Prismday arrived, ushering in both the promise of a new dawn and the threat of two daunting tests. Rose and gold hues bled across the sky as the first tendrils of sunlight pierced the horizon. Kor’s hand shot out, silencing the insistent buzz of his alarm. He awoke with a jolt. The room remained cloaked in the soft gloom of pre-dawn, the only sounds the gentle stirring of life outside his window.

  Rubbing the lingering sleep from his eyes, he pushed himself upright, the cool morning air raising gooseflesh on his arms. The twin suns, still nestled low on the horizon, cast long, dancing shadows across the room. He fumbled with his mana, coaxing a soft amber glow from his bedside lamp.

  For once Talen remained blissfully unaware, a soft snore escaping his lips. Kor, however, found a surge of pre-test anxiety thrumming beneath his skin. He pulled out his study materials, hoping to cram in some last-minute knowledge before Professor Terra’s notoriously difficult examination.

  Mana dynamics, meditation techniques, and countless pieces of esoteric trivia swam in his mind as he slipped out the door a full hour earlier than usual. The campus was still largely asleep. The cobblestone paths, usually bustling with students, were now peaceful, save for a few scurrying mice. A chill hung in the air, thick with the scent of dew-kissed grass.

  He paused, glancing up at the towering crystal spires that dominated the Academy skyline. Their facets gleamed faintly in the nascent light, reflecting the colours of the dawning day. His gaze then settled on the Nexus. Today, its shimmering surface pulsed with a vibrant yellow. Readiness, he mused, a knot of anticipation tightening in his stomach. What else might this week hold?

  The rhythmic tap of his boots against the stone floor echoed in the stillness as he headed towards his classroom. He wasn’t the only early bird. A familiar figure stood further down the hall.

  “Lena!“ Kor called, his voice louder than intended, bouncing off the walls as he hurried toward her. He felt a warmth rising to his cheeks.

  Lena turned, her long, raven hair the colour of a starless night, swaying gently. Her violet eyes, usually so guarded, lit up with a soft smile. “Darkness fend, Kor,” she greeted him, her voice a quiet melody.

  “Darkness fend,” he grinned back, his heart skipping a beat. “Ready for the test?” He winced. So much for keeping his tone casual.

  “Mostly,” she replied, her gaze thoughtful. “But since we have some time, perhaps we could quiz each other?” She tilted her head, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek.

  “Sure!” Relief washed over him. He dropped his heavy pack with a thud, the leather creaking softly, and leaned against the cool, smooth stone wall beside her. They took turns firing questions, their voices low murmurs in the quiet hallway. Lena’s questions were incisive, probing the depths of his understanding, while he focused on the practical application of the theories. He was captivated by the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her fingers tapped a silent rhythm against her leg as she pondered his answers. The back and forth eased the tension that had been building in his chest.

  Hours later, the ordeal of Terra’s testing was finally over. It had begun with a rigorous demonstration of his ability to meditate, followed by a challenging exercise in sensing mana at a distance. Finally, a gruelling written exam had tested his knowledge down to the most minute detail.

  The results wouldn’t be in until later in the week, but a sense of cautious optimism filled him. He’d found a comfortable familiarity with every question, and the practical demonstrations were techniques he’d honed through countless hours of dedicated practice. He’d even managed to detect the faintest mana signature from her device, a feat that seemed to impress even Terra.

  The maximum credits achievable were 25 out of the year’s total of 100. But there was no time to dwell. The next hurdle loomed: Practical Spellcraft with Professor Moss.

  He met up with Talen back in their room. They dissected every detail, every nuance of spellcraft that Moss had instructed them to practise, and then some. Talen even shared some of his mother’s advice: to display the very best of their abilities. The professors, she’d said, valued initiative and a thirst for knowledge beyond the curriculum. Kor intended to do just that, to show Moss the full extent of his capabilities.

  Professor Moss, a tall man with a perpetually harried look, called each student into a separate room for individual assessment. Kor’s heart hammered against his ribs, as his name was called. This is it. My chance to claw back some credits. He gripped the straps of his pack, knuckles white, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him.

