Assignment day
Toji's first practical assignment was announced on the fifth morning of the term, just as he started thinking he could ease into the curriculum.
No such luck.
The summons came as a wax-sealed scroll hand-delivered by a silver-plated owl—because of course, this school couldn't even do notifications without a flair for spectacle.
He cracked it open at breakfast.
To: Toji Fushiguro, Class F
You have been selected as part of the first-year Field Integration Trial.
Mission Type: Arcane Recovery
Location: Upper West Wilds — Ruins of Caervan's Echo
Team Composition: Class F (Selected)
Supervising Mage: Instructor Brannic
Report to the West Gate in full uniform by Third Bell.
Do not be late.
Toji folded the parchment and took another bite of stale bread. Kaela, sitting across from him, leaned over.
"What's that?"
"Field assignment."
"Already?"
"Yep."
"Damn," she muttered. "They're not wasting time."
.
.
.
Toji stood at the West Gate with four other students from Class F. The sun had just begun its climb, casting long shadows across the cobblestone courtyard. The academy grounds behind them were quiet, as if even the stones were waiting to see which students would return.
Instructor Brannic arrived last. Cloaked in a weathered brown robe, he looked more like a traveling mercenary than a professor. His boots were caked in dried mud, and a long iron staff hung diagonally across his back.
"You five," he said without introduction. "This is a low-threat assignment. But Valemont doesn't send students into the wilds to admire scenery. Understood?"
They nodded.
Brannic turned and started walking.
They followed.
No portal. No mounts. Just boots, road, and discipline.
Toji said nothing. Neither did the others. They were still processing the shift from classroom to real terrain. Even Kaela looked uncharacteristically focused, her usual sarcasm replaced by a quiet edge.
The journey lasted just under two hours.
The terrain shifted quickly from the well-kept paths of Valemont to rugged forest trails. Trees pressed inward, gnarled and ancient, their roots clawing across the trail like veins. Mist clung to the underbrush, and birdsong faded the deeper they went.
Brannic finally stopped before a clearing.
Ahead stood the remains of an old stone structure—half-swallowed by ivy, partially sunken into the mossy earth. Carved spires jutted out at odd angles, as if the ruins had once been lifted by magical force and then dropped imperfectly.
"Caervan's Echo," Brannic said. "Once a scriptorium for voice-bound enchantments. Destroyed during the Aether Purge. Some enchantments still linger in the stone."
He turned to them. "Your objective is simple: retrieve any remaining Aether Resonance Crystals. They'll glow blue when touched by magical presence. You'll recognize them."
He pointed to a sigil on the ground near the structure. "If the situation becomes dangerous, draw this sigil in the dirt and activate it with your essence. I'll extract you."
He gave each of them a crystal fragment.
"These will track your aether signatures. Stay within sight. Work in pairs, except Fushiguro—you go alone."
Toji raised an eyebrow.
"You already carry a tether," Brannic said, his gaze unreadable. "Let's see if it listens in the field."
Toji accepted this without complaint.
They entered the ruins.
⸻
The inside was colder than it should have been. Light filtered in through cracks in the stonework above, painting pale streaks across the floor. The air smelled like wet parchment and something metallic.
The first chamber was wide and open, with shattered tables and fallen shelves. Script ran along the walls in faded, glowing ink. Occasionally, the lines would flicker—trying to finish long-dead spells.
Toji stepped carefully, his shadow stretching across the stone floor like a living smear. It followed him with patience.
His fingers brushed one of the cracked glyphs. It pulsed once, then died. Old. Drained.
He moved on.
Through a narrow hallway, he reached a collapsed library chamber. A set of broken stairs led downward into darker stone, where moss clung to every crevice. His steps were light. Quiet. Learned from instincts he didn't remember earning.
The hallway curved, and then the structure opened into an underground room.
Blue light shimmered along the far wall. Crystals. A cluster.
He moved toward them—and froze.
The air changed.
It became still. Heavy.
A sound—a faint hum—began to build in his ears.
He glanced at his shadow. It bristled. Reacted.
Something was waking up.
From behind one of the pillars, a shape moved.
It didn't walk. It slithered—part mist, part solid, like smoke given shape and vengeance. It had no face. Just a split in the dark where a mouth might be. In its center was a dull blue core, pulsing.
Toji didn't move.
His hand lowered to his belt—wooden practice rod swapped out days ago for a training blade wrapped in leather grip.
The creature's "face" opened wider.
It lunged.
