Morning light spilled softly across the Royal Academy courtyard, filtering through silver leaves and shimmering mana threads that drifted lazily through the air. The echoes of yesterday's spar still lingered—students retelling the battle, the explosions, and, of course, the talking dog.
Rorio was already basking in the attention. He sat proudly in the center of the courtyard, tail wagging as two apprentices offered him treats. "Ah, delightful," he said between bites. "Mostly tasty. Slightly undercooked. Excellent effort, though."
The girls squealed. "He talks so politely!""Do it again!"
Lucien, leaning under a floating parasol conjured from golden mana, sipped his tea lazily. "Rorio, I believe you've become the most popular faculty member here."
"Popularity is a burden," Rorio said solemnly. "But snacks make it bearable."
Aria arrived moments later, arms crossed, her expression caught between amusement and mild exasperation. "You realize half the academy is ignoring class because of your dog, right?"
Lucien gave her a knowing smile. "Correction—our dog. And he's not a dog anymore. He's a scholar of flavor."
"Scholar of snacks," Rorio corrected proudly.
Kellen stumbled into view next, yawning. "Ugh. My arms still hurt from yesterday's match."
"That's because you got hit by your own water spell," Myra pointed out, descending from the sky on a gentle current of air. "You really should work on your control."
"I was distracted!" Kellen protested. "The arena kept spinning!"
Lucien chuckled softly. "Distraction is the natural predator of focus, dear Kellen. Consider it a lesson in humility—and balance."
Rorio barked, wagging his tail. "Mostly humility. Minor bruising. Excellent ratio."
Even Aria laughed. "You two are a menace."
Lucien placed his teacup aside and stood, clapping his hands. "Speaking of menace… today we begin your advancement to the Adept Realm."
The chatter in the courtyard stilled instantly.
Lucien conjured a floating chalkboard out of thin air. The mana shimmered in golden runes as words wrote themselves.
"Magic," he began, pacing in front of the students, "is not merely energy. It is the mirror of self—your will, emotion, and soul condensed into power."
He gestured, and the air filled with floating diagrams: silhouettes channeling mana, forming cores within their bodies.
"You have mastered control at the Apprentice level," Lucien continued. "Now, you will become your magic. This is the path of the Adept."
He tapped the board, and the runes rearranged into tiers of cultivation:
Initiate → Apprentice → Adept (I–V) → Expert → Master → Archmage → Transcendent
"At Adept I, magic responds to your nature. It bends and breathes with your emotions. Each of you will awaken an Affinity, the reflection of your core."
Aria's eyes glimmered. "Affinity? Like an elemental alignment?"
Lucien smiled. "Close. Think of it as… your heart's language translated into mana."
Rorio barked. "Mostly spiritual. Slightly confusing. Snacks later."
"Precisely."
Lucien waved his hand, and a crystalline sphere floated before them. Inside, swirling colors of mana churned and pulsed. "This is a Mana Prism. Channel your mana into it, and it will reveal your Affinity."
Aria stepped forward first, rolling her shoulders. "All right. Let's see what my heart has to say."
She placed her hand on the orb. Mana surged from her palm, bright and fierce. The crystal flared crimson and gold, flickering like a living flame. The air warmed instantly.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Fire of Passion. Tempered by will, fueled by emotion. A classic and dangerous Affinity—suits you well."
Aria smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Rorio barked approvingly. "Mostly hot. Very shiny. Perfect ratio."
Next came Myra, serene as ever. She touched the orb lightly, her eyes calm and focused.
A swirl of silver-blue light filled the prism, expanding outward like gentle wind rippling through clouds.
Lucien's expression softened. "Wind of Harmony. Balance between motion and stillness. You, my dear, are a stabilizer among storms."
Myra smiled faintly. "Or the one who cleans up after them."
"Equally important," Lucien said.
Kellen looked nervous but determined. He pressed his hand against the orb. His mana pulsed—steady, uncertain, then growing stronger.
The prism shimmered into liquid silver, flowing smoothly in endless ripples.
Lucien nodded approvingly. "Water of Resolve. Enduring and adaptable. You may falter, but you do not break."
Kellen flushed slightly. "Thanks, I think."
Rorio barked. "Mostly emotional. Slightly damp. Excellent ratio."
Darius stepped forward last, eyes sharp and composed. "Let's end this quickly."
He placed his hand on the orb. The crystal darkened—then burst into fractals of pure ice, white and blue, spreading like frozen glass.
Lucien tilted his head. "Frost of Precision. Cold, focused, and absolute. Interesting… it reflects restraint and pride."
Darius gave a curt nod. "Discipline brings results."
Lucien chuckled. "Indeed. But remember—too much frost can make the world brittle."
For the first time, Darius hesitated.
As Darius removed his hand, the Mana Prism pulsed again—unprovoked. The ice didn't fade. Instead, strange threads of black mana wove through the frost, cracking it with faint whispers.
Aria stepped back. "What the hell—?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn't fade. "Fascinating…"
The prism dimmed abruptly, returning to stillness.
Kellen swallowed. "Was that supposed to happen?"
Lucien tapped the air, dispelling the orb. "Magic is… interpretive. Perhaps the world merely hiccupped."
Rorio tilted his head. "Mostly suspicious. Slightly spooky. Excellent ratio."
Lucien's eyes glinted with hidden curiosity. "Indeed."
By sunset, training had ended. The students lingered in the courtyard, laughing and talking. Even Darius, though silent, stayed longer than usual—watching the others from a distance.
Lucien sat atop the academy's outer wall, gazing at the fading horizon. Rorio curled beside him, tail flicking lazily.
"Something's stirring," Rorio murmured.
Lucien smiled faintly. "Fate rarely sleeps for long."
Below, the students' laughter echoed—a reminder of why he was here. For all his power, Lucien found this—growth, curiosity, imperfection—beautiful.
But the faint crackle of black mana from earlier lingered in his thoughts.
He closed his eyes, tracing invisible patterns in the air. Threads of destiny shimmered before him—one gold, one crimson, one pale blue, one silver… and one fractured black.
A soft voice echoed through the void of his mind. He will rise soon… the chosen of prophecy… but not as you expect.
Lucien opened his eyes, chuckling softly. "So, fate's still trying to write its story. How adorable."
Rorio yawned. "You're smiling like a villain again."
Lucien grinned. "Correction. Like an artist watching inspiration trip over its own feet."
As stars began to glimmer above, Lucien's gaze drifted toward the northern sky. A faint ripple of mana stirred there—a call only he could feel.
"Rorio," he said softly, "the threads are converging again. Our little hero is moving closer."
"Mostly dramatic," Rorio mumbled. "Do we get snacks before Destiny arrives?"
Lucien laughed quietly, eyes gleaming like twin constellations. "Always, my dear companion. Always."
He leaned back, watching the night unfold, the faint hum of distant magic whispering of worlds beyond—higher realms waiting to be stirred, rewritten, and amused by the whims of a creator who refused to play by fate's rules.
And far away, in another kingdom, a silver-haired youth dreamed of fire and stars… unaware that destiny was already laughing in anticipation.