The Logos lay open before Kor as he reclined on his bed, its pages now willingly sharing their secrets after their initial tests. His newly unlocked specialisation gave fresh meaning to the text’s teachings, transforming cryptic passages into a fascinating blend of mathematical precision and philosophical insight that resonated with his scholarly nature.

  The book still demanded respect – each page turn required careful manipulation of his developing control. He smiled as he guided another leaf over, appreciating how this enforced practice merged seamlessly with his studies.

  The section on spell creation revealed an elegant simplicity that made his early attempts seem laughably complex. It began with a single line, describing how segments could be systematically removed to create two shorter lines, the process repeating endlessly. Kor’s notebook filled with variations as he sketched, adjusting lengths and angles to birth increasingly intricate patterns.

  A new chapter introduced a square-based branching pattern that particularly caught his attention. Two smaller squares, positioned to touch the original at its corners, formed a triangle above. As the pattern repeated, the emerging shape mirrored the crystal palm tree standing sentinel in the centre of their room. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he wondered if Talen had ever noticed the fractal nature of his prized plant.

  The soft pool of lamplight and the room’s stillness deepened his concentration. Each subtle shift in a variable cascaded into fantastical new forms, hinting at infinite possibilities. His pen flew across the notebook’s pages, diagrams sprawling as his mind raced with potential experiments.

  Geometric forms shimmered in his mind’s eye as he lost himself to study. The urge to test these new patterns pulled at him, only to be checked by fresh memories of his last catastrophic attempt. Casting anything within these dorm walls seemed an invitation to chaos. Beyond his window, daylight bled into darkness, unremarked until—

  “Hey, Kor!”

  Kor blinked up from his work, suddenly aware of the darkness pressed against the windows. Only his desk lamp held it at bay. “When did you get back?”

  Talen’s grin gleamed in the lamplight. “I hear you’ve unlocked your specialisation! Congratulations, snowflake boy.”

  “By the Void, not you too.” Kor pushed his glasses up his nose with weary resignation.

  Talen dropped into the middle of the room, settling against his crystal palm tree. “So, snowflakes, huh? Is that your magic?”

  “No. Just what I started with.”

  “Oh, good. I don’t think my reputation could survive rooming with you otherwise.”

  A series of cracks punctuated Kor’s stretch as hours of poor posture made themselves known. “Very funny. Actually, I was thinking of letting everyone believe they know what I can do. Keep the real details to myself.”

  Talen’s hand traced idle patterns on the palm’s crystalline bark. “Smart move. If you can handle being the butt of everyone’s jokes.”

  The Logos closed with a satisfying thump as Kor peered over his glasses. “I’ll manage.”

  The clock showed only a few hours until Talen’s inevitable lights-out decree. Kor retrieved the mana puzzle and traced its contours. “Sorry if I’ve been poor company this week. I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

  “I noticed. Don’t sweat it.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, I heard something from Master Terrak about fieldwork. Know anything about that?”

  “Not much.” Talen stretched his legs out beside his palm tree. “Not for a month or two, I think.”

  “I thought you were supposed to know everything about life on campus.”

  “It’s different each year. Only students who’ve advanced far enough get to compete. Forming a credible shield seems to be the minimal requirement.”

  “Are there credits on the line?”

  “Yep. Not as many as the end-of-year tournament, but they’re still worth it. Everyone forms groups. Most objectives involve dealing with creatures or extracting resources from the western forests.”

  “Dangerous creatures?”

  “By first-year standards.” Talen’s voice softened with reassurance. “Professors or their advanced students clear out anything too dangerous beforehand.”

  “What kind of creatures? Back on Lexica, the only magical beast I ever saw was a carriage-sized pig.”

  “Mother once mentioned a Pellet Owl.”

  “Pellet Owl?” Kor tilted his head. “And your mother?”

  “Bird that shoots magical pellets.” Talen’s eyes fixed on the palm tree, avoiding Kor’s gaze. “And yeah, my mother. You’ll meet her, eventually.”

  Before Kor could press further, Talen’s question cut through the air. “You haven’t contacted your parents yet, have you?”

  “Oh.” Kor’s shoulders sagged. “How do we send messages home? Does it cost?”

  “Just a single chip for a message. Though you’ll need to wait for the portal on Lexday, obviously.”

  Kor nodded, homesickness washing over him like a tide. It was too bad that they couldn’t visit him here in Nexus, but the rules on who could come were exceedingly strict. He understood that only qualified wizards and students were allowed on the planet, and even then, in strictly limited numbers. The seven worlds jointly held jurisdiction over Conflux, so they strictly monitored every visitor. He’d write to them once he had some success to share, and the chips to afford it.

