Chapter 9 : The Bell That Rang Again
The academic break ended without ceremony.
There was no announcement, no gathering in the square, no speech to mark the return. The bell simply rang again, clear and sharp in the morning air, and life in the southern town adjusted itself around the sound as it always had.
Kai stood among the other children as they crossed the low stone bridge leading toward the school grounds. He carried a satchel that felt lighter than it had before the break, though he could not have said why. The path was familiar beneath his feet, worn smooth by generations of children who had walked it with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
The South did not make a grand affair of education. It never had. Learning here was considered a responsibility rather than a privilege, something as necessary as knowing how to tie a knot or read the weather. Every child attended. No one questioned it.
School began at the age of seven.
It ended at fourteen.
That was the way it had always been.
From the first bell to the last year, education in the South followed a simple philosophy: teach them enough to live, enough to choose, and enough not to be fooled. Everything else, the elders believed, would come later.
The school itself was not a single building, but a collection of long halls and open courtyards arranged around a central yard. Stone pillars supported shaded walkways, their surfaces carved with old instructional markings, numbers, letters, diagrams of tools and plants. No one remembered who had carved them first. They were simply… there.
Classes began at the seventh hour of the morning and ended at the fourteenth. Between those bells, students moved from hall to hall depending on age and subject, guided less by strict enforcement and more by habit. Teachers watched, corrected, redirected. They rarely shouted. They did not need to.
The younger students focused on foundations.
Reading, writing, numbers.
Local history, practical history, not heroic. Flood years, crop failures, border disputes that had shaped trade routes.
Basic geography, taught through maps scratched into sand trays and redrawn until memory replaced reference.
By the time students reached ten or eleven, lessons shifted. Arithmetic became accounting. Writing became contracts and records. Reading expanded to include notices, laws, and trade scripts from neighboring regions.
Everyone learned how to measure land.
Everyone learned how to calculate weight and value.
Everyone learned at least three ways to settle a disagreement without drawing blood.
From twelve onward, specialization crept in, not as a commitment, but as exposure. Students rotated through workshops and lectures depending on the season.
Merchant fundamentals covered tariffs, negotiation etiquette, and identifying false scales.
Builders learned material strengths, basic engineering, and why certain arches failed.
Soldier-track students trained in discipline, formations, and the rules that governed armed service in the South.
Those inclined toward waivers, travelers, couriers, intermediaries, studied routes, customs, languages, and conflict mediation.
No one was locked into a path.
That choice came later.
At fifteen, a child of the South was considered an adult. Not celebrated as such, acknowledged. With adulthood came registration, an official identification issued by the regional hall, and the right to choose one's direction.
Most applied for aptitude testing.
The tests were not designed to rank people, only to measure inclination and capacity. Some were practical, others observational. A few were frustratingly vague. The South believed that forcing someone into a role they could not sustain was a greater waste than letting them choose poorly once.
Those who wished to become merchants took evaluation in numbers, memory, and negotiation.
Aspiring soldiers were tested in endurance, coordination, and temperament.
Builders faced structural reasoning and spatial awareness trials.
Waivers underwent assessments in adaptability and perception.
Then there were the mage applicants.
They were fewer, always.
Applying to test for magic did not guarantee acceptance. The process measured two things: elemental attunement and mana sensitivity. Many felt nothing at all. Some sensed faint resonance but lacked capacity. A rare few demonstrated both. Those children were directed northward, toward institutions that could teach them properly.
And then there were those who dreamed of knighthood.
The South did not train knights. That path required leaving, seeking sponsorship, joining orders beyond regional authority.
Those students began early physical conditioning and discipline studies, often alongside soldier-track lessons, preparing themselves for departure when the time came.
All of it waited beyond fourteen.
For now, Kai was twelve.
And school had resumed.
The morning lessons passed easily. He copied passages, solved problems, listened to instructors discuss river management and seasonal trade fluctuations. His mind followed along without resistance. There was comfort in routine, in knowing where to sit and when to speak.
By midday, the bell released them into the courtyard.
The courtyard felt louder by midday.
Not because anything special was happening, but because everyone had something to say after weeks apart. Voices overlapped freely, laughter echoing off stone walls, the sharp sound of the bell already fading into irrelevance as students claimed their usual places.
Kai followed Anya toward the wide-leafed tree near the eastern wall. Its branches stretched low and generous, casting a shadow large enough to fit half a class if needed. It had been their spot for years. No one questioned it.
Tomas was already there, sitting with his back against the trunk, tearing into a wrapped bundle with the enthusiasm of someone who believed food tasted better when eaten aggressively.
"You're late," he said, mouth full.
"We arrived exactly when we meant to," Coren replied, dropping onto the grass beside him. "You're just early because you're always hungry."
"That's called planning."
"It's called being predictable," Mila said, sitting neatly and smoothing her skirt before opening her lunch. "Did you already eat part of that?"
Tomas paused. "Define 'part.' "
Lior arrived last, of course. He hesitated at the edge of the shade, adjusting the strap of his satchel before sitting carefully against a root. He opened his lunch with one hand and a book with the other.
