The next day, in the sprawling workshop of Spire Delta, Kor’s Arcane Artificing class awaited. It was less a classroom and more a labyrinth of ingenuity—workbenches crowded with tools and half-finished projects, mana-charged flames licking the edges of a forge. The air here smelled of molten metal, layered with the tang of freshly cut wood. Second-year students moved with the focus of craftsmen, their hands dancing over glowing runes and shimmering circuits. Kor’s fellow first-years clustered near the entrance, their wide eyes mirroring his own awe.

  “Oi, firsters!” A booming voice cut through the workshop like a mana bolt. Kor turned, startled, as a rotund man, barely reaching his shoulder, waddled towards them with surprising speed. His bald head gleamed under the overhead lights, and his deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. “Pad’s the name. Not Professor Pad, just Pad. Let’s get that straight—don’t waste my time with the pomp.”

  Pad gestured sharply, his arms cutting through the air like blades. “Arcane Artificing’s not about books or lectures—it’s about freedom, creativity, and getting your hands dirty. You’re here to make something interesting, something worth my time.” His rapid-fire speech left no room for questions, his words tumbling over each other as he waved them deeper into the workshop.

  Kor trailed the group, absorbing the hum of surrounding machinery. Mana conductors buzzed softly on one workbench, while another held a peculiar contraption—part clockwork, part spell array—its gears turning in rhythm with flickering runes. The forge’s flames glowed an unnatural violet, their heat resonating with the thrum of ambient mana. Everything here screamed potential.

  Pad halted abruptly, forcing the students to stumble to a stop. “Your first assignment: make something. Don’t care what it is, as long as it’s not boring. Tools are here. Resources too. Magic or tech—doesn’t matter.”

  A brave student raised their hand. “Are we—aren’t you going to teach us how?”

  Pad snorted, his round face creasing in disdain. “What do you think this is, a nursery? Everything you need is right here.” He swept a hand across the workshop. “Runes, circuits, enchantments—it’s all about effort. Figure it out, or don’t. Simple as that.”

  Another student tried to interject, but Pad was already on the move, his deep voice rolling like distant thunder as he led them deeper into the workshop. Kor’s thoughts buzzed with possibilities. His heart pounded with a mix of fear and raw anticipation. In this chaotic forge of invention, he might just stumble upon something entirely unexpected—a spark that could change everything.

  The second room was smaller, but just as overwhelming. Unlike the vast chaos of the main workshop, this space had a crowded charm—tools, workstations, and materials jammed together in a semi-organised mess. Kor’s gaze darted across the tables, his mind racing to grasp the sheer variety of equipment available. A faint mechanical ticking emanated from somewhere, blending with the occasional whir or hiss of enchanted machinery.

  “This here,” Pad announced, slapping his palm against a workbench with an audible thud, “will be your new home. Any spare moment you get, the workshop’s open—so long as you’re working on makin’ something.” He grinned, teeth flashing as he bounced across the room like a man half his age. His enthusiasm was almost infectious, though Kor couldn’t tell if it was excitement or sheer mania driving the man.

  Reaching another set of double doors, Pad shoved them open with dramatic flair, revealing a storage closet that could only be described as a hoarder’s dream. “Use anything you like from in here,” he declared, his deep voice booming against the walls. “But don’t go stealin’ stuff, or I’ll have you booted off this course faster than you can say ‘mana.’”

  Kor stepped forward, jaw slack. The space was a treasure trove brimming with possibility. On one shelf sat an unassuming clock resting atop a wooden block, its pendulum glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. Nearby, sheets of metal pulsed with intricate runic patterns, their enchantments radiating a soft hum. Stacks of raw materials lined the walls—wood, metal, plastics, even jars of shimmering inks in every conceivable hue. It was as though a hoarder had stumbled upon a nexus of magical ingenuity and decided to move in.