  Moss grilled him on everything he’d learned. First, manipulating objects at a distance. Kor extended his mana to encompass a small wooden ball, then a delicate glass vial, moving them with effortless control. Geometric shapes formed—cubes, spheres, pyramids—each one shimmering with remarkable clarity. Any stray energy leakage was minimised, his focus unwavering. The shapes morphed and reformed at his command, the process quick and efficient, the ambient energy barely even stirring.

  Then came the ultimate test: the full-bodied barrier. He focused his will, drawing on the intricate patterns he’d practised for weeks. Interlocking snowflakes, each one a miniature marvel of fractal mastery, bloomed around him, forming a small, oval-like dome. Over the previous month, he’d focused on shrinking it down, conserving energy. Now it extended only a slight distance from his body. The air inside was strangely still and calm. He could see Professor Moss watching him intently, his expression unreadable, a critical glint in his grey eyes.

  The professor probed his barrier with his own mana, a gentle but firm pressure that tested its integrity. A tense silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of their combined energies. Kor held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

  To his astonishment, the tension in Moss’s face eased, replaced by a flicker of something akin to approval. “Good progress,” he conceded, his voice devoid of its usual apathy.

  Unable to contain his elation, Kor let the barrier dissipate, the snowflakes dissolving into motes of light. “A solid performance,” Moss continued, “22 credits.”

  “Thanks, Professor!” Kor exclaimed, a wide grin splitting his face. “That’s great, but... if you don’t mind my asking...”

  Moss nodded, his gaze piercing. He seemed to anticipate Kor’s question, speaking up before he could even articulate it. “Your general control is very good, if still a bit too slow. Your ability to shape mana is impressive, especially for a first year.”

  Kor nodded eagerly, hanging on every word, his earlier nervousness forgotten.

  “That barrier,” Moss continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone, “is perhaps the strongest I’ve seen in the first years. However, it possesses a fundamental flaw, one you haven’t yet realised.”

  Kor’s elation deflated slightly. A flaw? What could it be? He racked his brain, trying to anticipate the professor’s critique. “What is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His stomach clenched with a sudden anxiety.

  Moss, with a sigh, demonstrated his own barrier, a simple, shimmering oval that encased him completely. He pointed down towards the floor with a long, thin finger. “What happens to the floor beneath your feet?” he asked, his voice sharp. “I can see that your barrier terminates at the ground, leaving a gap. You are not, I presume, walking on your barrier, are you?”

  A jolt of realisation shot through Kor. “Oh!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening. “No, Professor. You mean that an attack from below would bypass the barrier entirely?” He felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. How could I have missed something so obvious?

  “Precisely,” Moss confirmed, a hint of dryness in his voice.

  “So, how do I fix it?” Kor asked, his mind already racing, trying to work out a solution.

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  “That,” Moss replied, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips, “is for you to discover. Now, send in the next student.” He turned away, effectively dismissing him.

  Kor nodded, his mind buzzing with this newfound challenge, and stepped out of the room, his earlier elation replaced by a determined focus. All this time, I’ve thought my barrier was impenetrable, he thought grimly, but I’ve been walking around with a giant gap in my defences. I definitely need to get this fixed before the expedition on Genday. The weight of the upcoming expedition pressed down on him. He had work to do.

  The rest of the week blurred into a whirlwind of activity. Campus was a stark contrast between those first-years already finished with their testing and those, like Kor, consumed by the upcoming contest. For Kor and others driven by ambition, the campus transformed into a pressure cooker. Practice rooms became sanctuaries of focused exertion, training fields echoed with the sounds of spells and drills. Every spare moment was squeezed for even the smallest advantage.

  Back in their dorm, the air hummed with the faint, earthy scent of damp soil and blooming flora. Dominating the room was a large crystal palm, its crystalline bark shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the overhead lights. Talen recounted his mother’s advice.