Coren squinted at him. "You're going to read again, aren't you?"
"I'm revising."
"You're chewing while revising. That shouldn't be allowed."
Lior didn't look up. "I retain information better when my hands are occupied."
"That's not how brains work."
"It is exactly how mine works."
Anya sat beside Kai and nudged a wrapped portion toward him. He accepted it automatically, unwrapping it with familiar ease.
For a moment, they ate in companionable silence, listening to the hum of the courtyard. Somewhere nearby, two students argued loudly about seating assignments. Another group practiced reciting trade laws in singsong voices. Someone laughed too hard at a joke that wasn't particularly funny.
"This feels normal again," Mila said softly.
Coren nodded. "Suspiciously normal."
Tomas leaned back and stretched. "I missed school."
Everyone stared at him.
"…What?" he said defensively. "I like having something to do."
"You like competing," Anya corrected.
"That too."
Kai smiled faintly. "What was your first lesson?"
"Structural basics," Tomas said. "Instructor made us estimate load tolerance without tools. I was off by half a span."
"That's actually not terrible," Mila said. "It is when Lior got it exactly right."
Lior looked up. "I've memorized the tables."
"That's cheating."
"That's studying."
Coren rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. "We had ethics."
Tomas groaned. "Again?"
"Yes, again. Apparently the South believes we'll all become terrible people if reminded less than twice a season."
"What did they cover?" Anya asked.
"Dispute resolution. Again. Instructor made us roleplay a grain contract disagreement."
Mila brightened. "Oh! Who were you?"
"A disgruntled mill owner."
"And?"
"I lost."
"That checks out."
Coren flicked a blade of grass at Tomas, who caught it midair and flicked it back. It landed in Mila's hair.
She froze.
Tomas went very still.
"…You have five seconds," Mila said calmly.
Tomas scrambled backward. "That was accidental!"
"You always say that."
Laughter broke out around them. Even Lior smiled before returning to his book.
Kai leaned back against the tree, watching the light filter through the leaves. The air smelled faintly of chalk dust and sun-warmed stone. It felt good to be surrounded by noise that asked nothing of him.
"So," Anya said, "what do you think you'll apply for?"
Coren groaned loudly. "It's too early for future talk."
"It's literally designed to be talked about early," Lior said.
"I don't want to choose yet."
"You don't have to choose," Mila said gently. "Just… think."
Tomas shrugged. "Soldier track for me. Maybe knight prep later."
"That figures," Coren said. "You like being told what to do."
"I like knowing what to do."
"There's a difference?"
"There is when you're lost."
They went quiet for a second, then Coren waved the thought away.
"I'll be a waiver," she declared. "Travel, talk, eat other people's food."
"That's a gross oversimplification," Lior said.
"It's an accurate simplification."
Mila smiled. "I think I'd like something that helps people directly."
"Healer?" Anya asked.
"Maybe. Or records. Or trade coordination."
Tomas blinked. "Those are very different things."
"They all matter," Mila said simply.
They looked to Kai.
He hesitated.
"I don't know yet," he said. "I like learning how things fit together."
"That's vague," Coren said approvingly.
"Vague is good," Anya added.
The bell rang again, cutting through the noise.
Groans rose from every corner of the courtyard.
"Already?" Tomas protested.
"Time is cruel," Coren said, standing. "And structured."
They gathered their things slowly, lingering just long enough to stretch the moment. As they walked back toward the halls, conversations overlapped again—about instructors, about assignments, about whose handwriting had gotten worse over break.
Kai followed them, listening.
For now, that was enough.
School had resumed.
Life felt full.
And for one ordinary day, that was all it needed to be.
***
( Additional Info)
Academic System of Southern Aethermoor
In the southern regions of Aethermoor, education is mandatory and standardized for all children between the ages of seven and fourteen. Schooling is considered a civic responsibility, focused on practicality, literacy, and preparing children for adult life rather than early specialization. Every child progresses through the same structure regardless of background.
Education is divided into three tiers. The Lower Tier, called the Foundational Circle, covers ages seven to nine and consists of Seedyear, Sproutyear, and Rootyear. During these years, children learn reading, writing, arithmetic, etiquette, obedience, and basic civic values. By the end of Rootyear, students are considered fully literate and capable of handling everyday responsibilities.
The Middle Tier, known as the Common Track, serves students aged ten to twelve and includes Stoneyear, Ironyear, and Forgeyear. Instruction expands into trade basics, mathematics, civic structure, debate, survival skills, and physical conditioning. Teachers begin observing student strengths, but no formal paths are assigned.
The Upper Tier, called Path Preparatory, includes Wayyear and Crownyear for students aged thirteen and fourteen. This stage focuses on responsibility, applied learning, leadership, and legal knowledge, preparing students for adulthood. Upon turning fifteen, individuals are officially registered as adults and must choose a path, such as taking an aptitude exam for trades or service, applying for mage assessment, pursuing knight aspirancy, or entering an independent or family profession.