Magic Academy - Theory in Practice

The moment between them ended in a hush.

Lyra brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and stood. "We should go. The bell will ring soon."

Jace gave a nod, his gaze lingering on the glowing tree for a moment longer. The stillness of that place — its silence — was almost too rare in a world filled with noise, magic, and expectation.

They walked together across the central courtyard, past spiraling towers of spellcraft and domed libraries humming with enchantments. The Academy was a marvel of architecture and mana — a place where nobles and commoners alike were forged into mages. At least, that was the dream.

The classroom wasn't as grand as the lecture halls, but it was layered with intricate runes carved into the stone floor. At its center stood a wide, circular platform, etched with dozens of overlapping magic circles. Floating mana crystals pulsed faintly at each corner of the room, reacting to the ambient flow of magic.

Professor Rhystan stood by a projection orb, his arms behind his back. On the board behind him glowed a detailed diagram of a tier-one attack spell — Flamma — broken down into mana pathways and sequence points.

"Today," he said, his voice calm but firm, "you will learn to enhance spells without increasing mana output."

A murmur passed through the students.

"Yes, that means casting a stronger spell while using the same or less mana. This is the foundation of high-level battle magic, where your life depends on control, not brute force."

He gestured toward the central platform. A diagram flared to life — a standard magic circle with its mana veins exposed.

"Most beginners force power into their spells. But a true mage understands how to reroute mana through alternate paths, exploiting resonance points."

He tapped the circle, and a glowing point near the edge blinked. "This is a limiter node. Instead of flooding mana directly into the core," he drew a line looping around the center, "you split it, delay it, let it build momentum before it collapses inward. The result? Amplified force, same mana cost."

Jace leaned forward. Lyra did the same, her brows drawn in focus.

"In groups," Rhystan continued, "you will each attempt a tier-one spell using the standard circle. After that, you will reroute the mana channels as shown. If the dummy breaks instead of burns… you've succeeded."

Jace narrowed his eyes.

Limiters, rerouting, timing.

This wasn't about power. It was about precision.

Exactly his kind of lesson.

Jace stared at the glowing rune array projected before the class, his lips pressed into a thin line.

So that's how it works…

Resonance points. Limiters. Redirected flow.

It sounded simple when Professor Rhystan explained it. But the diagram might as well have been ancient scripture. The other students were already moving toward their assigned spell circles, murmuring between themselves. Some had experience. Some had family tutors. Some had access to books, scrolls, and private lectures since childhood.

Jace had snow.

And silence.

And instinct.

He sat before the training circle etched into the floor. Its inner lines pulsed faintly, waiting for his mana. But as he examined it, he realized something horrifying.

He didn't recognize half of it.

"What's wrong?" Lyra asked quietly, sitting beside him, her fingers already tracing parts of the rune.

Jace kept his tone low. "I don't know these formations. I never learned how to read this."

Lyra blinked. "You… you mean the amplification runes?"

"All of it," he admitted. "I only ever practiced mana flow. Not structure. Not formulas."

She studied him, surprised. "But… the way you cast earlier—it was like a second nature."

"It is," he muttered. "Because all I ever did was move mana. Feel it. Shape it by force. There were no books where I grew up. Just cold, pain, and survival. No one taught me the structure of a proper magic circle."

Lyra was quiet for a moment.

Then she looked down at the circle again. "This one is the primary loop," she pointed. "That's where your spell forms. The limiter node here," she gestured again, "is where you cut flow slightly and let it build."

Jace leaned forward, watching her finger movements like a starving man at a feast.

He could feel the mana. The way it pulsed beneath the lines. He didn't understand the names, but the flow — the rhythm — he could sense that.

Lyra hesitated, then asked with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, "Jace… can you show me your magic circle? The one you use when you heal?"

Jace blinked. "My magic circle?"

"Yes," she said, lowering her voice. "The one you formed instinctively. I want to see it."

He glanced around, unsure. No one else was paying attention, too busy preparing their own demonstrations.

With a deep breath, Jace reached out and pressed his palm against the stone floor beside the formal training circle. He let his mana flow naturally—not through the structured pattern the academy provided, but through his own method. The way he had always done it in the Frozen Forest.

