The thread of ancient terror wove its way into his dreams, coiling tighter with every breath. His chest heaved as if bound by iron bands, each inhale a shallow gasp. Curled into himself, he shuddered, a low, broken sound escaping his lips—a fragile protest against the unseen weight pressing down on him.

  A sharp sting in his stomach yanked him back to consciousness. His bleary eyes cracked open, catching sight of a retracting vine shimmering with faint magical energy. His joints screamed in protest as he sat up, each movement as sluggish as dragging lead weights.

  “You okay, Kor? That doesn’t look too comfortable.”

  Talen stood a few paces away, concern etched deeply into his face.

  Kor blinked at him, confused. “Unless you’re a cat,” Talen nodded at Kor’s curled-up foetal position.

  “Ugh.” Kor reached around for his glasses, fumbling until his fingers closed around their familiar frame. Sliding them on, he winced as a dull ache pulsed in his head. The oppressive dream refused to lift completely, clinging to his thoughts like tar. He pushed it aside with effort, sitting up straighter.

  “Nightmare,” he muttered, still tasting the dread on his tongue.

  Talen raised an eyebrow. “It’s still evening. Bit early for that, isn’t it? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Kor pressed a hand to his temple, dark glimpses of alien shapes flittering through his mind. They threatened to pull him under again before he forcefully redirected his thoughts. A void seemed to have formed within him—small but oppressive. He ignored it, determined not to dwell.

  “Thanks for the wake-up, Talen,” Kor said, his voice steadier. “I’m just… having some side effects since unlocking my specialisation.”

  Talen nodded slowly, though his concern hadn’t faded. “I suppose it can’t be all upsides. Just don’t let it get to your head, big guy. We don’t want your ego inflating to match your belly.”

  Kor’s mouth fell open. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve started cutting down on snacks!”

  Talen smirked. “Sure you have. But seriously, you’ve made crazy progress these past few weeks. Just make sure you’re getting enough rest, yeah? You’re already on course to overtake most of the average students. Some might say you even have, with unlocking your specialisation so early.”

  Kor gave a weak chuckle, but his thoughts churned. It wasn’t enough. Both Tortoise and his competitive spirit agreed: he needed to get stronger. However, the further he climbed this hill, the more he appreciated just how far he had to go. Perhaps that was just the way of life—one challenge endlessly giving way to the next.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Kor rubbed the back of his neck. “But it’s time for some more study, I reckon.”

  Talen shook his head in mock exasperation. “Oh, by the way, are you free next Genday?”

  Kor glanced over at The Logos resting on his desk. “Should be. Why? Got another duel for us to watch?”

  “Nah.” To Kor’s surprise, Talen pulled a book of his own from his pack. “I want your help with a personal project. Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “Sure, I don’t mind.”

  “Great,” Talen returned to his own book, a decidedly cheeky smile on his face.

  That look was worrying, and he briefly considered asking for more details. Instead, he reached for The Logos, letting its familiar weight settle in his hands. Surely whatever this favour was, wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

  As he opened the tome, his fingers brushed his temple, massaging away the last vestiges of pain. Soon, the words absorbed him, their steady logic anchoring him against the nebulous anxiety still lurking in the corners of his thoughts.

  Lexday arrived, and Kor joined the others outside Marcus’s dorm. The golden-haired boy was deep in conversation with Willem as Kor approached. The murmur of their voices mingled with the chatter of other students gathered nearby.

  “I heard you’ve unlocked your specialisation, snowflake boy!” Kelleth’s voice cut across the pathway, laced with its usual smugness.

  Kor fought to keep his frown in check. This was all part of his plan, after all—spreading his reputation meant enduring a few jabs. “Yeah,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck as the group turned to listen. “I’ve been focused mostly on making barriers with it so far.”

  Beth’s face brightened. “Ooh, I heard about that! Not many first-years can form large constructs. That could be a huge boost to our group work.”