  “There are many ways to deal with the problem,” Talen said, one hand absently stroking the cool, textured bark of the crystal palm. His brown hair, now showing distinct streaks of amber at the roots, seemed to catch the light, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

  “Most powerful mages keep themselves afloat in combat. The versatility offered from the air allows them to swiftly dodge most attacks.” He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “However, when on the ground, she let me in on a secret. You can train barriers to recognise the floor and phase through it—the same applies to other spells and even people.”

  Kor’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  Talen nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Though she said it might take a little practice, it shouldn’t be too difficult for us.” He glanced at Kor, his green eyes sparkling with quiet confidence.

  A wave of relief washed over Kor, loosening the knot of tension in his shoulders. “That’s good…” he breathed, the words escaping in a soft exhale. But a new concern quickly surfaced. “But doesn’t that mean an attack that’s made out of whatever we’re standing on would penetrate the shield?”

  “Yeah,” Talen confirmed, his hand still gently caressing the palm’s bark, “that’s why most advanced mages use flight during a duel. She did say there were other ways of handling the problem, but none of which we are ready for.”

  Kor sighed, running a hand through his hair.

  “She stressed that we really don’t have to worry about that for now, Kor. It would take a really advanced mage to pull that off, and our student barriers work closer than that, so we’d be safe, regardless.”

  “Okay. I’ll have to thank her for the advice sometime.”

  “Sometime,” Talen’s non-committal response hung in the air.

  The last day before the test arrived with a sense of impending finality. Marcus held a last-minute prep session, the air thick with anticipation. He meticulously outlined their strategies and roles, covering all kinds of contingencies, from small group sizes to variations on the previous year’s tests. In every instance, however, Kor’s role remained the same: defender. He’d yet to unveil his latest developments, keeping them close to his chest for the actual competition.

  He considered offering his badge to one of his group, but in his testing with Talen, he’d realised that it was attuned too perfectly to him. When his friend had tried to activate the barrier, it produced much less resilience. If I’m going to make some money selling them in the future, I’ll have to work out how to deal with that problem.

  Expedition day dawned, and Kor reluctantly pried himself from his bed. The scent of Talen’s herb garden, a mix of earthy loam and sharp, green notes, still clung to the air. Talen, ever the early bird, was already up and about, a small pack slung over his shoulder. The weak morning light caught the amber streaks in his hair.

  Kor reached for his Fractal Trainer, the smooth glass sphere cool against his palm. Time for some last-minute practice. He held it up, a faint hum resonating as it activated beneath his touch. With a practised ease, he coaxed the tiny fractal seeds into existence. They spun and blossomed into a flurry of complex shapes. First, an infinitely repeating pattern, its intricate edges branching out in ever-smaller, self-similar detail. Then, a spiralling form, tendrils curling inwards towards a central point like a miniature galaxy. A crystalline structure emerged next, its jagged edges multiplying with each iteration. Finally, a ghostly, branching form, reminiscent of a skeletal plant, flickered into view.

  “Enough practice,” Talen’s voice broke through his concentration. “Time to see what you’ve got, Kor.”

  “Alright, alright,” he conceded, tucking the device away inside his storage chest. His fingers lingered on the cool glass for a moment. His stomach twisted, a restless flutter like wings trapped beneath his ribs as they departed.

  They headed towards the western edge of campus, joining a growing stream of students, all moving in the same direction. An electric anticipation crackled in the air, a low hum of chatter and eager whispers mingling with the crunch of footsteps on the gravel paths. Bronze trim glinted on countless robes; a sea of students buzzing with a nervous energy that set Kor’s own pulse racing. He tightened his fist. Today’s the day.

  “How many people are competing?” Kor asked, his voice barely audible above the din.

  “I reckon around 100-150,” Talen replied, glancing around at the throng. “I think almost everyone from the advanced combat classes will enter, and then some students who are just going to try their luck.”

  Kor nodded, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. The air grew thicker, the mana practically tangible as they approached the meeting spot: one of the training fields near the western edge of campus. Restless students stretched their limbs, muttering incantations, small sparks of energy dancing around their fingertips. The air thrummed with the anticipation of impending competition. Over a dozen professors were already present, their faces a mixture of professional detachment and quiet amusement.

