoughts, but also a small light of hope. The hallways felt calmer now. The rain's smell drifted in from open windows.
His room was just as he had left it, messy and full of work. Papers lay everywhere, covered with notes about herbs, magic, and his own strange problem.
Books were stacked on the desk and floor. Drawings of plants hung on the wall. Empty cups sat forgotten in corners. The bed was unmade, the blanket a tangled heap.
He closed the door and let out a long breath. He dropped his wet clothes in a pile and sat on the edge of the bed. In the weak light, the scattered papers looked like fallen leaves.
He had spent many nights here, bent over books until morning, trying to find answers his teachers never gave.
For the first time in months, he felt a small spark of excitement. If the principal was right, if the forest really held something new… maybe there was still hope.
Tomorrow would be different. He would go to the southern forest. He would see with his own eyes what he had only read about. Maybe, just maybe, he would find the key to his power.
He lay back on the messy bed, staring at the ceiling. His heart beat slowly, but his hands still tingled with the feel of mana inside him. At last, sleep came quickly, carrying him into dreams of green leaves and glowing roots.