  The mana puzzle found its place on his bedside table as he stretched, preparing to challenge its corridors a few more times before bed.

  Over the weekend, Kor tore himself away from fractals and dedicated time to Professor Yue’s recommended books. Despite his resolve, fractals danced unbidden through his consciousness, vivid and alive, as though they had a will of their own. It had to be some side effect of his growing attunement to his specialisation. The shapes seemed to exceed the bounds of regular imagination, weaving intricate, endless patterns that felt as if they were carved into his very being.

  The basics of meditation, however, demanded the opposite—an empty mind and inward focus. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he tried to follow the prescribed exercises, but his thoughts often spiralled back to the crystalline symmetry of fractals. When those efforts faltered, he sought solace outdoors, deciding to avoid the scene of his previous double disaster. Instead, he picked another field farther from his dormitory, its expanse quieter and less frequented. Although it lacked his usual tree’s comforting shade, he settled on a grassy spot near the edge, far from passersby.

  A short distance away, a professor—her silver-streaked hair catching the sunlight—was guiding a pair of second-year students. The three of them were engaged in a spell so intricate that Kor couldn’t decipher its nature, though the energy it radiated made the air feel taut. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the professor’s precise gestures and the intense concentration of her students, before turning back to his own work.

  Kor intended to work on both his fractals and meditation, hoping to pair the mana-intensive experiments with the calming practice of mindfulness. His recent deep dive into The Logos had sharpened his understanding of the magic’s theoretical framework, making it easier to control the simpler shapes. He quickly learned, though, that the fractals required each branch to connect physically, limiting the range of patterns he could construct.

  People had already mistaken him for a snowflake mage—a misunderstanding he intended to leverage for as long as possible. Sticking to snowflake-like designs allowed him to avoid drawing undue attention. Yet, with Marcus and the others, this ruse might prove far trickier. The pressure to appear competent among his peers loomed large, especially with another private training session tomorrow.

  The temptation to reveal his full potential—and the truth about his violet testing crystal—lingered. Still, a part of him rebelled against the thought, unwilling to risk the scrutiny it would bring. Shaking his head, Kor pushed those musings aside. He steadied his breath, readying his mana for another attempt.

  Extending his hands, he focused on shaping his mana into the familiar six-spoked snowflake. The fractal emerged swiftly, each branch crisp and precise as his specialisation seemed to aid in his control. Kor fed the construct carefully, monitoring its energy consumption. At small scales, the fractals proved remarkably efficient, but as their size ballooned, the mana cost surged like an unbounded quadratic function. He experimented with thickness next, forming a snowflake with lines as thick as his arm. The increased cost was substantial, but the structure radiated durability.

  Kor stood and circled the floating snowflake, inspecting its gleaming edges. The soft hum of mana filled the air as he adjusted its parameters. His steps pressed faint impressions into the grass, the sun casting faint, flickering shadows from the construct. Around him, other students practiced—some duelled with sparking bolts of energy, while others struggled with the basics of mana control. Their voices formed a muted backdrop, grounding Kor’s focus.

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  Viree had destroyed his previous creation in only three attacks. This one, though smaller in scale, was much denser, albeit with larger gaps. Kor frowned as he tied off the snowflake and prepared to conjure a mana sphere. The snowflake sat in the back of his mind, tethered to him in a way that felt mildly draining. If he maintained too many constructs at once, it could quickly become a problem.

  The mana sphere he conjured didn’t hold the same explosive power as Viree’s, but he’d made great strides in control these past weeks. He hurled it into the hovering snowflake. It struck with a burst of light, some excess energy spilling through the gaps. Kor narrowed his eyes, visualising how liquid attacks—flames or water—might exploit the openings. But the snowflake held firm. Not a crack.

  Five more spheres slammed into it before the first fracture appeared. Kor nodded, a grin plastered to his face. The design was rudimentary, but the fractals clearly had potential as resilient barriers. With refinement, he was confident they could surpass what most students could create.

  Satisfied, Kor sat on the dry grass, closing his eyes. Hopefully, expending mana would make the process of gathering it back smoother. A light wind brushed past, the only weather he’d noticed within Conflux. Guiding his senses inward, he reconnected with the mana coursing through his body. Over the past weeks, it had fundamentally changed. It felt fuller, deeper; and there was something else—a strange flux, as though it desired to change into something other. A fractal. Alive, yet not conscious.

  Drawing in ambient mana was harder than expected. Though it saturated the air around him, the flow resisted, sluggish and unyielding. Terra’s instructions from class echoed through his mind. She’d emphasised needing to open up the blockages, even going so far as to suggest multiple different methods. He reached out to get ahold of the first obstacle, bracing himself.

