Four days had passed since Anna began her coursework at the Academy—four days of new corridors, new expectations, and new ways the air itself seemed to hum against her skin. Most classes had already settled into a familiar rhythm, but today felt different. Today was her first session of a course spoken about in equal parts excitement and dread by the upper-years.
She stopped outside the arched doorway marked Classroom Zeta, the rune-etched plaque shimmering faintly as if acknowledging her arrival. This was the only class she hadn't attended yet—Aetheric Metal Studies and Magical Prospecting—a course held just once a week due to the nature of its materials and the delicacy required to handle them.
Taking a slow breath, Anna stepped inside.
The scent hit her first: cold stone, warm forge-metal, and something bright and electric beneath it all. Tables were arranged in semicircles around a central workshop pit where chunks of ore, vein-streaked rock, and crystalline shards gleamed under suspended lanterns. Every surface hummed with faint residual magic. Some students were already seated, each with a kit of chisels, divining rods, and resonance lenses laid out in neat rows.
Anna's pulse quickened. This was the class where they studied the substances that shaped a mage's bond—ores refined into conduits, crystals that awakened affinities, metals capable of bending or conducting spellwork itself. The materials that had built empires… and destroyed them.
She tightened her grip on her satchel and moved deeper into the room. Whatever waited in this once-a-week crucible of stone and sorcery, she was ready to face it.
Anna slipped into an empty seat near the middle—close enough to observe, far enough that she wouldn't be the center of attention. She started unpacking her kit: notebook, resonance lens, the small chisel set assigned to first-years. Her fingers had just brushed the cool metal when a voice—warm, slightly rough at the edges—cut through the low murmur of the room.
"Is this seat taken?"
She froze for half a heartbeat before turning.
Kaelen Stagwood stood just behind her chair.
His russet hair was tied back loosely today, a few strands escaping to fall across his brow, and his earth-toned apprentice robes were dusted lightly with what looked suspiciously like mineral powder. His expression was somewhere between hopeful and cautious, as if expecting her to say no—but ready to respect it if she did.
Anna blinked in surprise. Of all the classes he might have chosen, of all the seats he could have claimed, she hadn't expected him here—much less at her side.
"…No," she said, clearing her throat softly. "It's not taken."
Kaelen's shoulders eased, just a little. He slid into the seat beside her, the wood creaking under his weight, and began setting down his own tools. His kit was older, worn smooth at the edges, each instrument clearly well-used rather than fresh from the Academy's supply stores.
"I didn't think you'd take this class," Anna admitted quietly.
Kaelen huffed out a small, crooked smile. "And miss the one subject I actually know something about? Not likely."
Anna felt heat creep up the back of her neck before she could stop it. She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so… flustered.
"I just meant—" she began, then immediately regretted opening her mouth. "You're an earth mage, and you… you summoned a mithril golem during the trial, so I thought you wouldn't really need a class like this and—"
She winced as the words tangled themselves into an embarrassing knot.
Kaelen raised an eyebrow, amused. Just amused. Not mocking—thank the gods—but still enough to make her face burn hotter.
"I mean—forget that. Just… forget I said anything," she muttered, dropping her gaze to her notebook as if it might swallow her whole.
But beside her, she heard the soft huff of a laugh. Not sharp. Not dismissive. Just warm enough to make her wish she hadn't spoken… and also strangely glad that she had.
Professor Helena Tharengard cleared her throat, the sound sharp enough to cut through the scattered chatter. The faint metallic jingle of the charms on her belt—little slivers of crystal, etched sigils, and a piece of chain forged from three different metals—settled into silence as the room stilled around her.
Anna straightened. Kaelen did too, though he slouched a heartbeat later to make it look like he hadn't.
"Welcome, first years," Helena began, voice resonant and commanding without ever needing to rise, "to Aetheric Metal Studies and Magical Prospecting."
A flicker of nerves rippled through the room. Some students sat rigidly upright. Others shrank into their chairs as if anticipating explosions. One boy in the front row—book already open, quill poised—looked like he'd been rehearsing for this moment his entire life.
