The dormitory hallway was nothing short of exquisite. Each floor whispered a different story, rich with mystery and magic. To truly explore them all would take years, perhaps even a lifetime.
If memory serves me right, my father once told me that completing those stories would eventually lead to a hidden dungeon a secret buried deep within the school's foundation. Only a handful of students had ever returned from it.
The distance between the dorms and the main building where the lectures are held is a mile. It's probably for the students, especially the magic department ones. They seriously lack stamina.
I had no real reason to leave early,
But I've always loved the morning
when the sun has just risen,
and the world feels untouched,
as if holding its breath.
There's no one around, only me,
and the distant murmur of birdsong
Weaving through the still air like a forgotten lullaby.
It doesn't just soothe my heart
It reminds me of something I can no longer name,
something I might have lost, or perhaps never had.
So I wandered, slowly,
letting the silence speak,
until the hour came to return
to the world that never stops.
I wandered at an unhurried pace,
letting the morning cradle me in its calm,
until it was time for the first class to begin.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm your professor for Basic Magic Theory Esther," she said, her voice brisk and composed. "I believe most of you already know who I am, which saves us the trouble of introductions. Now, let's begin."
With a flick of her hand, glowing letters shimmered into the air:
"Introduction to Magic."
"I know most of you are already familiar with mana," she continued. "But for the sake of clarity, let me explain it once more."
She raised a hand, drawing a fine thread of mana between her fingers as she spoke.
"Mana is the essence of power invisible, ever-present, and woven into the very fabric of our world. It exists in the air you breathe, in the stones beneath your feet, and in the core of every magic stone you'll ever hold. Understanding it isn't optional. It's survival. It flows through everything, visible only to those trained to sense it."
"There are many types of mages, some common, some gifted. And then... There are the rare ones. The ones you hear about in legends."
She turned, and two words flared to life behind her:
Necromancer.
Creation.
"Necromancers, as the name suggests, command the dead. They draw upon forbidden knowledge and the energy that lingers between life and death. Creation mages, on the other hand, however... they make the impossible real. Anything they can imagine, as long as their mana can handle it, they can bring into existence. A terrifying kind of magic, really."
She paused briefly, letting the weight of that sink in.
"Now, putting that aside... There are two primary methods used to cast a spell. Can anyone tell me what those methods are?"
Silence.
No hesitation.
Not shyness.
Just... blank stares.
I held back a sigh. Gods above. These are the heirs of noble bloodlines? Someone help us all.
I raised my hand, if only to end the embarrassment.
"Yes, Miss Florence?" she prompted.
"The two methods are verbal and non-verbal magic," I replied. "Verbal magic involves reciting an incantation aloud to activate the spell. Non-verbal magic, on the other hand, requires the mage to cast without speaking relying purely on will and internal control. Since non-verbal magic is significantly more difficult to master, most mages rely on verbal casting for consistency."
"Excellent," Esther said, lips curving just slightly. "As expected of our top student."
She turned back to the class, voice crisp. "Since Miss Florence has spared me the effort of explaining, we'll move on."
"In this course, you'll learn the fundamental principles of magic and its practical applications. That includes understanding mana flow, spell construction, and the theory behind magical affinities."
The lecture continued for the next hour, though I found it hard to stay engaged.
This class is doomed — and worse, I'm bored.
None of it interests me. Everything Professor Esther is explaining, I've already mastered. The theories she's so passionately reciting are things I understood years ago. And then, as if the boredom wasn't enough, she declares before dismissing us: "Next, we'll begin learning how to create magic circles."
Seriously?
They don't even know how to form a basic circle yet?
As the class finally came to an end, I found myself with time to spare before my next lecture. In addition to the core subjects, every student is required to take elective classes, ones clearly designed for noble children, yet somehow attended by everyone. A shallow attempt at unity, perhaps.
I had planned to spend the free hour in the library, to pass the time…As if on cue, the announcement echoed across the academy:
"Cecilia Florence, report to the headmaster's office."
Of course.
As I made my way down the corridor, I noticed clusters of students who couldn't help themselves. Eyes flicking toward me. Whispers just quiet enough to be heard.
They were already gossiping. Of course they were.
They always do like caged birds, desperate for something shiny to peck at. And right now, that shiny thing was me.
I let them be. They are the least of my concerns. Yet they cling to rumours like moths to flame, too curious for their own good.
I knocked on the same door I had the day before.
Not even a full day had passed, and I was back here again.
"You called for me, Headmaster," I said, my voice calm as I rapped my knuckles against the wood.
"Come in."
The office felt… different today.
Yesterday, it had been steeped in secrets the air thick with unspoken things. Now, it looked ordinary. Familiar, even. Too familiar.
Just like my father's office.
That can't be a coincidence… Can it?
"Do you know why I've called you in again?" the Headmaster asked, his sharp gaze narrowing as it settled on me.
I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
I think I do. It's probably because of what I said yesterday…
He didn't wait for a response. "You know it, and I know it. The reason you were summoned again — that little stunt you pulled yesterday was reckless. Who in their right mind would do something like that on the first day? Tell me, Cecilia. What exactly were you thinking?"