  Pad, clearly in his element, pointed towards a dusty stack of books in the corner. “I ain’t holding yer hands,” he said, his voice taking on a gruff edge. “Read up on Magical Making or The Essence of Crafting if you’re new. First assignment’s simple—make something interesting. Don’t matter what it is, just show me you’re serious. If you got questions, I’ll help, but don’t expect me to spoon-feed ya.”

  He paused, hands on his hips and chest heaving as though the speech had winded him. “Oh, and this is your first test: impress me, and I’ll grant you ten credits to start. There’s no time limit—you can practically live here if you want. No one will mess with you in my workshop.” With that, he gave an exaggerated huff and waddled back out, leaving the group to process his rapid-fire instructions.

  For a moment, nobody moved. The stunned silence was broken only by the faint clicking of a distant cog. Then the murmuring began.

  “He can’t just do this,” one girl whispered sharply, her dark eyes darting between her peers. “He’s supposed to teach us, isn’t he?”

  Another student, a broad-shouldered boy with a perpetual scowl, crossed his arms. “This is insane. How are we supposed to know where to start?”

  The arguments gained momentum, a low wave of discontent rippling through the group. Kor stood at the edge of it all, his shoulders tense. ‘Divide me sideways,’ he thought. ‘This might’ve been a big mistake.’

  But it was too late to back out now. Squaring his shoulders, he approached the towering pile of materials in the centre of the room, his eyes scanning for inspiration. The others were still bickering, their frustration filling the air, but Kor tuned them out. There had to be something here, some spark of an idea waiting to be found.

  Near the edge of the pile, a stack of books caught his eye. As he moved toward them, he noticed another student already digging into the materials. The boy’s green hair marked him as Verdanian, and his expression was alight with excitement. He grinned at Kor, holding up a bundle of narrow pipes like a prize.

  “Awesome, right?” he said, voice bright and cheerful. “I’m making an automatic sprinkler system for my plants.”

  Kor blinked, surprised. “That’s… you already know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

  The boy nodded, practically bouncing on his heels. “Yup. You new to this?”

  “Yeah,” Kor glanced back at the arguing students. Their voices were rising, but they still hadn’t moved toward the supplies. “Any advice?”

  “Read Magical Making if it’s in that stack,” he nodded toward the books. “Like Pad said, it’s a good starting place for beginners.”

  Kor smiled. “Thanks. I’m Kor.”

  “Dom,” the boy said, his grin widening. “Nice to meet you, Kor. Good luck!” With that, Dom’s arms were suddenly full of materials as he weaved through the room, heading for an unclaimed workbench.

  Shaking his head, bemused by the boy’s enthusiasm, Kor turned back to the stack of books. ‘Better grab that one before the others get their wits about them.’ Kor quickly absconded with the hefty tome, prying it open on the lacquered oak workbench before him. There was no point in rushing ahead without a solid plan.

  Around the spacious workshop, his peers bustled in a scattered rhythm. The ambient murmur of flipping pages, hushed conversation, and the occasional clang of metal tools gave the room an industrious energy. Some students darted between the workbenches, gathering materials from the central supply racks—bundles of rune-etched crystal slivers, coils of shimmering silver thread, and smooth discs of purple wood.

  Kor pulled his focus back to his book. The text laid out the basics in meticulous detail: every project began with three core components—a clear goal, a stable power source, and a means of effect. The methods to achieve these varied, but two primary paths stood out for beginners: runes or enchantments.

  Runes, with their raw power and durability, were undeniably impressive. They could channel immense amounts of mana and withstand even harsh environments. However, they required painstaking care; a single misaligned stroke could unravel an entire project. They seemed to require magical ink, which he’d already seen amongst the stores, but also an understanding of runescript, that he completely lacked.

  Enchantments, on the other hand, were far simpler and more forgiving. Most of their power came from the spellcaster, requiring them to imbue an effect before tying it off in a permanent fashion. Kor frowned. From what little he’d already knew, enchantments still required a suitable material. Also, he’d yet to learn about making persistent effects; his fractal shields only lasting for as long as he held them in his mind. Yet another area of study to cover, but one that might prove useful in other activities.