  Only a few seconds in, and a searing gold burned through his eyelids. He snapped his eyes open.

  High above the city, the protective barrier blazed. Not a gentle shimmer, but a furious, golden ripple, like liquid fire. Kor jumped to his feet.

  ‘Voidlings.’

  The air crackled. A low hum vibrated through the ground, up through his shoes. This was the second activation since he’d arrived. Dean Velleth’s voice boomed across the campus: “All students proceed to the nearest shelter!” Movement erupted. Not panic, yet, but a swift, urgent gathering. The shield bucked overhead, the golden light intensifying.

  Kor’s gaze darted to the professor and her two students. He started toward them, scanning the field. Most students were retreating, but the tension in the air was palpable. The golden light flickered again, stronger this time, sending waves through the barrier’s surface.

  Then came the sound. A scream, sharp and panicked, cutting through the steady instructions blaring from the Dean’s voice. Kor’s breath caught. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

  The screaming grew louder, joined by others. Above the field, the shield dimmed for a brief moment before surging brighter. Around him, students broke into a run, their fear now overtaking their earlier calm.

  Kor sprinted toward the professor, seeking safety, when he saw them. Voidlings. They trampled the flowerbeds bordering the field, twisted creatures dragging themselves onto the grass, their forms shifting in unsettling ways. The smallest were dog-sized, but one loomed as large as a wagon, its segmented body undulating with each movement. Too many eyes glinted hungrily as they skittered and crawled.

  His breath quickened, his heart hammered. He pumped his legs harder, driving himself forward. Seeing the Voidlings in person twisted his stomach; they were far worse than any illusion or description. Hunger radiated from them, an otherworldly, consuming presence.

  The professor and her two students reacted instantly. Electricity crackled around her, sparks dancing along her outstretched hands. “Protect the first-years!” she called, stepping forward. Twin bolts of lightning burst forth from her sweeping hands. The air split with a deafening crack; ozone flooded Kor’s senses. Two man-sized Voidlings seized, their blackened skin blistering and popping as they crumpled, electrocuted.

  Her students followed suit. A pressurised jet of water sliced cleanly through a smaller Voidling. Another hurled a ball of viscous goo that splattered against another, igniting in a wash of acid. The Voidling’s otherworldly screech and thrashing body testified to its agony.

  But the largest Voidling had closed the distance with alarming speed. Its bone-shaking screech made Kor’s teeth ache. Other students converged near the professor as the enormous creature charged. Her face was intense, focused. She raised her hands; tiny bolts of electricity discharged from her palms, striking the Voidling’s head in rapid succession. The first did nothing. Nor the next. But the discharges quickened, a relentless barrage zeroing in on its skull. Each impact jerked its grotesque body; smoke fumed from its scorched flesh.

  The lightning built to a thunderous crescendo. The Voidling staggered, unable to screech as its body convulsed under the onslaught. With a final, ear-splitting crack, its forehead exploded in a super-heated burst. The creature’s charred form collapsed, smoke curling from the crater where its head had been.

  “Void take them,” Kor muttered, barely audible over the din. That was power.

  Another Voidling skittered closer, halted mid-charge by a bolt of lightning. A pressurised jet of water finished it off, leaving the creature collapsing in a limp heap. The professor’s gaze swept the field. “Follow me!” she called. Several students, including Kor, scrambled after her.

  A girl beside him babbled nervously, her words tumbling out too quickly to understand. Kor clenched his fists, clutching his mana tightly, ready to cast. The golden shield above still shimmered, but the air was thick with tension. Danger was everywhere, and Kor would not be caught unprepared.

  The professor aimed them toward the nearest classrooms, her pace brisk and her eyes scanning constantly for danger. Kor kept close with the pack, his gaze flicking back to the smoking remains of the Voidlings. The very grass they had trampled was wilted, as though even the ground recoiled from their presence. Contact with those creatures seemed inimical to life itself—or magic.

  “Not far now!” she reassured them as they reached the edge of the field. Her voice was steady, but Kor could see her hands still crackling faintly with residual energy. They joined the stone path leading to the classrooms, only moments away from the safety of the doors, when a guttural screech pierced the air. Kor’s stomach dropped.

  Rounding a corner, almost a dozen Voidlings careened toward them. Their malformed bodies twisted and lunged, too many legs propelling them forward with unnerving speed. “Inside, quickly! I’ll hold them!” the professor commanded, stepping forward, her magic already flaring.

  The students didn’t hesitate. They tore away, funnelling toward the doors. Kor’s chest tightened as he glanced back. He wished he could help, but he knew—this wasn’t the time for a first-year to get in the way. The woman raised her hands, twin arcs of lightning leaping forth with a resounding boom. Voidlings exploded mid-lunge, their charred remains collapsing in heaps of twisted limbs.