  Kor smiled at her enthusiasm, but Teneth, the younger of the Solarian brothers, snorted. “I suppose he could provide some support for the rest of us. Though he really needs to work on his control.”

  Kor’s eyebrow arched, his mouth parting as if to retort, but Teneth cut across him. A twisted grin tugged at his lips. “Not even capable of unravelling a basic mana puzzle.”

  “Hey! I can’t manage one either!” Beth stamped her foot in annoyance, her usually cheery face scrunched into a scowl. She shot Teneth a glare that could have scorched steel.

  Teneth faltered, his smug confidence slipping for a moment under her reproach. He muttered something incoherent, avoiding her gaze.

  Marcus stepped in diplomatically. “Congratulations on your specialisation, Kor. That’s significant progress, considering your experience. I’m sure both you and Beth will crack the mana puzzle soon enough.”

  Kor suppressed a grin. He had a surprise in store for them—after battling the cursed hallways of the mana puzzle practically non-stop to prepare for this, he’d finally conquered it. Now he just needed the right opportunity to show it off.

  “Anyway,” Marcus continued, steering the conversation back on track, “we’re heading to the fields today for some serious duelling practice. Master Terrak’s sending us a few second-years to give us pointers.”

  “Hah! It won’t be long before we surpass them,” Teneth boasted, his usual bravado returning.

  Kelleth frowned, cutting his brother off before he could continue. “Enough, Ten. We prove our worth through actions, not words.”

  Teneth ducked his head, a hint of deference in his posture, even as Marcus clapped his hands together. “Let’s get going then!” he said cheerfully.

  Kor sighed inwardly. It didn’t seem like he’d get a chance to redeem himself just yet. The group began moving and Willem fell into step beside him as they exchanged nods.

  Willem hailed from Genisa, a world renowned for its hybridisation of magic and customs. Everything about him—from his unique mannerisms to his understated demeanour—seemed to reflect that eclectic heritage.

  Kor glanced over, breaking the ice with a thoughtful quote: “Wherever there is number, there is beauty.”

  Willem’s steps faltered for just a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he cracked a faint smile. “And the heart that gives is always full.” His tone was soft, but there was an edge of sincerity that Kor hadn’t expected.

  Kor returned the smile, feeling warmth spread through his chest as if the brief exchange had settled something unspoken between them. They walked on in step, the quiet between them companionable rather than awkward. Around them, the lively chatter of the others filled the air, a pleasant backdrop to their shared understanding.

  Beth’s voice rose above the hum of conversation. “I swear, that sweet thief is unstoppable! It hit the kitchens again last night.”

  “Didn’t they try laying traps?” Laylee asked, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness. “At this rate, it’s going to have a fan club.”

  “They did,” Beth said, clearly affronted. “But the traps didn’t work! I heard it’s some kind of dog-like creature, super fast. If I ever catch it—”

  Laylee cut her off with a smirk. “It won’t last long now. With the Voidlings breaking through, the professors are bound to step up security. I’ve even heard whispers that the Voidguard will be assisting.”

  Kor tilted his head, curiosity piqued. He had seen little of the Voidguard on campus, nor had he learned much about them. They were supposed to be the city’s defenders against the Voidlings, yet their presence felt minimal. Were they really effective?

  The thought drifted to the humanoid Voidlings. Was it possible to reason with them? His recent insight from Tortoise suggested that the Voidlings’ actions might not be inherently malicious—just fleeing something far worse. Not to mention the woman he’d seen. Whatever she’d been up to, it was deliberate and considered; unlike the creatures that had attacked them.

  The walk to the training field ended quickly, the emerald grass stretching out like a battlefield awaiting its next skirmish. As they approached, a cluster of second-year students stood waiting, their stiff-backed stances and pristine uniforms drawing a stark line between novice and veteran. At the centre of the group, a tall girl moved forward, her eyes cutting like glass, her voice poised to follow with something sharper still.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Listen up,” she said briskly. “We’ll pair you off for some sparring. The goal is to test your capabilities and teach you how to think under pressure.” Her gaze swept the group. “Keep it clean, but don’t hold back.”

