James woke before dawn to find Henry already dressed and panicking quietly.
"First day, first day, can't be late on first day," his roommate muttered, gathering books. "Instructor Sabrina marks tardiness as disrespect. Disrespect accumulates. Too many marks and you're on probation."
"Seize your panicking," James said, getting out of bed. "How long do we have?"
"Thirty minutes."
"That's plenty of time."
"You don't understand. The academy rearranges itself overnight. Corridors move. Sometimes entire wings relocate. If we don't account for navigation time—"
"Then we simply navigate quickly." James dressed efficiently and turned to Henry. "Lead the way."
They left at a pace Henry clearly considered recklessly casual. Frank had elected to stay in the room—"No way I'm sitting through magic lectures at dawn. Wake me when something interesting happens."
The corridors had indeed rearranged. What had been a straight path to the amphitheater yesterday was now a maze of turns and staircases that led places they didn't remember existing.
"See?" Henry gestured frantically at a hallway that ended in a window showing the wrong view. "We're lost. We're going to be late. I'm going to get marked on the first day—"
"Stop." James closed his eyes, extending his senses. The academy was alive, responsive to magical intent. Which meant it had patterns and flows. Directions of least resistance.
He felt them, subtle channels in the ambient mana, paths the academy preferred, routes that wanted to be traveled.
"This way," James said, turning down a corridor that wasn't there a moment ago.
"How do you—"
"I can feel the structure. It's like... reading current in water. The academy wants to be navigated. You just have to listen." James followed the sensation, turning where mana flowed easiest. "Come on."
They emerged at the amphitheater with two minutes to spare and Henry looked at James with new respect.
"That was... how did you do that?"
"Everything alive has patterns. The academy is alive, so it has patterns. I just followed them."
"I've been here a full year and never thought of that."
James jotted that down in his head. Henry was competent but not innovative. Followed procedures instead of questioning them. That was useful to know.
Instructor Sabrina appeared as the last student settled into their seat.
"Magical Theory," she announced. "The foundation of everything. You will learn why magic works, not just how to use it. You will understand the principles underlying your abilities. You will think like scholars, not just practitioners."
She gestured, and a massive diagram materialized above them, showing mana flow and the theoretical frameworks that supported magical practice.
"Mana is not merely energy. It is will made manifest. Intent given form. The gap between thought and reality, collapsed through focused application of consciousness." Sabrina sounded like someone who had years of experience teaching this. "Your affinity is simply your soul's natural frequency at which your consciousness most easily affects the physical world."
James already knew this from his years of self-study and experimentation. But he listened carefully, looking for gaps in his knowledge or new perspectives.
"Within each branch exist multiple manifestations," Sabrina continued, displaying the six branch diagrams. "Eldritch magic has four: telekinesis, telepathy, teleportation, and clairvoyance. Most Eldritch mages master two. Three marks exceptional talent. Four is perhaps one in a century."
James noted this. He already had three of four. So that's what the fourth one was... He thought to himself.
"Nature magic governs three domains: flora, fauna, and weather. Most Nature mages excel in one, perhaps two. Tri-domain mastery is rare."
She continued. "Elemental magic commands nine forces: fire, water, earth, air, lightning, ice, sound, light, and shadow. Most elementalists specialize in one element. Two is not unusual. Three or more is uncommon and marks a true prodigy."
Ice and earth. Two of eight. He thought.
"Chaos magic manipulates three aspects: probability, time, and causality. Extraordinarily rare affinity. Most Chaos mages barely control one aspect. Two is legendary. Mastering all three is beyond rare."
Zero of three.
"Dark magic channels three practices: necromancy, curses, and soul manipulation. Heavily stigmatized but undeniably powerful."
Zero of three in that regard as well, though his Soul Splitter technically counted as soul manipulation.
"Summoner magic establishes contracts across three categories: beasts, elementals, and spirits or demons. Progressive difficulty. Most summoners bond with beasts. Elemental contracts require years of expertise. Spirits and Demons are dangerous and heavily restricted and the stronger a summoner becomes, the more power they can draw from their summoning."
"The point," Sabrina concluded, "is that true mastery means excelling in multiple manifestations within your branch, not just possessing the affinity. A Nature mage with all three domains is worth ten who only control plants."
The lecture continued for two hours and James absorbed everything while documenting discrepancies between the lecture and his experience.
After theory came Practical Applications—hands-on practice using abilities under supervision.
The class was divided by affinity and James joined the Nature group in a massive greenhouse constructed from living trees.
"Nature magic is relationship," their instructor said. An older man, weathered like he'd spent decades outdoors. "You don't command plants. You cooperate and negotiate with living systems."
He demonstrated by growing a sapling into a mature tree in seconds.
"Your turn. Each of you has a seedling. Make it grow."
James approached his seedling, a small oak. His hand glowed green as he communicated growth and provided what it needed through magic.
The oak responded, doubling in size.
"Good. Now shape its development. Specific branches in specific directions."
James visualized the pattern and projected it. The oak grew accordingly, branches twisting and forming what looked like a canopy.
Around him, other students struggled. Most managed basic growth. Few achieved directional control.
"Morningstar shows natural aptitude," the instructor noted. "How long have you been practicing?"
"A year."
"Remarkable. Try coordinating multiple plants simultaneously."
James extended his awareness to ten seedlings as the green glow around his hands grew brighter and made them grow in synchronized patterns, branches weaving together in harmony.
"Extraordinary," the instructor breathed. "That's something you see in a third-year curriculum."
James had overperformed. Drew attention that he caught immediately; other students staring, whispers spreading.
