“Would anyone care to explain the difference between a soul and an arcanum?”

  I shift in my seat, watching as the professor’s gaze scans the lecture hall for any eager volunteers. The silence grows thick and his lips tighten at the lack of enthusiasm. But, honestly, what did he expect?

  This is our last class before the college closes for winter break. Most students were either daydreaming about sledding down the snowy peaks of the Pandrylas Mountains or heading south to sunbathe on the beaches of the Broken Bluffs.

  Anything to live up their last few weeks before finals. Anything to take our minds off of what’s waiting for us after—

  “Danika Vossler.” Seven hells! Why did I make eye contact? “Since you seem to be the only one paying attention today, why don’t you enlighten the rest of your peers? I’m sure most of them could use a refresher before intersession.”

  I can feel my face flush as the eyes in the room all turn to stare. What’s the point of sitting in the back row if I’m still going to be called on?

  Reluctantly, I clear my throat. Best to just get this over with quickly.

  “The main difference is that a soul is unique only to humans while an arcanum is a small spark from one of the sources, or arcana, that every quenari is born with. In fact, the word quenari is just a catch-all that literally translates to ‘people of the source’. No one fully understands their connection or its impact on magic, but it’s why races like the vitaari and ferae are at their strongest under a full moon while others like the fairfolk and sprites share an apparent bond with nature. Since a soul isn’t connected to a source, this makes magic unnatural for humans to weave on their own without some type of conduit.”

  “An excellent textbook response, but I would expect no less from the daughter of a Supreme.” Even though it should sound like a compliment, the way he says it makes it sound more like a gibe and my blush deepens as he addresses the rest of the class. “And what are the arcana?”

  Emboldened by my answer, the girl next to me raises her hand. “Well, there’s the primal forces, of course”—as she lists them one by one, Professor Maynard takes a stick of chalk out from his desk drawer and scribbles along on the blackboard behind him—“the sun, the ocean, nature, and the sky. Then there’s the moon, which represents the unseen world and cyclical change. It’s considered one of the more mysterious sources of arcane magic, dealing with illusions and memories, and is the hardest to master. Even the quenari born under its power don’t fully understand it.”

  “What about the star arcana?” another student asks, flipping through the pages of the book in front of him. “Didn’t we read something about a sixth source?”

  “It technically falls under the same classification of aetheric forces as the moon, more incorporeal than physical, but the Asiri were the only ones to ever share a connection with the star arcana,” the girl replies with a shrug. “Some say that they were descendents of the stars, themselves, and while they were the only people born with magic in their blood they disappeared when the Rifts emerged.”

  “They didn’t just disappear,” the boy retorts. “They were hunted down for breaking the barrier and bringing forth the demons that plague our lands today.”

  “Didn’t they have a book or something that held the secrets of the universe within its pages?” a fourth student interjects. “Surely if such a tome helped create the Rifts then it could also help close them?”

  “Ridiculous. Although there are some conspiracy theorists who spent their entire lives searching for it—and the seals they say guard it—most historians agree that the Astravarum is nothing more than a myth. I mean, really, a book that writes itself? Only fools would believe in such fairytales.”

  “In any sense,” the girl continues, unperturbed, “the secrets of the stars were lost when the Asiri left. No mage has been able to weave celestial magic since.”

  “And we’re all the better for it,” another student adds. “Even with an arcanum they were still driven mad by their own power. Imagine where we’d be today if the Magi hadn’t stopped them.”

  “But where does celestial magic come from?”

  “The same place as the rest of the arcana, though it depends on who you ask. To the quenari it all flows from the J’hori, the ‘source’ or beating heart of Primae. But most people attribute them to the Seven Archons, who’ve long since left our world but whose influence we still feel through the magic they left behind.”

  “I’ve heard modern scholars theorize that the arcana don’t come from ancient gods but were a result of the primal and aetheric forces colliding eons ago, which created not only our world but also the veil. If you believe that then magic—and life, to an extent—is nothing more than an accident.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why we can’t learn about celestial magic, though.”

  Professor Maynard sighs as he sets down his chalk and dusts off his hands. “The source of the star arcana stems from forces beyond our world or our understanding. If the Asiri and their so-called book of knowledge are gone, it’s because their misuse of magic is a cautionary tale for mages everywhere. It’s a testament as to why the Fracturing is an important, and necessary, process that each of you must undergo if you are to have a future with the Imperium and with magic.”

  “But why?” The question slips from my lips before I can stop it and I nearly bite my tongue. Seven hells! I hope no one heard that—

  Professor Maynard removes his spectacles as his eyes find mine once more and I silently curse. “You’ve something to say on the matter, Miss Vossler?”

  With the attention of the room focused on me yet again, I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s just that, well, it’s been done before, hasn’t it? Weaving magic without the Fracturing, I mean.”

  “Weaving magic is an unnatural phenomenon. As you pointed out for us earlier, our souls are not linked to an arcana. Without a soulstone to channel that energy or divine intervention from the gods, themselves, it’s an impossible feat for humans to achieve alone. And while it’s true that the mages who came before us learned how to tap into these sources long before the Fracturing, it was not without its consequences.”

