Two weeks into her time at the Royal Academy of Magical Arts, Zepp had begun to establish a routine that felt almost normal—if one could overlook the growing whispers that seemed to follow her through the corridors and the increasingly pointed looks from her classmates during practical exercises.
The morning began, as always, with Magical Theory in their homeroom. Professor Stormfeld's color-changing beard had settled into a contemplative blue as he worked through complex theoretical frameworks on the enchanted blackboard, magical equations writing themselves in flowing script that reorganized according to the logical connections he was establishing.
"Today we'll be examining the fundamental principles underlying mana conversion rates in elemental transmutation," he announced to Class 3-A, his voice carrying the particular enthusiasm that academics reserved for subjects they found genuinely fascinating. "Can anyone explain why the theoretical maximum for fire-to-ice conversion is limited to seventy-three percent efficiency?"
Hands shot up around the classroom—some belonging to students who clearly knew the answer, others representing hopeful guessing from those who wanted to participate despite their uncertainty. Zepp kept her hands folded on her desk, having learned over the past two weeks that volunteering answers often led to questions about her educational background that she preferred to avoid.
"Miss Zepp," Professor Stormfeld said, his attention focusing on her with the kind of deliberate selection that suggested he was testing her knowledge rather than simply calling on random students. "What are your thoughts on the conversion efficiency limitations?"
Zepp felt the familiar flutter of anxiety that came with being singled out, but the answer was straightforward enough that she didn't need to worry about revealing too much about her unconventional education.
"The limitation comes from the fundamental opposition between fire and ice elements," she said, keeping her voice steady and professional. "During conversion, approximately twenty-seven percent of the original mana is always lost to entropic dissipation because the magical structures required to maintain fire are antithetical to those needed for ice. The energy doesn't disappear, but it becomes unusable for the intended transformation."
"Excellent," Professor Stormfeld said, his beard shifting to a pleased golden color. "And can you explain why entropic dissipation specifically affects elemental opposites more than complementary elements?"
"Because complementary elements share structural similarities in their magical matrices," Zepp continued, drawing on knowledge that Selva had presented as basic theory during one of their evening conversations years ago. "Fire and earth, for instance, both require stable foundational patterns, so conversion between them wastes only about eight percent to entropy. But oppositional elements require the complete dismantling of one magical structure before building its inverse, which is inherently inefficient."
The silence that followed her explanation was more pronounced than usual. Professor Stormfeld's beard had shifted to an impressed silver, while several of her classmates were staring at her with expressions that ranged from admiration to suspicion.
"That's... remarkably sophisticated understanding for a third-year student," Professor Stormfeld said slowly. "Where did you encounter such advanced theoretical frameworks?"
"My master taught—" Zepp began, then stopped as Professor Helena Brightmoon suddenly appeared in the classroom doorway.
"Professor Stormfeld," Helena interrupted smoothly, her timing so perfect that it seemed almost supernatural. "I need to borrow Miss Zepp for a moment. Administrative matter that can't wait."
The interruption felt artificial, but Zepp was grateful for the escape from questions about her educational background. She gathered her materials and followed Professor Brightmoon into the corridor, where the older woman's expression immediately shifted from official efficiency to something approaching exasperation.
"You need to be more careful about demonstrating your knowledge so openly," Helena said without preamble, her voice low enough to avoid being overheard by passing students. "Advanced theoretical frameworks like that aren't supposed to be accessible to students until their final year, and certainly not presented with the kind of casual confidence you just displayed."
"I'm sorry," Zepp said, genuinely contrite. "Professor Stormfeld asked me directly. I couldn't just pretend not to know the answer."
"You could have given a simpler response. Basic theory without the sophisticated analysis." Helena's tone softened slightly, acknowledging the difficulty of Zepp's situation. "I understand that your education makes it hard to gauge what level of knowledge is appropriate to display, but you're drawing attention that we're trying to avoid."
The reminder was gentle but pointed, and Zepp nodded her understanding before returning to the classroom. The rest of Magical Theory passed without incident, though she noticed several classmates paying closer attention to her responses during the remaining discussion periods.
Second period brought Advanced Herbalism, conducted in one of the Academy's greenhouse laboratories where the controlled environment allowed for year-round cultivation of plants from various magical ecosystems. The class was divided into pairs for a practical exercise involving the identification and preparation of ingredients for a complex healing potion.
Zepp found herself partnered with Marcus Goldleaf, a student whose family connections had secured him admission despite academic abilities that were adequate rather than exceptional. His approach to the assignment involved consulting his textbook for each step, cross-referencing multiple sources before making any decisions about plant selection or preparation techniques.
