Chapter 5 : Archwizard Velgrin of the Spiral Order.

My name is Velgrin.

Archwizard Velgrin of the Spiral Order.

Once, the name alone could set a battlefield ablaze.

Three years ago, I was Commander of the Spiral Order the most fearsome magical artillery unit the Kingdom of Elther had ever created. We weren't just soldiers. We were a force of nature. When I walked the front lines, enemies didn't retreat they burned. When I cast, I didn't launch spells. I brought down catastrophes. Entire battalions reduced to ash and silence in moments.

With each battle, my reputation grew. Flames became my signature, destruction my legacy. My enemies feared me. My allies respected me. My subordinates obeyed without question.

But all flames settle, eventually.

And now?

Now I'm a professor.

I woke today as I always did efficiently. My robes, deep crimson with black spiral embroidery, hung ready beside the hearth. My boots polished. My silver staff charged with residual heat. I dressed without haste and stepped into the morning sun, ignoring the ache in my shoulder that came with age and too many duels.

The city of Elther never changed. Crowded carriages hummed with low-tier mana stones. Spell-smiths shouted over glowing hammers. Students in cheap uniforms scurried like nervous mice, late for morning bells. But I only had one destination in mind: Henderson Academy of Arcane Arts.

A school for the gifted.

Not just in magic though that was its primary draw but also in the art of sword aura, the spiritual combat discipline favored by knights and warblades. Founded by the legendary Archduke Henderson, the school trained dual discipline elites: warrior mages, battle artists, and high-ranking noble scions with a fondness for flashy violence.

The main gates welcomed me like clockwork.

I crossed the wide marble courtyard, boots echoing against stone so polished it mirrored the sky. Statues lined either side of the path grand depictions of history's greatest Archmages, Sword Saints, Battle Kings, and one particularly dramatic sculpture of myself, conjuring fire into the shape of a dragon.

Too large. Too smug. But the students loved it.

"Good morning, Master Velgrin!"

"Good morning, Master Velgrin!"

"Master Velgrin, good morning!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Good morning, Professor Velgrin!"

"Good morning!"

"Good morning, Master Velgrin!"

The greetings echoed like an incantation cast on repeat.

Voices followed him through the corridors of Henderson Academy of Arcane Arts students with books clutched in jittery hands, junior instructors bowing with eyes full of reverence, even the academy's enchanted lampposts flickered a little brighter when he passed. The institution pulsed with magical talent, ambition, and formality.

To most, this chorus of respect would be a daily ego boost. Power wrapped in politeness.

To Velgrin?

It was routine. Another part of the uniform.

He acknowledged them all with a single nod and didn't slow his pace. His expression remained unreadable the face of a man long past the stage where admiration mattered.

The grand tower rose above the academy's east wing twenty-seven floors of spellcasting halls, ritual platforms, magical theory rooms, and combat sparring arenas, all stacked neatly into one architectural wonder. Velgrin didn't bother with stairs.

With a snap of his fingers, a golden levitation sigil flared beneath his boots, and he rose effortlessly along the tower's exterior, the city shrinking beneath him. Glass panels and runed stone flickered past as he ascended in perfect silence.

At the topmost floor, he landed with barely a sound and waved his hand. The thick oak door to his private office unsealed itself with a soft hiss and swung open.

He stepped inside.

It was a simple room.

At first glance, it held none of the pomp one might expect from a man with seven battle titles. A solid desk, a few bookshelves, two stiff chairs for visitors, and a single tall window that overlooked the academy courtyard.

But the trophies were unmistakable.

Mounted on the far wall were seven skulls.

Six belonged to beasts: drakes, mana wolves, a sand basilisk from the Silver Wastes. The seventh was human. The bone clean. The edges scorched. The skulls hung in a precise pattern, neither decorative nor threatening. Simply… reminders.

A record of victories earned by fire.

"Good morning, Professor!"

The voice bounced across the room like a well-aimed fireball.

Velgrin turned.

Josh Globen stood at the opposite side of the office, smiling brightly.

His build resembled that of a siege tower broad shoulders, arms thick as oak trunks, and a posture that suggested every chair feared him. Natural blond hair curled slightly at the ends, and his eyes held the guileless enthusiasm of a man completely unaware of his own absurdity.

Josh was his teaching assistant.

For reasons no one quite understood.

There were days when Velgrin seriously considered the possibility that Josh had wandered into the wizard exam by accident and passed it through sheer optimism and muscle mass.

