Professor Misoha's tone sharpened once the pleasantries were behind us. "Before we go further into Water, Fire, and Earth — the three I teach — understand this. Most people can only ever master one or two affinities in a lifetime. Each one draws on roughly half your total mana. Try for two, and you'll likely find your reserves entirely spent. A rare few carry enough surplus to manage it without consequence. If you're one of them, count yourself fortunate."
A student near the front — Roderick, I'd learn later — raised a hand. "What happens if someone tries for all three?"
Misoha's laugh had an edge to it. "Death, most likely. Or a coma. Mana isn't just fuel here — it's closer to life itself." His gaze flicked toward me for half a second before moving on. "Never attempt more than your race and training can genuinely support."
He went on, unhurried. "Spells can be cast two ways — incantation, spoken aloud to channel the mana properly, or silent incantation, done entirely within the mind. The second is exceedingly rare. Anyone who's mastered it is a dangerous opponent, make no mistake."
A murmur ran through the room at that. I was already turning over whether to mention my own habit of casting without a word, when a voice cut ahead of me.
"I can cast silently as well." A striking woman with silver hair and matching eyes stood near the back, entirely unbothered by the attention she'd drawn. "Krisha Grega, of Harandur."
Whispers rippled instantly. Grega — the wealthiest family in Harandur?
Misoha's eyes crinkled with something like delight as he stroked his beard. "Impressive, Krisha. Now — back to the affinities."
He raised a hand, and a small orb of water bloomed above his palm, rippling as it grew into a twisting stream. "Water is fluid. Adaptable." The stream froze mid-air into jagged, crystalline points. "And it can be lethal, in the right hands. Rivers redirected. Rain summoned. Ice sharp enough to trap a man mid-step. To master it, you have to be like it — calm, until the moment you strike."
The ice melted away into a flickering flame instead, growing hotter and brighter in his palm. "Fire is both creation and destruction at once." The flame flared into a small, contained vortex. "You'll shape it, control it, maybe someday call up something closer to a volcano than a candle. But lose your grip on it even once, and it consumes everything — you included. Fire asks for passion and discipline in equal measure. Forget either, and it will remind you why."
He pressed a palm to the floor instead, and the stone beneath him rumbled, rising into a small, solid mound. "Earth is the foundation beneath everything else. Mountains raised. Chasms opened. The ground itself answering to your will." The mound climbed higher, taking on the rough shape of a peak in miniature. "But once its power is moving, it does not stop easily. It demands strength to match its own."
He straightened, voice carrying to every corner of the room. "Respect these forces, or they will not respect you back. Attempting more than you can hold is not ambition — it's a way to lose everything you've built."
Krisha's hand went up again. "Master Garlock — if it's so dangerous to hold more than two, how do you use three yourself?"
Something almost fond crossed his face. "Fair question. I wasn't born this way — I learned one at a time, same as you're about to. Only later, nearing the end of my adventuring years, did I decide I wanted something worth passing on. So I built a technique of my own — Mana Partitioning. Divided my reserves into separate channels, trained my mind to hold each affinity apart from the others without either drowning the source." He let that settle. "It took years. It's not something to attempt lightly, even knowing it's possible."
Krisha nodded, something like respect settling over her expression, and the rest of us exchanged glances that carried the same quiet weight. He did all that just to teach us, I thought. If he could push that far, maybe the rest of us can push further than we think, too.
Misoha let the silence hold a moment before continuing, his tone dropping into something more serious. "One more thing, before we move on. Only one of you will leave here as the academy's scholar."
The words landed like cold water. Whatever inspired energy had been building in the room went quiet and tight all at once.
"This isn't only about mastering an affinity, or showing off what you already know," he said. "It's about whether you have the discipline to outlast the rest of this group. The standard here is high, and it only bends for one of you."
I felt something knot in my stomach, though I made myself stand a little straighter against it. Around the table, the same mixture of nerves and resolve showed on every other face.
"That doesn't mean treating each other as enemies," Misoha added, gentler now. "You'll learn plenty from one another along the way, and that will make all of you stronger regardless of the outcome. But in the end, it comes down to who pushes hardest, who goes furthest. Work accordingly."
He gestured to a map on the wall. "For the next two months, you'll all be housed here — the Scholar's Wing, second floor, up the main staircase past the central corridor. Common room, study lounge, dining hall near the entrance. Ask if you get lost."
"This isn't just somewhere to sleep," he said, watching us absorb it. "Library, training grounds, everything you'll need is at your disposal. How you use these two months decides who earns the seat."
I felt the weight of that settle over me — relief and pressure arriving together, the same door.
"Two months will pass faster than you expect," Misoha said, in parting. "Make the most of every day of it."
Krisha walked out of the lecture hall turning the whole conversation over in her mind. Only one of us. The rest sent home. She let her gaze drift over the academy's grandeur without really seeing it, some quieter thought surfacing underneath the obvious stakes. Even if I don't earn the seat, my family could still buy my place here. Father would pay whatever they asked.
The thought comforted her less than she expected it to. I don't want that, though. I want this because I earned it myself — not because of what the Grega name can purchase.
By the time she reached her dorm, her spine had straightened with something closer to resolve than anxiety. Whatever came next, she intended to meet it on her own terms.
I stood at the window of the grand hall afterward, watching students spar in the fields below, Misoha's warning about the affinities still echoing in my head. Nearly impossible, he said. Dangerous. I let myself imagine it anyway — not one or two affinities, but several, working together the way Misoha's own three did.
Master the basics first, I told myself. But I'm not stopping there. I want to see how far this actually goes.
Nozue walked the last stretch home as the sun dipped low, the evening air cool against his face, already looking forward to the warmth waiting behind the orphanage door. Laughter carried out to meet him before he'd even reached the porch.
Kazu's going to do well there, he thought, letting himself feel something closer to pride than the ache of being left behind. He's always pushed harder than anyone I've known. I couldn't go with him this time — but I can still get stronger here, in my own way.
He pushed open the door to the smell of dinner and the sight of Rosalia at the stove, and something in his chest settled, quiet and certain. This is where I need to be for now. I'll keep training. We're each on our own road — but they still lead to the same place.