What you're holding wasn't supposed to exist—at least, not like this.
It began as a late-night exercise: a quick scene about a college mage dashing across a city of spell-tech skyscrapers. I meant to write a few pages, close the file, and move on.
Instead, I kept "just tweaking" the idea. One duel turned into three. Side characters demanded names, then backstories. The magic system sprouted rules and loopholes. Somewhere between polishing dialogue and inventing a winged heiress, I looked up and realized I'd written thirty-thousand words.
So here we are: an accidental novella about pure mana, noble bloodlines, and a sarcastic AI named Eva who thinks she's the main character's girlfriend.
This draft is raw in places and over-ambitious in others, but every page was built with genuine enthusiasm. If you decide to read on, thank you for giving an unplanned story a chance to breathe. I hope you enjoy the sparks, the swordplay, and the quiet moments in between.
JC Anderson
Chapter 1:
Zane
The morning sun cast a pale glow over the worn rooftops of the Lower Verge, where the city's hum was a constant backdrop to daily life. Zane Myles stepped out of the modest apartment he shared with his younger siblings, the door creaking softly behind him. The scent of brewed herbs and toasted bread wafted from the neighboring windows, mingling with the crisp air.
"Zane!" A voice called out from across the street. It was Elara, his childhood friend, waving as she tended to her family's shop.
He offered a brief smile and a nod, his mind already racing through the day's tasks. The city's pulse quickened as he moved, the familiar streets blurring into a tapestry of motion. Zane didn't walk through the city. He moved through it.
Zane smiled and focused on his core.
[Mana channels cleaning at 1% - sequence clear. Empowerment enabled. Morning Zane.]
Zane rolled his eyes. "Morning Eve."
Magic absolutely flooded Zane's body.
He took off.
Flush with power, Zane vaulted a low railing, pivoting on a rain-slicked wall, he flowed down the narrow spine of Verge Sector like the city itself had shaped a path just for him. Boots kissed stone. Gloves caught pipe. One leap blurred into the next.
No chant. No lightshow.
Just a cloak of mana tight to the skin that empowered everything while he remained controlled, silent, efficient.
His core didn't flare like most mages. It glowed. Smooth and even, like glass catching firelight. A resonance that whispered, not roared.
A fruit vendor blinked as Zane passed—first on the roof, then the awning, then gone.
A little girl by a café turned just in time to catch a blur of black and silver above her head. She gasped. Her father looked up, squinting at empty air.
"Did you see that?" she whispered.
Zane was already three rooftops away.
The Verge was still asleep, mostly—steam rising from heat grates, couriers yawning as they loaded spell-slick packages into hover carts. Arc-lamps buzzed with stored pulse charge from the night shift. Delivery drones hummed low overhead.
Everyone connected to the world through interfaces—personal systems wired to their core, syncing thought to spell, body to device.
A lift of the hand summoned light.
A blink triggered route-mapping.
A silent whisper loaded spells into defense glyphs.
Magic was the world pulsing through its streets, powering its tech, lighting its homes.
Zane dropped onto a service balcony, crossed it in two steps, and jumped.
A three-story gap. Clean. Precise.
He hit the far edge with a thump that never echoed.
His hood caught the wind, the seal at his neck flaring faintly to keep it secure.
Another alley. Another wall.
He ran up it like it owed him something.
By the time he reached the old tram lines—barely active at this hour—his heart rate hadn't even spiked. Mana cooled in his veins like tempered steel.
A notice flashed across his vision, faint and clean:
[Assignment Confirmed. 1 Delivery. Sub-District F: Class-2 Gate Access. You were 15 seconds faster yesterday. I am so disappointed in you.]
He smiled—just barely. Eva. She was so cheeky.
More creds. More grind. Less attention.
That's all he wanted.
Zane landed hard, knees flexing as he absorbed the shock atop a flat, weathered rooftop on the city's outer edge. He'd been running for nearly twenty minutes—vaulting walls, dashing along rails, slipping through mana-barriers like smoke in a bottle. Now, as he crouched in the shadow of a rusting ventilation spire, he finally exhaled.
The cloak of suppression fell from his body like mist.
Mana bloomed.
It didn't explode outward—didn't roar, didn't spark—but expanded—quiet, steady, potent. His aura didn't scream look at me, but the moment he let it breathe, every nearby sensor flickered, every ambient thread of magic bent just slightly toward him.
Even from this distance, the inner city shimmered with layered enchantments and elegant power.
Skytrams zipped above him, gliding on humming leyrails—glowing, elevated paths of stabilized mana that ran like veins through the capital's twin spine: New Liora City and the Academy District.
Most people didn't walk anymore. They didn't have to. Mana-tuned travel was too efficient, too ingrained. Especially in Upper Crown Ward, where nobles and officials flowed like silk through their elevated lives.
Zane preferred the rooftops and to train his mana control because the power in the world wasn't worth a damn if you couldn't control it.
Sage words. One of the last things his father told him before he died.
The sprawl beneath him glittered with glasswalks, hovering platforms, and floating districts tied together by shimmering bridges and veils of warded air. Monolithic towers reached toward the clouds, each one trimmed in their house's signature golds, blacks, silvers, and greens—each a declaration of wealth, lineage, or power.
