Crash Course in Magic

Ethan paced back and forth across his dorm room like a man on death row. His hands trembled, his heartbeat was a drumline of pure panic, and his brain felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and set it on fire.

Two days. Two freaking days to somehow learn how to do magic and not get completely obliterated in front of an audience of people who already hated his guts.

He glanced at the scattered books and parchment on his desk. Sure, he'd skimmed over some of them when he woke up, but none of it was helpful. All he'd learned was that Darius Wycliffe was basically the bottom of the food chain when it came to magic.

Which meant that if Ethan wanted to survive the First-Year Spellcraft Examination, he needed to figure out how to do magic. Fast.

"Okay... alright... just go to class. Learn what you can. And don't get your ass killed by Lucien Ashford."

He was already wearing the dark blue robes he woke up in, the ones with the silver trim and the golden crest—a lion with wings surrounded by arcane symbols—embroidered over his chest. They felt heavy and stupidly formal, but it's not like he had any other choice.

Ethan hesitated for a moment before grabbing the timetable he'd found stashed under a mess of parchment. The first class of the day was something called "Basic Elemental Manipulation." That sounded like exactly the kind of thing he needed to not get murdered in two days.

But there was a slight problem.

He had no freaking idea where the classroom was.

"Why couldn't this stupid timetable come with a freaking map?" he grumbled, shoving it into his robe's inner pocket.

He took a deep breath and threw open the door. If he was going to figure this out, he needed to get moving.

The hallways of The Arcanium were a sprawling maze of stone corridors, polished wood, and glowing runes etched into the walls. Students bustled back and forth, their conversations filling the air with a low, humming chaos.

And, of course, everyone was staring at him.

Ethan tried to walk with purpose, shoulders straight and chin held high like he owned the place. Or at least, like he wasn't currently having a mental breakdown. But it was hard to act confident when everyone's gaze felt like it was digging into his skin.

"Is that Wycliffe?" someone whispered.

"Didn't think he'd even bother showing his face after last week's disaster."

"He's probably just here to coast by on his family's name again."

Ethan's jaw tightened, but he kept moving. The problem was, he had no idea where he was supposed to go. And stopping to ask someone for directions would probably be a death sentence for his already fragile reputation.

At least, not until he turned a corner and slammed straight into someone.

"Ah!" a startled voice yelped. A girl stumbled backward, her books slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor.

"Oh, crap. Sorry," Ethan said, instinctively reaching out to help her. "Are you okay?"

The girl's wide, terrified eyes snapped up to his face, and her expression morphed from startled to horrified in record time.

"P-Please don't hurt me!" she blurted, her voice trembling. "I-I know I'm just a scholarship student, but I swear I'm not trying to get in your way! I'm working really hard, I promise! Just... just don't make me drop out, okay?"

Ethan blinked. "Wait, what?"

The girl was practically shaking. She was small, with chestnut hair pulled back into a messy braid and a pair of big, anxious eyes that darted around like she was expecting him to pull out a knife and stab her on the spot.

"Please don't report me to your family or... or try to ruin my reputation or—"

He held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill out. I'm not... doing any of that."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion fighting with her obvious fear.

"But... you're Darius Wycliffe," she whispered. "You... you always—"

Ethan's brain clicked. Of course. Darius Wycliffe was exactly the kind of jerk who would terrorize some poor scholarship student just for the hell of it. Especially if it meant looking powerful in front of other nobles.

And now, she was looking at him like he was some kind of sociopathic monster.

"Okay, think, Ethan. You're supposed to be this arrogant prick. But if you're too nice, she'll think you're insane. Just... channel some snobbery. Just a little."

He forced himself to smirk, though it probably looked more like he was trying to hold back a sneeze. "Relax. If I was going to ruin your life, I'd already have done it."

The girl flinched. Ethan mentally kicked himself. "Okay, dial it down. You sound like a cartoon villain, you moron."