"This is taking forever," he muttered as he flipped through pages looking for information about proper harvesting methods for silverleaf moss. "Maybe we should just guess and hope Professor Thornwick doesn't notice."
"The moss needs to be harvested during a descending moon phase for maximum potency," Zepp said absently, her attention focused on examining the specimens available in their assigned cultivation bed. "But since it's been greenhouse-grown under artificial lunar cycles, we need to check the timing indicators in the soil composition."
She knelt beside the cultivation bed, running her fingers through the specially prepared soil mixture that supported the various plant specimens. The texture and magical resonance told her exactly what she needed to know about the artificial growing conditions that had been maintained.
"The mineral crystallization patterns suggest the moss was exposed to peak lunar influence approximately six hours ago," she continued, selecting the optimal specimens with movements that came from years of similar work in Selva's garden. "So harvesting now will give us about eighty-five percent of maximum potency, which should be more than sufficient for a student-level healing potion."
Marcus stared at her with obvious amazement. "How do you know all that? I've been reading about lunar cultivation techniques for twenty minutes and I can barely understand the basic concepts."
"My master taught me practical herbalism," Zepp replied carefully, beginning the preparation process with the kind of systematic efficiency that spoke of extensive hands-on experience. "It was part of my basic education."
"Your master must have been incredibly knowledgeable," Marcus said, watching her work with growing respect. "Most of our professors don't demonstrate that level of practical expertise."
Before Zepp could respond, Professor Brightmoon materialized beside their workstation with the same apparently supernatural timing she had displayed earlier.
"Miss Zepp," she said with professional brightness, "could you assist me with something in the preparation room? Your partner can continue with the exercise."
Once again, Zepp found herself extracted from a situation before questions about her background could develop beyond casual curiosity. The pattern was becoming obvious enough that she suspected Professor Brightmoon was monitoring her classes and intervening whenever discussions approached sensitive topics.
The day continued with similar incidents. During Practical Spellcasting, she was assigned exercises that required precise magical control rather than theoretical knowledge, and her performance was markedly different from her academic excellence.
"Alright, class," announced Professor Rebecca Shadowmere, a middle-aged woman whose wand movements were so precise they seemed almost mechanical. "Today we'll be working on basic levitation charms. I want everyone to attempt floating these feathers for thirty seconds minimum."
The classroom filled with the sound of incantations and the subtle hum of magical energy as thirty students attempted the assigned exercise. About half the class used wands or other focusing implements—carved wooden instruments, crystal-tipped rods, or enchanted jewelry that helped channel and control their magical abilities. The other half, including Estavia, simply gestured with their hands, their natural magical control sufficient to perform the exercise without artificial assistance.
Estavia raised her hand with fluid grace, light magic flowing from her fingers to envelop her assigned feather in a gentle golden glow that lifted it smoothly into the air and maintained perfect stability for well over the required duration. Her control was so effortless that she appeared to be barely paying attention to the magical manipulation, instead observing her classmates' techniques with professional interest.
Zepp, meanwhile, stared at her own feather with growing frustration. She could feel the power within her chest—that familiar warmth that had manifested as red lightning during moments of crisis—but it remained stubbornly unresponsive to her conscious attempts at direction. No matter how carefully she followed the prescribed gestures and incantations, the feather remained firmly grounded on her desk.
"Miss Zepp," Professor Shadowmere said, approaching her workstation with the kind of patient expression that teachers reserved for struggling students. "Are you having difficulty with the basic energy channeling techniques?"
"I... yes, ma'am," Zepp admitted, her cheeks warming with embarrassment as she became aware that most of her classmates had completed the exercise successfully while she continued to fail at what was supposed to be elementary magical manipulation.
"Perhaps you'd benefit from using a focusing implement," Professor Shadowmere suggested, offering a simple wooden wand from the classroom's collection of spare equipment. "Some students find it easier to channel their abilities through external tools."
Zepp accepted the wand gratefully, hoping that the additional focus might help her access whatever power lay dormant within her. But even with the magical implement, the feather remained unmoved by her efforts.
Around her, she could hear the whispered comments of classmates who were beginning to form opinions about the transfer student who could discuss advanced theory but couldn't perform basic practical magic.
"How does someone get admitted to the Academy if they can't even do simple levitation?" whispered a girl named Lydia Sparkstone, her voice carrying just far enough to be heard by nearby students.
"Maybe she's here on family connections rather than actual ability," suggested another classmate, Thomas Ironwood, whose own levitation charm was creating elaborate aerial patterns with his assigned feather.
