Lunch in the canteen was again split into two lines: seafood and meat. The nearest bodies of water from the village were a day's walk away; once my father and I ventured there. The catch was ridiculously small for the effort – hard to get full, the taste was mediocre… why did anyone even like it? Today in the meat line, Trenn's hulking friend wasn't there. But his girlfriend was: she was just about to sit down with her tray. We met eyes for a moment – and she went on her way. I didn't call out; and she didn't come over.
"Didn't notice, did you?" I muttered, examining my reflection in the shiny metal tray.
In that noisy hell I could no longer see either Trenn or his girlfriend. I took a free table in the teachers' section. No sooner had I touched my food than an uninvited short girl with dark red hair slid into the seat beside me – no tray, just waiting for me to finish chewing. I was seeing her for the first time.
"Enjoy it while you can!" the stranger half-shouted. "I don't know why you think you can beat the descendants of heroes with impunity. The news hasn't even reached the Imperial Academic Council yet, but the Rector already knows…"
"In a civilized society, people usually introduce themselves before talking to a stranger," I pointed out, slowly chewing on my food as I let her words sink in.
"Villager…" she said, not quite quietly enough. "Are you, Edric, really not aware of the names of the heroes' descendants and the people you shouldn't mess with?" she squinted with blatant contempt.
"The teachers only learned about Krast's descendant today," I replied calmly, meeting her brown eyes. "Do I have to know everyone by heart?"
"Hero Krast rarely showed up at the festivities; hardly anything was known about him…" she shrugged dismissively. "But you are required to know the other six heroes. And the fact that five of them have descendants too."
Her empty threats were already boring me. I wanted to finish my meal peacefully, but no sooner had I taken another bite than her patience exploded: she slammed her hand on the table and stood up.
"How could such a cretin even think to go to the Academy?!" she yelled, cutting through the noise of the dining hall as she flailed her arms. "You think nothing of me, Selli Rosfit – descendant of Rosfit, who crushed the third battalion of the Lacavincans!"
She flushed red with anger and confusion. I would rather not answer. For some reason, many seem convinced that their ancestors' deeds are their personal achievements. Sure, sure. Let them keep telling those fairy tales – just so they don't come bothering me.
I calmly finished chewing and set down my spoon. "Got your message. You're free to go," I said, waving her off.
This only made her even angrier: her eye was twitching and a strange smile didn't leave her face. Without saying another word, she got up from the table and hurried off.
A strange, oppressive silence closed in around my table. I glanced over my right shoulder at the crowd, trying to sense the mood, but most cadets didn't even lift an eyebrow, as if they hadn't heard Selli's shouting at all. As soon as I turned my gaze left, toward the teachers' area, the heaviness only grew stronger. I squinted and stared at the ceiling dome. Behind the dark gray veil three figures stood – damn if I could make out their faces. The first was tall and thin, with long limbs; the second was about my height but all chiseled muscle under his uniform; the third was more of a female form: overly buff, but with a waist far too narrow for a man.
In one spot, the dome cracked with a thin, spiderweb-like fracture and began to shower sparks. I jumped back to the very edge of the bench.
"Good that you sensed us and noticed, but staring so intently is uncivilized," said a tall man with a neat beard and moustache flared to the sides. To his left stood a muscular woman with a small scar on her neck, and to his right an inconspicuous bald man.
"Hello. I didn't mean to bother you by staring," I replied, rising slightly.
"Don't worry," the bearded man said, lazily stroking his beard. "The Rector insisted we bring you if we saw anything interesting."
The other two instructors, as if losing interest in the situation, stepped further back under the dome.
"You can leave the food and tray," added the bearded man as he noticed me glancing at the table. "I already asked them to clear everything away after we leave."
With my stomach growling, I followed the bearded instructor. The cadets parted, not blocking his way, and immediately began whispering when they noticed I was walking behind him.
From the main building we went to another structure that looked more like a tower: tall, about five stories high. The door was locked from the inside; the instructor knocked – and it opened right away. A woman in her forties, wearing an unusual black-and-white uniform, led us up wide steps.
Inside, the tower was about twice as spacious as it looked from the outside, and this surprise only grew with every step. It felt like my normal stride was stretching out longer, as if the space itself adjusted.