At the city's center—higher than the government citadel, higher even than the sky court halls of the noble houses—floated the crown jewel of eastern academia:
Corvalis Arx.
The Academy of Nine Pillars.
The most elite magical university in the known world.
Its towers were made of crystal-forged mana glass and ancient bonded stone, designed to both conduct and resist magic. Different schools existed within its structure—Sword, Spell, Mind, Mana, World, Law, Alchemy, Inscripture, and Form—but it was more than an academic haven.
It was a crucible.
A proving ground for the future archmages swordmasters,, generals, tacticians, and heirs of the Empire.
And Zane Myles had gotten in on a combat scholarship.
He didn't come from a noble line.
He didn't have a sponsor.
He didn't even have a system classification on record.
And yet here he was—racing against time, blood humming, breath steady—as the university's upper wards recognized his mana signature and peeled open the inner barriers to let him through.
Students from all walks of life passed through those gates: sons of noble houses draped in silk and arrogance, mercenary-scholars dragging arcane gear behind them, prodigies with bloodline tags glowing over their hearts. Some walked, some glided in on mana skates, others arrived with heralds and glowing hover rigs.
Zane landed in a crouch, coat snapping behind him, hood up. No crest. No entourage. No announcement.
Just a core so pure the mana sensors had to shiver before registering him.
[You made it 33 seconds faster than on your practice run last week. My Zane is finally growing up.]
Zane exhaled through his nose.
"Eva. Shut up."
[Rude. But I'll allow it. You looked cool.]
Suddenly, the air shifted—like the city itself had paused to inhale.
A hush rippled through the crowd.
Above them, a formation of sleek skycars descended from the upper layers of the capital's leytrack, their engines humming in harmonious synchronization, like tuned instruments in a symphony. They moved in perfect formation—precision without effort, power without noise.
At the center of the fleet, a vessel unlike the others glided into position.
Obsidian-black and trimmed in deep violet, its frame shimmered with subtle spelllight, every line of its design whispering wealth, authority, and undeniable bloodline prestige. It rotated once mid-air, just enough to catch the rising sun and scatter prismatic reflections across the courtyard, before descending with impossible grace.
It didn't land.
It settled.
And then the door opened.
She stepped out like light spilling into the world.
Aurelia Vael Taranis.
Her robes moved like living silk, tailored mana-thread catching the wind in waves. Her hair, pinned in a high twist laced with silver and stormglass, gleamed faintly under the morning sky. But what drew every eye, what made the crowd part before her without a word, were the wings.
Iridescent and spectral, the magic of her house manifested in twin arcs of glowing energy—like the suggestion of wings rather than physical ones, carved from light and pressure, humming with barely contained power.
The Taranis Crest glowed at her collarbone.
And the moment she stepped forward, the crowd instinctively cleared a path—not out of fear.
But out of reverence.
A young man, clutching a bouquet of enchanted flowers, stepped forward hesitantly. "Lady Aurelia," he began, his voice wavering, "I've admired you from afar. Please accept these as a token of my affection."
Aurelia's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Thank you," she replied, her voice melodic. "Your gesture is truly appreciated."
She accepted the flowers with grace, her demeanor radiating warmth and kindness. Yet, beneath her serene exterior, a calculated mind assessed every detail, every potential threat.
As she continued her procession, her gaze swept over the crowd, momentarily locking eyes with Zane. Time seemed to slow as their eyes met, no recognition passed between them. Yet,. Zane felt a jolt of energy, his senses heightened. But just as quickly, the moment passed, and Aurelia's attention shifted elsewhere.
"Zane!" a familiar voice called out, breaking the trance. He turned to see his friends approaching: Kael, with his ever-present grin; Elaine, her eyes sharp and inquisitive; and Mira, who offered a shy smile, her cheeks tinged with pink.
"You won't believe who just arrived," Kael said, excitement evident in his voice.
"Aurelia Vael Taranis," Elanie added, her tone a mix of awe and skepticism. "She's even more impressive in person."
Mira nodded, her gaze flickering between Zane and the direction Aurelia had gone. "Did you see her wings? They were... breathtaking."
Zane offered a noncommittal shrug, his thoughts still lingering on the brief connection he felt. His friends chatted animatedly, but he remained somewhat detached, the weight of his responsibilities ever-present.
"You okay, Zane?" Mira asked, her voice gentle.
He nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just a lot on my mind."
They continued toward the university, the grandeur of the campus contrasting sharply with the modest life Zane led. As they walked, whispers about Aurelia's arrival buzzed around them, but Zane remained silent, his thoughts already on the deliveries he would need to make later. .
The orientation hall buzzed with anticipation as students settled into their seats. Zane, accompanied by Kael and Elanie, found a spot near the back. The holographic display at the front shimmered, preparing to project the university's welcome message.
As the auditorium lights dimmed for orientation, Zane's wrist console gave a subtle pulse. He glanced down at the flickering mana screen.
PrincessFlyer:
"You said today was your first day. Did you make it? Hopefully no one's trying to bully you already."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He typed back with one hand, the other resting casually on his leg.
