The next class came quick, the halls still buzzing with the morning rush. Recruits flowed through like a living tide—some laughing, some silent, others half-asleep and dragging boots. They gathered in a wide chamber below the training wing, where the air felt cooler, older.
Mats were laid out in loose rows, faint rune-circles carved into the floor.
The instructor stood waiting, tail coiled loosely behind her—beastkin, tall and lithe, with silver-streaked fur and eyes that gleamed a sharp amber. The kind that didn't just see you, but measured how much trouble you could cause.
"I'm Instructor Rhea," she said, voice smooth but cutting through the chatter like a blade. "Today's about the first step—feeling your mana. Not learning spells, not channeling it. Just finding it."
Some recruits exchanged unsure glances. A few smirked, confident, maybe already sensing what ran inside them.
Einz just folded his arms, expression blank.
He'd felt many things before—pain, hunger, fear—but magic? That was another world.
"Most of you didn't grow up around mages," Rhea continued. "No parents or kin who awakened before you. No instructors whispering tricks over candlelight. Doesn't matter. Mana doesn't care about blood or lessons. It's in you, waiting."
She let the words hang for a beat, then gestured for them to sit.
"The method's simple," Rhea said. "Close your eyes. Breathe deep. You're not summoning anything—just observing."
She paced between them, calm and sure.
"Mana isn't an outside force. It's a field generated by your own life current. Think of it like circulation—energy flowing alongside blood, threading through nerves, responding to focus."
Her tail flicked once as she stopped near the center.
"Now, slow your breathing. Picture the air as fluid—thick, heavy. Each breath draws mana in and lets it settle. You're looking for feedback, that subtle pressure inside your chest or spine. Don't chase it. Let your body show you where it moves naturally."
Her palm glowed faintly whenever she passed a recruit, a soft pulse of gold that coaxed that internal current to the surface.
"Once you feel it," she said, voice low but even, "trace the sensation. That's your circuit. Everyone's pattern is different—some wide, some narrow. That's where control begins."
Einz exhaled and obeyed.
At first—nothing. Just breathing and the faint scrape of Borin shifting beside him, restless as ever. He heard someone sigh up front, another mutter a quiet curse.
Then something flickered.
A stir, faint but deep—like water shifting under frozen ground.
It spread slowly through him, threading veins and bone with something cool, weightless. A current that wasn't blood or breath, but presence.
He followed it. Focused.
And the thread began to move.
It was colorless, like mist. Unbound, shapeless, alive. When he willed it, it bent—stretching thin between his fingers, the air around it folding slightly as if the world itself leaned closer. A shimmer, faint and fleeting, like glass bending under heat.
Einz's lips parted, just a fraction.
So this was mana.
Not the stray hum he'd felt before, not the instinctive pull that made the air fold around him in that forest.
This was it—clear, steady, alive.
It didn't roar or burn. It moved with him—quiet, steady, as if it had been waiting all along.
Across the room came small gasps and murmurs. One recruit sneezed as sparks flared out of his nose. Another clutched her palm as light bloomed between her fingers.
Rhea smiled faintly. "Good. That's it. Don't overdo it. Hold it. Feel its weight."
When the exercise ended, most of them were sweating lightly, like they'd run laps without moving an inch. Rhea let them rest before speaking again.
She turned, sketching a pattern in the air with her finger. Light trailed behind it, forming a faint, rotating ring of lines and arcs that pulsed as she spoke.
"Most people think spells are words," she said. "But words just help you remember the shape. What truly matters is this—" she pointed at the glowing diagram "—the flow."
She tapped one of the arcs, and the ring pulsed brighter.
"When a Delver casts something new, the Order records how their mana moved—where it gathered, how it twisted, how it was released. Every diagram in the library is a trace of someone's control, their understanding. That's what we study. That's what we call a spell."
She let the pattern fade, dust motes hanging in its place.
"Think of them as maps. They show a way mana can move, not how it must. You can follow them exactly, or you can learn the logic and carve your own path. Either way, that's how magic grows."
Einz raised his hand, even though he already knew what the answer would be.
"Are there… any records for space magic?"
Rhea's ears flicked toward him, her expression unreadable. "None," she said after a moment. "You'll have to carve your own trail."
He exhaled softly, the sound barely a sigh. The answer didn't surprise him, but it still weighed the same.
No guides. No shortcuts. Just him and the unknown.
While they packed up, his eyes drifted across the room.
Aglaea sat near the front, mana glowing faint in two colors—one black as ink, the other red like living blood. It pulsed under her skin, twisting, merging, separating again. The instructor's tail flicked in clear approval.
Micah, the pale-haired elf from before, stood calm and silent—wind spiraling gently around her as a faint blue spirit-light shimmered near her chest. Another dual affinity. Precise, refined, controlled.
Borin, meanwhile, grunted, trying to make his glow brighter by sheer stubbornness.
Rhea sighed. "Stop fighting it, dwarf."
He grinned. "No promises, ma'am."
When class ended, she gave the order:
"Spend the day practicing. Visit the Order Library—your passes will open the apprentice wing. Read the common spells, study affinities, learn what fits."
The room cleared fast. Borin clapped Einz on the shoulder.
"Lunch?"
"Later," Einz said. "Want to try something first."
Borin shrugged and wandered off, muttering about meat pies.
Einz climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was long, lined with sealed doors etched with containment runes that hummed faintly as he passed. Each led to a private chamber for mana practice—soundproofed, warded, safe.
He chose one near the end. The door sealed with a click behind him.
The room was small, bare except for a mat and pale walls that swallowed noise. It felt like stepping into a held breath.
Einz sat cross-legged, back straight, and reached inward again.
The thread rose quicker now, recognizing his call—coiling above his palm like smoke caught in a slow wind. It shifted, rippled, then bent light around itself.
A faint distortion, like a reflection in warped glass.
He tried to focus it sharper, drawing it into a point.
It thinned, resisted, then snapped—vanishing in a soft flicker. The air hummed where it had been.
Einz let out a slow exhale.
Outside, the light shifted—afternoon draining toward dusk.
The faint hum of the academy echoed distantly, muffled by the room's seals.
He tried again.
Mana rose, steadier now, threads circling his hand.
He didn't know what it wanted to become.
Only that it waited for him to decide.
And for the first time, he felt it—
that strange pull of creation, that quiet tension between what is and what could be.
Einz smiled faintly.
"Let's see where you lead."