For about three minutes we climbed a spiral staircase, passed several halls, and came to a door decorated with azure-blue patterns. The instructor stopped at the steps and told me to come forward and knock myself. I just reached out my hand – when from inside a calm voice answered, "Enter."
I pushed the door open.
Cool air and a soft blue light greeted me in the hall. Carved lines on the floor converged in the center, forming a circle around a low table and three chairs. By the window, against the dull sky outside, stood a woman in a formal dark dress.
"The Rector," the bearded man said with barely a nod, remaining by the door. "She asked me to bring him, so I did."
"Thank you," the woman said without turning around. Then she looked at me. "Edric, right?"
"Hello! Yes, that's correct," I replied, nodding slightly.
"Instructor Pelin, you are dismissed for the day. Have a lovely day," she said as she sat down in a chair.
Pelin gave a quick nod, said goodbye, and hurried off.
After a moment, the deathly silence in the room began to press down on me. I just sat there quietly, letting my eyes wander over the objects on the shelves and carefully avoiding the Rector's gaze. She seemed like a frightening woman: her voice was soft, and she spoke calmly – but still there was something off about her.
"May I ask why I was summoned?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Please, have a seat." She nodded at the chair in front of her. I sat down, and she continued in that same calm, almost seductive tone: "Descendants of heroes. A descendant of the sacred family. A descendant of the emperor's vassal… These are all the people you have managed to come into conflict with in your first two days!" On the last words she raised her voice slightly and counted them on her fingers.
"Descendant of a vassal?" I repeated, not recalling anything about that. "In my speech at the square on the first day," she answered with a sigh, "it was only a matter of time before someone's head rolled off. Although it's not that bad, especially with the descendant of the 'Sacreds' – their complaints are mostly against Trenn."
"Will there be some punishment?" I asked, already picturing the worst-case scenario.
"Where do you get so much courage?" she asked back. "You're neither an aristocrat nor a priest, nor a mercenary. Why does a commoner allow himself to act so brazenly? Many influential families support the Academy, and inside its walls few can act freely. Instructors report on interesting cadets: we received a report that you are a rejected mage, possessing the attributes of water, light, and darkness. The combination of light and dark is intriguing, but the red spots interest me more. I won't start a conflict with the powerful families, but I also don't want them to bury such cadet potential. Expulsion would quickly solve the problem, but could you develop your magic from scratch, without any guidance? I doubt it. Therefore I propose an alternative: suspension from classes for this semester. You yourself will have to study all the material and prepare for the exams…" She paused, watching my reaction.
I swallowed the dry lump in my throat and, feeling calmer, answered, "So I'm supposed to just prepare for the exams by myself? With no instruction, no support… How is that any different from expulsion? I can't reach passing marks all alone."
"It seems you don't fully understand," she said. "You will have access to the academy library, cafeteria, training hall, and a room in the dormitory. Not exactly 'nothing.' But this is better than ending up crippled or expelled." She finished, emphasizing each word. It felt like I was signing a slave contract – just wrapped in gold.
"Basically, I have no other choice," I muttered to myself. Then louder: "I agree."
"Very well. I will report to the council that your punishment has already been administered. As of today, you are suspended from classes until the exams. Try not to get into any more conflicts, and good luck to you," she said, standing up and indicating our meeting was over.
I walked down the spiral staircase in no hurry now, planning step by step what to do next. What's the point of exams when I'm an outsider… Was this a stroke of luck and my saving straw, or somebody's plan? On each floor of the tower the questions only grew. Maybe it was the thick silence, maybe the coolness of the stone – thoughts piled on each other like waves.
Evening was coming soon anyway, and I wasn't even allowed to eat my lunch. Walking along the stone path by the flowerbeds and benches, I watched cadets resting, strolling, and chatting. Walking alone felt strange – so I sped up.
It was almost four o'clock; a tall clock tower loomed beyond the academy walls. By that time, everyone had long since finished lunch; dinner was about to start at any moment. At first, they refused to give me a tray with the remains of my cold lunch, but on the third try, when I explained that I had been called to the Rector in the middle of my meal and my tray was taken without my consent, someone took pity on me – and handed me a small snack of whatever was left.
