"Dear cadets and trainees," said a thin middle-aged man, clearing his throat. "I'm glad to see that the first orientation day at the academy has come to an end without any serious incidents."
He swept a careful gaze over us.
"To your left is the schedule board. The main theory classes take place in the main building, on the first and second floors. The schedule shows which classrooms they'll be in." He paused and repeated, as if for those who hadn't heard, "On the left is the schedule for first-years and second-years. For upperclassmen, nothing has changed: on the right is your schedule. In the pockets of your uniforms are maps of the Academy. If you lose them, you'll have to buy a new one with your money–if you even need it, of course. Class start times are also indicated… If there are no questions–have a good day!"
With these words, the instructor gave one last cough and departed, and we first-years immediately burst into motion. Many of the newcomers rushed to the left side of the board, jostling each other as they all tried to find their group listings at once. I was instantly caught up in the flow and carried out of the thick of the crowd. There was no getting back in by elbowing through–and I didn't particularly want to anyway.
Catching my breath, I looked over the noisy throng in front of the board. Curiosity got the better of the annoyance from all the shoving, and I decided to at least sneak a peek at what classes the upper years had–what awaited us in a few years. I stood off to the side, about three meters behind the clump of older students, craning my neck to peek over their backs.
The graduating class schedule stretched in long lists; apparently there were a lot of upper-year courses. Each class year had three lessons per day, listed in a column. To be honest, for a moment I even doubted I was looking in the right place–my eyes were swimming at the abundance of lines and some kind of hieroglyphs. The guys in front were shuffling impatiently from foot to foot, kicking at the air. One of them stepped back and almost clipped my shin.
"Three days in a row of classes with that hag…" one of them sighed heavily. "We're in for a rough time. That elf woman doesn't think anything of humans at all!"
Hag? Elf? I pricked up my ears. Were they talking about a teacher? It looks like some upperclassmen got unlucky with an instructor. I listened, but the conversation immediately died down as the guys' attention shifted back to the board.
Meanwhile, the crowd on the left side had started thinning out. I decided I shouldn't dawdle–I needed to find out my schedule. But the moment I turned to slip over to the left side, a rough shout sounded behind me:
"Hey, chick! You lost your way to the schedule nest?"
The loud, hoarse voice made me flinch. I turned–looming over me was a tall, broad-shouldered guy with closely cropped hair.
"First-years belong on the left," he growled through his teeth and spat at my feet. "Beat it, runt!"
I stumbled back, quickly lowering my eyes. The suddenness sent my heart thudding in my ears. The bandage on my left eye really narrowed my field of view, and out of the corner of that eye I thought I saw another cadet looming beside the brute–probably his buddy. Around us I heard snickers; I could feel the weight of strangers' stares on the back of my neck. Covered in half-healed bruises, I was in no shape for a fight, so I backed off. I'll recover and then we'll talk!
Breathing hard, I retreated further and squeezed back in among my own, into the crowd of first-years. Anger and shame were still pulsing through me. I wanted to snap back with a retort, but I definitely didn't need a brawl on the very first day of training. And it would be pointless anyway: two burly upperclassmen against me alone.
Meanwhile, the bald guy next to the rude upperclassman had reached out as if to grab my collar. I caught the sudden motion of his hand at the edge of my vision, but the harsh yank never followed. As if he changed his mind–or his arm went limp halfway. He only flailed clumsily at the air, as if he'd forgotten how to use his own right hand. He didn't bother chasing me into the crowd. He just clicked his tongue in irritation, shook his head at me retreating, and returned to reading his schedule.
I worked to put them out of my mind, exhaling the last of my displeasure. Finally, our side of the board became a bit less crowded, and I managed to squeeze up to the first-year schedule. After a quick scan to find my class, I was dismayed to discover that my class's schedule was posted almost at the very top. I had to tip my head back; my neck gave an unpleasant crack. For a one-eyed guy, and from such a distance at that, it was difficult to see–the letters blurred. I blinked, trying to focus, but a fog veiled my vision. My heart sank–had my eyesight gone bad? Going blind on top of everything else was the last thing I needed…
I squeezed my eyes shut, then looked at the lines again. Gradually the sharpness returned: letters and symbols resolved into meaningful words. Whew, false alarm. My eye was fine–I'd just gotten myself worked up.