  Since enchantments wouldn’t require learning an entirely new written language, they seemed like the obvious starting point. He skimmed past the introductory chapters listing tables of beginner materials, drawn instead to a section on the interplay of personal specialisations with crafting. Here, the text took on an almost reverent tone, describing the profound synergy between a mage’s personal magic and their creations. The results, it explained, were often so unique that no one else could replicate them. Kor’s mind buzzed with possibilities.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Fractals and barriers. Perhaps not the most original concept, but it seemed the logical starting point for him. His snowflake barriers had already proved remarkably efficient. Leveraging them into a barrier seemed like a logical choice. Crafting such an item was an entirely new endeavour, but it would align with what he already understood—at least in theory. One challenge would be selecting materials that could both endure the pressure of his magic and amplify the fractal’s natural properties.

  The book stressed this point repeatedly: the right materials could mean the difference between failure and success. The basis for a simple project formed in his mind. He’d just need to gain the skills to bring it to fruition.

  A flash of light nearby pulled his attention. A boy two tables over had managed to ignite the edges of his parchment. The acrid tang of charred paper reached Kor’s nose as the boy yelped, hastily smothering the small flame with his sleeve.

  Kor shook his head, focusing on forming a plan for his potential project and the various ideas he’d first need to research. The two-hour session crept to its end, though Kor’s mind raced faster with every passing minute. The pages of Magical Making had left him with more questions than answers. His thoughts spilled over as he packed away his notebook and folded the corner of his book’s page for later reference. Materials, methods, techniques—there was so much to learn before he could even consider starting. Yet, time was not a luxury he could afford. Advanced Combat on Genday loomed, and he couldn’t allow himself to lag behind, especially in a class rumoured to host the academy’s most formidable students. He’d promised Marcus his support, and he wasn’t about to become the weakest link all over again.

  The rest of the week blurred into organised chaos. Every waking hour vanished into study, practice with Talen, or survival-like classes. Kor even gave up precious hours of sleep, convincing himself it was only temporary—just until he settled into a proper rhythm. By Genday, his mind was a swirling mix of exhaustion and adrenaline as he made his way to the training fields.

  The morning air carried a crisp chill, cutting through his fatigue. The vast grass field stretched ahead, bathed in the iridescent hues of Conflux’s ever-shifting sky. Already, dozens of students had gathered, their voices mingling in an indistinct hum punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or sharp command.

  Marcus and the Solarian brothers stood together near the centre of the field. Marcus spotted him first, his golden hair catching the light as he waved with his usual broad, confident grin. Kor trudged over, suppressing a yawn. Teneth’s sharp, stormy glare caught his eye, radiating the sort of disdain Kor had grown accustomed to from him. Kelleth, by contrast, stood with arms crossed, scanning the other students with an almost predatory intensity.

  “Morning, guys.” Kor stifled another yawn as he spoke. “You look eager, Marcus.”

  “Of course!” Marcus said, his enthusiasm undampened by the early hour. “It’s finally time to make a name for myself here in Nexus. Just look at them,” he gestured towards the milling students. “This class is packed with powerhouses.”

  Kor glanced around. The crowd was a mosaic of figures, many of whom carried themselves with the unmistakable posture of nobility or wealth—straight-backed, with a quiet confidence that seemed bred into them. The faint hum of mana suffused the air, each student’s presence adding to the ambient energy.

  Serris stood out instantly. Her olive skin and short brown hair framed a face animated in conversation with her boyfriend. Even in casual conversation, her bearing radiated command, the same defiant confidence she’d displayed when clashing with Dean Velleth. A pang of unease washed over Kor at the memory—a force so powerful and untamed it brought into question just how much of a gap was there between them?

  Marcus leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you know who they are, Kor? The strong ones this year?”

