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Arila Vellion, destroyer of corsets, pioneer of pockets, and unintentional revolutionary, sat at breakfast wearing the same thing she'd worn for three days straight: her custom-designed tactical comfortwear. Her blouse flowed like silk blessed by wind spirits, her hooded cloak defied both weather and fashion law, and her enchanted velvet flats whispered across the marble floors like a soft rebellion.
This morning, however, something felt off. It wasn't the way her toast had been buttered into a suspiciously perfect crescent moon, or how the tea tasted suspiciously like citrus-based optimism. It was the mood. Specifically, the mood emanating from her father, Lord Caelan Vellion, who sat at the head of the table with the kind of gleam in his eyes that meant Someone Was About To Be Voluntold Into Destiny.
"You'll begin your training today," he said casually, like announcing the weather. "We've hired the best magic tutor in the kingdom."
Arila froze, mid-reach for her jam. She stared at him like he'd just told her breakfast was canceled.
"But I was going to make chocolate," she whispered.
Lady Evelaine, calm as an enchanted lake, dabbed the corners of her mouth with a lace napkin.
"You can summon sweets after you summon a spell without vaporizing the flowerbeds."
Arila pouted, internally mourning her sugar empire. Still, magic training did rank slightly above cocoa experiments. After all, she had been gifted mastery of all five elements—fire, water, earth, wind, and lightning—by a mildly apologetic goddess with a track record of celestial oopsies.
She sighed and bit into a biscuit. It crumbled like her plans for a quiet day.
The Vellion estate's training grounds looked exactly like something out of a JRPG: concentric stone circles etched with glowing runes, floating crystals hovering like judgmental onions, and a soft, mystical wind that made cloaks flutter dramatically whether they wanted to or not.
Which was unfortunate, because drama had just arrived.
A figure descended from the sky like a disgruntled weather pattern. His coat flared with practiced indifference. His blond hair looked like it hadn't been combed since the last war. His golden eyes glinted with the sort of intensity that screamed, "I grade on a curve, and you're all failing."
"That's him," Caelan whispered. "Professor Daelen Rowe."
Arila stared. Hovering. He was literally hovering.
Of course he was.
"I've read your magical assessments," Professor Rowe said, landing with the gentle grace of an intimidating prophecy. "They are... unconventional."
Arila tilted her head. "So is my entire life."
He blinked once.
"Let's begin."
Lesson one: Elemental Familiar Demonstration.
His fire hawk appeared in a flash of golden-red light and fire.
Arila waved weakly. The bird screeched.
"Okay. Not a fan."
"Focus," said Rowe, deadpan. "Try fire."
Arila extended her hand, concentrated, and whispered, "Just a little—"
A fireball the size of a cartwheel exploded from her palm and incinerated a practice dummy.
Lira screamed. A nearby gardener began to pray.
Rowe calmly scribbled something in his leather-bound notebook.
Lesson two: Water control.
She tried a gentle ripple. A geyser burst upward, soaked three noble peacocks, and shattered a mana crystal.
One peacock swore vengeance with its eyes.
"Again," Rowe said.
Earth magic.
She tapped her foot. The entire training ring cracked. A statue crumbled into dramatic rubble.
Evelaine appeared silently to lift her teacup out of the way of the dust.
Wind?
A sneeze sent half the chairs into orbit.
Lightning?
She muttered, "Sparkle," and the sky replied with a bolt that nearly turned a gazebo into abstract art.
Rowe glanced up, slightly impressed.
"You have range. And an alarming lack of restraint."
"I'm a one-girl magical buffet," Arila muttered, brushing soot from her sleeve.
Despite the chaos—or perhaps because of it—Professor Rowe didn't yell. He didn't even raise his voice.
He adjusted her stance, instructed her on breath control, and taught her to visualize magic like streams converging in a crystal basin.
He explained how her Infinity-type wasn't about raw power. It was balance. It was control.
Arila listened.
She focused.
She failed spectacularly four more times.
But then… she didn't.
By midday, she managed to conjure a flame that flickered calmly on her palm.
A breeze that cooled instead of launching debris.
A ripple of water that danced, not drowned.
Rowe gave a subtle nod.
It was practically a standing ovation.
At lunch, Evelaine and Caelan joined them at the edge of the training field.
Arila slumped in a chair, legs splayed like a melting sorceress, cloak stuck to her back with sweat.
Caelan surveyed the damage—scorched grass, cracked tiles, one tree on fire—and grinned.
"That's my girl."
Evelaine raised an eyebrow at a still-smoking bench.
"A promising start. Next time, aim away from the hedges."
"Tell the hedges to duck next time," Arila muttered.
Rowe stood nearby, scribbling notes as his fire hawk perched on a floating crystal.
"She learns quickly. She adapts unconventionally," he said, barely audible. "The instincts are strange... but they're real."
Evelaine smiled faintly. "She gets that from her father."
Caelan looked proud enough to explode.
By evening, Arila returned to her room smelling like ozone and ambition.
Lira met her with a platter of macarons and a large mug of something cold and blessedly non-magical.
Arila flopped onto her bed, groaned into her pillow, and then mumbled,
"I think I accidentally created a new wind spell. Or maybe a mild hurricane. Hard to say."
Lira gently set down the tray. "Should I alert the weather mages, my lady?"
"Not yet. Give it until morning. If Glorion's upside down, then yes."
She reached for a macaron, took a bite, and sighed.
Today had been chaos. Controlled, sizzling, occasionally airborne chaos.
But it was hers.
She had a tutor who didn't panic.
Parents who believed in her.
Magic that obeyed her—well, sometimes.
And more sweets to invent tomorrow.
Arila smiled sleepily, eyes half-lidded.
"Infinity magic is weird. But I think I'm starting to like it."
Somewhere outside, a fire hawk cried to the sky.
And inside, Arila dreamed of lightning spells and chocolate.
In that order.
To be continued...