  Kor paired up with Beth, her bright energy a stark contrast to his quiet focus. He knew her specialisation leaned toward healing magic, but he doubted that was the full extent of her abilities. Especially considering the deception he employed with his own skills.

  They faced each other, the lush grasses of the field brushing against their ankles, vibrant green under the evening suns. Nearby, the tall second-year observed them with a keen, watchful gaze, arms crossed as she stood near the edge of the ring, Beth giving him a cheerful grin. “Go easy on me, snowflake boy.”

  Kor chuckled softly, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension building there. His mind shifted to the fractal constructs he’d practised, ready to spring into action.

  “Begin!” the second-year barked.

  Kor snapped up his snowflake barrier, its intricate lattice shimmering like frost under morning light. He fed it a steady trickle of mana, careful to avoid overloading the structure. Expending mana quickly was a waste, his barriers were already more powerful than most. Efficiency and speed were key—small, deliberate pulses kept the barrier growing stronger without exhausting him.

  Beth’s hands moved with practised ease, conjuring a barrier of her own. Its soft, iridescent shimmer mirrored her bright personality even as it wrapped encircled her completely. With barely a pause, she formed a mana sphere, the swirling orb of energy crackling with latent force. She launched it toward him with a sharp flick of her wrist.

  Kor braced himself, focusing on the stability of his shield. The sphere hurtled toward his barrier, but at the last moment, it veered aside, curving gracefully around the icy lattice. Before he could react, it struck his side with a dull thud; the force knocking him slightly off balance.

  A sharp pulse of light flared from the badge on his chest, glowing a decisive yellow. “Match point,” the second-year announced.

  Beth whooped in triumph, throwing her arms into the air. Her grin was radiant, her energy infectious. “Gotcha!”

  Kor shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “That’ll teach me not to get ahead of myself. Nice control, Beth.”

  “Thanks!” she said, practically bouncing on her heels. “Let’s go again!”

  He wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. But after a few more rounds, Kor had been quickly taught the folly of static barriers. Her orbs were too unpredictable, slipping around his defences no matter how sturdy they seemed. With two more losses under his belt, he shifted tactics. Dropping his focus on efficiency, he conjured a second snowflake shield, manoeuvring them to intercept her unpredictable orbs.

  The smaller, chest-sized snowflakes darted in to meet Beth’s attacks, each collision bursting into a splash of light. Marcus’s fighting style inspired the quick adjustments, as he snapped up small, precise barriers at the last moment. Maintaining multiple instances of his fractals didn’t come naturally yet, but it allowed him to cover more angles.

  As the sparring continued, Kor launched mana spheres of his own, slamming them against Beth’s barrier. His training paying off with greater power and precision than he’d shown before, and cracks formed on her defences as sphere after sphere struck home. Finally, her barrier shattered under his barrage, her badge glowing yellow in his victory.

  The second-year stepped forward, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Offence is usually more effective than defence, especially for new students,” she said, her sharp tone cutting through the buzz of their exertion.

  “Why?” Beth turned, her face drawn in a frown.

  “A few reasons,” the second-year explained. “Defending means you have to consider all possible avenues of attack and prepare for them, like how you scored your first win.” She pointed at Beth before continuing. “But barriers are also less mana-efficient. If you throw the same amount of mana into spheres versus barriers, the barrier will usually break first—unless you’re using advanced techniques.”

  Her eyes landed on Kor. “The problem is that a barrier needs to protect a large area, while a sphere only has to hit a small portion. Essentially, barriers waste most of their mana.”

  Kor nodded slowly, her explanation clicking into place. It made sense—if you wanted to pierce something, a narrow, focused attack was far more effective than a broad, blunt force. His mind began to turn over the principle, connecting it to concepts of pressure. In mathematics, pressure was force divided by area. Reducing the area increased the force—a simple idea with profound implications.