Toji sidestepped fast, letting the blade flash upward. It passed through the creature—but not cleanly. Resistance, like cutting water that fought back.
It screeched—soundless, but vibrating through his bones.
Another emerged behind him.
Aether Shades. Guardians left behind by enchantments too old to die properly.
He backed up to the wall. Both creatures hovered, pressing inward.
He looked to his shadow.
It stretched. Twisted. Then rose.
The jackal-shape he had seen before emerged fully this time—formed from smoke and mind. It growled, a soft, warping sound.
The Shades hesitated.
That was enough.
Toji moved.
The jackal struck the first Shade with a leap, its claws sinking into the blue core. The creature spasmed, twisted, and dissipated in a scream of loose aether.
The second tried to slip behind him. Toji pivoted, ducked under its tendril, and drove his blade into its core.
Crack. Flicker. Gone.
Silence again.
The jackal returned to his side. Its eyes looked up at him. Expectant.
Toji exhaled.
"Good," he whispered.
It flicked its ears.
He turned to the crystals. There were five, nestled into a cracked alcove. He reached out, touched one.
Blue light glowed across the room.
⸻
Upstairs, Brannic's sigil shimmered faintly in his hand.
He smiled.
⸻
Toji rejoined the others an hour later. He was the only one with a full pouch of crystals. The others had managed one or two each.
Brannic said nothing. Just nodded.
They made the trek back as dusk fell.
The forest felt different on the return. As if something old and watching had turned away. The mist thinned. Even the birds returned.
Toji walked in silence.
Kaela fell into step beside him. She looked at him sideways.
"You're not even breathing hard."
"I didn't run."
"You're a terrible liar."
He didn't argue.
⸻
Back at Valemont, they were dismissed with little ceremony. The other students peeled off, whispering.
Toji stayed a moment.
Brannic approached him.
"You handled yourself well."
Toji nodded.
"Your tether—how many forms has it taken?"
"Two. That I've seen."
"It will reflect what you need. Not what you want."
Toji looked up.
Brannic continued. "Echo Tethers evolve. They're not just weapons. They're you. Unfiltered. Keep that in mind."
He walked away.
Toji stared at his own shadow.
It flicked. Shifted. Then steadied.
⸻
That night, Toji stood outside, alone on the training grounds. The stars above were bright, distant, perfect.
He summoned the jackal again.
It formed silently, resting beside him.
Toji crouched.
"What are you?"
It looked up. No answer.
He tapped the ground beside it.
"Are there more of you?"
It tilted its head.
Then, slowly, another shape began to pull from the shadow behind him. Smaller. Sleeker. A bird—black wings, eyes glowing.
Toji stared.
So did the jackal.
Both waited.
He sat down in the grass.
.
.
.
The next morning, Toji woke early.
The sun hadn't yet kissed the towers of Valemont, but the training grounds were already soaked in dew and chill. Mist clung to the flagstones, rolling in slow currents, disturbed only by the occasional pulse of residual aether from the previous night's practice spells.
He was alone—by choice.
His shadow stretched behind him, long and unhurried, like a hound without a chain.
The jackal form hadn't vanished since the Echo Field. Now, it followed him like a silent twin, always two steps behind. Occasionally, it tilted its head when he spoke, but it never answered. Never obeyed like a summon. It simply… reacted.
Toji appreciated that.
He didn't need a servant.
He needed something honest.
He moved through the first drills.
No blade—just movement.
Footwork. Shifts of weight. Breath control. The subtle flow between stances, learned not from memory, but instinct.
It wasn't just combat. It was rhythm. And the more he practiced, the more it felt like he was remembering a dance taught long before this life.
By the time the bell tower struck morning, he'd broken a sweat.
And for once, it felt earned.
⸻
Later, in Spell Weaving Theory, Professor Ardrin drew diagrams in the air with golden chalk, outlining the three-layer structure of rune harmonics. Most students took notes with their heads down.
Toji didn't write.
He watched.
The diagrams moved like clockwork. Runes in a circle, overlapping, reacting, reflecting.
Kaela leaned over.
"Why aren't you taking notes?"
"I don't learn that way."
"What way do you learn?"
He met her eyes. "Trial and error."
She raised her eyebrows. "Sounds painful."
"Only if you fail."
⸻
In Elemental Control, students practiced channeling small bursts of elemental magic through glyph focuses. Toji's station had a simple flat stone with a carved pattern for shadow affinity. Most couldn't make it flicker.