  Kor shook his head, forcing himself to focus.

  “Well,” Marcus said, with a grin that suggested he relished the question, “there’s Serris, obviously—the first daughter of the Unbound. And him,” he nodded towards a Verdanian boy sitting cross-legged near the edge of the field. “The Beast.”

  The boy was unassuming, his simple clothes and meditative posture a stark contrast to the others.

  “The Beast?”

  Teneth scoffed. “He uses shapeshifting magic. Few of those exist on the seven worlds. You’d do well not to underestimate him.”

  “Don’t let appearances fool you,” Kelleth added, his tone cool and precise. “He’s one of the monsters Vaast warned us about.”

  Kor studied the boy from a distance, his mana too faint to sense clearly. His curiosity was interrupted when a figure jogged onto the field.

  “Viree?” Kor’s heart lurched at the sight of her blonde ponytail swaying as she approached. The memory of their awkward encounter flared unbidden in his mind.

  Her amber eyes widened briefly as they met his, then darted away as she broke her stride and stood apart, focusing intently on the gathering class. Mercifully, Marcus and the brothers were too engaged in their conversation to notice.

  A sudden, booming voice cut through the field, silencing all other noise.

  “Students!” Master Terrak’s tone was commanding, carrying effortlessly over the crowd. He strode forward, his stocky, muscular frame radiating an almost gravitational authority.

  “Nexus Academy was founded to bring together the greatest talents of our seven worlds,” he said, his steel-grey eyes sweeping over them. “To forge wizards from the flames of battle. This class will be the yardstick by which all others are measured.”

  The weight of his words settled over them like a mantle. Kor’s fingers twitched at his sides, his nerves alive with anticipation.

  “Today, we begin with rankings. Before we tackle advanced techniques, we’ll start with duels.” A hard grin split Terrak’s face as he surveyed them. “Now form up! I want two volunteers.”

  “I’ll go!” Viree darted in before he’d even finished. Her energetic voice matched the bounce in her step as she strode confidently to the front.

  Almost half the class surged forward in her wake, eager to prove themselves.

  “Good,” Terrak said, his eyes raking over the eager faces before landing on Kelleth. He gestured for him to step forward.

  “Standard rules,” Terrak announced. “First to reach the student barrier wins.”

  Viree nodded enthusiastically, her ponytail bobbing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Let’s do our best!” she called cheerfully.

  Kelleth offered no reply, his focus locked on Terrak. His stance was taut, his movements economical as he took his position opposite Viree. The contrast between them couldn’t have been sharper—her bright energy against his measured intensity.

  Kor found himself rooting for Viree despite himself. Kelleth and he might be on the same side, but it didn’t feel like they were allies. He clenched his fists, his own anxieties bubbling as the two combatants squared off.

  Teneth snorted beside Kor and Marcus, his voice dripping with disdain. “That girl doesn’t stand a chance, don’t you agree, Marcus?”

  Marcus shrugged, though a glint of curiosity shone in his eyes. “I think Kelleth definitely has the advantage here, but there’s something interesting about her.”

  Kor stayed quiet, his attention fixed on the field. He hadn’t seen Viree fight before and didn’t even know what her magic specialised in. Her movements certainly seemed to hint at something dynamic. Kelleth, by contrast, was all precision and control, his cutting magic as sharp as the narrowed focus on his face.

  Terrak’s voice boomed, cutting through the murmurs of the gathered students. “Begin in three… two… one… start!”

  Both combatants snapped shimmering mana shields into place, the air around them rippling with energy. Kor’s enhanced mana sensitivity flared to life, outlining the dense currents swirling like storm winds around their forms.

  Viree moved first, darting aside with an agility that seemed to stretch the bounds of physics. She unleashed a barrage of mana spheres, each crackling with barely restrained energy as they pelted Kelleth’s shield. She was light on her feet, almost bouncing as she strafed, her movements quicksilver and unpredictable.

