The spell broke apart before completion.
It unraveled and It simply refused to finish existing.
The sigil suspended in the air—three interlocked planes of pale light—stuttered once, lost coherence, and unraveled into motes that dissolved before they could touch the ground.
The mage exhaled slowly.
"It seems I failed again "
He adjusted his stance, boots sinking slightly into the frost-hardened earth. The training grounds lay beyond the academy walls, where stone gave way to exposed rock and wind-scoured snowfields.
The day was clear.
Sunlight reflected off the white expanse until the world felt overexposed, stripped of shadow. Above, the sky was a hard, merciless blue—too clean for Caladar. Weather like this never lasted.
He raised his hand.
Symbols assembled— Each one precise, deliberate, occupying a distinct position in his mind. The first stabilized easily. The second followed. The third resisted, pulling at the edges of his concentration like a knot tied too tightly.
He forced it anyway.
It was a mistake
His thoughts lagged. As though his mind were moving through cold resin instead of air. The symbols blurred and their boundaries were losing sharpness.
"Ars"
He released the structure immediately.
The backlash was mild: a brief wave of vertigo, a metallic taste at the back of his tongue. That was acceptable. He had stopped before damage set in.
The mage lowered his hand and waited.
"Breath in"
"Breath out."
The world returned to normal speed.
Around him, the terrain bore the evidence of repetition. Shallow scorches in the snow where heat had briefly existed. Hairline fractures in exposed stone, spiderwebbing outward from precise points. Residual light clinging to the air like afterimages.
The mage was diligently practicing .
He had been here since dawn.
The academy rose behind him, half-carved into the mountain itself. Dark stone, a huge entrance , austere lines, Caladar was very conservative regarding Architecture ... they preferred function over impression.
That philosophy extended to magic and the culture.
He flexed his fingers, then deliberately simplified.
"This time, only two symbols."
The structure formed cleanly.
Light condensed— It hovered just above his palm, obedient, stable. He rotated his wrist, and the construct followed the motion exactly without distortion.
"That was Good"
He stepped forward and released the command.
The light struck the stone ahead and dispersed in a controlled wave. Snow vaporized instantly, leaving bare rock beneath—untouched beyond the intended radius.
"That was efficient"
That was the standard.
In Caladar, excess was considered a flaw.
He let the construct dissipate and allowed himself a moment to observe the surrounding , the land was covered by snowy mountains and in the valley the city of trost stood .
Satisfied, he began again.
This time, he altered the internal ordering.
Instead of altering symbols themselves he chose to alter their relationship.
The difference was subtle; nonetheless , the effect was significantly different.
When he released the spell, the light did not strike outward. it anchored—binding itself briefly to the stone before collapsing inward. The snow around the impact site shifted, drawn toward the center, then fell still.
He frowned.
"I didn't expect this , perhaps I should give another try"
He replayed the sequence in his mind, step by step. The error certainly wasn't in execution. It stemmed from assumption. He had treated the second symbol as subordinate when it wasn't.
A logic fault, not a failure of power.
"Perhaps this time , it will work"
The next attempt behaved exactly as predicted.
A faint smile touched his expression—brief, restrained, gone as quickly as it appeared. Satisfaction was allowed but Indulgence was discouraged.
From the academy walls above, a bell rang that echoed through the cold air .
First summons.
He glanced back once, toward the open training ground, then toward the distant horizon beyond the valley. From this height, the land spread outward in layered whites and grays, mountains receding into haze.
"This is so peaceful"
But judgments based on apparences wasn't synonym of truth .
Caladan's history was written in winters that arrived without warning and wars that did the same.
He dispersed the last traces of lingering constructs and turned toward the academy. As he walked, the sunlight caught on something far above.
A shadow passed across the snow.
Brief. Vast. grand .
He stopped.
Looked up.
"What was that , guess it isn't something important"
The sky was empty again, pristine as ever.
After pondering for a certain time , he resumed walking.
Whatever had crossed the heavens had done so silently, without disturbance. If it had meaning, it was not one meant for him—at least, not yet.
The academy gates loomed ahead.
Stone swallowed sound. Walls swallowed warmth.
Inside, knowledge waited.
Outside, the world pretended to be calm.
And somewhere, far beyond the mountains, something had already begun to move.