CHAPTER 36 — Three Weeks Left
The morning mist had not yet lifted.
The stone tiles of the Academy courtyard were still wet from the night's dew.
Students trained in clusters—some chanting mantras, others diving into focus exercises.
Three weeks.
Three weeks until everyone either advanced… or fell behind.
Seryn stood alone in a quiet corner of the northern courtyard. The air was cold, but his breathing was steady. He lifted one hand; a thin current of wind curled upward from his fingers. At first weak, then stronger, then scattered. Mana flow was smoother today—more stable than last night.
"Better," he murmured.
Wind spells were simple, but essential. They meant mobility and control—useful in the upcoming exam. Then he focused, shifting his attention to lightning.
A deep breath. Mana pressed outward.
A spark snapped at his fingertips—sharp, bright, fleeting. The power was still wild and disobedient, but far less overwhelming than before.
Still, from time to time, a faint gray shimmer pulsed beneath his skin. He ignored it. Thinking about it was dangerous.
A familiar voice called out from behind him.
"Training this early? Ever heard of sleep?"
Kai. His tunic was patched, but his grin was the same irritating brightness as always.
Seryn turned slightly. "I don't have time to sleep."
"There are three whole weeks," Kai insisted. "You could rest, you know—"
"If I rest, I fall behind," Seryn cut him off.
Kai opened his mouth but Rien arrived and silenced the attempt. He had his bow slung over his shoulder.
"Calden says theory questions will be harder this term," Rien said. "His exact words: 'No space for laziness.'"
Kai groaned. "Then I'm dead."
Seryn opened his notebook. "Don't want to fail? Work."
Kai smirked. "Easy for you to say. You read books like other people breathe."
Rien shrugged. "Your problem isn't studying. It's not focusing."
Kai glared. "You two—fine! I'll beat both of you in training today!"
Seryn's quiet half-smile seemed to provoke Kai more than any insult.
By noon, the training fields were overflowing.
Mages stood under blue banners, repeating basic spells.
Aura users practiced under green banners, their movements heavy and physical.
The ritual division was quieter—dark banners, rows of students carving marks into stone and metal.
Seryn moved first to the mage field. Spells came to him in two categories: wind and lightning. Balance, range, control—all mattered for the exam.
He knocked over small targets with airflow, then failed, then tried again. After a few attempts Kai shouted from across the field:
"You're trying to intimidate the stone! It's not scared!"
Without looking up, Seryn answered, "At least it doesn't run from me."
Kai cackled. Rien shot arrows nearby—every one landed dead center.
"If you keep this up," Rien said, "your control score will be fine."
"Not enough," Seryn replied.
"Nothing is ever enough for you," Kai muttered.
Seryn headed to the ritual field after lunch.
Rituals were nothing like magic—no bursts of mana, no scattered particles.
Rituals were slow, deliberate, permanent.
They fortified bones, strengthened muscles, sharpened reactions—gradually, like water shaping stone.
He worked on a reflex-enhancing carving today. Bent over the stone, he steadied the blade and inhaled.
One line.
One curve.
One dot.
A subtle vibration.
When the mark completed, the stone glimmered faintly. Seryn flexed his fingers. The shift was tiny but real.
"Better," he whispered.
Rien approached. "That ritual… speeds hand reflexes for a few seconds?"
"No," Seryn replied. "It's permanent. Slow, but lasting."
Kai's eyes widened. "Permanent?! Like… always?"
"If repeated enough."
Kai shivered dramatically. "Thank the gods I'm a mage. I'd go crazy carving rocks every day."
Rien smiled. "It's hard. But worth it."
Seryn silently agreed.
Evening in the dining hall was chaos.
Seryn sipped his soup while Kai talked endlessly beside him.
"So what's your plan? Study until your brain melts?"
"Yes."
Kai groaned. "Talking to you feels like talking to a wall."
"Walls are useful," Rien noted.
Kai glared. "You two should form a club."
Seryn actually laughed—quiet and brief, but genuine.
That night, glowing symbols appeared on every door. Blue lines etched themselves into the wood. Then Seraphine's voice echoed through the halls.
"Attention, students.
End-of-term exams begin in three weeks.
Theory, control, and field test.
Fail two, and you are suspended for one term."
Seryn didn't move.
Her voice was always clear—sharp, precise.
"Remember: power without discipline is only danger."
The light faded. Silence followed.
Seryn returned to his room. His desk was buried in notes, worn paper, broken ritual stones, and a half-used mana crystal. He sat on the bed, breath steadying.
A faint pulse moved across his chest.
The gray energy.
If he used it during the exam… passing would be easy.
Too easy.
"No," he whispered. "Not yet."
He placed his hand on his notebook and began writing.
In the western tower, Valen still worked.
Seraphine stood near the window, watching the students below.
"They're improving quickly," she said.
"Too quickly," Valen replied.
"His mana control… is impressive."
Valen's eyes narrowed. "His control is too even. That is not natural. He's hiding something."
"What is he hiding?"
"They'll test him again," Valen muttered. "And they'll fail again."
Thunder shook the sky.
The Academy lights flickered off.
Only one window remained lit.
Seryn's.
He sat hunched over his notes, ink staining his fingers. His eyes were tired but sharp; his shoulders tense.
"Three weeks," he whispered. "Just three."
He set down his pen, blew out the candle, and let darkness swallow the room.
Darkness didn't frighten him.
He had lived in darker places.