"But," he continued, trying to sound more confident, "I'm feeling generous today. Instead of groveling, you can do me a favor. I can't seem to remember where the Basic Elemental Manipulation class is."

The girl stared at him, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"You're... asking me for help?"

"Is that a problem?" Ethan snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of his tone. He was supposed to sound arrogant, not like some rabid animal.

"N-No! Not at all!" she squeaked, clutching her books to her chest like they were some kind of shield. "I-I'll show you right away!"

"Good. Then get moving," Ethan said, throwing in a dismissive wave of his hand for good measure.

She nodded furiously and started walking down the hall, practically jogging to keep a decent distance from him.

Ethan followed, his expression calm but his mind reeling.

So, Darius Wycliffe was the kind of guy who literally terrified commoner students just by existing. Awesome.

He was starting to hate this guy more and more.

Ethan trailed a good five paces behind the girl as she led him through the winding halls of The Arcanium.

The girl—who still hadn't told him her name—was practically scuttling down the corridor like her life depended on getting away from him as fast as possible.

Honestly, he couldn't blame her. Not if Darius Wycliffe really was the asshole everyone made him out to be.

She kept sneaking glances over her shoulder, like she expected him to snap at her or start throwing spells for fun. And every time their eyes met, she would flinch and look away, her cheeks pale and her hands clutching her books so hard her knuckles turned white.

This was just sad.

"So... you got a name?" Ethan asked, trying to sound casual.

The girl nearly tripped over her own feet. "I-I... It's Amara. Amara Velren."

"Amara. Right." He repeated the name in his head, trying to lock it in. If nothing else, at least she'd been nice enough to help him out. Even if she was only doing it because she thought he'd ruin her life if she refused.

They made their way down another corridor, this one lined with portraits of old men with long beards and women with stern expressions that looked like they hadn't cracked a smile in centuries.

Ethan's feet were practically dragging by the time they reached a set of tall, double doors. The faint sound of voices from the other side told him they were late.

Amara stopped and shifted from foot to foot, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "Um... This is the Basic Elemental Manipulation classroom."

"Great," Ethan said, trying to sound cool and not like someone who was two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

"You... you should probably go in first," she added quickly. "I-I mean, it's your class, after all."

"Right. Of course."

He put his hand on the door handle and paused. For a moment, he considered thanking her. But he could already see her staring at him like he was about to sprout a second head, and something told him Darius Wycliffe wasn't the kind of guy who threw out gratitude like candy.

Instead, he just nodded. "You're not entirely useless, I guess."

Amara's eyes widened, and he thought she was about to bolt, but she just gave a jerky little nod and muttered, "T-Thank you."

Ethan pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The classroom was huge. High ceilings arched above him, supported by pillars inscribed with glowing symbols that looked like they were alive, slowly shifting and swirling in patterns that hurt his eyes if he stared at them too long.

Rows of desks were arranged in neat lines, most of them already filled with students who had their attention fixed on the man standing at the front of the room.

The professor was something else.

He looked to be in his early forties, with hair the color of molten gold that flickered and rippled like fire. His skin had a faint, sun-kissed glow to it, as if he spent all his time basking under some mythical light. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes—one a deep, oceanic blue and the other a blazing amber, like molten gold.

He wore robes that seemed to shimmer and flow like liquid, the fabric rippling with the subtle suggestion of flames, waves, and swirling winds all at once. The air around him practically hummed with energy.

"Oh boy. If that guy's not an Elemental teacher, then I'm a six-foot squirrel."

The professor's gaze snapped to Ethan the moment he stepped through the doors, and Ethan immediately felt like a bug under a microscope.

"Well, well. Look who decided to finally grace us with his presence," the professor said, his tone warm and playful, but with just enough of an edge to let Ethan know he'd already made a bad first impression. "Decided to take the scenic route this morning, Wycliffe?"

Ethan's mouth went dry. "Uh... yeah. Sorry. Got a little... turned around."