And across the greenhouse, a girl with dual-colored robes had stopped her practice entirely.
She was twelve, maybe thirteen, with hair so black it seemed to absorb light and eyes that were an unsettling gold. Her robes bore green and violet threading, indicating she was both a Nature and Summoner mage.
Her expression was something between irritation and disdain.
Serena Pendragon. Henry had mentioned her yesterday. Descended from the ancient Pendragon noble line, rumored to have contracted with a dragon, the undisputed apex of their year's hierarchy.
"Who is that?" she asked, her authoritative voice carrying across the greenhouse.
"New student, Lady Pendragon," the instructor said deferentially. "James Morningstar. Second-year placement despite his age—"
"I wasn't asking for his biography. I was asking why a commoner nobody is performing advanced technique in my greenhouse."
Her greenhouse? James noted the possessive.
"Natural talent, it seems—"
"Talent." Serena approached James's station, her entourage of admirers following like loyal hounds. "How convenient. Tell me, Morningstar. What noble house trained you in secret? Which family is trying to slip their bastard into the academy under false pretenses?"
"None," James said simply. "Orphan. Self-taught."
"Self-taught." She said it like the words tasted bad. "You expect me to believe you achieved third-year mastery through self-teaching?"
"I do not expect you to believe anything."
Serena studied him like something unpleasant she'd found on her shoe. "You're eleven years old."
"Eleven and six months."
"A child. A commoner child with no lineage, no training, no resources." She circled his workstation, examining his plants with critical eyes. "And yet you perform at levels that take nobles years to achieve with the finest instructors. That's either a lie or an insult to everyone who earned their capabilities properly."
"Or I'm just good at this," James said.
The greenhouse went silent. Students didn't talk back to Serena Pendragon. Not if they valued their social standing.
Serena's eyes narrowed. "You're good at this. How modest. How... quaint." She turned to the instructor. "I want him in my practice group tomorrow. I'll assess whether this 'talent' is genuine or just luck."
"Lady Pendragon, that's not standard procedure—"
"I wasn't asking." Serena's voice conveyed the certainty of someone who'd never been refused. "Tomorrow. Dawn. Private training grounds, west tower. If he's as talented as this display suggests, he'll benefit from proper instruction. If he's not..." She smiled coldly at James. "Well. We'll discover that too won't we."
She left, her followers trailing after her, leaving James in a greenhouse full of students who now looked at him with a mixture of pity and fascination.
"You just got noticed by Serena Pendragon," Henry whispered, appearing beside him. "I'm not sure whether to congratulate you or offer condolences."
"What's her reputation?"
"Brilliant. Ruthless. Descended from the Pendragon line... you know, the dragonriders? Her family contracted with dragons for generations. She manifested both Nature and Summoner affinities at age nine. Contracted with a dragon at age ten. She's..." Henry struggled for words. "She's untouchable. Top of every class. Wins every competition. And she knows it."
"And she thinks I'm beneath her?" James's eyes narrowed.
"She thinks everyone's beneath her. But especially you, a commoner, orphan with no background. You represent everything her bloodline considers inferior." Henry grimaced. "She's going to try to prove you're not actually talented, just lucky."
"Let her try."
"James, she has a dragon. An actual dragon. She could roast you alive if she felt like it."
"She won't." James returned to his practice. "Can't prove my inferiority if I'm dead."
"That's... technically true but also deeply unsettling reasoning."
---
Lunch came and James sat with Henry, ignoring the whispers and stares from other tables. Serena held court across the dining hall, surrounded by admirers competing for her attention.
She caught James looking once. Her expression was dismissive, like he was something mildly annoying she'd deal with later.
---
Afternoon brought Combat Applications. The scarred instructor had them partner for sparring. Magic combat, non-lethal force, first to yield loses.
James was paired with a noble boy who clearly resented being matched with a commoner.
"Try not to embarrass yourself," the noble said.
The match lasted twelve seconds as James's vines wrapped the noble completely, immobilizing him in a brutal constriction.
"Yield," the instructor said.
The noble, unable to move, had no choice. "Yield."
Now there were more whispers. More attention. James had won too quickly.
He caught Serena watching from across the arena. Her expression had shifted from dismissive to calculating.
---
That evening, James documented everything:
First day: Drew attention from instructors and Serena Pendragon.
Serena: Dual Nature-Summoner affinity. Dragon contractor. Noble lineage (Pendragon family—historical dragonriders). Twelve years old, completely confident in her superiority. Views James as inferior due to common birth despite James's demonstrated skill.
She "invited" James to a private training session tomorrow. Her attempts to prove James's skills is but a fluke will be met with great disappointment.
He closed the journal as Frank finally spoke up, gesturing to the journal again. "When are you gonna finally write something good huh? Like who's hot. Or who's trying to kill you. Or which cafeteria food tasted least like trash?"
"…James does not reduce his chronicles to cafeteria gossip."
"Coulda fooled me."
James glared at Frank and stepped past him to prepare for bed.
"That Serena, she already hates your gut and you've only been here for what? one day?" Frank continued.
"She doesn't hate me. She disdains me. There's a difference."
"You enjoying this aren't you? Getting ready to show off and shit."
"Hmmm," James grunted.
But Frank was partly right. There was something satisfying about being underestimated by someone who thought bloodline determined worth.
Not that James would admit that satisfaction. That would require self-awareness he didn't particularly want to cultivate.
Tomorrow he'd face Serena Pendragon's "assessment." He would have to balance competence with humility. Show enough skill to get her interest, but not enough to threaten her position. And humility was never James's strong suit.
Simple in theory, yes. In practice? He'd figure it out.
He always did.