The next morning, Valen woke confused yet exhilarated.
Last night, he'd spent the equivalent of five years in accelerated Dream Learning—absorbing the standard issue books, the Ancient Praxian Runes dictionary, the shamanic magic collection, and dozens of obsolete spell theory texts Iris had catalogued from the library's forgotten corners.
With Iris's processing capabilities, they'd distilled essential patterns, cross-referenced contradictions, and extracted underlying principles that conventional study would have taken decades to discover.
Yet for all that accumulated knowledge, Valen found himself with more questions than answers.
The more you know, the more you realize you don't know.
The most fundamental mystery remained unsolved: What exactly were Ancient Praxian Runes?
The conventional explanation called them a language—remnants of the lost Praxian Empire, a civilization that had supposedly collapsed millennia before the current magical era. But that explanation felt incomplete.
Languages describe reality. These runes... shape it.
They didn't behave like written communication. Each rune existed as flowing threads of conceptual meaning, forming intricate knots that resonated with specific vibrational frequencies. When properly arranged, they didn't describe magic—they commanded it into existence.
Like reality's source code, Valen thought. Instructions written directly into the fabric of existence itself.
But if that were true, who had come up with the first rune? And how?
Valen pushed the philosophical questions aside. Metaphysics could wait. He had a more immediate discovery to celebrate.
Iris' physical form!
The solution had always been right in front of him. Though it only became obvious once he'd studied the underlying mechanics of Barrier Magic, Air Bullet, Mage Hand, and other force-manipulation spells. They all operated on the same fundamental principle: using structured mana and the air around to create tangible effects in physical space.
Barrier Magic was notoriously expensive—easily one of the costliest defensive spells in existence. In mage duels, practitioners created barriers only large enough to block incoming attacks, using hexagonal lattice patterns to minimize material while maintaining structural integrity. Thick panels at stress points, gossamer-thin connections between them.
Efficiency through geometry.
But for someone with effectively endless mana, cost became irrelevant.
A life-sized Iris appeared beside his bed, dressed in an immaculate maid uniform, holding a steaming cup of tea.
"Good morning, Master."
Valen accepted the cup, taking an experimental sip. The temperature was perfect—neither scalding nor lukewarm. "That's excellent tea."
"Hehehe, thank you, Master!"
Her voice sounds exactly the same as her mental projection, Valen noted. But there's something different about having her present in physical space. More... real.
When he descended to the common areas, two additional Iris constructs bustled about—one dusting shelves, another organizing scattered books, a third following him like a silent shadow.
The transformation was remarkable. Dust that had accumulated over weeks of vacancy had vanished. Floors gleamed. The air smelled faintly of lemon and clean linens.
"We didn't enter the personal rooms of your housemates," Iris explained, her voice coming from the construct nearest him while the others continued their work in perfect synchronization. "But we cleaned all common areas through the night."
Valen couldn't suppress a smile. Now she's more independent. The possibilities are endless.
But Valen didn't have time to explore everything now. He had classes to attend.
After morning exercises and a bath in the common washroom, Valen emerged to find two Iris constructs restraining Rock's cooking automaton.
The brass construct was making agitated mechanical noises—not quite language, but clear distress.
"Master, this stupid robot wouldn't let me use the kitchen!" The primary Iris pouted, an expression that looked almost comically out of place on her usually serene features. "I wanted to prepare breakfast properly, but it kept blocking the stove!"
Territorial behavior in an automaton, Valen observed with amusement. Rock must have programmed it to defend its domain. Probably had issues with other housemates interfering with cooking routines.
"Let it work, Iris. We'll eat what it prepares."
"But Master—"
"Consider it a learning opportunity. Observe its techniques. You can incorporate them into your own cooking subroutines."
Iris's expression shifted from frustration to interest. "Ah! Yes, that makes sense. Recording and analysis mode activated!"
Dressed in his grey Academy cloak, Valen stepped outside.
The fog remained dispersed, revealing the forest-city campus in the soft light of overcast morning. Dark clouds massed on the horizon, and distant thunder rumbled like a sleeping giant stirring.
Spring thunderstorms, Valen identified. The weather should turn soon.
Despite the cold—perhaps fifteen degrees Celsius—flower buds dotted the vines and shrubs that wound through the ancient ruins. Life pushing through decay. The campus carried a strange beauty in that contradiction.
Post-post-apocalyptic hope, Valen mused as he walked the memorized path toward the amphitheater. Civilization died here, was forgotten, and now grows again in the cracks. Wonder what the actual story is.