"You may have heard rumors about this course," Helena went on, pacing slowly before the semicircle of tables. "That it's difficult. Dangerous. Or utterly impractical for anyone who doesn't intend to spend their career knee-deep in bedrock."
Her eyes swept the class, landing briefly—and knowingly—on Kaelen's powder-dusted sleeves. He did not notice. Anna noticed him not noticing.
"Let me assure you: those rumors," Helena said, lips twitching, "are only mostly true."
A few students laughed nervously. The boy with the prepared quill didn't laugh; he scribbled notes instead, as if the joke were somehow important.
"What we study here is not simply stone or ore," Helena continued. "The earth beneath your feet is alive with currents of magic older than the Empire itself. Every vein of aetheric metal—spellborn silver, ember-iron, voidglass, or the rare and famously temperamental star-ore—has a history, a temperament, and, occasionally, an opinion."
At that, a girl near the back paled. Anna wasn't sure if it was the idea of ore with opinions or the word temperamental.
"And here's something that may interest you more than any academic pitch." Helena clasped her hands behind her back. "If you learn to do this properly… you might just save yourselves a small fortune on cultivation materials for your bonds. Aetheric ore is expensive—criminally so, in my opinion—but ore you locate and extract yourselves? Well, that's free."
She paused.
"Assuming you survive the process."
Kaelen blinked, then leaned slightly toward Anna and whispered, "Comforting."
She bit back a smile.
Across the room, someone audibly gulped. The quill-boy wrote that down too.
"In this class," Helena said, resuming her pace, "you'll learn how to read the earth, how to locate deposits without detonating half a hillside, and how to extract metals that would prefer to remain undisturbed. You'll begin to understand the difference between ordinary metal… and the kind that hums when you touch it because it remembers who forged it centuries ago."
The way she said it made the room seem warmer. Or maybe that was the lanterns catching on the crystalline samples scattered across the workshop pit—little sparks of red, blue, and violet light dancing along their edges.
Helena lifted her chin. "Some of you will excel. Some will drop the moment you realize dirt fights back. And a handful—if you listen—will learn to hear what lies beneath the skin of the world."
Silence followed her words. Real silence, charged and expectant.
Then Helena clapped her hands once.
"Now. Open your textbooks to page one—before the dust motes start rearranging themselves again. They're easily bored and tend to spell out rude words."
Every student jolted into motion. Books snapped open. Pages rustled. Tension mingled with excitement.
Kaelen shot Anna a crooked grin, tapping his textbook like he was ready for anything.
Anna… wasn't sure she was. But the thrum in her chest—the resonance she could never quite ignore—told her she wanted to be.
Professor Helena snapped her fingers. Chalk rose from the tray as if yanked by invisible strings, hovering at attention in front of the board.
"Page one," she said, pacing with the easy stride of someone who had walked through caves darker and deeper than any first-year could imagine. "Chapter One: Aetheric Studies. Before you can dig a single handful of dirt, you must first learn how to find what you're looking for."
The chalk darted across the slate, sketching a rough shape of the continent, then layering shimmering rings of energy over it—thin, almost translucent arcs that hummed faintly.
"Aetheric Studies," Helena continued, "is the discipline of reading magical signatures within the earth. Every ore—mundane or arcane—releases a resonant field. Some fields are faint. Some are loud. Some scream bloody murder, usually to warn you you're getting too close."
A few students chuckled nervously. The professor pretended not to notice.
"You will learn three primary techniques for locating deposits:
One:Aetherfield Mapping. This is the broadest method. It involves sensing large-scale fluctuations—ley line disturbances, mana sinks, high-resonance pockets. Think of it as listening for thunder, not raindrops."
She tapped the glowing rings on the board.
"These patterns shift over time, so if you rely solely on last year's maps, you'll walk straight into a ravine or, worse, someone else's excavation rights."
She flicked her wrist.
