Kael walked Elior back to the elite dormitory without speaking much.
The academy grounds were quieter than usual, lamps casting pale halos on the stone paths, their footsteps syncing unconsciously. At the gate, Elior paused, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of his bag.
"Good night," he said, soft, careful.
Kael nodded. "Good night."
No hesitation this time. No lingering. He waited only until Elior crossed the threshold and disappeared inside before turning away.
The moment Kael's steps echoed alone, the night pressed in.
His room greeted him the same way it always did — orderly, cold, untouched by warmth. He shut the door, leaned his forehead against it for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then straightened as if nothing had happened.
Sleep should have come easily.
It never did.
Kael lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, watching shadows shift with each passing minute. When he finally closed his eyes, the dreams came — not dramatic, not vivid — just fragments. Elior's voice calling his name. That familiar weight in his chest. The flash of memory he refused to name.
He woke before dawn, breath uneven, fingers curled into the sheets.
Again.
This was routine now. Nights broken into pieces, rest stolen by thoughts he never invited. He washed his face, stared at his reflection, and practiced the same calm expression he wore every day.
By morning, no one would know.
And perhaps that was the worst part — Kael lived his days composed, while every night unraveled him in silence.
Morning arrived without softness.
Kael was already awake when the bell echoed across the grounds, dressed and composed, the night's unrest sealed carefully behind his eyes. He went to the elite dormitory as he always did — precise timing, measured steps, no hesitation.
Elior was waiting.
He stood near the entrance, sunlight catching in his hair, posture relaxed yet unmistakably alert, as if he too had not slept deeply. When he noticed Kael, his expression eased, something subtle loosening in his shoulders.
"You're early," Elior said.
Kael glanced at his watch. "On time."
Elior smiled faintly and climbed in beside him. The carriage moved, wheels rolling over familiar paths, the academy rising in the distance like an unspoken promise.
They didn't talk much.
The silence between them wasn't empty — it was practiced, comfortable, routine. Elior watched the scenery pass, fingers absently tracing the edge of his sleeve. Kael kept his gaze forward, aware of everything and saying nothing.
Yet every small movement registered. The shift of Elior's weight. The way his breath steadied as they neared the gates.
The academy welcomed them with its towering spires and cold elegance, students already gathering, voices blending into the morning air. Kael stepped down first, offering his hand out of habit more than thought.
Elior took it.
For a brief moment — fleeting, dangerous — Kael felt grounded.
Then the feeling vanished.
They entered the academy together, as they always did, indistinguishable from routine, indistinguishable from normalcy. No one would guess that the night before had left fractures beneath Kael's calm, or that sleep still clung uneasily behind Elior's eyes.
Another day began.
And neither of them knew how much the night had already taken.
The professor arrived without haste, his steps measured, the faint hum of magic following him like a second shadow. The room instinctively stilled — not out of fear, but recognition. This was not a lesson meant to be rushed.
"Today," he began, resting one hand against the desk, "we move beyond individual spellwork."
A few students straightened.
"Magic does not exist in isolation," he continued. "It responds to intent, emotion, awareness — and most importantly, to others. For the next week, you will explore that truth through a group assignment."
He lifted his gaze, letting it settle on each face.
"A group is not merely a division of labor. It is a shared magical space. Your mana will overlap, your rhythms will clash or align, and you will learn how your presence alters another's magic."
The room grew quieter.
"Each group will consist of three to four members. Together, you will create a sustained magical construct — one that can only function if your magic listens as much as it acts."
Elior felt it then — that familiar tightening beneath his ribs. Group magic demanded awareness. It required noticing others in ways solo casting never did.
"You will learn," the professor said, voice calm, "how magic reacts when trust is hesitant… when focus wavers… when someone becomes suddenly conscious of another standing too close."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Kael did not. But something in his posture sharpened, imperceptible to most.
"This assignment is not graded solely on success," the professor added. "It is evaluated on adaptation. How you adjust when another's magic brushes against your own."
Elior glanced sideways without meaning to. Kael's presence was steady, controlled — yet even from a distance, Elior could feel the quiet pressure of his mana, restrained but undeniably aware.
"You have until the end of today to form your groups," the professor concluded. "Choose those whose magic you are willing to understand — not dominate."
The bell rang.
Students began turning toward one another, voices low, calculating. Elior remained seated for a moment longer, aware of something subtle shifting inside him.
This assignment wasn't about spells. It was about learning how magic notices people first — and how, slowly, people begin to notice each other because of it.
Kael and Elior were already seated beside each other — as routine as breathing.
For a moment, Elior simply watched students form groups around them, voices overlapping, alliances taking shape. He shifted slightly, fingers brushing the edge of his notebook, then turned to Kael.
