Inside one of the academy's security office, a space reserved exclusively for the staff, a group of individuals stood watching with varying expressions, some shocked, others twisted in discomfort. These were the security personnel responsible for monitoring the first-year dorms, particularly the male students.
Behind them, two figures stood apart from the rest, not just by their presence, but by the subtle weight they carried.
The first was a towering man whose broad frame stretched the limits of his robe. Professor Rufus Loring, head of admissions for this year's first-year intake, was known for being loud, proud, and rarely subtle.
The other was shorter, far more composed, but carried a weight that made even Loring seem tame by comparison. He was dressed in layered black, his youthful face framed by hair tinged in faint, blood red hues.
Professor Janis Ficht. Younger in appearance, but was actually a vice headmaster if the academy.
Both stood still, their expressions mirroring the astonishment of those around them.
Loring was the first to snap out of it, his booming laugh breaking the silence.
"Do you see that? That's what I've been talking about! The kid's a natural! Hahaha!"
A few of the nearby staff shot him weird looks, not for the noise, but for the disturbing satisfaction in his voice.
Janis, still stroking his chin thoughtfully, responded with a faint smile, his voice calmer but no less impressed.
"Yes, that was something… Luther of the House of Kingsley, wasn't it? To deliver such cold brutality at his age... and that gaze…" His lips curled into an amused, almost astonished smile.
The man's lips curved into a strange smile, equal parts impressed and entertained. They had seen Alaric's merciless actions from start to finish.
It was a spectacle that left them just as stunned as the students who had witnessed it firsthand.
"Well, that's certainly one way to get someone off your back." Janis remarked with a smirk.
A woman from the security team, her irritation still palpable, interjected, "But sir, the boy went too far. If it had been just a few bruises and scrapes, that would've been one thing, but this? Half of those boys were seriously wounded, some of them with a few broken bones too. We're supposed to stop things before they escalate, aren't we?"
Most of the other personnel nodded in agreement, their expressions tense.
The youthful lecturer glanced around the room, acknowledging the silent consensus before replying, his tone light but authoritative.
"Of course he went too far. That little macabre display was quite something, but…" He paused with a smirk. "He didn't break any rules, not technically anyway."
He let the silence linger before continuing. "Look at those injuries, they're not fatal. Even if he decided to go another round on them, we still wouldn't do anything, not unless he planned on crippling one of the boys or attempted to go after their lives. He used basic martial techniques, executed perfectly. A few minutes with a healer, and those boys will be fine."
His smile widened, eyes gleaming with amusement as he added, "Now, if that genius who almost cast a spell had followed through? He would've faced severe punishment for violating the academy's no-magic-in-the-dorms policy. And in turn, we'd have had a real reason to come down on Luther as well. But he was smart enough to recognize the situation and handle it before it escalated."
A low chuckle escaped him. "All in all, I'd say this turned out exactly as intended."
The office fell silent after his words, save for the lingering echo of Loring's laughter. The woman was left speechless. Slowly, she nodded, accepting the reality of the situation.
"Well then," the youthful lecturer said, glancing back at the screens. "Send healers to the dorm immediately. Those kids will need some patching up. And get ready, because this is only the first incident."
His smile grew wider.
"There's going to be more incoming."
"Yes, sir," she muttered, as the others around her followed suit.
********
Alaric stepped into the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click, the hallway's noise mercifully cut off. He made his way toward the practice chamber again—back to where he'd left off—though his pace, at first, had the unhurried air of someone wiping dust off their hands.
A fight was a fight. This one just happened to come with a side of inflated egos and fractured bones.
Still, it was done.
No more noise. No more pigeons pecking at his patience.
He resumed his stride with renewed clarity, something like calm confidence settling over him as he entered the chamber. Sitting down cross-legged, he exhaled slowly.
There were more important things to focus on.
The original plan still stood. Three years, no more, no less. Long enough to graduate, collect what he needed, and leave this place behind before it smothered him in noble nonsense and smiling predators.
His survival and his ambitions demanded it.
By then, he'd be strong enough to travel the world beyond these walls. He wouldn't need to rely on anyone for protection anymore.
"Well then," Alaric murmured, half to himself in a bit if amusement.
His gaze turned inward as he closed his eyes, centering himself. He began to absorb the ambient Ether, pulling it into his core with practiced focus, shaping and condensing it. This time, there were no distractions.
Just silence, and the steady rhythm of power drawn in, refined, and stored.
He welcomed the stillness.
And then the world faded.
********
Days passed by in a blur.
It was the first day of a new week. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow across the horizon. The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it a faint hint of moisture.
As always, the academy stood as a sight to behold, magnificent buildings, some made of gleaming marble, others carved from wood, each an architectural marvel. The atmosphere was serene, almost sacred, as if the very grounds were steeped in tradition and power.
Inside one of the largest buildings was the assembly hall, with rows of students sitting in orderly tiers, one for each year. A smaller table stood at the front, reserved for the lecturers and staff. The hall, although grand in scale, felt intimate due to the low hum of conversation that filled the space.
The second and third-year students were already seated and waiting . A shared sense of familiarity and comfort lingered among them. They had been here before. They knew the rhythm and what was to come.
But the absence of the first years did not go unnoticed.
After waiting for a little bit, the large double doors eventually swung open.
Over a hundred first-year students filed in, each one dressed in dark grey robes that tried their best to be fashionable and failed only slightly. Their faces were a blend of nerves and wide eyed curiosity, new blood meeting old halls.
Alaric walked with the crowd, slipping through the entrance along with the others. As the first years found their seats, the steady hum of conversation quieted into soft whispers, with a few curious glances cast toward the new arrivals.
He glanced around the hall, scanning the faces of the older students with a fleeting curiosity before losing interest. A sense of boredom settling over him as he waited for whatever was to come next.
Blane Ingram and some overconfident kid named Malcolm Turner had taken a page out of Alaric's book, storming through their dorm halls like they were claiming territory. Blane, despite the underwhelming impression he'd left back at the entrance exams, had embraced the same strategy, beating the crap out of the competition and leaving a message.
Malcolm, oddly enough, went the diplomatic route after the beatings. He'd turned his victims into friends. A strange arc, but hey, it worked.
Then there were the exceptions.
Triston and some other kid named Ikaris Straff were the only ones who occupied their rooms without any violence or bloodshed.
Some people fought for power. Others simply walked in with it.
Five minutes passed uneventfully before a change occurred.
The door at the far end of the hall, smaller and far less conspicuous than the grand entrance, swung open quietly. A dozen figures walked in, each one radiating an air of confidence and power. They were the academy's lecturers, their presence commanding immediate attention. Among them, Alaric recognized the tall Loring and the short scholarly man back in the entrance exams.
But leading them was a man who silenced the room just by existing.
Dressed in traditional sorcerer's robes of white and ash, intricately embroidered with captivating patterns, he stood out from the rest. His age was evident in the deep wrinkles etched across his face, and his long grey-white beard flowed down to his chest. A small cap rested atop his head, and his steel-gray eyes shimmer, not dull with age, but sharpened by it.
As the others took their seats, he alone continued forward, stepping onto the front platform with an ease that belied his years.
When he reached it, he paused, casting his gaze over every student in the hall. And with nothing more than that glance, the final threads of conversation died off. The silence was total.
Then, a smile slowly spread across his aged lips, and he spoke in a voice that carried the weight of knowledge and authority:
"My wonderful students, welcome back to another new year of learning and growth."