The amphitheater sprawled before him like a Grecian ruin carved from stone—tiered seating rising in semicircles around a central stage. Several such structures dotted the campus, ranging from intimate spaces for twenty students to this massive arena that could accommodate thousands.
Already, nearly three thousand new students packed the seats, their collective noise washing over the space like surf against stone. Conversations echoed and overlapped, creating a constant murmur punctuated by occasional laughter or shouted greetings.
Valen paused at the entrance, taking in the scene.
Excitement, he cataloged. Nervous energy. First large-scale class for most of them. They're treating it like an event.
The social dynamics were already evident even from this distance. Natural clusters had formed—groups who'd bonded during the entrance exam, noble families maintaining proximity to their allies, isolated individuals scanning for potential connections.
According to the schedule, there would be three group classes daily until the first examination. Only the new students attended these mass lectures; senior students had long since graduated to self-directed study or personal instruction from chosen mentors.
Some older students did offer specialized courses for pay or barter—magical materials, rare texts, favors owed. It created an informal economy of knowledge that ran parallel to the official curriculum.
Personal students received the most privileged education: direct instruction from established practitioners, often in groups that could number dozens depending on the instructor's reputation and capacity.
I could skip all this, Valen reflected, making his way toward an empty seat in the highest tier. I've already absorbed the textbook content through dream-learning. But attending maintains appearances.
He settled at the very back, pulling out a small notebook and pencil like everyone else. The props were unnecessary—Iris would record everything perfectly—but blending in required performing the expected behaviors.
From his elevated position, Valen could observe the entire amphitheater.
The protagonist trio occupied front-row seats like model students. Amber sat several seats away from them, with Cassian and what appeared to be Prince Alex in rows near her. His other cousins were also sitting in a group.
Interesting seating arrangement, Valen noted. Amber's isolated from both groups. Cassian and Alex have already formed their own cliques. She's caught between family expectations and genuine peer connections.
As if sensing his observation, Amber's head turned, scanning the upper tiers.
"Master, you should go sit with her," Iris whispered in his mind. "She looks lonely."
"I don't need to stand out."
Amber's eyes found him. Her expression brightened, and she waved—a clear, unmistakable gesture inviting him down.
Several nearby students immediately turned to see who'd caught the princess's attention.
"Who is he?"
"You don't know? He's from the House of Duke Ashford."
"Another one? How many Ashfords are there at this Academy?"
"The Duke is... prolific. I heard his elder children have already established themselves in the chaotic southern territories."
So much for maintaining a low profile, Valen thought with resignation.
He descended the stone steps, feeling dozens of eyes tracking his movement. The social calculus was already operating—students noting who the princess acknowledged, adjusting their internal rankings accordingly.
Politics. Always politics.
"Hey," Amber greeted as he reached her row. "You looked particularly interested in the view from up there. Planning to nap through the lecture?"
Valen slid into the seat beside her. "We can hear the same content from anywhere in the amphitheater."
"But you'll be distracted by troublemakers in the back rows." Her tone carried the certainty of someone who'd made her position clear and expected compliance. "Pay attention or don't bother coming."
Bossy, Valen noted. But he recognized the underlying concern—she'd adjusted her perception of him after hearing about the Air Bullet demonstration. Now she expected competence and didn't want him to waste potential through laziness.
"Understood," he said simply.
Prince Alex glanced over with a knowing smile, his handsome features carrying the easy confidence of someone accustomed to political maneuvering. He clearly knew about the arranged marriage discussions.
Cassian offered only an indifferent nod, his attention already returning to his own companions. Valen noticed a spectacled, long-haired fellow in his group looking toward him with curiosity.
The protagonist trio waved politely—acknowledging without engagement, maintaining the fragile alliance they'd established.
A hush fell over the amphitheater.
Instructor Aldric entered from the side passage, Instructor Seth following two steps behind. According to the schedule, Aldric would deliver the Fundamentals of Spellcasting series—the foundation course every mage required.
Seth is probably his personal student, Valen assessed. Both assigned to handle the new student intake this year. You need to reach Rank 4 to become an instructor. Seth must have achieved that recently.
"Good morning, students of the Radiant Academy," Aldric announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the space without magical amplification. "We meet again."
Seth remained silent at his shoulder, observing with the practiced stillness of someone accustomed to standing in another's shadow.
"I won't waste your time with unnecessary pleasantries," Aldric continued. "You've all received this textbook from the Tower distribution." He held up a thick hardcover volume: Fundamentals of Spellcasting. "Ensure you have the latest edition. This text is updated frequently as our understanding evolves."