So, classes start tomorrow. The first line of the schedule flaunted a convoluted title written in arcane characters. I squinted and read it syllable by syllable: "Fundamentals of Mana… and Core Control?" Control of what, or was it about methods? I read it again, then a third time. My brain stubbornly turned it into something strange, as if it were saying "coordination of the body's mana core." Nonsense. Maybe I translated those characters wrong? I was starting to doubt my literacy.
Fortunately, behind me someone muttered the same thing under their breath, only clearer. A short, stocky guy was apparently puzzling over the schedule too and was voicing his thoughts aloud. He stumbled over the first subject just like I did, but then quietly pronounced, "Fundamentals of Mana and Core Control." So it was right–just an awkward name. I nodded to myself. At least tomorrow I'd find out what that actually meant in practice.
The second item read, "History of the Empire." I couldn't help but snort. Wonderful… If there was one thing I wanted to hear least of all, it was tedious tales about ancient rulers. Sure, once upon a time great emperors lived, seized thrones, and killed their brothers and sisters for power–so what? Let those palace intrigues stay as dust on the pages of books; they have nothing to do with me right now. I have a feeling this will be a good class to catch up on sleep.
But the third line was: "Fundamentals of Close Combat." Now that was more interesting–I even felt a surge of impatience. If life had taught me anything, it was a bit of how to brawl, and my hunting skills would be useful too. Still, it wouldn't hurt to learn how to fight properly. Just like mastering the basics of mana use–the very first day, it turns out, would start with a lesson about the magic core. Those two subjects filled me with enthusiasm.
The fourth subject again sounded puzzling: "Fundamentals of Body Usage." I raised an eyebrow, perplexed. Use of the body–in what sense? Is that really the course name? I even thought I misread it again, but behind me that same strange voice repeated it word for word: "Fundamentals of Body Usage." The man snorted; clearly he didn't get what it meant either–but he had read exactly what was written. So I hadn't misheard. Weird name… Hopefully in class they'll explain what they meant.
And finally, the last line: "Elective." A free period for a subject of the student's choosing. The odd classmate behind me immediately mumbled happily that at last he could do something interesting. I smirked to myself: turns out the only thing in the whole schedule that caught his eye was the free period. What a jokester… Although maybe he's right–it will be interesting to see what electives they offer.
Finished with examining the schedule, I took a deep breath and stepped away. By that time the sun had almost slipped behind the Academy rooftops, painting the sky crimson. I wandered across the main building's courtyard on autopilot, trying to digest both the day's events and the upcoming classes all at once. Conflicting feelings swirled in my chest: anger at that cocky upperclassman, worry for my one good eye, and at the same time excitement–tomorrow something more interesting than scuffles with idiots would begin.
A fresh evening breeze cooled my thoughts a little. In the scarlet rays of sunset, lanterns along the paths had already begun to flicker–on six-meter poles, crystals lit up as if filled with water, casting a soft blue glow. Their light mingled with the newly risen moon's, and the academy's stone walls now glinted with silver. I slowed my steps, enjoying a brief respite and the cool air. Without realizing it, I smiled while gazing beyond the academy's walls: so this is the capital… Yeah, everything here was different from our backwater.
As I approached the dormitory, I felt my shoulders gradually tensing up again. The rosy thoughts scattered. My hand involuntarily gripped my bag strap. After all, three completely unfamiliar roommates were waiting for me in the room. And one of them–just my luck–was that goblin bastard who'd clocked me in the head earlier. An unpleasant type… Hopefully he'd already gone to sleep, so I could thrash him in my dreams.
I stopped at the door, suddenly feeling like I was stepping onto a minefield. My heart began to pound. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob but didn't turn it–just listened. Silence. I took a deep breath, trying to quell the trembling in my fingers.
I screwed my eyes shut, and in that instant my left eye throbbed with a sharp pain. The anger that had been lurking burst out of control, flaring up inside me like a flame struck by a sudden gust of wind. No need to feel ashamed or fear my father anymore!
To hell with it! With a sudden motion, I flung the door open–almost kicking it off its hinges–and stepped inside, using the door itself as a shield. BAM! The wood crashed loudly against the wall, and the echo boomed through the room. I slammed the door shut and locked it, then stood for a few seconds with my back pressed against the cold boards. My breathing was quick, ragged… But all around there was only pitch darkness and ringing silence.
No sound. No one.
I blinked. Gradually my eye adjusted to the dark and started picking out the faint outlines of four beds and shelves along the walls. The room was indeed empty–my roommates hadn't returned yet. No one was around to witness my nervous breakdown. I let out a noisy breath, and the anger subsided as abruptly as it had flared, leaving behind only a bitter exhaustion.