"Two:Harmonic Listening. A more refined technique. Every ore vibrates at a distinct frequency—not enough for your ears, but perfectly audible to your bond if you've cultivated it properly. You'll learn to attune yourselves and follow those vibrations underground. This is the part where half of you will get migraines for a week. It's normal."
The chalk obediently began drawing a cutaway of earth layers—different pockets marked with sigils and frequency glyphs.
"And finally, Three: Geoscrying. A visual technique. With the correct spellform and enough focus, you will project your awareness beneath the surface, tracing mineral lines and energy veins. It requires discipline, concentration, and—" he gestured toward a groaning student in the front row, "—the ability to stay upright when your vision returns."
Professor Helena clasped her hands behind her back.
"Now, originally, this method was reserved for high-level mages only—archgeomancers, deep-scryers, and the occasional mad wizard with more mana than sense. Ordinary prospectors couldn't attempt it without collapsing halfway through the spell."
A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"But thanks to the late Master Arwin Stonefell—artificer, innovator, and professional menace—the modern scrying lens changed everything. His invention stabilizes the projection pathway, anchors the outflow, and prevents your consciousness from wandering off into the mantle. Mostly."
A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the class.
"With a scrying lens, even first-years can attempt a partial geoscrying scan, though your results will depend entirely on your mana output and your ability to keep your focus from slipping. The lens does not forgive sloppy spellwork."
She leaned slightly forward.
"These three methods, once mastered, will allow you to locate nearly any known mineral. But remember this: the earth does not always wish to be read. It shifts. It hides. Sometimes, it lies."
She paused to let that sink in.
"But those who learn to listen—truly listen—will find more than ore. They will find stories buried in stone, and power waiting beneath every footstep."
She tapped the board once more, and all the diagrams brightened.
"Now then. Before we begin your first practical exercise, does anyone here actually know how to hold a scrying lens correctly?"
He scanned the room, expression somewhere between amused and resigned.
Every student went still. A few shifted uncertainly. One girl glanced at her neighbor as if hoping they might know. The boy with the too-eager quill looked like he desperately wished the answer were written somewhere in his notes.
Slowly—almost reluctantly—Kaelen Stagwood lifted his hand.
The only hand in the entire room.
Anna blinked. Of course he did. Of course Kaelen would be the one person who already knew what he was doing. But something about the quiet confidence in the motion—not boastful, not showy, just matter-of-fact—made her chest warm unexpectedly.
Professor Helena paused mid-pace and turned her attention fully toward him. Her eyes narrowed, not with annoyance, but with interest.
"Well," she said, crossing her arms, "at least one of you won't be blinding yourself today."
A ripple of soft laughter traveled through the class, a mix of relief and embarrassment from everyone who hadn't raised their hand. Kaelen lowered his, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth—as if he wasn't sure whether to be proud or apologize for being the only one.
Helena nodded. "Stagwood, is it? Good. You'll be demonstrating."
Kaelen's smirk vanished.
Anna nearly choked on a laugh.
"Come up here," Helena said, already turning to clear space on the front table. "Show your classmates how to hold the lens without dropping it, cracking it, or opening a micro-fissure in reality. In that order."
Kaelen gave Anna a look that said pray for me, then pushed back his chair and stood.
Anna did not pray.
She did, however, sit a little straighter—because watching Kaelen Stagwood demonstrate anything in front of a class had just become the most interesting part of her morning.
Kaelen approached the front table with the air of someone marching toward an execution he'd already accepted. A few students whispered as he passed, but he ignored them, attention fixed on the circular object resting on the polished stone surface.
The scrying lens.
Up close, it was far more intricate than the textbook diagrams suggested—layers of carved crystal nested within an alloy ring, each segment etched with micro‐runes so fine they looked like threads of frost. It pulsed faintly, as if tasting the ambient magic of the room.
Kaelen picked it up carefully, turning it in his hands. His brow furrowed as he examined the settings along the side—three rotating glyph wheels and a stabilizer pin. The class watched in silence.
Anna leaned forward before she realized she was doing it.
Kaelen raised the lens as if preparing to demonstrate…
Then paused.