  His face lit up as inspiration struck. Could he condense his spheres further, focusing their energy into a smaller point to enhance their power? And what did this mean for his barriers? If he started his fractal snowflakes at a much smaller size, that should be stronger, just slower to grow and more mana intensive. This would reduce the size of holes in the patterns—perhaps once he reached a certain miniature pattern, it would even function against liquids.

  Beth interrupted his thoughts with a playful jab. “Let’s go again, Kor! I’ll blast your barriers to pieces!”

  “Just try it,” he shot back, a competitive grin spreading across his face.

  The rest of their training session had Kor facing off against each of the others as he gradually refined his techniques. Focusing on condensing his spheres and leveraging his barriers more effectively, he put up a meaningful fight.

  Laylee’s endless tide of shadow daggers was a particular challenge. Kor deployed three snowflake barriers to cover multiple angles of attack, keeping her projectiles at bay for longer than he’d expected. Still, tracking everything while maintaining precise mana control proved too taxing. A single miscalculation allowed one dagger to slip through, earning Laylee her victory.

  Even Teneth, the younger Solarian brother, had a difficult time against Kor. The boy’s frozen flames, though visually impressive, lacked the raw penetration power of actual fire. Kor exploited this weakness, forcing Teneth to work harder for every strike, though his spheres were ineffective at breaking the boy’s barrier.

  By the conclusion of the session, Kor sweated heavily, both mind and body exhausted. His efforts had pushed his boundaries, and the ache in his legs was a stark reminder of how much further he still had to go.

  As the group scattered, an emptiness clawed at his stomach, sharp and unrelenting. Lately, he’d been eating less—a deliberate sacrifice to keep up with the demands of training and for other, quieter reasons. In the cafeteria, he eyed the options before settling on a plate of dry chicken breast and wilted greens. Each bite dragged down his throat, his jaw working with the resolve of someone swallowing more than food.

  The next day, Kor stepped into Professor Terra’s empty classroom well before the usual crowd. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across vacant desks. He settled into his corner seat, the familiar worn wood creaking beneath him, and opened his book.

  Soft footsteps echoed in the silence. Violet eyes swept the room before Lena slipped into the seat beside him.

  “Darkness fend.”

  “Darkness fend.” Her gaze lingered on him. “You’re familiar with Ether’s Archive, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. Need something?”

  She drew in a measured breath, shoulders squaring. “There’s a book. None of the staff seem to know anything about it.”

  “A rare one? I thought they catalogued everything.”

  “My parents mentioned it in their last message. Said it would be... valuable reading material.”

  The distant murmur of students filtered through the hallway. Kor adjusted his glasses, fingertips lingering on the frame. “We could look after class. If we’re lucky, Ether might even help.”

  “Help?” Her brow furrowed. “How can the Archive help?”

  “Well.” A wry smile tugged at his lips as memories of being led through shadowed stacks surfaced—not to books, but to Terra herself. “His help isn’t always what you’d expect, but—”

  “Wait.” Her chair scraped against the floor as she leaned forward. “The Archive speaks to you?”

  “Not in words, exactly.” His hand found the back of his neck. “But yeah, kind of.”

  Silence stretched between them. Her violet eyes studied him with new intensity.

  “I take it that’s not common?”

  “You’re the only first-year I know who speaks to him.” Wonder crept into her voice, displacing the usual cool detachment.

  Kor’s pulse quickened. His tongue suddenly felt too large for his mouth. “So... after class?”

  “Yes, please.” A rare smile transformed her features, violet eyes catching the morning light like gems.

  He buried his face in his book, pretending to read as his heart hammered against his ribs. The words blurred before him, meaningless shapes on a page, while his thoughts spiralled around the curve of her smile.

  Terra’s lecture on Fundamentals of Mana droned on, but Kor’s concentration slipped away like sand through fingers. His gaze kept drifting to Lena, her presence beside him more compelling than Terra’s words about mana theory. Even his notes grew scattered, interrupted by thoughts of violet eyes and the Archive awaiting them.