Pushing myself off the door, I moved forward by feel, sweeping a hand through the air. In the darkness my boot toe bumped a nightstand and I cursed under my breath. Stumbling into the back of a chair here, the edge of someone's bed there, I eventually made it to the window. My fingers found the thick fabric of a curtain. Good thing there's only one window here… Without a second thought, I yanked the curtain to the side in one go. The curtain rod gave a plaintive creak, unable to hold the cloth.
Moonlight flooded into the room, instantly dissolving the dark. A silvery glow spilled in a wave across the floor. The streetlamps outside added their light too–their bluish gleam mixing with the moon's, so now everything around me was clearly outlined.
I looked around. Empty. Quiet. As if this were an abandoned house… Exhaling, I sank onto the edge of the nearest bed. The moment I loosened my control, my body filled with heaviness. So much for stalling until dark… If I were smarter, I'd have come back earlier–maybe I'd feel a bit fresher now. Though who am I kidding: I'm as tired as a dog.
I rubbed my face with my palm. I still clutched the torn-down curtain in my fingers. For an instant I imagined how that must have looked from the outside: I burst in like a whirlwind, rip down the drapes… Some first-year I am. Ugh, just what I needed–for someone to chew me out over this curtain at the first opportunity.
"Well, that was a waste of time… I hope they don't issue fines for this," I muttered under my breath, wincing in annoyance.
I needed to get everything back in place before anyone saw. I stood up on my bed and began re-hanging the curtain. The fabric kept trying to slip out of my hands. The bed was too low–I could barely reach the top of the window even stretching as much as I could. Swearing, I clambered right onto the windowsill, bracing one hand against the wall. Unstable, sure, but another minute later the curtain was hanging again like nothing had happened. Whew… Looks like it's holding.
At that moment the door creaked behind me, letting in a stripe of dim light from the corridor. Someone had entered the room. I turned, grabbing the curtain rod with my other hand.
A not-very-tall figure hovered on the threshold. In the faint light I couldn't make out which roommate it was.
"Decided to hang yourself?" came a mocking voice.
I recognized it–and flinched more from surprise than from the question's meaning. In the doorway stood the man with hair sticking out in all directions. The very roommate who'd been making grim jokes during the day about "the burdens of life."
"What? No…" I answered, confused, and then caught myself, noticing that I was still standing on the windowsill. I quickly jumped down to the floor. "I was just… uh…"
I jerked a hand toward the window, not sure how to explain my acrobatics. But the roommate apparently wasn't waiting for an explanation. He snorted and closed the door behind him.
"And where is that…?" I blurted out, not even finishing the question.
The words slipped out completely off-topic. I glanced around feverishly, looking behind him for the goblin guy who had been bothering me. Where was that creep who jumped me earlier?
"What are you, a dwarf?" the roommate narrowed his eyes, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "Answering a question with a question?"
I shut my mouth, realizing how stupid I looked. My cheeks burned, and I mumbled, trying to explain:
"No, I… I meant the one who punched my eye."
"Oh, Braig won't be in tonight," the roommate guessed, waving a hand good-naturedly. "Forget it. He and our fourth went off into the city. They're out having fun somewhere and apparently won't be crashing in the dorm."
I exhaled in relief. So the jerk wasn't back yet–great. One less problem for tonight.
Meanwhile, the roommate walked to his bed and slapped his palm on a glass box sitting on the nightstand. It lit up with a soft amber light, illuminating half the room. I blinked, enchanted as I stared at the curious object–inside the glass cube, a shimmering grain of light was gently swaying. I'd never seen anything like it before!
The roommate noticed my amazed look and just smirked. Now I spotted that my nightstand by my bed had the same kind of box. Could this be a personal magical lamp? What a thing… My eyes must have lit up, because my fatigue seemed to vanish instantly.
Without commenting on it, the man cleared his throat, drawing my attention:
"By the way, my name's Akefir Slin," he introduced himself, coming closer and offering his hand.
I hurriedly stepped forward and shook his small hand in return. "Edric. No surname."
We exchanged a handshake. His gray eyes slid up to my bangs and lingered a moment on my bandage, but he stayed silent, not asking any uncomfortable questions.
"Hope you're a quiet sleeper," Akefir smirked, dropping onto his back on his bed. "Me, I'm an awfully light sleeper. I wake up at the slightest rustle."
