Leo left the faculty building, the faint scent of polished wood and lingering coffee fading behind him. His mind was already miles away, tangled in the intricate web of quantum probability diagrams and mystical runes that refused to leave his thoughts.
Each equation, each sigil, seemed to hum with a secret melody only he could hear. The staffroom chatter had been a distant noise, the playful teasing from Sara Linton barely registered, and even Mr. Harrison's subtle warning had dissolved before it could settle in his mind. Leo was a man consumed by patterns—hidden structures in the chaos of magic and energy.
He had learned early that society thrived on illusion, that people preferred the comfort of ignorance to the jagged edges of truth.
Magic was not a random pulse, nor was it a simple trick of the universe. Energy did not surge without reason, and the Arcane Bureau's dismissals grated on him like sandpaper against metal. "Harmless fluctuations," they called them. Leo saw instead the traces of something far more sinister. Something that could not be tamed by bureaucracy or bureaucrats. And then there were the whispers—the "Pillars of the Sky"—echoing faintly through his research notes. A scholar might ignore them. Leo never would.
The main building was quiet now, the golden slant of late afternoon light stretching across polished floors. Most students had retreated to labs or gone home, leaving corridors hollow and still. Leo preferred it this way. It allowed him to think without the constant hum of competition from the magically gifted. In this university, like much of the civilized world, status was dictated by Awakened power. Those born with ability walked the earth with arrogance, strutting as if the world owed them respect, as if talent alone were virtue. It exhausted him.
As he turned a corner into a lesser-used hallway, a sharp thud interrupted the silence. A muffled grunt followed, and instinctively, Leo paused. The faint whirring of his matte metal prosthetic hand seemed to grow louder in the empty space, a mechanical signature of his presence. Few dared linger in his vicinity, sensing the precise, lethal calm he carried.
Ahead, the scene crystallized in his mind with ruthless clarity. Ethan Vale had a smaller boy pinned against the dented lockers. Ethan's blond hair gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a halo of privilege he wielded like armor. The boy beneath him, Noah Perez, was slight, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he struggled silently. The backpack slung over his shoulder did little to shield him from the invisible but palpable pressure pressing him against the metal.
Leo's lips tightened. He had expected arrogance, ignorance, even mediocrity in his students, but the casual cruelty of this display set something low and sharp alight in his chest. Ethan Vale was precisely the type of entitled, hollow-awakened student he despised. Privilege masquerading as skill. Strength without intellect. Confidence without merit. Leo began to approach, his steps slow and deliberate, each movement measured, each thought focused.
Ethan noticed him eventually. His confident smirk faltered as he released Noah, the smaller boy stumbling but steadying himself. "Well, well," Ethan said, voice sharp with false bravado. "If it isn't the professor who thinks he can teach us about magic."
Leo's eyes, gray-blue and cold as steel, studied him. There was no warmth in that gaze, only precise observation, a mind dissecting the flaws of another as a surgeon examines a patient. "Mr. Vale," he said, voice low, even, cutting through the hallway's tension like a scalpel. "A curious display of your… unique talents. I confess, I am intrigued."
Ethan puffed his chest out, attempting to reclaim the upper hand. "Just teaching this loser a lesson. He almost tripped me."
Leo allowed a hint of a smile, dry and almost imperceptible. "Indeed?" His voice was soft, deliberate, drawing out the syllables as if savoring them. "Fascinating. Your family, if memory serves, has quite the public profile. Philanthropists, civic leaders. I am sure they would be… horrified… to learn their heir employs his abilities to bully the powerless." He gestured subtly with his real hand, dismissive, almost casual, yet the insult was surgical.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Watch it, professor. My family—"
"Ah yes," Leo interrupted, smooth as silk. "Your family. The very same embroiled in that… unfortunate scandal with the Arcane Arts Foundation, or was it your uncle's questionable dealings in the Mana-Scars District? Forgive me. It is difficult to keep track of such… creative interpretations of legality." He let the pause stretch, and in that silence, Leo could see the panic creeping through Ethan's composure. The boy's bravado was cracking.
Noah, leaning against the lockers, stared at Leo in awe, his fear mingling with astonishment. He had expected confrontation, perhaps violence. Instead, Leo's calm authority dismantled the very foundation of Ethan Vale's self-image.
Leo leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice to a whisper that carried perfectly through the empty hall. "And your academic record, Mr. Vale… curious, is it not? The more one flaunts low-tier abilities, the more glaring the absence of true mastery becomes. It is as if you wield power to hide insecurity, a hammer in a child's hand."
Ethan's face lost all color. His eyes darted frantically around the hallway, seeking escape where there was none. Leo's words did not merely chastise; they exposed, humiliated, and laid bare the shallow arrogance he had cultivated.
"You see, Mr. Vale, Awakened power is no substitute for intellect. A hammer does not make the carpenter, it merely extends his reach. Without skill, without discipline, without thought, you are a child wielding a tool far beyond his understanding. And you wield it poorly indeed."
Ethan spun on his heel, running down the corridor, his pride and arrogance shattered into fragments. Leo watched him go, the faint whirring of his prosthetic hand receding into the empty hallway.
Noah straightened slowly, his gratitude evident but unspoken. His voice faltered when he tried to thank Leo, and the professor gave only a curt nod. Words were unnecessary. Leo had no interest in praise. His satisfaction came from clarity, from the sharp elegance of reason laid bare.
As he walked on, his mind returned to the unsolved mysteries that gnawed at him, as he walked away, The hallway fell silent behind him.