"That would explain the theoretical knowledge without practical skills," added a third voice. "Rich families can hire tutors for academic instruction, but you can't fake natural magical ability."
The comments stung more than Zepp wanted to admit, particularly because she couldn't offer any defense that wouldn't reveal information about her true circumstances. She was saved from having to respond by Estavia's voice cutting through the whispered speculation with characteristic precision.
"Interesting theories," the silver-haired student said, her tone carrying the kind of mild curiosity that somehow managed to sound more cutting than direct criticism. "Though I'm curious how anyone can assess magical ability based on a single exercise. Perhaps some people's talents lie in areas not covered by elementary classroom demonstrations."
The subtle rebuke was delivered with such casual confidence that it effectively ended the speculative whispers, though Zepp could see that her classmates' opinions about her capabilities were already beginning to solidify around the evidence of her practical struggles.
Fourth period brought Magical History, where Zepp found herself once again demonstrating knowledge that exceeded normal student expectations. Professor Vincent Scrollkeeper's lecture on the post-empire transition period included references to magical techniques and theoretical frameworks that most students encountered only through textbook descriptions.
"The collapse of the Draetrotus Empire created a vacuum in magical knowledge preservation," Professor Scrollkeeper explained, his voice carrying the particular passion that historians brought to their favorite subjects. "Many advanced techniques were lost entirely when the imperial libraries were destroyed, while others survived only in fragments that scholars have spent centuries trying to reconstruct."
"Actually," Zepp said before she could stop herself, "most of the advanced techniques weren't lost—they were deliberately hidden by surviving imperial mages who feared that the knowledge would be misused during the chaos following the empire's fall."
The statement created another of those awkward silences that had become depressingly familiar, with Professor Scrollkeeper staring at her with obvious surprise and interest.
"That's... a very specific interpretation of historical events," he said slowly. "What sources support that analysis?"
"My master had access to some pre-kingdom texts that—"
"Miss Zepp," Professor Brightmoon's voice interrupted from the classroom doorway, her timing once again suggesting supernatural awareness of potentially problematic conversations. "Administrative matter. Please come with me."
As she was led away for the third time that day, Zepp began to suspect that Professor Brightmoon's interventions were becoming obvious enough to attract attention from both faculty and students. The pattern of interrupted conversations whenever her educational background came up was too consistent to be coincidental.
Fifth period Elementary Combat Magic proved to be the most challenging yet, combining practical magical application with physical coordination in ways that highlighted every one of Zepp's current limitations. Professor Diana Battleborn, a former military mage whose scarred hands spoke of extensive combat experience, assigned the class to practice basic defensive barriers while maintaining mobility.
"Combat magic isn't about power," she announced to the class, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had learned these lessons under life-threatening conditions. "It's about control, timing, and the ability to function under pressure. Raw magical strength means nothing if you can't apply it effectively when your life depends on it."
The exercise involved pairs of students taking turns as attacker and defender, with the attacking student launching low-power magical projectiles while the defender attempted to block them using magical barriers while moving through an obstacle course.
Once again, Estavia demonstrated the kind of effortless competence that made the exercise look simple. Her light-based barriers formed instantly in response to simulated attacks, maintaining perfect integrity while she moved through complex defensive patterns with fluid grace. Her military training was obvious in every movement, creating a performance that drew admiring looks from classmates and approving nods from Professor Battleborn.
When Zepp's turn came as the defender, she found herself facing Marcus Goldleaf, who was launching carefully controlled bursts of earth magic that manifested as small, slow-moving projectiles of compressed dirt. They were harmless enough that a direct hit would cause nothing worse than bruised dignity, but they still required active defense to avoid.
Zepp attempted to form a magical barrier as the first projectile approached, but as always, her conscious efforts to access her power resulted in nothing more than frustrated concentration. The earth projectile struck her shoulder, exploding into harmless dust that nonetheless marked a clear failure to defend herself.
"Miss Zepp," Professor Battleborn called out, "are you having difficulty with the barrier formation technique?"
"I can't seem to access my magic deliberately," Zepp admitted, her frustration evident despite her attempts to maintain composure.
"Then try a different approach," Professor Battleborn suggested, her expression thoughtful rather than critical. "Combat situations don't always allow for ideal magical responses. Show me how you'd handle the same attacks without relying on magical barriers."
Zepp blinked in surprise, then nodded as understanding dawned. Her time at Camp Alvus had included extensive training in dealing with threats that exceeded her magical capabilities, and those lessons had emphasized adaptability and practical problem-solving over pure magical power.
