Academy

Pupi hummed a lively tune, his eyes closed as if savoring a private melody. A sudden thought struck him, and he stopped mid-hum. "Larin," he said, his tone carrying a teasing lilt, "are you bunking the academy again? You do realize how lucky you are to be enrolled in the Hermeticus Magicus Academy, one of the finest in the empire?"

Larin flushed slightly but held his friend's gaze with a sheepish grin. "I was just on my way," he quipped, letting out a chuckle before turning to leave.

The bustling city unfolded before him, a living mosaic of sights, sounds, and scents. The air carried a mingling of aromas—freshly ground herbs, sizzling street food, and the faint tang of Xiaxoan from magical artifacts in use. Vendors lined the streets, their voices competing as they hawked wares ranging from gleaming trinkets to bundles of rare ingredients. "Fresh mana blooms! Guaranteed potency!" cried one, while another bellowed, "Enchanted quills, half-price today!"

Guards patrolled the streets in pairs, their polished armor reflecting the glow of enchanted streetlights. These lights, powered by a vast network of magical circuits embedded in the smoothstone roads, illuminated every corner of the city. Towering skyscrapers dotted the skyline, their designs a testament to the ingenuity of engineers who had overcome the challenges posed by the hilly terrain. The buildings shimmered faintly, their surfaces reinforced with protective spells.

As Larin passed a street vendor hawking "earthquake-proof" charms, a flicker of unease prickled his neck. The enchanted streetlights above dimmed abruptly, their circuits buzzing like angry hornets. A nearby engineer cursed, tapping a glowing rune embedded in the cobblestones. "Third glitch this week," he muttered. "Like the land's fighting the spells." Larin paused, recalling the fissures from the quake. For a heartbeat, the ground beneath him hummed—a deep, resonant frequency that made his teeth ache—before falling silent.

Larin weaved through the crowd, exchanging greetings with familiar faces. A baker waved a flour-dusted hand. "Late for class again, Larin?" he teased.

Larin grinned but didn't stop. "Not if I hurry!"

Eventually, he reached the outskirts of the metropolis, where the Hermeticus Magicus Academy stood like a sentinel on a distant hill. The sprawling campus occupied the entire hill range, its elegant spires visible from miles away. As he approached the ornate gates, they shimmered to life, scanning his face and magical imprint.

"Spike, hope you've been well," Larin said, nodding at one of the guards.

Spike, a burly man with a neatly trimmed beard, grinned. "As well as an Aether Kite in the wind," he replied, his voice tinged with warmth.

Larin waved and hurried past, his thoughts already on the day ahead. The academy was divided into tiers: apprentices, seniors, magi, scholar magi, and expert scholar magi. Larin, still an apprentice, headed toward the main apprentice hall. A glance at the timetable posted by the entrance made him mutter a curse under his breath. "Magical Theory. Great. And I'm late. Sir Ewin's going to have my head."

He pushed the classroom door open slowly, its creak announcing his arrival. The room fell silent as every head turned toward him. Sir Ewin, a tall man with gruffy features and a tailored cloak, raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Larin. How kind of you to join us. Since you're here, why don't you assist me?" His tone was genial, but the mischievous glint in his eyes made Larin's stomach twist.

Reluctantly, Larin stepped forward, feeling the weight of the class's gaze. His friends Gwendon, Ngieri , and Rinku sat in the front row, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity.

"Larin, demonstrate a basic magic circle," Sir Ewin instructed.

Taking a deep breath, Larin raised his hands, moving them in a deliberate, clockwise motion. A luminous circle appeared, its intricate patterns glowing softly in the dim room. The class murmured in appreciation.

The circle's glow warmed Larin's palms, but beneath the light, shadows writhed. Jagged, serpentine patterns flickered at the edges of his design—unseen by the class, yet clear to him. Sir Ewin's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Larin's scar tingled, the one hidden under his sleeve, a relic of childhood wanderings in Xiaxo's valleys. Focus, he chided himself, forcing the shadows to recede. The circle stabilized, but the afterimage lingered in his mind: a coiled shape, watching.

"Well done," Sir Ewin said, nodding approvingly. "+1 credit. As you all know, magic circles are foundational to spellcasting, but they are far from the only method. Magic, in its essence, is boundless. To define it would be to constrain it, yet leaving it undefined invites chaos."