"I'll try not to make any noise," I replied, feeling an unexpected relief…
At dawn I woke earlier than the rest. The room was still half-dark, only a weak grey light filtering through the curtains. My eye still ached–damned stone! I carefully touched the bandage on my face: the socket stung a little, but it was bearable. Trying not to make a sound, I slipped out of bed. My roommates were asleep: Akefir sprawled on his back, breathing barely audibly, and on the next cot someone was curled up under a blanket–probably goblin-Braig.
I found my uniform neatly folded on the nightstand by the bed. Studying versus hunting–it was difficult to compare, I thought, pulling on the short uniform doublet. The map in my pocket made finding the right classrooms much easier. I carefully pulled the door to our room shut behind me, trying not to wake my roommates, and headed out. (Though maybe I should have slammed it nice and loud, so that goblin didn't get too relaxed…)
In the dormitory corridors, things were already stirring: other new first-years were murmuring to each other in low voices, and someone yawned as they walked. Many glanced at my eye bandage, but no one dared to ask. I hurried downstairs, hoping to grab breakfast before the first class. The cafeteria was located in the main building, and a sleepy stream of students was already drifting that way. To my disappointment, it was closed.
My wandering around the building's second floor was cut short. Overhead, a pleasant melody chimed loudly–likely the signal that classes were starting. Having scoped out part of the floor earlier, it was easier to orient myself now, even without checking the map. After the melody, everything became hectic: first-years milled in the halls searching for their rooms, and upperclassmen strode by confidently, talking about their affairs. I double-checked the plaque: Lecture Hall 2-7. A group of kids had already gathered by the door with that number. Among them I spotted the short kid who'd been behind me at the schedule yesterday–the very chatterbox who voiced all his thoughts aloud. Now he was yawning wearily, hiding behind a tall skinny guy. Some people stood off to the side; one guy leaned lazily against the wall with his eyes closed, clearly squeezing in a last few moments of sleep.
No one dared to open the door, so when it silently cracked open on its own, I just blinked. The lock clicked and the door swung inward without a sound, and a dry smell hit my nose: of candles, wood, and stale ink.
Long desks joined into a single continuous table stretched from the wall to the central aisle and back. Facing a grey chalkboard that spanned the entire front wall sat a woman with wavy chestnut hair. Beautiful, well-groomed, yet the crow's-feet at her eyes betrayed that nobody would give her "twenty-five" anymore. While waiting for us to scatter to our seats, she was leafing through a thick book with no cover, marking a page corner with her finger. The benches rose in tiers like an amphitheater, the aisle between the rows leading up to the last seats.
My father had tried in childhood to "awaken the spark in me." He'd jab two fingers at the spot between my eyebrows, make me practice breathing techniques from the northern regions, and repeat sample spells and meditations. Nothing came of it. He only grunted once, as if he understood something, and never returned to the subject again. And yet, watching how magic works in the hands of those who did "manage it"—that's useful. Especially if you want to live somewhere safe.
From the top row I could see everything: the backs of heads, the board, even a fine scratch on the shelf of the instructor's desk. About forty people seated themselves quickly. At first glance I started a casual assessment–nothing remarkable: five broad-shouldered fellows about a meter ninety tall, a couple of heavyset average-height guys, the girls all practically identical–slender, short or medium height, not a single "Trenna in a skirt" among them. Two students did catch my attention though. The first–a tall, skinny one–had his forehead buried in his arms and was quietly snoozing right under the instructor's nose. In the coffin-like silence, he was the only thing you could hear. Everyone held their breath in tense anticipation, waiting for the instructor's reaction.
The instructor placed her book on the desk and the murmur died down to a hush. Even the snoring faded. She said nothing to the dozing cadet. Raising her hands, she whispered something under her breath. Blue-tinged, almost transparent threads danced across her fingers–and in the air, one after another, thin icy steps formed. With a light step she climbed, and now she was looking down on the first two rows from above, almost level with the back row.
"Greetings, cadets," came a tart voice, reminiscent of a heavy smoker's. "Narine de Molliere. I teach three courses, and we may meet in each of them. So I suggest we don't spoil our relationship ahead of time." The corners of her lips twitched slightly. "Many of you didn't manage to get your books from the library. The first class will be half practical. To begin–introductions. First row, introduce yourself and briefly mention your personal abilities."