  Kelleth stood firm, his shield absorbing the assault as his feet shifted in measured, deliberate steps. Some spheres skimmed past him as he dodged, but his attention remained unwavering. Kor’s senses prickled. Kelleth’s mana was building—a tide of power cresting around his outstretched hand.

  With a swift, slashing motion, Kelleth lashed out, sending a razor-thin blade of condensed air screaming toward Viree. The strike was almost too fast for the eye, but Viree’s mana flared in response. In the heartbeat it took the cutting wind to close the gap, she sprang aside, her body coiling and snapping away like a taut band released. The air blade sheared through the grass, leaving a devastating gash in the field as the two combatants continued their deadly dance.

  “Did you see that?” Kor asked in a hushed voice.

  “Quite something,” Marcus leaned in closer.

  Viree retaliated, her mana spheres hammering into Kelleth’s shield with precision far beyond the chaotic clobbering Kor remembered from their earlier encounter. Cracks began to spiderweb through the barrier. Kelleth’s expression didn’t shift, but Kor could see his mana reshaping into something new, something dangerous.

  Kelleth halted suddenly, bringing both hands together. A blade—a cutlass formed of translucent, condensed air—shimmered into existence. It was barely visible, a ghostly crescent that seemed more intent than material. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon shot toward Viree, its edge slicing through the air with a whistle.

  Kor’s eyes widened as he switched to mana sensing to track it. The blade hit Viree’s shield with a crackling impact that forced her to spring away. Her movements defied normal bounds, her body twisting and recoiling like a spring wound too tight. Mana pulsed through her every step, each dodge an expression of fluid elasticity.

  The translucent blade pursued her relentlessly, slashing in arcs meant to box her in. Viree’s eyes darted to Kelleth, her brow furrowed with determination. She dug her feet into the earth, her mana swelling visibly as she began weaving a spell.

  Kor’s breath hitched. She was going for something bold, maybe reckless. Kelleth didn’t falter, preparing another cast even as his cutlass pressed in, delivering two powerful blows that cracked her shield worryingly.

  Viree’s spell finished after the second blow. With a flash of energy, she launched herself forward, her body propelled like a slingshot. A coalesced sphere of mana—dense and glowing—formed in her fist as she rocketed toward Kelleth.

  The crowd gasped. Kor’s heart pounded. Could she do it?

  But Viree had miscalculated just a hair as Kelleth threw himself aside. Her trajectory veered wide, and the energy in her punch dissipated as she shot through the air. Momentum carried her in a chaotic tumble, furrows ripping through the grass as she skidded to a halt.

  Kelleth seized the opportunity. Another wind blade tore through the air, its edge shattering what remained of Viree’s shield in a burst of light. She had only a heartbeat to form another shield, before the cutlass closed the distance, delivering a decisive cut that rebounded against the golden glow of the student barrier.

  “Winner: Kelleth!” Terrak’s voice rang out as the cutlass dissolved, leaving the field quiet but for the inaudible murmurs of the observing students.

  “Did you see that?” one student leaned over to his friend.

  “That speed—she’s insane,”

  Kelleth returned to the group with a measured stride, his expression cool but with the faintest trace of satisfaction curling at the corner of his lips.

  “Great job, Kelleth!” Marcus beamed. “I didn’t realise you’d finished learning it already!”

  “It’s too bad I didn’t have a real opponent to test it against,” Kelleth said, his tone as sharp as his magic.

  Kor frowned, the words grating against him. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped as Viree jogged back, robes covered in dirt, but her smile undimmed despite her loss. “Good fight!” she called, her tone as spirited as ever.

  Terrak’s gaze swept over the students again, his voice taking on an edge of anticipation. “Marcus. Serris. You’re up next.”

  Kor's breathing hitched. Two monsters battling it out, and he’d yet to learn either of their specialisations. This would be something spectacular.

  “Good luck, Marcus.”

  He shot Kor a winning smile. “Who needs luck when you’ve got skill.”