With a flick of his wrist, Sir Ewin conjured a two-layered magic circle, its complexity far surpassing Larin's. "Magic circles guide and focus energy. Some spells require a power source, while others do not. Components can enhance effects—for example, dried tinderball leaves amplify fire spells. However, our ancestors wielded magic without circles, relying on disciplines such as shamanism, divination, and alchemy. Today, I will introduce you to a concept called combo magic."

He gestured for Larin to maintain his circle as he created another. Tendrils of energy reached out, linking their circles. "Hold steady, Larin," Sir Ewin instructed, his voice calm but firm.

As Larin focused, Sir Ewin began crafting additional circles. The air shimmered as ten circles materialized, their intricate designs interlocking. "This is an example of layered magic. Combining circles allows for greater complexity and power." With a sweeping motion, he fused the ten circles into one, its patterns now a mesmerizing array of symbols and glyphs.

"You need not start with ten layers," he advised. "Begin with two, then build incrementally. Now, observe the practical application of combo magic."

Sir Ewin's circle tethered to Larin's once more, the connection shifting in color and intensity. Larin felt a surge of information, instinctively adjusting his circle to align with Sir Ewin's intent.

[Frost] Sir Ewin intoned, casting a spell that enveloped a practice dummy in ice. Larin followed with [Fireball] his spell striking the frozen target. The combined effect was catastrophic; the dummy shattered and vaporized in an instant.

Shylo, a girl in the back row—her robes embroidered with Dysno's sun sigil—snorted. "Primitive," she whispered to her neighbor, loud enough to carry. "Real magic is more disciplined." Larin's friend Rinku stiffened, her knuckles whitening around her quill. The insult wasn't just for him; it was for every hillside apprentice whose magic smelled of soil and storm. Sir Ewin's gaze snapped to the girl, but Larin caught the flicker of resignation in his mentor's eyes. Adaptation, Pupi's voice echoed in his mind, is not surrender. It was biding time for revolution.

The class erupted in murmurs. Sir Ewin raised a hand, silencing them. "The dummy, made of reinforced leather and bamboo, lacks anti-magic or resistance runes. Alone, our spells would've been insufficient. But in tandem, they magnified each other's effects. This is why synchronized magic is invaluable, especially in combat. A battalion of fifty synchronized magi could fell a young Titan."

He turned to Larin. "+1 credit for adapting so quickly. Return to your seat." Larin nodded, relief washing over him as he rejoined his friends.

Sir Ewin continued. "Now, let us delve into Shamanism. While our knowledge is limited, its applications can be lifesaving." He retrieved a six-foot totem from his void storage, the wooden artifact etched with runes and symbols. "This is a rejuvenation totem. It heals injuries, alleviates mental strain, and restores mana within its radius."

Planting the totem on the floor, he activated it. A wave of ethereal energy radiated outward, enveloping the room. The students sighed collectively, their minor ailments fading.

"Research on totems remains ongoing, as well as most of the Magic of Xiaxo, shadow-dwellers, Coastal mariners and Hill-dwellers are recuperating and waiting for their magic to be restored and made better," Sir Ewin said, deactivating and storing the artifact. "They were instrumental during the Great War, though many techniques have been lost. Future discoveries depend on scholars like you."

The totem's energy washed over Larin, cool as mountain springwater, but beneath it pulsed a familiar rhythm—the same hum he'd felt in the hills. Ngieri, ever the skeptic, wrinkled her nose. "Smells like old forests," she muttered. "Or graves." Sir Ewin's jaw tightened. "Respect the past, Ngieri. What we call 'shamanism' was once Xiaxo's heartbeat." His words hung heavy, a quiet rebuke to the Empire's curated history.

He glanced at the clock. "That concludes today's lesson. Practice the concepts discussed, and remember: the pursuit of knowledge is unending. Class dismissed." Without another word, he strode out, leaving the students buzzing with excitement and newfound determination.

Gwendon slung an arm around Larin, grinning. "That combo magic? Think we could try it on Shylo's ego?" Rinku snorted, but her smile faded as she nodded toward the Shylo leaving the hall. "Watch your back, Larin. Her family funds half the academy. They hate anything that smells… wild." Larin glanced at his hands, still faintly shadowed. "Maybe it's time they learned to breathe the air outside their temples." Ngieri raised a brow. "Spoken like a true chief's heir." The words should've been teasing. They weren't.