She cast a sidelong glance at the slouching "beacon" at the far seat by the window. The girl to his right gave him a gentle nudge in the side. He reluctantly straightened up, turning halfway around. I caught sight of bags under his eyes so large, it looked like the man had spent a month half-sleeping in the depths of a mana-beast-infested forest.
"Eril Krast," he mumbled tonelessly. "Blue magic core. Initial dark stage."
The class flinched and immediately started whispering, like someone had dropped a stone into still water. "That Krast?" "The fallen hero's son?" "Dark blue… seriously?" Shadows flickered across Lady Narine's face–an instant of awkwardness that she immediately hid behind her hand.
"I've heard of your illustrious parents," she said more evenly. "You have my condolences. And… you may lie down if you need to. For a talented mage, rest is a luxury."
He nodded and once again drooped forward, his nose almost touching the desk.
Son of heroes? I hadn't misheard. To look at him, just an ordinary sleepy blond. It's a dangerous mistake–measuring power by appearance. I don't envy whoever's the first to challenge him thinking he's weak. Maybe that blond self-proclaimed chosen one from the cafeteria… I'd like to see his pretensions crumble in the shadow of a hero's offspring.
Thereafter, names and core colors came tumbling forth–who had what, who was "in the process of awakening." Some boasted of a "core" inherited from their lineage, some honestly said, "Nothing yet." My turn crept up before I knew it.
"Edric," I said. I paused briefly, since a few girls near Eril had started whispering. "No core."
Lady de Molliere looked at me with a hint of surprise; I, of course, felt a bit embarrassed, but she just gave a short nod. As if I'd said something wrong! To my left, five more cadets continued introducing themselves. Out of forty-one cadets–guys and girls–only about ten had already awakened cores. Having grasped the situation, the instructor got down to business.
"I'll summarize briefly. Only a handful manage to awaken their core by themselves–that's pure talent. The rest get help. The method is old, safe, and effective. For most of you the core isn't missing, it's sleeping. Those born without a core are few; they have other advantages–they don't accumulate mana, but channel external mana through stronger conduits. Now, be seated. Breathe slowly. If meditation doesn't come easy, relax your shoulders and allow yourself to doze off. Slipping toward sleep will help you catch the resonance more easily," said Lady Narine, and began walking among the rows.
Some people meditated, and some just pretended. On my right, somebody was already snoring–a meditation genius, no doubt. Lady Narine didn't let anything distract her: the click of her heels echoed, and she approached each of us, placing a hand between our shoulder blades, then moving on to the next. Bluish-white threads stretched from her fingers and, like fine needles, passed through our clothing, slowly sinking into our bodies. I didn't close my eyes; I wanted to see the process. The instructor noticed and frowned, and with just one displeased look she compelled me to shut my eyes.
Soon it was my turn. A faint chill ran down my spine. The cold tremor of the mana she channeled seeped to my bones; each vertebra responded with an unpleasant hot-cold flame. I gulped. Inhale. Exhale. The instructor hadn't explained exactly what to look for: "You'll see your attribute through the tubes," she had said beforehand. So–listen. I exhaled, let my shoulders drop, and tried to want nothing. Sounds easy… or so I thought at first. In practice, the mind grabs at everything: the clack of her heels, a rustle, the genius snoring on my right.
I tried to catch what everyone was whispering about in the rows below: "the seed," "the core," "the nest of power." It's funny–searching inside yourself for a pocket you never had. Inhale. Exhale. The world narrowed to the whisper of dust in a sunbeam and my pulse thudding in my ears.
I faintly smelled singed fabric–my poor collar. Lady Narine removed her hand, and muttering something under her breath, she sent damp threads to envelop my collar and douse my hair with a stream of water.
"Good, you got it," she said, and moved on.
I didn't understand at first what I'd "gotten." I opened my eyes–nothing. Same desks, same light fixture on the ceiling, same neighbor breathing like a broken bellows. I closed them again. Tried once more to dive inward.
And then it was like an old door creaked open. Ever so softly. A narrow gap. A dry draft blew under my breastbone–not heat, not water; the crisp, frosty air of early morning. There was no warmth. No freezing either. I had no body–no legs, no arms. Only awareness.
Against that backdrop, something emerged: a black polyhedron, as if carved from darkness and devouring every color. From its facets stretched dozens of taut strings–thin as hair, humming at the edge of hearing. They shimmered in three tones: piercing blue, blinding white, and raven black. All those hues were flecked with a murky red–a garnet tint.