Chapter 43 – Foundations and Fire

Elara's heels echoed softly through the marble corridor as she approached Lecture Hall 3B. It was her second official day as a professor, and today's subject was Mechanics—an area she expected to be riddled with misunderstanding. Her notes were short, her diagrams simple, and her expectations even simpler: clear up centuries of magical superstition, one confused mind at a time.

She entered the hall to find it, once again, already full. Students sat quietly, almost nervously. Word of yesterday's display had clearly traveled fast. As Elara approached the lectern, she noticed Kaelira seated in the exact same spot as before—back row, bronze skin glinting under the chandeliers, arms folded, gaze sharp.

"Good morning," Elara began, her voice light but clear. "Let's talk about mechanics. Real mechanics—not just wheels and levers, but the fundamental principles that govern how force, resistance, and energy interact in magical systems."

Several students straightened in their seats.

"We begin," she continued, "at the beginning."

The first hour was devoted to dissecting basic misconceptions. Elara wrote on the board in clean strokes:

'Weight is not force. Circles are not magic. And gears do not work better if you chant at them.'

Laughter trickled through the room, but she didn't smile. She was dead serious.

She held up a block of iron and a block of softwood, each suspended from identical ropes.

"Which one drops faster?" she asked.

"The iron?" one student guessed.

"Wrong. They fall at the same rate. Air resistance is negligible at this size. This," she dropped them, "is physics."

A pause.

"And mechanics," she added, "begins with physics."

Kaelira's hand shot up. "Miss Wyrmshade. Are you saying the gods do not intervene to pull heavier objects down faster to punish pride?"

Elara blinked once. "Correct. Gravity is not a judgment. It's a force."

Murmurs spread.

She launched into the next section, demonstrating the difference between torque and force with a hand crank attached to different gear ratios. When she reversed the input and output, she had a volunteer attempt to lift a bucket of sand with each setup.

"See?" she said. "This one moves slowly but requires less effort. That's mechanical advantage. No divine alignment necessary."

Kaelira raised her hand again. "But what about celestial harmony? Doesn't gear efficiency depend on it?"

Elara rubbed her forehead. "No. It depends on material friction and angular velocity."

Another hour passed in demonstration after demonstration. She made a lever with her own body weight, stood on a balanced plank, and had a student walk along the opposite side to adjust the tipping point. She poured water into connected tubes to demonstrate pressure. She used a candle, a metal plate, and a mana source to demonstrate thermal expansion.

Every time Kaelira asked a question—"Shouldn't the metal scream if you bend it without apology?" or "Isn't clockwise the sacred direction of motion?"—Elara answered with gentle, unwavering logic. And every time, Kaelira's expression shifted from suspicion to wonder.

By the end of the class, students were muttering to each other like archaeologists unearthing ancient secrets.

In the evenings, Elara returned to her workshop.

Her R&D department had doubled in energy since the first week. Now, with a full month of training behind them, they moved with purpose. But purpose did not yet mean precision.

Elara cracked the metaphorical whip.

Her new sessions were fast-paced, strict, and rigorous. She ran them like clockwork: short lectures, immediate tests, and practical application. Anyone who didn't keep up had to stay late.

And yet—they loved it.

They soaked up her knowledge like dry sponges in a monsoon. They memorized. They adapted. And slowly, they became something closer to a real team.

Then came the announcement.

"You've all done well," Elara said, standing in front of the workshop's central blackboard, a chalk pointer in hand. "It's time for your first real project."

Curiosity buzzed.

She wrote three words:

Dung Spreader Unit.

Silence.

Blank stares.

One girl blinked. "Dung? Like... manure?"

"Yes. For agriculture," Elara said.

One of the boys raised his hand slowly. "Why would you... put that... on fields?"

Elara almost facepalmed.

"Because it's fertilizer. Plants grow better in nutrient-rich soil. Manure provides nitrogen."

Gasps of realization spread.

Another girl leaned forward. "Wait... how do you know this?"

Elara folded her arms. "Because I grew up on a farm."

You could've heard a mana crystal shatter in that silence.

"You..." one whispered, stunned. "You're a farm girl?"

"Yes."

"But—" another began, then stopped, gesturing helplessly at her immaculate clothes, her flawless posture, her effortless authority.

"We thought you were nobility," someone muttered.

"Or royalty," another added.

Elara sighed. "Nope. Just dirt, cows, and buckets. Now focus. I want a modular spreader that uses vector-assisted rotation for even distribution and a mana-fed propulsion wheel. Three weeks. Begin."

Three weeks later, they had it.

It wasn't pretty. It rattled. It leaked occasionally. It only worked with perfect balance and needed constant recalibration.

But it worked.

And her team was glowing with pride.

Elara spent the entire third week knee-deep in grease and wood dust, adjusting angles, re-engraving load-balancing runes, and optimizing fuel loops. She did more hands-on work with them than she had since their recruitment.

It was exhausting.

It was worth it.

Back at the Academy, an entirely different kind of anticipation had taken root. The administration had officially announced that second-year students would begin their first practical rune-based combat training sessions the following week. Along with the announcement came a critical instruction: each student was expected to bring two self-crafted enchanted items—one for offense, and one for defense.

These items could range from basic mana-charged projectiles and flame glyph stones to protective enchantments like kinetic dampeners, shield charms, or even temporary illusion cloaks. The goal wasn't just to test their ability to cast spells in a fight, but to challenge their creativity, craftsmanship, and their understanding of magical application under pressure.

Within a day, the campus workshops transformed into hotbeds of activity. Students crowded around workbenches, arguing over rune arrangements, mana flow paths, and cooldown sequences. Tools clattered, sparks flew, and even a few minor magical mishaps added a dramatic flair to the chaos.

This wasn't theory. It wasn't mechanisms.

It was combat.

Real, applied magical combat.

The announcement had been delivered during a general assembly, and its effects rippled through the student body. Nervous laughter, panicked planning, and excited speculation echoed through every hallway. Some students saw this as their chance to finally shine beyond the classroom. Others quietly dreaded the confrontation.

And in the back of the room, Kaelira Drakar had smiled.

For the first time since setting foot in Aldemar, the tension in her shoulders had eased. This—this was familiar territory.

From the faculty seating, Elara watched it all unfold. She noted the reactions, the excitement, and especially that rare, genuine smile on Kaelira's face.

And she smiled, too.