Time at the Royal Magic Academy did not pass the way Cain expected it to.
It did not rush.
It did not linger.
It settled.
At some point—Cain could not name exactly when—the days stopped feeling like a sequence of trials and began to feel like a pattern. Bells rang. Students moved. Lessons repeated. Steel struck steel. Mana flowed, halted, refined.
And then, quietly, a month went by.
Cain realized it late one afternoon while standing at the edge of the sword training grounds, wooden practice blade resting lightly in his hand. Dust hung in the air where two students had just finished sparring, sunlight slanting low enough to turn the motes gold.
He watched them bow to each other.
Neither had won decisively.
Neither had lost completely.
They looked tired—but steadier than they had been weeks ago.
Cain shifted his stance and exhaled.
A month ago, this place had felt foreign.
Too large. Too structured. Too precise.
Now, it felt… familiar.
Not safe.
Not welcoming.
But understandable.
---
# The Academy's Rhythm
The academy operated on repetition.
Mornings were devoted to mana fundamentals, and the instructors showed no mercy in their insistence on basics. There were no dramatic spells, no explosive displays, no encouragement for excess.
Mana was treated like breath.
Control it.
Measure it.
Waste none of it.
Students were taught early that raw output meant nothing if their mana trembled, spilled, or tore through unstable channels. A bright flare that collapsed seconds later earned harsher criticism than a weak but steady flow.
Some adapted quickly.
Others struggled visibly, their mana surging unevenly, hands shaking as they tried to force results.
Cain sat among them, listening.
He did not force his mana outward.
Instead, he refined what he already possessed—compressing, smoothing, guiding it through his internal channels with careful restraint. The instructors noticed. Cain could tell by the way their gazes lingered on him just a second longer than necessary.
They never commented.
At the academy, silence often meant approval.
---
#Steel Without Glory
Afternoons belonged to physical training.
Swordsmanship classes were mandatory, regardless of background. Nobles, commoners, mages—it did not matter. Every student was expected to learn how to move, how to balance, how to survive if mana failed them.
Class 1A trained with polish and confidence.
Class 1B trained with fundamentals and correction.
Cain preferred the latter.
Their instructor was strict but methodical, focusing on posture, foot placement, distance management. There was no shouting, no humiliation—only repetition until mistakes faded.
Cain learned quickly.
Not because he was gifted—but because he paid attention.
He watched how others overextended. How they chased openings that did not exist. How emotion leaked into their movements. He corrected himself before the instructor spoke.
Rei noticed.
"You see that?" Rei muttered one day as they watched another pair spar. "He's leaning into every strike. Looks strong, but he's begging to be countered."
Cain nodded once.
Rei grinned. "Knew you'd agree."
Rei's wind-elemental familiar drifted lazily overhead, its form faint and translucent, wings slicing softly through the air. It had grown calmer over the weeks—less erratic, more responsive.
Cain's own familiar was nowhere to be seen.
By rule, familiars remained dismissed during classes unless explicitly required.
Cain followed the rules.
---
# Class 1B, Settling In
Class 1B changed subtly over the month.
At first, students had been guarded—measuring one another, comparing scores, watching for weakness. That tension dulled with time, replaced by quieter dynamics.
Friendships formed.
Some didn't last.
Others solidified into something steady.
Cain remained quiet, but he was no longer unseen.
He did not dominate training.
He did not fail conspicuously.
He simply performed.
Clean movements. Calm reactions. No wasted effort.
That alone drew attention.
He noticed students glancing at him more often. Instructors calling his name without hesitation. Even Class 1A students occasionally looking his way during shared training sessions.
Cain acknowledged none of it.
Attention was not the same as importance.
---
# The Untouchable Presence
Liora Valcrest remained unchanged.
She trained with precision that bordered on detachment, never overextending, never faltering. Her movements were efficient, elegant without being decorative.
Proposals—spoken and unspoken—came her way with increasing frequency.
She rejected them all.
Quietly. Cleanly. Without cruelty.
Cain noticed only because others talked about it.
He did not dwell on it.
He had other things occupying his mind.
---
# Evening Silence
One evening, after a particularly long training session, Cain returned to his room alone.
The corridors were quieter now, students dispersing toward their quarters, laughter fading into distant echoes. Cain opened his door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.
The room was unchanged.
Simple. Functional. Still.
Cain set his sword against the wall and sat on the edge of his bed. He rested his forearms on his thighs, gaze unfocused, breathing steady as he let the day settle.
That was when he felt it.
Not pain.
Not pressure.
A subtle awareness.
Like noticing someone standing just outside your line of sight—not watching, not moving—simply there.
Cain straightened slightly.
The sensation did not grow. It did not pull harder. It did not demand attention.
It simply existed.
Cain frowned, searching inward.
Nothing was wrong.
His mana flowed evenly. His breathing was calm. His body felt intact.
The awareness faded as quietly as it had come.
Cain sat there for a long moment afterward, unmoving.
"…Strange," he murmured, more to himself than the room.
He did not investigate further.
Not because he dismissed it—but because it did not feel urgent.
Cain lay back on the bed and stared at the stone ceiling.
Tomorrow would come.
---
# The Announcement
The academy liked its announcements precise.
They came late in the day, when students were tired enough to listen.
The instructor's voice carried across the training hall, calm and controlled.
"Attention, first-year students."
The murmurs died instantly.
"Tomorrow, there will be a joint sword training exercise between Class 1A and Class 1B."
The air shifted.
Cain's grip tightened on his practice blade—just slightly.
"This will not be a lesson," the instructor continued. "It will be an evaluation. Matchups will be decided randomly. Results will be recorded."
A ripple of unease spread through the hall.
"Prepare accordingly."
The bell rang.
---
# Nightfall
Cain returned to his room later that night.
He did not summon his familiar.
He did not review techniques.
He simply sat on his bed and stared at the window, watching the academy lights flicker to life across the grounds.
Joint evaluation.
Random matchups.
Class 1A.
Unknown opponents. Unknown outcomes.
Cain closed his eyes.
The faint awareness returned—not stronger, not clearer—just present enough to be noticed.
He acknowledged it once, silently, then let it go.
Tomorrow would demand focus.
And Cain would meet it the same way he met everything else—
Calmly.
Deliberately.
Without hesitation.
---