Professor Kaelen paced in front of the blackboard, which was covered in complex diagrams representing mana flows.
"Magic," he explained in a monotonous drone, "is not a shout. It is a conversation between your soul and the elements. You must tap into your internal reserve, channel it through your meridians, and release it with precise intent. Without an incantation, the flow disperses. Without control, it devours you."
Nameless stared at his gloves, trying to feel this famous "flow." But all he perceived was the weight of the metal and the cold press of the monitoring collar against his skin.
"Time for practice!" Kaelen announced. "First-level spell: Fireball. Focus on the candle wick in front of you."
Throughout the room, whispered incantations rose. Small, flickering flames appeared here and there. Beside him, Leo was sweating profusely, his face red with effort.
"O spark of life, obey my will... Fireball!"
A tiny poof sounded. A ball of fire the size of a pea appeared at the tip of Leo's index finger. It wobbled for two seconds before vanishing into a small puff of grey smoke.
"YES! Did you see that, Nameless?" Leo shouted, nearly jumping off his chair. "It was perfect! Round, hot, and... well, okay, it didn't burn anything at all, but I did it! I'm a mage, buddy!"
The whole class laughed, but it was a mostly friendly laugh this time. Leo was the only one capable of making failure look joyful. Then, silence returned as Kaelen stopped at Nameless's desk.
"Your turn, Nameless. Try to light this candle. Gently."
Nameless closed his eyes. He tried to recall the sensation in the desert, or the rage he felt against the Prince. But nothing came. He whispered the incantation over and over, yet the wick remained stubbornly black. He was like a dried-up fountain.
"Still nothing," Kaelen concluded with a sigh of frustration.
Leo leaned toward him then, his excitement giving way to sincere curiosity. He pointed at Nameless's hands.
"Tell me, Nameless... I've been wondering since this morning. Why do you wear those steel gloves? They're super heavy, all rusty, and way too big for you. It must be a nightmare to move your fingers, right? If you took them off, maybe your magic would come out easier?"
Isolde, who hadn't moved an inch, abruptly slammed her book shut. The sound made the class jump.
"Those gloves aren't there to help him, Leo," she snapped without looking at him. "They are weights to keep him from flying away... or from turning us all into ash."
Nameless clenched his fists, the metal screeching in the silence of the room. He felt like a prisoner in his own armor.