The classroom wasn't what I expected.
No gilded towers. No arcane candles floating midair. No mysterious tomes humming with secrets.
Just a cold stone room with high, narrow windows and a circle of wooden stools. The same crystal orb from before rested at the front like a quiet observer, its smoky core barely pulsing in the dim light.
Only five of us sat within.
Me, Riken, Vell
And the two noble recruits who hadn't said a word to anyone—Rysell and Tarn.
Vaelen stood before us in dark robes with the Empire's triple-ring emblem stitched over his chest. His staff leaned against the wall, forgotten. He held no wand. No book.
Just his hands.
Calloused. Old. Very human.
"You are here," he began, "because something in you responded."
He walked slowly behind us, his voice calm but sharp.
"The Empire does not train mages for entertainment. We train you because magic, untamed, is lethal. To you. To others. To stability."
He stopped behind Riken and tapped a finger on the boy's shoulder.
"Tell me. What is magic?"
Riken blinked. "Uh… energy?"
"Too vague."
Vaelen stepped behind Vell. "What is magic?"
She shrugged. "Instinct."
"Better. But no."
Finally, he reached me.
I didn't wait to be asked. "It's will," I said. "Applied to the shape of the world."
Vaelen's eyes met mine. The faintest nod.
"Closer."
He returned to the front of the room.
"Magic," he said, "is resonance."
He gestured to the chalkboard behind him, already covered in circles and lines. Some glowed faintly with blue mana ink.
"Every living thing hums with a frequency. Most people walk their lives never tuning to anything but themselves. But some—rare few—are born slightly off-key. They hum in a way that the world listens to."
He drew a wide circle. "The world is not made of stone, wind, fire, or water. Those are surface expressions. Beneath them are the threads—concepts. Patterns. Emotion. Memory. Intention."
Riken whispered, "So… we're weird tuning forks."
"Exactly," Vaelen said dryly. "Some of you may eventually control wind. Others heat. Some may heal. Some may destroy. But first—you must learn to listen."
The first exercise was simple.
Sit.
Breathe.
Place your palm on a cold stone bowl.
Focus.
"Push nothing," Vaelen said. "Just feel. Reach inward. Do not strain. Do not pretend. Magic cannot be faked."
The room fell quiet.
I closed my eyes and felt the stone beneath my palm—rough and cool. My breath slowed.
Inside, I searched for something. Not a spark. Not heat.
Just… resonance.
A current.
At first, there was nothing.
Then a tug
Soft. Slippery. Like pulling on seaweed in deep water.
Cool. Unsettling. But a strange familiarity.
My fingertips tingled. The stone beneath them warmed, slightly.
I opened my eyes.
The bowl was still normal. But Vaelen was watching me.
"Water or memory," he said, not unkindly. "Interesting."
I blinked. "You can tell?"
"The stone sings back, if you know how to listen."
Riken groaned beside me. "Mine's just… static. Like bees in a jar."
"That's good," Vaelen said.
"Really?"
"No. But it's better than silence."
Vell's bowl darkened. Just slightly. A shadow curled inside the stone that vanished when she blinked.
Vaelen said nothing. Just nodded once.
Tarn and Rysell produced nothing at all. But they didn't look concerned. Maybe their training began long ago, in quiet libraries and family estates. This was just formality to them.
For the rest of us? This was all we had.
After an hour, Vaelen ended the lesson.
"You'll return tomorrow," he said. "Same time. New task. Do not speak of this outside this room. Magic breeds fear in the ignorant."
As we filed out, Riken muttered, "They'll fear us if I ever figure out how to set my boots on fire."
"You'd do that by accident," I said.
"Exactly. Maximum terror."
That night, back in the barracks, Squad Four was quieter than usual.
Vell sat cross-legged in her bunk, eyes closed again. Meditating. Maybe listening to the threads.
Danya was gone—called out for some kind of special assessment, according to Brayden, who had dirt all over his uniform from punishment laps.
Malric snored, as always.
And Riken?
He stared up at the rafters, arms behind his head.
"Hey," he said.
"What."
"You think if we both make it through this, they'll let us burn down something important?"
I rolled onto my side and pulled my thin blanket tighter.
"I don't want to burn things," I said.
"I do."
I didn't answer. But I smiled, just a little.