After thanking them for the lifesaving meal, I was about to head to my room – to rest until dinner. But as I walked away from the cafeteria, I caught myself thinking, "What's the point of collapsing into sleep if tomorrow I have nowhere to go… and the day after tomorrow… and the next day after that," I muttered to myself.
I rifled through my pockets and checked the map, and found the library's location. The half-empty corridors were quiet, footsteps echoing. I traversed the third floor back and forth and finally found the door I was looking for.
At the entrance, behind a wide desk piled with paperwork and books, sat a young girl. I had almost walked past her when I noticed a sign above her on the wall in large red letters: "You must register with the librarian!" There were no other desks, so I approached. The girl was absorbed in flipping through three books at once. I cleared my throat – she jumped, leaned back in her chair, and jerked her thin-rimmed glasses off as they clattered toward me.
"I didn't mean to scare you," I said, bending to pick up the glasses. "Sorry… it looks like they're scratched."
"N-nothing, nothing," she waved her hand. "They were already scratched. It's okay… I was just… anyway, everything's fine. Let me register you. What is your name?"
"Edric, Class B-2," I said. She hurriedly wrote it down.
"Sorry again for scaring you," I added, feeling awkward – I'd frightened such a fragile girl who was half a head shorter than me.
"Phew, it's okay, really." She smiled, and two dimples appeared on her cheeks. "And, by the way, it's more correct to say 'excuse me': you're asking forgiveness from me, not from yourself," she explained with a grin. "You may proceed into the hall. Please, don't be noisy or distract others."
All the shelves were neatly labeled with signs: Basic Alchemy, Advanced Alchemy, History of the Empire, General History, Close Combat, Magic… The list went on forever, but I had already found the sections I needed – Magic and Close Combat.
"Magic Swordsman Ellisan Klaston," "Mage of Three Elements Sevial de Shenyon" – the titles sounded strange, probably because I didn't know any Ellisans or Sevials. After rifling through about ten spines, my eyes caught Rejected Magic by S. Allon. I reached for it, and my hand brushed someone else's for a moment. I managed to grab the book first and turned around to see whom I'd bumped into. It was the same girl with glasses.
"Do you need this book, too?" she asked, pointing at it, looking a bit upset.
"If there's another book on rejected magic, I could take that instead," I offered.
"There are others, but they're for older students…" she frowned even more. Then, brightening slightly, she asked, "And what do you need it for? Maybe I could recommend something more suitable."
"I want to develop my core and my rejected magic," I said, glancing at the book in my hands.
"So you're a rejected one… lucky you," she said, her dimples reappearing. "In that case, it's more necessary for you. I just wanted to double-check. Will you bring it back when you're done?"
"Yes, I will."
I had already taken a step toward the tables when she called, "Edric, you can call me Delis, and please, no need for formalities – I'm only a second-year!"
I nodded in response and went on. I found a spot by the window and opened the book…
"Rejected magic… Every color… For example, sound is air and light, and on the mana channels you can see waves of silver hue. Form and color… Development is through dwelling in the environment of your attribute: you will feel a burning in your chest if it is yours. It's the instinct of basic growth."
Each minute dragged so slowly that I lost track of time. The author's phrasing was overly elaborate, and those strange ideograms made everything ambiguous. I hadn't even gotten halfway through before I was already drained.
Finding Delis turned out to be easy: she was hunched over her notebook, taking notes two tables away from me. Sporadically I shifted my gaze between her and the people coming and going, so as not to let my brain cook on a slow flame.
I finished the paragraph about the "red waves" and, as if on cue, someone dropped a hefty tome on the neighboring table. A hollow thud reverberated through the hall, and for a moment it seemed to me that the air truly trembled with thin, almost invisible crests, like ripples on water, only lighter – silver at the periphery of my vision. I blinked – the silence returned to normal, the lamps remained still, and the dust was honestly falling straight down.
It was just my imagination. I was starting to heat up.
I stood up, snapped the book shut with my palm, and approached Delis.
"I'm finished," I said quietly.
She smiled behind her glasses. "Hard to read?" she asked, taking the book with her thin, neat hand. I nodded, and she continued, "It's old Imperial projection notation. Half the symbols describe not 'what to do', but 'how it flows.' If you read it straight through, yes – it's gibberish. You need annotations."
Her glasses weren't just for show – she really was well-read and smart. That tip explained a lot to me; if I had known that earlier, I would have read many times more.