When Marcus launched his next earth projectile, Zepp didn't attempt to stop it with magic. Instead, she used the combat footwork that Saya had drilled into her during their training sessions, sidestepping the slow-moving attack with a fluid movement that took her out of its path entirely. As the projectile passed harmlessly by, she continued moving through the obstacle course with the kind of tactical awareness that had been beaten into her through weeks of dangerous situations.
The third projectile came at a slightly different angle, but Zepp was already reading Marcus's body language and spell preparation the way Saya had taught her to observe enemy movements during their encounters with supernatural threats. She dropped into a low crouch that took her beneath the attack's trajectory while simultaneously grabbing a practice shield from the obstacle course equipment and using it to deflect the fourth projectile with a precise movement that sent it harmlessly into the padded wall.
"Interesting," Professor Battleborn murmured, her professional attention clearly engaged by what she was witnessing. "Continue."
As the exercise progressed, Zepp found herself falling back on every non-magical combat technique she had absorbed during her time with the military expedition. She used terrain features to break line-of-sight when projectiles became too numerous to dodge individually. She employed the makeshift shield work that had been part of their basic survival training. Most importantly, she applied the tactical thinking that had allowed her to coordinate group responses during their supernatural encounters.
When Marcus attempted to corner her by launching multiple projectiles simultaneously, she remembered Saya's lessons about turning disadvantageous situations into opportunities. Instead of trying to block or dodge all the attacks, she deliberately triggered an obstacle that created a small debris cloud, using the visual obstruction to reposition herself advantageously while the projectiles lost their target lock.
By the time the exercise concluded, she had successfully avoided or deflected every attack without using a single point of magical energy.
The classroom had fallen silent, with her classmates staring at her performance with expressions that ranged from confusion to impressed respect. Professor Battleborn approached with the kind of professional interest that suggested she was seeing something unexpected and valuable.
"Miss Zepp," she said slowly, "that was remarkably sophisticated non-magical combat technique. Where did you learn to integrate tactical movement with improvised defensive tools?"
"I spent time with a military expedition," Zepp replied carefully, trying to provide information without revealing details about the supernatural nature of their encounters. "They taught me how to handle situations where magical solutions weren't available or practical."
"And who provided this training?" Professor Battleborn pressed, her curiosity clearly piqued by the demonstration of advanced combat skills.
"Well, primarily—"
"Miss Zepp," Professor Brightmoon's voice interrupted from the classroom doorway, her timing once again suggesting supernatural awareness of potentially problematic conversations. "Administrative matter. Please come with me."
But this time, Professor Battleborn held up a hand to forestall the interruption. "Actually, Professor Brightmoon, I'd like to continue this discussion. Miss Zepp has just demonstrated combat capabilities that suggest extensive practical training, and I think it would be valuable to understand the methodology behind her education."
The request was delivered with enough professional authority that even Professor Brightmoon couldn't simply dismiss it, though her expression suggested she was far from pleased with this development.
"Perhaps we could schedule a separate discussion," Helena suggested diplomatically. "I'm sure Miss Zepp would be happy to share details about her background at a more appropriate time."
"I'd prefer to continue now," Professor Battleborn replied firmly. "Combat training methodology is directly relevant to my curriculum, and I'm always interested in learning about effective techniques that might benefit my other students."
The standoff between the two professors created an awkward tension that was clearly visible to the entire class, while Zepp found herself caught between competing institutional priorities she didn't fully understand.
Finally, Professor Battleborn nodded with obvious reluctance. "Very well. But I'd like to schedule a private meeting with Miss Zepp to discuss her combat training in more detail. Someone with her practical capabilities shouldn't be struggling with basic magical applications."
As Zepp was led away for what had become a depressingly familiar extraction, she caught sight of her classmates' expressions. The mixture of curiosity, respect, and growing interest in her mysterious background was becoming impossible to ignore, but for the first time, the attention included genuine admiration for demonstrated competence rather than just skepticism about her qualifications.
By the time sixth period Theoretical Applications arrived, Zepp felt emotionally drained by the constant cycle of academic success followed by practical failure, whispered criticism followed by defensive intervention. The final class of the day should have been a relief—it was primarily discussion-based, focusing on the integration of magical theory with real-world problem-solving rather than practical demonstration of abilities.
Professor Margaret Wiseheart led the class through a complex theoretical scenario involving the magical challenges that might arise during a hypothetical crisis situation, asking students to propose solutions based on their understanding of fundamental principles.
"Imagine," she said, her voice creating the kind of engaging atmosphere that made abstract problems feel immediate and relevant, "that a magical artifact of unknown origin has begun destabilizing the local magical field around a populated area. Standard containment protocols have failed, and the disturbance is growing stronger. How would you approach the problem?"