"About the group—" he began, hesitating. "I was thinking that maybe—"
"We'll be in the same group."
Kael's voice cut in calmly, finishing the thought Elior hadn't yet found the courage to complete.
Elior blinked.
Kael finally turned to him, expression unreadable but certain. "If you want others to join, I don't mind," he added, almost casually. "As long as you're with me."
The words landed softly — and stayed.
Elior's lips curved before he could stop himself. "Okay," he said, quiet but genuine.
Before the moment could settle, a chair scraped lightly against the floor.
Aevrin had turned around from the desk ahead of them, resting one arm casually over the back of his seat. His gaze flicked briefly to Kael — measuring, amused — before settling on Elior.
"Do I have the honor," Aevrin asked smoothly, "of joining your group?"
Kael didn't react. But his eyes met Aevrin's — steady, cold, unreadable.
Elior noticed.
He looked between them, the silence stretching just long enough to become uncomfortable. Saying nothing would only sharpen the tension, and Elior had never been good at letting moments rot.
"Y-yes," he said finally. "You can join us."
Aevrin's smile widened — not at Elior, but past him.
"Thank you," he said, tone light, eyes sliding back to Kael. "I'm sure we'll make this assignment… successful."
Kael's mouth curved into something that wasn't a smile.
"Don't trouble yourself," he replied coolly. "Elior and I can manage just fine without unnecessary assistance."
Aevrin's brow lifted slightly.
"After all," Kael continued, unhurried, "I wouldn't want the academy's precious young master exhausting himself over something as small as coordinated magic. Fragile things tend to break before they begin."
The air sharpened.
Aevrin chuckled, soft and amused. "How thoughtful of you. I wasn't aware concern was one of your stronger traits."
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "I reserve it for situations that require restraint."
"Ah," Aevrin replied, smiling thinly. "Then I suppose I'll have to be careful — wouldn't want to overshadow you."
Elior exhaled quietly, rubbing his temple.
They weren't raising their voices. They weren't insulting directly.
But it felt like standing between two blades, neither aimed at him — both aware of each other.
And that was the strangest part.
They weren't competing for Elior. They were testing each other — measuring limits, pressing nerves, circling something unspoken.
The professor's voice echoed from the front of the room, breaking the tension at last.
Elior straightened, heart beating a little faster than before.
This group assignment had barely begun — and already, magic wasn't the only thing reacting.
By evening, the lecture hall was full.
Not hurried, not noisy — the kind of fullness that came from discipline rather than crowding. Groups sat together, arrangements already decided, voices lowered instinctively as the professor entered.
He did not raise his voice. He did not need to.
"Your groups have been recorded," he said, gaze sweeping the hall. "What you form now will remain unchanged for the duration of the assignment."
A pause.
"Before I tell you what you must do," he continued, "you should understand where you are."
No one moved.
"Other academies teach magic as a collection of spells — memorized, categorized, contained." His fingers tapped once against the lectern. "Here, we teach why magic obeys some hands and destroys others."
A faint ripple ran through the air. Subtle, almost invisible — yet the room's mana reacted instantly, responding as if a greater presence had passed through it.
"You are students of Grand Arcanum," he said calmly. "The oldest surviving arcane institution. The place where theories abandoned elsewhere are tested… and refined."
"This," he said, "is why our introductory work is considered advanced doctrine beyond these walls."
Silence pressed heavier.
"For one week, your group assignment will focus on Applied Magical Theory. You will not be asked to cast a spell."
Several students stiffened.
"You will be asked to demonstrate understanding."
His eyes hardened just slightly.
"Your work must show three things.
One — that you can recognize the identity of your own magic, not its magnitude.
Two — that you can allow another's mana to exist beside yours without attempting to dominate or erase it.
Three — that you understand what magic does when intent falters… or when emotion interferes."
A murmur stirred and died quickly.
"The construct you create must endure. Not for a moment. Not for appearance. It must remain stable because all of you remain aware."
He lowered his hand.
"In lesser academies, this theory is discussed and never attempted. Here, it is considered a foundation."
His gaze lingered on several groups — briefly, deliberately.
"Failure will not come from weakness," he said. "It will come from arrogance. From suppression. From pretending your magic does not respond to the presence of others."
The hall felt smaller now.
"You will submit your work at the end of the week," the professor concluded. "How you choose to proceed is yours. But remember — Grand Arcanum does not reward power without control."
He closed his book.
"Class dismissed."
Chairs shifted slowly. No one rushed to leave.
Kael sat unmoving, expression unreadable. Elior felt the air hum faintly against his skin, as if the academy itself were listening. Aevrin's smile was thoughtful, eyes reflecting something sharp and interested.
This was not an assignment meant to be completed.
It was one meant to reveal them.
—by Aurea;"They do not cast spells here — they discover one another."