Cain sat on the edge of his bed, hands resting loosely on his knees, eyes lowered toward the cold stone floor. Whatever had stirred earlier—whatever faint pull had brushed the edge of his awareness—had already passed, leaving no residue behind.
That alone told him that
It can signal me.
Not constantly.
Not deliberately.
But instinctively.
He didn't know how. He didn't know the limits. He didn't know whether it was temporary or permanent.
But it was real.
Cain rose,with his wriests in his trousers,straightened the fall of his academy robe, and turned toward the door just as the bell rang.
The sound rolled through the academy corridors in steady, metallic waves—clear, controlled, impossible to ignore. Doors opened in sequence. Footsteps followed. Voices merged into a low, moving hum as students flowed back toward their assigned halls.
Another period.
Cain stepped into the corridor and joined the stream without hesitation. The academy no longer felt overwhelming. Not because it had grown smaller—but because it was beginning to reveal its structure.
Schedules.
Routes.
Expectations.
Patterns were forming.
Students walked in loose clusters, some animated, some subdued, others already complaining about the pace of lessons. Familiars were absent, as regulations required during lectures, leaving only the students themselves to occupy the space.
Cain moved among them unnoticed.
He entered his classroom and took a seat near the center—not close enough to invite attention, not far enough to fade entirely. Moments later, Rei slipped into the chair beside him, breathing a little faster than usual.
"Thought I was going to be late," Rei muttered, glancing toward the front. "These corridors are worse than they look."
Cain nodded once.
Rei leaned back, then turned his head slightly. "You vanished during recess."
Cain did not respond immediately.
Rei continued, tone casual, not accusatory. "Went back to your room, right? Everything okay?"
Cain met his gaze briefly. "Just wanted to check on my familiar."
It was simple. Clean. Believable.
Rei accepted it without question. "Yeah, makes sense. Guess we're all still adjusting."
He paused, then added with a faint grin, "At least yours doesn't almost knock people over."
Cain exhaled quietly—not quite a laugh.
Before Rei could continue, the room settled into silence.
A man stepped through the doorway, his presence enough to quiet the class without effort. He was tall and lean, dressed in the standard instructor's robe trimmed with silver at the sleeves. His dark hair was tied neatly back, his expression neither harsh nor welcoming—precise, like a measured line.
He set a leather-bound ledger on the desk and surveyed the room.
"Sit," he said.
Everyone already was.
Satisfied, the instructor turned to the board.
"My name is Instructor Maelor," he began. "I will oversee your course in mana fundamentals."
He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a single word on the stone.
**MANA**
"Most of you arrive at this academy believing mana is power," Maelor said. "That belief is incorrect."
He turned, eyes moving slowly across the room.
"Mana is *potential*," he continued. "Power is what remains after restraint, structure, and control are applied."
He underlined the word twice.
"Without structure, mana is noise."
A faint murmur passed through the class.
Maelor ignored it.
He wrote a second word beneath the first.
**METHOD**
"Mana does not behave the same way for everyone," he said. "And most novice mages die because they refuse to accept that."
Three lines followed the word.
"The academy recognizes three primary methods of mana usage."
Chalk tapped the board.
Internal Circulation.
"Mages who store mana within their bodies," Maelor said. "They circulate it through established channels. Reinforcement, endurance, weapon enhancement—this is their domain."
His gaze swept the room.
"They are stable," he continued. "Reliable."
A pause.
"And limited."
Several students shifted.
"Your reserves are finite," Maelor said. "Drain them recklessly, and your body collapses. Push past tolerance, and your channels suffer permanent damage."
He underlined *permanent* once.
---
Maelor moved to the second line.
Environmental Drawing.
"These mages pull mana directly from their surroundings," he said. "The world fuels them."
A student near the window straightened unconsciously.
"They excel at large-scale casting. Area control. Elemental manipulation."
The chalk paused.
"But remove them from a mana-rich environment," Maelor said calmly, "and they become fragile. Dungeons, corrupted zones, disrupted flows—these turn strength into liability."
---
He wrote the final line.
Stored Conduction.
"Mana stored in external mediums," Maelor said, lifting a small crystal from the desk. "Stones. Relics. Tools."
He set it down carefully.
"This method is the safest for beginners. Predictable. Controlled."
Then, flatly:
"And the most dangerous if you grow dependent."
---
Maelor stepped away from the board.
"No method is superior," he said. "Only appropriate."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"The academy does not reward excess. It rewards restraint. Survival. Understanding your limits before the world teaches them to you."
He returned to the ledger.
"You will not choose your method," Maelor said. "You already have one. This course exists to ensure you don't die pretending otherwise."
Silence settled over the room.
Cain absorbed every word without outward reaction.
Maelor continued, explaining spell structure—intent, shape, release—and how failures most often occurred not from lack of power, but from poor form. He demonstrated how mana stones supplemented casting, stabilized formations, and why improper use caused violent backlash.
"You will not be casting today," Maelor concluded. "You will observe."
The bell rang soon after.
While leaving, Maelor said "Tomorrow you all will have sword class, be prepared."
Students rose, tension dissolving into chatter as the room emptied.
Rei stretched beside Cain. "Well. That was… comforting."
Cain stood. "Necessary."
Rei chuckled. "That too."
They left with the others, voices echoing through the corridor as speculation spread.
"Three methods? I thought it was just control."
"Mana stones exploding?"
"Tomorrow's sword class too. No break."
Cain listened without engaging.
That night, he sat on his bed, the academy's rhythm settling deeper into him. Classes. Bells. Movement. Silence.
This place was not chaos.
It was a system.
Mana was potential.
Method shaped outcome.
Restraint determined survival.
Cain lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, steel would replace chalk.
He closed his eyes and let sleep come naturally.
---