Velgrin nodded. "Josh."

The young man looked up, bright-eyed, sleeves rolled, and a stray fleck of mana soot still smudged across one cheek.

"I've been reviewing today's lecture materials," Josh said, holding up a scroll covered in tiered glyph chains. "I redrew the combustion weave model you gave me, but I think I messed something up. The stabilizer node kept leaking mana. Like, a lot."

"Show me," Velgrin said.

Josh unrolled the diagram across the desk. The main glyph rings were neat, if slightly off-center. Fire-aspected runes were paired with containment brackets poorly.

"Here," Velgrin said, tapping the primary circuit. "You placed the flame-bound anchor too close to the mana sink. The array's trying to breathe and choke at the same time."

Josh squinted. "But isn't the containment bracket supposed to suppress overflow?"

"In water-aligned spells, yes. Fire magic resents restriction. The more you push down, the more violently it pushes back. This isn't hydraulics. It's combustion."

Josh scratched his chin. "So fire magic has emotional needs."

Velgrin arched a brow. "It has rules. Respect those, or you'll end up like First-Year Altren. What's left of him, anyway."

Josh shivered. "Still can't look at gloves without flinching."

"Good," Velgrin said. "Fear is the start of understanding."

He pulled a new scroll from his drawer and handed it over. "This array uses a dual aspect casting frame. Fire paired with a neutral mana lattice. Try replicating that structure. No suppression, just redirection."

Josh looked it over, wide eyed. "This is a Magi-tier casting scaffold. I thought you couldn't even attempt this before the Seventh Circle?"

Velgrin's gaze didn't waver. "You can't execute it. But understanding the theory behind it will teach you more than a hundred textbook drills."

Josh grinned. "You always teach above the syllabus."

"Because the syllabus was written by people who've never had to cast under pressure," Velgrin said. "Magic theory is easy in a classroom. It's different when you're bleeding out, your glyphs are cracked, and the air is thick with nullification gas."

Josh nodded slowly. "I... wouldn't survive that."

"You might," Velgrin said. "If you learn how to improvise. Spellcasting isn't memorization. It's adaptation. Know your runes, yes but more importantly, know why they're shaped the way they are."

Josh pointed at the outer ring of the scaffold. "This one the flare extension. Why does it spiral inward instead of anchoring outward like the standard design?"

Velgrin's eyes sharpened.

"Because it creates a vacuum seal," he said. "When flame passes through it, the spiral condenses the heat signature and draws ambient mana toward the center. That turns the array into a siphon. Controlled feedback."

Josh let out a low whistle. "So it's basically recycling the mana it burns."

"Exactly. Efficient, deadly, and elegant. Most casters waste sixty percent of their power on bleed-off. This model lets you use everything and it scales."

Josh looked stunned. "You designed this?"

"No," Velgrin said. "I killed the man who did."

Josh blinked. "Oh."

Velgrin smirked faintly. "Don't look so shocked. He was trying to burn down a fortress. I just disagreed with his architectural philosophy."

Josh chuckled awkwardly. "Right. Uh, well I'll pass out the lecture scrolls."

Velgrin gestured toward the sealed packet on the side table. "Take those to the second-year lecture hall. Tell them to study the fire rune lattice and prepare a short-form dual-glyph incantation for next week."

"Got it."

"And no conjuring side snacks during the lecture," Velgrin added.

Josh hesitated. "That was one time. And technically, the pudding explosion was the rune's fault."

"It was vanilla pudding. Vanilla doesn't detonate."

Josh looked sheepish. "Unless you inscribe a flare sigil into the spoon handle…"

"Out," Velgrin said, deadpan.

Josh saluted, scooping up the scrolls. "On it, Professor."

He made for the door, his boots thudding like a misplaced warhammer.

Velgrin called after him. "Josh."

"Yeah?"

"Next time, bring me something new to question."

Josh smiled, broad and eager. "You got it."

The door closed behind him, and Velgrin was alone again.

The runes on his desk pulsed gently, but his gaze drifted toward the seven skulls on the wall.

And for a moment, his mind wandered far from the academy.

The office fell silent.

Velgrin walked slowly to the window and placed a hand against the glass. Below, students practiced sword aura formations, light trails following every blade, while others struggled to keep control of floating elemental orbs above their heads.

He should've felt proud.

But pride, like fire, dimmed when left unattended.

He turned back to the wall of skulls and stared at the seventh one.

A human enemy. A worthy one. Dead by his hand.

A time long past.