"Turned around? Hmm. That's a much better excuse than 'I just couldn't be bothered,' so I'll give you half points for creativity." The professor chuckled, his eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. "Now, I'd ask if you've taken a blow to the head recently, but seeing as you're at least trying to make an effort, I'll take what I can get."

A few students snickered, but the sound wasn't hostile. More like they were amused that the Darius Wycliffe was actually being called out for once.

"Take a seat, Wycliffe. And try to actually pay attention today, yeah? I'd hate to have to explain to your family why you accidentally burned yourself to a crisp."

Ethan nodded stiffly and shuffled toward an empty desk near the back. His face was burning, but at least the guy didn't seem like a total jerk. In fact, the professor's tone had been more teasing than cruel, like he actually wanted Ethan to do better.

Which was both reassuring and absolutely terrifying.

He slid into the desk and glanced around, only to spot Amara taking a seat two rows in front of him. She looked like she was trying to make herself as small as possible, her shoulders hunched and her gaze fixed firmly on her desk.

Well, at least he wasn't the only one feeling like a nervous wreck.

"Alright then!" the professor's voice boomed, drawing everyone's attention back to the front of the room. "Now, since it appears we have all of our beloved delinquents present—" His gaze flicked briefly to Ethan before moving on. "—I suppose I should reintroduce myself for the benefit of those who've been sleeping through my classes."

He spread his arms with an exaggerated flourish, the shimmering fabric of his robes catching the light like rippling water. "I am Professor Edwin Ignatius, your guide to the wonderful, temperamental world of Elemental Manipulation. And if you can manage not to set yourselves or your classmates on fire, then we might actually make some progress today."

A few chuckles rose from the students, though Ethan was too busy having an internal crisis to join in.

Edwin Ignatius. Of course. Ethan remembered writing the guy as one of the most powerful elementalists at The Arcanium. A former adventurer turned professor who genuinely cared about his students and loved nothing more than pushing them to surpass their limits.

In the novel, Ignatius was supposed to be one of Lucien's mentors. The guy who would recognize the protagonist's overwhelming talent and help him master the elements with mind-blowing efficiency.

And Ethan was here. In this classroom. As Darius Wycliffe. The guy whose magical talent was roughly on par with a damp matchstick.

But if Ignatius really was the elemental genius Ethan had written him to be, then... maybe there was still hope.

If he could somehow make a good impression, learn something useful, then he might just have a fighting chance during the First-Year Spellcraft Examination.

"Focus, Ethan. You've got this. Don't blow it."

"Now then!" Ignatius clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the room like a thunderclap. "We'll be continuing with the basics of Flame Projection. Simple, effective, and probably the least likely to end with someone blowing their fingers off. If you've been paying attention up until now, then this should be easy."

He flicked his wrist, and suddenly a tiny flame sprang to life above his palm, flickering and dancing like it was eager to burn something. With another casual motion, the fire transformed into a sphere of water, then a miniature tornado, then a chunk of solid earth before finally crumbling into harmless dust.

"Elemental Manipulation is all about focus, control, and creativity," Ignatius continued, his voice smooth and engaging.

"Anyone can produce fire if they have enough mana and a strong enough will. But to truly master elemental magic, you must learn to shape it, mold it, and command it to your will. And that, my dear students, is what we're here to practice."

Ethan's eyes widened. He remembered writing scenes where Ignatius pulled off all kinds of crazy stunts with elemental magic. But seeing it in person? It was a whole different beast.

"Now then," Ignatius said, his gaze sweeping over the class. "Everyone, to your feet. Hands out, palms up. Focus your mana, visualize the flame, and bring it to life. And don't worry—if you fail, at least you'll provide some entertainment for the rest of us."

A ripple of laughter ran through the class, and Ethan managed a weak, nervous chuckle. But deep down, he felt like his chest was full of ice.

He had no idea how to do this.

But if he didn't figure it out, he was screwed.