Around Valen, students pulled out notebooks, pencils ready. The front rows leaned forward, attention fixed like they were witnessing revelation rather than introduction.
Eager, Valen observed. Most have never studied magic formally before. To them, this is the beginning of transformation. They've been waiting their whole lives for this.
Aldric spent the next ten minutes outlining course structure, examination requirements, and practice expectations. Standard pedagogical framework—nothing surprising.
"Any questions before we begin properly?"
Silence.
"Good. I'll proceed slowly. No need to panic. Just follow along. I've taught this material countless times since becoming an instructor." Aldric's expression softened slightly—not quite warmth, but acknowledgment of shared experience. "The most important part of becoming a mage, warrior, or any extraordinary being is understanding yourself."
He waved his hand through the air in a deliberate pattern. Three concentric circles materialized—thin lines of structured mana, barely visible yet perfectly defined. Minimal energy expenditure for maximum clarity.
Excellent control, Valen noted.
Aldric pointed to the innermost circle. "This is your core. Your soul. Your consciousness. Whatever terminology you prefer. This is the most important aspect of your being. Your strength originates here. Your mana resides here. This is what separates you from an ordinary person who has never formed their core."
His finger moved to the middle circle. "This is your spirit. Created by your consciousness, serving as the conduit between internal and external. A tree possesses no spirit. But a dog, a cat, a horse—these have spirits. Your spirit channels mana between your core and the physical world."
Finally, the outermost circle. "This is your physical body. Your body anchors your spirit, prevents it from dispersing. It also protects your spirit from corruption by ambient mana. Without physical anchoring, a spirit becomes vulnerable to degradation."
Aldric's expression turned serious. "For a mage or warrior, all three must function in perfect conjunction. Neglect any component, and you create fatal weakness."
Raylan's hand shot up immediately.
Of course, Valen thought with mild amusement. The protagonist never misses an opportunity to demonstrate engagement.
"Instructor," Raylan asked, voice clear and respectful, "can a spirit without a physical body cast spells?"
Aldric nodded approvingly. "Excellent question. Without a physical body, spirits can only cast spells already engraved in their cores. They cannot learn new techniques or adapt to changed circumstances. The reason for this limitation will become clear in upcoming lessons."
"Understood, Instructor. Thank you."
Huh. What a nerd, Valen thought.
"Master, you are no different."
Valen already knew the answer. The implication settled uncomfortably. If physical form is required for learning, then Iris—despite her manifested body—still can't truly expand beyond her current capabilities. The barrier construct gives her ability to interact with the physical world, not genuine embodiment.
A limitation worth exploring. Later.
"Now that you understand the three components," Aldric continued, his tone shifting toward gravity, "you should recognize the fundamental principle of magical combat. All offensive techniques—whether spells or weapon arts—are designed to damage one or more of these three aspects."
He gestured, and the three circles pulsed with different colors: red for the physical body, blue for the spirit, gold for the core.
"Physical damage is straightforward and familiar. A blade cuts flesh. Fire burns skin. Ice freezes blood. This is combat as ordinary people understand it."
The outer circle flared red, simulating injury.
"But mages and warriors possess advantages. We can heal physical wounds with magic or potions. We can reinforce our bodies with enhancement techniques. We can wield shields or Barrier Magic. Inflicting physical damage is the simplest, but also the easiest to defend against."
The blue circle pulsed.
"Spirit damage is more insidious. Certain spells don't harm the body directly—they attack the spirit itself. You'll feel this as disorientation, hallucination, weakness, loss of mana control, or... madness.""
Several students shifted uncomfortably, clearly not having considered this dimension of combat.
"Your physical form remains intact, but your connection to magic deteriorates. Spirit damage is harder to heal and more dangerous to accumulate."
"And finally—" The golden core circle flared. "Core damage. The most dangerous and difficult to inflict. Techniques that reach the core itself can shatter a person's foundation permanently. Core damage doesn't heal naturally. Without specialized treatment, it's permanent crippling at best, death at worst."
Sobering, Valen thought, watching the realization spread through the audience like cold water. They came here excited to learn magic. Now they're understanding what magic can do to them.
"I tell you this not to frighten you," Aldric said, his tone gentling slightly, "but to ensure you understand the stakes. Magic is not a game. You must learn to protect all three aspects of yourself. Otherwise, you won't grow old as a Mage."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"Questions?"
This time, no hands rose. The amphitheater had gone quiet with contemplation.
Good, Valen assessed. Fear tempered with respect. That's the appropriate mindset for beginners.
Aldric smiled—not warmly, but with satisfaction. "Then let's begin properly. The first lesson—Nature of Mana."