  “You’re referring to the ruenaga, aren’t you, professor?”

  “That is correct, Mister Briars. Now, to get this conversation back on track, can anyone tell me the biggest danger that the ruenaga poses?”

  “They say that mages go crazy from it,” one of the students on the other side of the lecture hall says. “That the magic they channel poisons them from the inside until it eventually consumes them. I’ve heard it can even turn them into aberrations.”

  “It doesn’t just affect mages, you know,” someone from the front exclaims. “Although unfractured mages are more susceptible to its effects, ever since the Rifts appeared any living thing that comes into close contact can become corrupted by the energy they emit.”

  “Can’t the ruenaga be cured?” another student asks. “I mean, the Imperium discovers new applications for magic all the time. Surely with today’s advances we can curb its effects?”

  I almost want to laugh; if only it was that simple.

  “The ruenaga, by definition, is a corruption of the soul,” Professor Maynard interjects. “It’s the last dark gift the Asiri left behind—their legacy, if you will. One can’t simply cure a curse.”

  “Even if it could be cured, the quenari would still see weaving magic as an affront to the natural order,” the girl next to me chimes in. “Without the Fracturing, soulstones require charging from a source at its most volatile, which isn’t an easy thing to do unless you start siphoning arcanum from the quenari. Wars were fought over this sort of thing and the genocide of several races during the Mad King’s reign didn’t exactly paint humans—or mages, for that matter—in a positive light. It’s taken centuries for the Imperium to rebuild their image after what he did.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Some even say that the Asiri suffered from the ruenaga, themselves, that it was the root of their madness as the magic in their blood poisoned their souls.”

  “Wasn’t the Mad King an Asiriyan?”

  “He was, until the Magi ended his two-hundred-year reign by creating the seals and banishing him to the very Rifts that he and his kin tore open. If you believe the legends, that is.”

  “None of that matters now. The Asiri are gone and we now have a way of practicing magic without risking our sanity. If it weren’t for the Fracturing, mages wouldn’t even exist today.”

  I tap my pen against the blank pages of the notepad lying untouched on my desk, only half listening to the conversation unfolding around me as my own thoughts cloud my mind. I know the significance of the Fracturing just as well as anyone. We’ve spent the last seven years of our studies learning about the history of magic and its effects on the world, the deeper meanings of the arcana and how they all connect together, the practical applications for weaving and the centuries of science behind it, only to have it all culminate in this one event. A graduation ceremony of sorts, I suppose, for those of us who pass our final test. The moment where we finally become licensed mages and join the ranks of Caelysia’s greatest trailblazers.

  The world will be a better place with us at the helm, or so the Imperium says. In any regard, I know in my bones that undergoing the Fracturing will help make me better.

  But at what cost?

  “What about rift magic?”

  The room falls silent, as if the air was sucked right out. No one dared breathe a word as all eyes turned to the professor, curious to hear his approach on such a taboo topic.

  “What about rift magic, Miss Pellard?” Professor Maynard echoes after a moment, his tone laced with caution.

  The girl in question fidgets under his scrutiny, her eyes lingering on the open textbook in front of her for a bit too long before she finally take a deep breath and meets his piercing gaze. “W-well, professor, wouldn’t it be considered another source?”

  He shakes his head. “Because it utilizes stardust which, as you all know, is a product of celestial magic that leaks through the same tears in the veil that give it its namesake, rift magic is unnatural to this realm. It’s an abomination of our ways and those who seek it out invite death to our world and to themselves.”

  “To even think about using it would make you an apostate,” one of the students, the boy who had asked about the star arcana earlier, counters. “You aren’t an apostate, are you, Betty?”

  “Oh shut up, Thomas!” Betty snaps, whipping her head in his direction. “It’s only a question. If we’re going to be practicing this stuff soon, don’t you think we should know about every type of magic there is?” She leans back in her chair, her focus once more on the professor, and adds, “Even the dangerous ones.”

  “It’s a perversion of everything the gods and this institution stand for.” Professor Maynard’s lips twitch as he taps his glasses against an open palm. “It doesn’t draw on the arcana but on dimensions that exist beyond the veil that separates our world from the Other Realms. It is highly unstable, wholly unpredictable, and because of this the practice is expressly forbidden. Regardless of intent, these laws are in place for good reason, class, and I would advise each of you to tread carefully on the subject.”

  “There’s a reason they don’t cover it at this school,” the boy, Thomas, speaks up. “Rift magic is how the Sundering occurred in the first place.”

  Low murmurs and excited chatter fill the room as more students jump into the conversation. It’s not often that rift magic gets brought up in our studies—or that one of our instructors would allow for its discussion at all.

  “They say that summoning demons isn’t the only thing you can do with stardust. My cousin once saw an apostate weave rift magic right in front of him. He said the woman disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

  “She probably used sky or sun magic, you idiot.”

  “No way, she vanished right on the spot. Wind magic can make you run fast, sure, and sun magic can bend light to make things invisible. But neither can make you just disappear into thin air!”