  “Good luck, Kor!” Talen said, a genuine smile on his face. “Let’s hope we don’t run into each other out there.”

  “Haha, yeah. If my group spots you, I’ll—” Talen waved him off.

  “Don’t fret about it, Kor. I doubt a group like yours is going to go under the radar.”

  Kor grinned back. “Right. Good luck, Talen.”

  They split off as he headed toward Master Terrak’s stern visage at the front of the crowd. The Master’s presence was palpable, a solid, unwavering force easily distinguishable even amidst the mass of students.

  Countless types of mana inundated Kor’s senses as he pressed through the throng—I really wish that elusive growth spurt would kick in, since even the girls still tower over me. It seemed as if life had dealt him the short straw. But as he adjusted his robes, it was obvious how much weight he’d lost. Gone was the fat scholar, replaced by only a mildly chubby but fit young man—not exactly a young lady’s dream, but he was working on it.

  Every aspect of his spellcasting had improved in the previous month. His sensitivity training under Terra’s specialised tutelage had granted him the ability to discern familiar magical signatures, echoes of spells he’d encountered before. He could at least identify any of his classmates by their mana alone, even if he’d yet to tackle understanding exactly what the mana told him.

  A surge of competitive spirit coursed through him, his blood warming, a thrill of anticipation tightening his chest. Just what kinds of powers do these other students wield? He was eager to test himself and finally unleash his latest spell. Perhaps he’d been holding off for too long. Its power and efficiency had grown explosively each week—

  “Kor!” Marcus called, waving him over. The Solarian brothers and Beth were already in attendance, her pet fox sitting patiently at her feet, its glowing eyes darting around the crowd. She was one of the few students who had brought a familiar, and she still hadn’t given him a proper name. Apparently, they could communicate on a basic level, but their bond wasn’t strong enough for full language yet. She’d stuck to calling him Foxy. Are pets even allowed in the contest? Or magical items, for that matter.

  “You ready, Kor?” Marcus’s brilliant smile greeted him.

  “Yep. Even got a few surprises in store,” Kor replied, a confident grin spreading across his face.

  “Excellent. I think it’s safe to say we all have surprises of our own,” Marcus chuckled.

  Beth leaned closer to Marcus as a cool gust of wind swept across them, carrying the faint scent of ozone. Kor’s eyes widened in belated realisation. “Are you two…?”

  Beth giggled, a blush rising on her cheeks, and Marcus nodded, a wide grin on his face. Kor stammered an awkward apology for the abrupt comment, a flush creeping up his own neck. Marcus simply waved it off with a good-natured laugh.

  Teneth’s voice cut through the air, laced with icy sarcasm. “What’s the matter, Kor? Never had a girlfriend before?”

  Kor was about to retort when a wave of energy washed over them, silencing the crowd. Every eye turned upward. A collective gasp rippled through the students as a figure descended from the sky, a dark cloak billowing out behind him like a storm cloud. The First Magus.

  He landed at the front of the field, his descent barely disturbing the grass—an obvious display of controlled power. The air crackled, charged with an almost unbearable pressure. Whispers erupted, a mixture of awe and hushed reverence, quickly dying down as the First Magus raised a hand.

  His gaze swept over the assembled students, a palpable weight in his stare. Kor felt a tremor run down his spine. It was as if the First Magus were peering into their very souls, assessing not just their power, but their worth.

  Then, for a fleeting moment, those startling violet eyes, burning with an unnatural light, locked onto Kor. A jolt, like static electricity, shot through him. He felt Lentus’s presence stir within his mind, a tremor of something akin to... awe, perhaps, rather than fear. The First Magus held his gaze for a fraction of a second, but it felt like an eternity. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he turned to face the professors.

  The moment passed, but the intensity lingered. Kor’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding not with fear, but with a sudden, fierce determination. That power, that presence—it was a glimpse of the summit, a dizzying peak he knew, with absolute certainty, he was destined to climb. The First Magus was not just an aspiration, but a promise of what he could become.