Hands raised around the classroom as students offered various solutions based on their textbook knowledge and classroom instruction. The proposals ranged from competent to creative, though most reflected the kind of theoretical understanding that came from academic study rather than practical experience.
"Miss Zepp," Professor Wiseheart said, selecting her with the same deliberate intention that other professors had shown throughout the day. "What would be your approach to this scenario?"
Zepp found herself drawing on memories of conversations with Selva that had seemed like casual evening discussions at the time but which now appeared to have been comprehensive education in crisis management and magical problem-solving.
"First, you'd need to identify whether the artifact is actively generating magical disturbance or if it's responding to existing environmental factors," she said, her confidence growing as she worked through the problem. "Most people assume unknown artifacts are inherently dangerous, but often they're designed to maintain magical equilibrium and only become problematic when that equilibrium is disrupted by external forces."
"Interesting approach," Professor Wiseheart said, her expression suggesting that Zepp's analysis was more sophisticated than expected. "How would you make that determination?"
"Examine the pattern of magical disturbance," Zepp continued, warming to the subject as she recalled similar discussions from her childhood. "If the artifact is generating the problem, the disturbance pattern will radiate outward from its position with consistent intensity. But if it's responding to environmental factors, you'll see fluctuation patterns that correlate with natural magical currents, time of day, or seasonal variations."
"And if the artifact proves to be responding to environmental factors?"
"Then the solution isn't to contain or remove the artifact, but to identify and address whatever disrupted the local magical equilibrium in the first place," Zepp said, her voice carrying the kind of certainty that came from having heard Selva work through similar problems. "The artifact might actually be trying to fix the problem, and standard containment protocols could make the situation worse by preventing its corrective function."
The silence that followed was different from the awkward pauses that had characterized her earlier responses. This time, Professor Wiseheart was studying her with obvious professional interest, while her classmates appeared genuinely impressed by the sophistication of her analysis.
"That's remarkably advanced problem-solving methodology," Professor Wiseheart said slowly. "Most students approach unknown magical phenomena with containment and control as their primary objectives. Your suggestion to work with rather than against potentially helpful artifacts shows a level of theoretical maturity that's unusual for third-year students."
"My master emphasized the importance of understanding magical systems holistically," Zepp replied, trying to keep her explanation general enough to avoid triggering another intervention from Professor Brightmoon.
"Your master sounds like someone with extensive practical experience in crisis management," Professor Wiseheart observed. "Would you mind sharing their name? I'd be interested in reviewing their published work on theoretical applications."
"Her name is Sel—"
"Miss Zepp," Professor Brightmoon's voice cut through the classroom discussion with now-familiar timing, "I need to speak with you about your dormitory arrangements. Could you come with me?"
As she was led away for the fourth time in a single day, Zepp caught sight of her classmates' expressions. The mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and growing interest in her mysterious background was becoming impossible to ignore. Professor Brightmoon's protective interventions were creating as much attention as they prevented, and the pattern was becoming obvious enough to fuel speculation about what kind of secrets required such careful management.
That evening, as she sat in her dormitory room trying to process the challenges of her first weeks at the Academy, Zepp found herself caught between frustration and gratitude. Her theoretical knowledge was clearly beyond normal student levels, creating expectations and interest that she wasn't prepared to handle. But her inability to perform basic practical magic was creating a different kind of attention that was equally problematic.
The whispered comments from her classmates stung not just because they questioned her qualifications, but because they touched on fears she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. What if her power could only manifest during moments of extreme crisis? What if the red lightning that had saved lives and defeated supernatural threats was completely separate from the kind of controlled magical ability that Academy education was designed to develop?
Most troubling of all, what if she really didn't belong in an institution dedicated to teaching people how to use magic responsibly if she couldn't use magic at all under normal circumstances?
The questions had no easy answers, and she suspected that the challenges would only grow more complex as her classmates' opinions continued to solidify around the evidence of her unusual combination of theoretical excellence and practical inadequacy.
But at least she wasn't facing those challenges alone. Estavia's consistent defense of her abilities and character was creating its own complications, but it also provided the kind of steadfast support that made the daily frustrations bearable.
Tomorrow would bring another day of the same pattern—academic success undermined by practical failure, growing curiosity about her background complicated by protective interventions, and the ongoing challenge of finding her place in an environment where she both belonged and didn't belong simultaneously.
The girl who had once delivered healing herbs to grateful villagers was discovering that some transitions were more difficult than others, and that having powerful abilities meant nothing if she couldn't access them when they were needed most.