The lecture hall was carved.
Stone descended in concentric tiers; the benches were made of dragon wood from the mountain range. The light was indirect—thin shafts from narrow apertures high above, refracted through crystal veins embedded in the rock.
Judging by military guidelines, one may conclude that this was deliberate.
The mage took his place without looking for familiar faces. The students were silent and prepared to pay attention.
At the center of the hall stood an empty circle of bare floor.
A bell rang once.
Professor Halvren entered. He was an old man that had white hair and a mole behind his ear, which was only visible if one looked carefully. His robes bore no insignia, and only his sharp eyes marked his authority.
"Sit," he said.
They were already seated.
"Good," Halvren continued. "You remember yesterday's exercise."
"This is not a language course," he said flatly. "If you need repetition, you should not be here."
He then snapped his finger, and a stone platform appeared. He touched the platform; the platform function was to project the symbol that one visualized in one's mind.
A symbol formed.
In the center was a giant of ice wielding a hammer made of frost; several symbols and sigils surrounded it.
"This," Halvren said, "is a complete spell."
"You already know that a spell is defined by its central symbol, which defines the element. The rest of the sigils and symbols define its function. But do you know about the origin of the central symbols?"
"They were granted by the gods. Their essence was impregnated in the essence of the world, mana. By visualizing those symbols and using mana, we can borrow the powers that once those deities possessed."
"Deities existed long, long ago, in the age of myths. Although we don't have records of that epoch, we can conclude that they all likely perished in the beginning of the second epoch. Their bodies spread all over the world. That was the beginning of magic as we all know it."
"This spell, for example, has the deity of an ice giant with a hammer. We may conclude that its signature attack is the ice hammer, a grade 9 spell."
"I was curious about what is the basis on which spell grades are classified," one of the students asked. He had an aquiline nose and blond hair.
"We classify spell grades based on what we believe was the signature attack of the deity of the element. For example, taking the ice hammer as a reference, it is classified as a grade 9 spell, the highest grade. Then we classify the rest of the spells based on how less powerful they are compared to the grade 9 spell."
…Huh, then that means that I am far from becoming the strongest. Tsk. I can use grade 3 spells at best. Each grade is exponentially more difficult… the mage thought.
After the class ended, the mage got out and walked towards the library.
The stone corridors absorbed sound unevenly.
The mage walked alone.
He turned a corner and slowed as the corridor widened into a vaulted junction where multiple passages converged. Light filtered down from a narrow opening far above, illuminating suspended dust and the faint shimmer of residual constructs embedded in the stonework.
"I've heard that you're the most talented mage of your class."
The mage stopped, then turned.
The speaker stood a few paces away, posture relaxed, hands folded loosely at his back. Taller than average. Dark hair. His uniform bore the same cut as Klaen's, but the fabric was newer—less worn at the cuffs.
"Who are you?" the mage said.
The student inclined his head slightly. "I'm Irsen, a senior student of the upper classes."
"I am Klaen."
"I see. What do you think about the academy?" Irsen asked.
"I think it's just fine."
"Well, that's reasonable. There will be a special exam tomorrow. Students will be fighting against one another. The ones that pass the exam will be assigned to another class."
"I think that you should train to prepare for that special exam instead of wasting your time here," Klaen said.
Irsen chuckled. "Well, if you're assigned to my section, don't intervene."
Irsen turned back and departed without saying farewell.
…I should be wary of him. In my experience, no one approaches you without a reason… Klaen thought.
From a nearby corridor came the sound of stone shifting—training chambers opening, internal partitions reconfiguring themselves in response to scheduled use. The academy rearranged itself constantly. Static layouts encouraged complacency.
After walking for some time, Klaen arrived at the library.