"Thanks for the advice – if only I'd known that earlier…" I faltered, scratching the back of my head. "Have you read this before?"
"Yes, I have." She answered. "I needed to copy my notes from the last pages – it turned out to be a different writing system and I had misunderstood part of it," she said, and my eyes lit up.
"And the 'burning in the chest' – what is that?" I leaned over her table. "Is the author romanticizing it, or is it an actual effect?"
"It's real," Delis answered softly. "If you find yourself in the environment of your attribute. Light – in sunny courtyards. Air – at wells or in stair shafts where there's a draft. Water – at fountains, reservoirs. Darkness – in catacombs, gloomy places. With Earth it's simpler – a garden, greenhouses, or a forest. Fire is trickier – foundries under supervision."
She squinted for a second. "But 'burning' isn't always heat. Every so often it's just a springiness inside. Or a taste on your tongue. Everyone experiences it differently."
"That's convenient," I said. "So developing means spending more time in those places?"
"In a nutshell, yes," she smiled again. "But without being stupid. In your 'own' environment it's easy to overdo it. And not all sub-attributes are safe for their owner."
Thanking Delis again, I would rather no longer keep her and stepped away. There was an hour until dinner, and I had no strength left for more reading. The training grounds – there were several: in the basement, on the first floor, outside, and in the neighboring building. On the map each had its section. The outdoor ground was entirely reserved for mages, unlike the others, which were mixed.
I went outside; a damp chill hung in the air – storm clouds were rolling in over the buildings, almost completely blocking out the sun. I walked through a small garden along the main building – and immediately found the outdoor training ground. The fencing was almost gone: poking out of the ground were the legs and hooks of an old mesh fence, torn in places. It looked as if it had seen more than one generation. No one seemed to be rushing to replace it; as far as I could tell, safety wasn't a priority here. But about thirty cadets were busy with their exercises, easily disproving my doubts: someone meditated on their core, someone was sending sparks into the sky, and someone was shaping energy domes.
I chose the edge of the field where the wind was calmer, where it didn't slice the dusty grass in half. The place seemed ideal for my attributes: sporadically sunlight broke through the clouds – for Light; a thick, gloomy shadow lay on the field – for Darkness; moisture hung in the air – for Water. As if all the stars had aligned and nodded their approval.
Cross-legged, I spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out what to do next. By chance I had already managed to "enter" and check on my core – with little result. The red spots and the basic attributes didn't respond to the surroundings at all.
"Where… is my… burning?…" My dissatisfied thoughts couldn't keep themselves inside any longer.
The next half hour spent in the same position didn't help. I was about to raise my head to leave when a voice called out to me – a cadet about my height, dark-haired with a sharp face. After hearing "Hey!" several times, I turned and caught his gaze, and only then realized he was calling me.
"My friend and I want a duel to first contact with basic spells. Could you be the referee? Just call who touches who first," he said, stepping right up to me.
"Why me?" I asked, not catching any trick.
"Half of the guys have already gone to dinner, the rest are busy. And here you are, alone with nothing to do," he replied curtly.
"Fine. I have nothing better to do anyway," I shrugged and stepped over to the other duelist.
We took our places, and I raised my hand. "On my count: three… two… one…"
They began with the basics. The first caster was Air: short, springy waves designed to knock back. The second was Water: he created a thick low dome and used a viscous ribbon of water to counter. Air kept redirecting the other's attacks to the side and immediately countered. Still no one had been touched – as if that weren't even the goal. The moment I thought that, the Air Mage changed his pattern: he drew thin "daggers" of wind from a side stance, concealing them with a movement of his shoulder. One whooshed out, slicing the water dome tangentially and slashing across the opponent's shin.
The boy using Water grabbed his leg and balanced on his other foot, not falling over. The Air Mage, realizing he'd cut the leg, lunged forward to finish him. I had already opened my mouth to shout "Touch!" but… I couldn't move.
Blood was flowing out slowly, too mesmerizingly: the red trickle was soaking into the cloth, spreading out in all shades. For a moment the whole world narrowed to that tiny line running down. The noise of the field fell silent, and inside me, across my chest, a tight string was drawn – not heat, but an elastic heaviness. With a jolt, like a gentle wave. That must be the feeling, right?