  Rushing toward the stairs with the others, Kor cast his gaze around nervously. So many bushes, so many blind spots. His skin prickled with unease. He reached out with his mana senses, trying to track the approaching Voidlings. Instead of clarity, he felt their absence. Like a burning hole in the flow of mana, their presence consumed the ambient flow, leaving behind a void that set his teeth on edge.

  “In, in!” shouted one of the second-years at the door as the group funnelled inside. Kor was nearly up the steps when something brushed against his senses. Or rather, it brushed them away.

  His head snapped around, and his heart lurched. Without thought, he called upon his fractal magic. Mana surged wildly as his focus narrowed to a dozen glinting eyes locking onto him from the shadows. The Voidling’s gaze threatened to freeze him in place, but what truly stole his breath was the figure behind it.

  Time seemed to slow. A voidwoman? Student robes clung to a figure with skin blacker than a starless void. Her face, alien yet not, drank in the light around her. She moved with urgency, disappearing into the bushes in a blur. Kor’s stomach twisted. ‘What is that?’

  The spell broke as a student shoved past him, panic in their eyes. “Move!” they shouted, just as the Voidling lunged.

  Kor’s heart leapt to his throat. Mana surged wildly, and he thrust his hands out, conjuring his snowflake barrier with frantic desperation. The construct bloomed outward faster than ever before, growing to the size of a man in an instant. Uncontrolled mana flooded the fractal structure, making it shimmer with unstable light.

  The tentacled, dog-like Voidling collided with it, sending a jarring tremor through Kor’s mana. The barrier cracked under the impact, thin fissures spreading across its surface. “Voidling!” Kor shouted, his voice raw with alarm.

  The student the creature had targeted froze, their wide eyes darting between Kor and the snapping Voidling. But his conjured barrier held, and the student bolted through the doors. Kor sagged with relief, but the Voidling snarled, its many eyes fixating on him now.

  Rebuffed, the creature recovered fast. Too fast. It darted around Kor’s expanding snowflake, its tentacles flailing with unnerving precision. His eyes widened in alarm as he yanked harder on his mana. With a desperate motion, he flung his arm up. Another snowflake materialised just in time, exploding outward in a chaotic, jagged bloom. Its growth clipped the Voidling’s legs, repelling it backward just as it reached the stairs.

  Without a moment to think, someone yanked on his arm, nearly dragging him off his feet. “Get inside!” they hissed, thrusting him up toward the stairs. Mana flared in the corner of Kor’s vision as his rescuer’s magic swelled in readiness.

  Kor cast a quick glance over his shoulder as he stumbled upward. His two barriers had expanded into each other, forming a jagged L-shaped barrier blocking the lower stairs. He could feel the unstable, unbalanced constructs pulling on his drained mana reserves. Even as he passed through the doors, their growth halted, his connection to them severing abruptly. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor inside, panting heavily.

  “Void it!” he thought bitterly, every part of him trembling. Another pair of hands hauled him clear of the doorway just as a professor’s robes flashed in his peripheral vision.

  Other students huddled near the walls, their gazes darting anxiously between the door and each other. Kor pushed himself onto his elbows, his voice breaking out in alarm. “A Voidling woman! I saw her! She was—”

  No one paid him attention. Before he could yell again, he felt himself lifted, not by hands but by the careful, firm grasp of someone else’s mana. He froze, his pulse hammering, as a grey-haired professor loomed over him.

  “Calm yourself,” the professor instructed, their tone low but commanding. The man’s steely eyes met Kor’s, sharp and unyielding. He stepped closer, speaking in a hushed tone that cut through the haze of Kor’s panic. “Keep that to yourself. Am I understood?”

  Still held in the man’s mana, Kor managed a shaky nod. His throat was dry, his words caught somewhere behind his rapid breaths. The professor gave him a brief, assessing look before releasing him. Without the support, Kor lurched sideways, his shoulder hitting the wall as he slid down to sit on the cold floor.

  His head swam, his body wracked with exhaustion. He’d blown through his mana reserves even faster this time, and yet, he still felt the phantom pull of his two snowflake constructs lingering in the recesses of his mind.

  Who or what was that woman? The question echoed through his thoughts, stubborn and unrelenting. He’d never heard anything about Voidling people. Even the First Magus, during their grand introduction, had shown only the twisted, monstrous creatures he’d encountered before. Not this.

  If the professor hadn’t warned him to keep quiet, he might have thought he’d imagined it. The Voidling woman’s lightless form and student robes were too vivid to dismiss as panic-induced illusions.

  Kor shook his head, pressing his palms into his knees as if the pressure could steady his swirling thoughts. What was even going on?