  “It’s true. I read somewhere once that stardust can be used to teleport the weaver in an instant by pulling them through a hole in the veil. Usually a hole they create themselves.”

  “It’s no wonder why the Rifts are getting worse.”

  “At least we have the Fracturing to keep us safe. Without it, we’d be no better than the apostates are today.”

  “But is it really necessary? I mean, I’ve heard horror stories about it going bad.”

  “Mages have been doing it for the last three hundred years, Nigel. It’s perfectly safe.”

  The debate continues as more students voice their opinions. With finals only a few weeks away, though, it’s not really surprising that their concerns mirror my own.

  “Aethraquies, voxsilens!”

  At the snap of a finger a sharp breeze whips through the lecture hall, tousling my hair and rustling the pages of open textbooks. An invisible weight settles in my throat, like an incorporeal finger pressed firmly against my larynx. My breaths come in shallow gulps and I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable presence, but the feeling only intensifies and with wide eyes I look around.

  Mouths are moving on the faces of the students around me but no sound escapes their lips. A few of them—myself included—try to clear our throats or cough, any attempt to make some type of noise, to no avail.

  A loud thud! reverberates in the still air as Betty drops a thick leather-bound book on the floor, confirming that our hearing is still perfectly intact, but any outbursts of surprise from those closest to her go unheard.

  Their eyes grow as wide as mine as the class settles on the same conclusion: our voices have been stolen.

  “I think this discussion has gotten out of hand.” Professor Maynard pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I know that the Fracturing can seem like a scary thing. I was just as frightened as most of you are now when I was your age, but rest assured that the benefits far outweigh the risks. Magic is an integral part of our society and you are the future of the Imperium. As for this rift magic business, well, let’s just say that it’s dangerous and illegal and leave it at that.”

  With another snap, the professor’s spell disperses and the weight disappears, leaving behind only a phantom tickle. Instinctively, I rub my throat but a new sensation lingers—or, rather, an old one. A sharp, metallic pain lances behind my eyes, like the familiar echo of a splinter lodged deep within my soul, and I clench my fist.

  I’ve seen magic performed before, many times over, but this was the first time I was ever made a victim of its power. And yet Professor Maynard used it without a second thought to bring order to his classroom, like it was such an inconsequential thing.

  Is this what I’m supposed to become? Would I be forced to use my magic on someone else?

  If given the choice, would I even want to?

  “Now that I have your undivided attention, can anyone tell me how I wove that spell?”

  “You used wind magic, professor,” Nigel replies, his voice hoarse and raspy. “From the sky arcana.”

  “Not a bad guess, Mister Briars. The correct term would be that I used runespeak to impose my will on the air in this room and rob you of your voices. Rudimentary but effective, as you all just learned. You see, class, weaving is about more than just tapping into these sources. Fracturing may allow us to connect with the arcana, but that alone isn’t enough. Feel that energy stir within you, learn the language, and you must always focus your intent when you draw on their power. A clear mind is an essential tool for weaving magic. One mispronounced word or lapse in focus and I could have just as easily taken the air from your lungs.”

  He’s so nonchalant about it, as if he didn’t just violate our bodies and render us powerless to his will. Is that how weaving magic is supposed to make you feel, arrogant and with no regard for the ones you affect?

  My skin crawls at the thought.

  The professor claps his hands together as he continues, “And so, to keep the embers of education burning in your minds for the few minutes left that I have of your time, can any of you tell me a proper counter for such a spell?”

  “There isn’t one,” I blurt out. I don’t care if I’m the focal point of the room again, I don’t like how he used his magic to make an example out of us all. “Your magic took away our voices so runespeak is useless as a defense. The only counter to a spell like that is runescriving, assuming you have access to some type of writing instrument or know the right hand signs. Or to incapacitate you before you can even cast it.”

  “Well done, Miss Vossler. While runescriving is a viable—albeit a rather complicated—option in this case, an excellent defense is almost always a good offense. Especially when facing down an apostate in the heat of battle, should any of you be unfortunate enough to encounter one. Magic has no room for mercy when your lives are at stake.”

  Betty hesitantly raises a hand. “Professor, doesn’t the Imperium have strict rules about using magic against a fellow mage?”

  “Yes, the Charter explicitly states that no mage shall weave magic against another without provocation. However, seeing as how you are still acolytes and not yet mages in the eyes of the law, as your instructor you can consider this a lesson in focus.”

  The brassy peal of a bell resonates overhead, emanating from several large runes carved into the stone ceiling as they signal the end of today’s lectures and the start of our two-week intersession. ‘Amplify sound’, if I remember the translation correctly, though I’m sure I’m missing a few key elements—such as origination point, the interval at which to activate, the decibel level to keep the volume steady so as not to blow out our eardrums. All the finer details not required with runespeak that make runescriving so complex.

  Differences that will one day save my life. Or so they say.

  Without a word, I gather my belongings and rush out into the mid-afternoon sun. My throat still feels a little raw and I have this bitter taste on my tongue; a side effect of the magic from the professor’s spell.

  I should really wash that out with a drink, and I know just the place to go.