SwordWannabe:
"Yeah. Just waiting for orientation to start. There was a whole scene at the front gate. Some noble descended in a skycar formation like she was royalty. Very dramatic. Pretty sure half the school's still talking about it."
Their conversation had started in a realm known as the "Sword Master's Sanctum," a magically conjured space accessible only to those attuned to its unique frequency. Within this realm, enthusiasts and scholars gathered to discuss the elusive Sword Master's Manuscript—a legendary text said to contain techniques so powerful they could shift the balance of power in any conflict. Rumors claimed that fragments of the manuscript were hidden within various realms, waiting to be discovered by someone worthy.
Kael leaned over, catching a glimpse of Zane's screen. "Is that your mysterious realm buddy again? What's her name—PrincessFlyer?"
Elanie smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Sounds like someone has a magical admirer."
Mira's expression shifted subtly, her smile faltering for a brief moment. "You two seem to spend a lot of time in that realm," she remarked, her tone light but tinged with something else.
Zane shrugged, trying to deflect. "It's just a hobby. Nothing serious."
Kael nudged him playfully. "Sure, sure. Just don't get too lost in the realms and forget about us."
Elanie added, "Maybe we should join you in the realm sometime. See what all the fuss is about."
Mira nodded, her gaze lingering on Zane. "Yeah, maybe we can all explore together."
Zane forced a smile, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. He had always kept his realm activities separate, a sanctuary from the complexities of his real life. Now, that boundary was blurring.
The orientation speaker droned on, talking about "unity through magical integration" and the "ethics of interfacing," but Zane's attention was nowhere near the stage.
Another message pulsed across his interface.
PrincessFlyer: Wait. That girl who descended in the obsidian ship… that was Aurelia Vael Taranis, wasn't it?
Zane rolled his eyes and typed with one hand beneath the desk.
Swordwannbe: Yep. Big-shot heiress. Its so strange to see celebrities in real life.
He didn't expect the response to come instantly, but it did.
PrincessFlyer: Ha! You tried to play it off like you were from somewhere "small." I knew it. I KNEW you lived in New Liora. You're here. You're totally here and you totally go to my college. You might as well just confess who you are and agree to be my slave.
Zane exhaled through his nose, lips tugging into a lopsided grimace.
Swordwannabe: What a strange thing to say. I never actually said I wasn't a student here. You just assume too much. Not like it was a hard guess, genius. Beat me first before you talk about slave work. And remember—strictly professional. No personal stuff. That was the rule.
The message dots pulsed again.
PrincessFlyer:
Totally professional. Just two sword nerds trading lethal techniques in a demiplane of honor and steel. While we flirt shamelessly.
SwordWannabe:
When have I ever flirted with you?
PrincessFlyer:
Please. I know what I look like. And the Avatar engine doesn't allow false renders.
Don't pretend you haven't checked me out once or twice.
It's fine. Honestly? Flattering.
SwordWannabe:
You've been breathing in too much ether dust.
PrincessFlyer:
Or maybe… you're just being stubborn.
But hey—maybe we should meet. Just once. Say hi. Professionally, of course.
Zane's fingers hovered over the reply field.
He knew exactly what she was doing—pressing just enough. A challenge wrapped in silk and sarcasm. The kind of message that danced the line between casual and curious.
And maybe… she wasn't wrong.
Because part of him?
Yeah. He wanted to say yes.
Still…
SwordWannabe:
Not a good idea.
The response took only seconds.
PrincessFlyer:
Why not?
SwordWannabe:
Because if we meet, it changes things.
I've got too much going on outside the realm.
You wouldn't get it.
There was a pause.
Long enough for him to think maybe that was the end of it.
Then a soft pulse from his console—not a message, but an image attachment.
He stared at it.
Hesitated.
Then opened it.
It was a picture.
Her legs—stockings, crossed, just enough of a velvet-trimmed academy skirt in frame to be suggestive, without giving away anything explicit. The angle was playful. Bold. Daring him to react.
A caption hovered beneath it:
"You sure? I'm very professional."
Zane blinked.
Then sat back in his chair and muttered under his breath.
"Amazing."
Zane wasn't exactly girl crazy.
But he noticed a beautiful woman as much as the next hotblooded man and if those legs belonged to PrincessFlyer—gods help him.
She was a pretty one.
PrincessFlyer:
Still strictly professional?
Zane's ears lit up like he'd been tagged by a fire glyph. He swiped the interface away fast, casting a quick glance around the room.
Kael was still nose-deep in his phone, half-laughing at something no one else could hear.
Elanie, as always, was scribbling notes in that slow, deliberate hand of hers.
But Mira—Mira was watching.
Eyes narrowed. Head tilted.
She knew him too well.
"You good?" she asked, voice low.
"Fine," Zane muttered, dragging his hood over his head. "Just… distracted."
At the front of the hall, the orientation drone finished its welcome address, projection flickering as it looped through its scripted conclusion.
"Welcome to The Nine Pillars. May your time here be… transformative."
Zane slouched deeper into his seat.
Transformative.
Yeah. That was one word for it.