He touched it, whispered nothing, and waited.
The pattern darkened instantly. The instructor blinked, then made a note on her parchment.
"Controlled, but opaque," she murmured. "He's not letting it expand."
Toji overheard.
He considered pushing harder. But chose not to.
⸻
By midday, word had spread.
The Echo Field team had submitted their reports. Brannic had submitted his.
Toji's name had started to slip out of the rumor circles and into instructor conversations.
Not praise. Not yet.
Just recognition.
⸻
In Combat Theory, they were grouped into pairs for sparring.
Toji was paired with a boy named Elric—lanky, quiet, water-affinity.
They took positions in the circle.
Elric nodded.
Toji nodded back.
The instructor gave the signal.
Elric moved first—graceful, fluid, a short chant turning to steam in the air. A ripple of water arced toward Toji's legs.
Toji stepped aside, let it pass.
He closed the gap before Elric could cast again.
No blade. Just a twist of the wrist, a shoulder bump, and Elric hit the ground.
The instructor clapped once. "Efficient. Reset."
They did. Twice more.
By the third, Elric was sweating. Toji barely breathed harder.
"You're holding back," Elric said under his breath.
"Does it matter?"
Elric nodded once. "A little."
⸻
That night, Kaela found him again at dinner.
"You're a ghost," she said.
"Am I?"
"You drift through class. You dominate in practice. You vanish after meals. What gives?"
He gave a small shrug. "I'm not here to impress anyone."
"Too late for that."
She set her tray down and lowered her voice.
"I heard a rumor."
"Of course you did."
"Class reassignment. Instructor-level recommendation. You."
Toji's hand paused mid-bite.
She saw it.
"Thoughts?"
He didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was low.
"I don't want to climb."
She frowned. "Why?"
"I didn't come here to rise. I came to learn how to survive."
Kaela was quiet for a long moment.
"Those things aren't separate."
⸻
At the end of the week, Instructor Aldwin called him to the private wing of the training hall. It was quiet. No students. No distractions. Just empty mats and a set of wide windows that opened onto the inner gardens.
Toji entered without hesitation.
Aldwin stood near a weapon rack, polishing a wooden training blade. He gestured without turning.
"Pick one."
Toji selected a blade at random. Balanced. Smooth-grip.
"Ready?" Aldwin asked.
Toji nodded.
They began.
At first, it was practice—standard strikes, clean parries. Aldwin didn't speak. Just adjusted pace. Movement. Pressure.
Then, he accelerated.
Toji matched him. The wooden blades clacked like snapping bones. Footwork shifted. Openings appeared and vanished in heartbeats.
Toji's mind quieted.
Only motion.
Only response.
Finally, Aldwin stepped back and lowered his blade.
Toji held his position. Still as ice.
The instructor breathed out. "You don't fight like a student."
"I'm not."
"No. You're something else."
Aldwin set his weapon aside and walked to the windows.
"You were reported. Brannic. Ilestra. Even Professor Bellum."
Toji said nothing.
"You're being considered for Class C."
There it was.
The words fell like stone into a pond.
Toji lowered his weapon.
"I didn't ask for that."
"No. You earned it anyway."
He crossed the room slowly, pausing at the rack.
"You've grown faster than your peers. Not just in combat—but control. Decision-making. Awareness. You don't rely on crutches. That's rare."
Toji waited.
"But advancement means more than ability. It changes your circle. Your expectations. Your enemies."
He met Toji's eyes.
"Do you understand the risk?"
"Yes."
Aldwin studied him a moment longer.
"I'll give you three days. Make your choice."
Toji nodded and left.
⸻
The walk back to the dorms felt longer than usual.
Not in distance.
In weight.
Class C.
That was where sponsored students went. Bloodlines. Early prodigies. Warriors from the continent's outer schools.
He didn't belong there.
But he didn't belong in F, either.
⸻
Later that night, he sat on the academy wall, legs dangling over the edge, the garden below catching moonlight like a spell paused in mid-cast.
The jackal sat beside him.
Quiet.
Still.
Watching.
"I don't want it," he said softly. "The recognition."
The jackal didn't react.
"I know what happens when people start expecting things from you. You stop being left alone. You start being watched."
A pause.
"I was invisible before. I miss that."
He looked at the shadow.
"You don't miss anything, do you?"
It tilted its head.
And for a second, he thought he saw something new behind its eyes.
Memory.
Echo.
Maybe… sympathy.
He looked back to the sky.
No answers.
Just stars.