My answer came without hesitation.
"Nothing. Just revenge."
He repeated the word slowly, as if testing its weight.
"Revenge?"
"Revenge," he echoed, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Is that what drives you?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
"You're not the first student to walk through these halls carrying the weight of a grudge," he continued. "But most have the sense to keep it buried at least until they understand what they're dealing with."
His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it. A warning? A test? I couldn't tell.
He studied me for a moment longer, then added, "You exposed your strength too early. Now, eyes are on you, not just students, but faculty, council members, maybe even those outside these walls. Was that your goal?"
"No," I said flatly, my voice like ice. "I've yet to expose my strength."
I met his gaze, unblinking.
"I'm not here to play pretend, Headmaster nor to wait. And for what I intend to do..."
I let the words settle like a blade against stone.
"There's no room for patience."
Silence followed the kind that doesn't simply hang in the air, but cuts through it. The kind that signals something is about to break.
"You remind me of someone," he said finally, his tone lower, thoughtful... yet guarded. "Someone who once believed they could take on everything head-on."
My eyes didn't waver.
"And?"
His jaw tightened ever so slightly. "They burned everything in their path. Including themselves."
A faint, humourless smile touched my lips. "Then I'll make sure to burn colder."
The smile faded from his face.
He studied me in silence not like a professor sizing up a student, but like a predator trying to decide if the creature across from him was prey… or competition.
"You speak with certainty," he said at last. "As if power is something you already hold in your hand. That kind of confidence gets people killed in this place."
"No," I replied coldly. "Hesitation does."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
"You may think you're prepared, Cecilia. That you're above the others. Smarter. Sharper. Stronger. And maybe you are." He leaned forward, voice dropping into something lower, "But you've barely scratched the surface of what this world hides. There are forces here that will not care for your talent or your bloodline. Only your submission."
"Then they'll be disappointed," I said. "I don't submit."
He exhaled once through his nose, not quite a laugh, but something close.
"Cecilia, I know what you went through," he said quietly.
I turned to him, cold and unflinching.
"If you truly did, you wouldn't stand in my way."
My voice cut through the room like a blade.
"Not a single person here could begin to imagine what I've endured. So spare me your empty words and don't throw that pathetic line at me: 'I know what you've gone through.'"
The air in the room grew heavy, thick with tension.
Only the faint rustle of curtains and the soft flutter of papers filled the silence between us.
"If you have nothing else to say," I said, turning toward the door, "I'll excuse myself."
"Wait," he called after me. "Every student's luggage arrived days before the academy opened except yours. We never received it."
How bold of him to assume I had something to send.
"I don't have any luggage," I replied, my tone even. "If I had, I wouldn't bother sending it ahead of time. I'd store it in my subspace."
He went still for a moment, the kind of stillness that comes not from surprise, but from calculation.
"A subspace that stable at your age," he said slowly, almost to himself.
I said nothing.
Because I wasn't here to impress him. And I wasn't here to explain myself.
He stepped around his desk, his tone shifting lighter on the surface, but with something colder coiled beneath.
"And what do you keep in there, Cecilia?" he asked. "Books? Artifacts? Maybe something… darker?"
I met his eyes.
Unwavering.
"You're not allowed to know that, Headmaster."
For the first time, his expression faltered a flicker, brief but telling.
It wasn't defiance that unsettled him. It was certainty.
That I had something worth hiding.
And had no fear of hiding it.
The silence between us stretched again, this time edged with something deeper. Not tension, not suspicion, but the quiet acknowledgement of a game far older and far more dangerous than he first assumed.
"I see," he said at last, voice quieter. "Then I'll only say this once, be careful what you keep locked away. Some things in this world… don't like staying hidden."
I turned without answering.
He didn't stop me this time.
As I stepped out of the room, the weight of his gaze followed me no longer that of a headmaster watching a student… but of a man watching a threat he may no longer be able to control.
The corridor was empty as I walked away from the Headmaster's office, my footsteps echoing against polished stone.
No matter how angry or frustrated I am, I don't have a reason to skip class.
I refuse to let my emotions rule me, not anymore.
But what I truly loathe…
is when those ignorant fools say they understand what I've been through.
They don't.
If they did, they wouldn't have stood by and watched.
They wouldn't have left me to suffer in silence.
There was a time when I used to cry every night.
Begging. Pleading for someone… anyone… to save me from that hell.
I begged.
I begged the stars, the walls, the gods
anyone who might be listening.
Just to take me away from that place.
Just to send someone.
Anyone.
No one came.
And over time…
I stopped begging.
Because hope began to hurt more than the suffering itself.
So don't tell me you understand.
Don't pretend to care now
When you didn't care then.
I don't need anyone to save me anymore.
I stopped needing that the day I realised no one would.
Now
I don't need saving anymore.
I don't need someone to stand between me and the world.
I've learned the hard way:
I am enough.
I have to be enough.
Because no one else ever was.
To be continued.