  Terra’s fiery hair blazed in the sunlight as she strode back and forth before the class, each step sharp and measured. “Mastery isn’t just repetition,” she said, her hands slicing the air, shaping her words like a craftsman at work. “It’s deliberate practice. Push your limits. Challenge yourselves.” The familiar glint in her eyes flared to life as her voice softened. “And, naturally, try not to blow yourselves up.”

  Scattered chuckles rippled through the room. Kor’s pen moved mechanically across paper, capturing fragments about mana cost, power, and speed—principles that seemed distant compared to the afternoon ahead.

  Terra settled against her desk, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. “Show of hands—who’s been working on their meditation exercises?”

  Most of the class raised their hands, Kor and Lena among them. Terra’s approving nod turned serious. “Keep them up if you’ve cleared some blockages.”

  Hands dropped steadily until only several remained. Terra’s jaw tightened. “A good beginning, but all of you need to get started. Let me remind you, I can’t tell you what’s on the tests, but there’s a standard all mages are expected to achieve. And the bigger your mana pool, the more vital it becomes. You can’t afford to be out of mana for half the day, especially not in a combat situation.”

  Her warning lingered as the clock-tower’s chime rang out and students packed away their things. The halls hummed with chatter as Kor and Lena made their way outside, occasional laughter punctuating the steady rhythm of footsteps. The scent of flowers trailed in Lena’s wake, making Kor’s pulse skip traitorously.

  A group of second-years strode past, their crisp uniforms catching the light. One by one, they offered nods of acknowledgment, casual but deliberate. Kor’s step faltered. ‘Second-years? Friendly?’ His brows knitted as he watched them continue toward Ether’s, their easy confidence reminding him that not everyone at the academy was hostile.

  The Archive’s entrance loomed before them, its plain stonework betraying nothing of the wonders within. Inside, Ether stirred immediately, its presence brushing against him like a fleeting breeze—light, teasing, and impossible to grasp. But just as quickly as it approached, it drifted away, leaving an emptiness that prickled at his thoughts. Kor stepped forward, his voice cutting through the still air as he called out, seeking to reclaim the library’s attention.

  “Ether, could you help us find a book?” The Archive’s attention settled on him. The mana stirred with curiosity, and Kor turned to Lena.

  “What’s the title?”

  Her violet eyes darted to nearby students before she leaned close, her breath warm against his ear. “The Shadow Lock.”

  Kor’s heart thundered in his chest, and he barely kept his voice steady as Ether’s response surged through him—understanding tinged with demand. The Archive wanted something in return. This was the first time it had wanted anything in return. What could he possibly offer something like the Archive?

  The dangers of Ether’s Archive had spread to every first-year student, and by now everyone knew not to venture into its depths. Even the main aisle could become fraught after travelling too far. However, one glance at Lena’s hopeful expression decided him.

  “Whatever you need, Ether.”

  The Archive’s celebratory mana danced around them before streaming toward the side stacks. Kor swallowed hard, remembering his first and only venture from the main path. “Seems like we got a lead.”

  Hope brightened Lena’s features as they moved between the shelves, where old paper and binding glue mingled with the Archive’s charged air.

  A sharp voice cut through the silence. “First-years shouldn’t stray from the main paths.” The librarian’s stern gaze fixed on them both. “Wandering isn’t advisable.”

  “Ether’s guiding us,” Kor explained, gesturing to the fading trail of mana.

  The librarian studied them for a long moment before stepping aside with a curt nod. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Is this okay?” Lena pulled closer as he led them onward.

  “It should be fine.”

  The reception area disappeared behind them as they delved into the side aisles. Here the stacks pressed closer, Ether’s trail shimmering ahead as it led them into the unknown. The air grew thick, shelves towering in the gathering gloom. Kor’s steps slowed as a worrying thought crept in: what price would Ether demand from a poor student’s empty pockets?