Faint lines of light began to form beneath his hand. The others were symmetrical and layered with runic patterns—circles within circles, with clear nodes and sigils etched with centuries of research.

But Jace's wasn't like that at all.

It was raw. Organic.

No clean circles. No rigid anchors.

Instead, it looked almost like veins, winding and branching like a living tree. Some lines spiraled inward, others looped around like coiled snakes, all converging in a central glowing point that pulsed softly with mana.

Lyra's eyes widened. "What… is that?"

Jace didn't answer. He just kept the mana steady.

"This isn't anything I've seen before," she whispered, kneeling to study it closer. "There's no resonance loop. No stabilizer glyph. Not even a containment layer… and yet…"

She reached out, hand hovering over it. The mana radiating from the strange formation was stable—perfectly so. It didn't leak, didn't pulse wildly, didn't distort. It simply existed, quiet and powerful.

"You shouldn't even be able to control magic like this," she said in disbelief. "Without containment, it should scatter or collapse."

Jace finally looked at her, his expression calm. "It's just how I learned. I followed the way mana moved inside me… and copied it outward."

"You created this… on your own?"

He gave a small nod. "There weren't books in my hometown. Just instincts and trial and error."

Lyra shook her head, stunned. "This doesn't follow any of the known structures in the Kingdom. Not even the ancient arrays the royal libraries keep sealed."

For a moment, she looked at Jace not as a classmate…

But as something completely unknown.

Lyra slowly pulled her hand back, eyes still locked on the glowing lines of Jace's improvised circle. "You should… show this to someone."

"Someone?" Jace asked, cautiously.

"Professor Meralda," she said firmly. "She's the head of magic theory. If anyone can make sense of this, it's her. This might not be just instinct, Jace. It could be… something lost. Or something new."

He hesitated, but nodded. "Alright. After class."

---

True to his word, the moment the bell rang and students began filing out, Jace made his way across campus toward the secluded eastern wing. The path twisted between gardened halls and rune-lit lanterns, and eventually opened into a quiet office marked:

Professor Meralda - Chair of Arcane Structure & Theory

He knocked.

A soft voice called out, "Enter."

Inside, a warm scent of aged parchment and dried herbs filled the air. Scrolls floated midair in delicate spirals, while thick tomes stacked themselves across polished shelves. A woman in elegant silver robes sat behind a desk, eyes glowing faintly with magic-enhanced sight lenses. Her expression was calm—until she looked up and saw Jace.

"Ah. First-year," she said kindly. "You're… Jace, correct? I've read your entrance report."

He gave a small bow. "Professor, I wanted to ask about something… strange."

That caught her attention. "Go on."

Jace stepped forward and lowered his palm, summoning the same mana flow he had shown Lyra. The formation bloomed onto the stone floor of her office—wild, natural, pulsing like something alive.

Meralda stood immediately, her chair scraping behind her.

Her eyes scanned the pattern. Slowly. Carefully. As if afraid it might vanish.

"This… this isn't recorded," she whispered. "Not in our current formations. Not in the ancient designs. Not even in the restricted spell vaults…"

She walked in a slow circle around it, almost reverent. "You're telling me this… you formed this without guidance?"

"Yes, Professor," Jace answered. "No books. Just mana."

Meralda inhaled slowly and removed her lens-glasses. "This may be one of the most important things I've seen in a decade."

She looked up, serious now. "You need to go to the principal. Immediately."

Jace's brow furrowed. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she said, her voice sharp with conviction. "This might change how we understand magic itself."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Jace let out a slow breath. His footsteps echoed lightly in the empty hallway, his mind still replaying the look in Professor Meralda's eyes — a blend of shock, awe, and something else. Fear, maybe?

Back in her office, Professor Meralda remained frozen, staring at the lingering traces of Jace's magic circle.

"…Maybe that's why," she murmured to herself, folding her arms as a chill ran through her. "Maybe that's why he can't cast conventional spells."

She paced slowly, thoughts racing. "The structure itself… It's not built for modern spellcasting. Not designed to form incantation-based magic or destructive spell frameworks…"

She paused by the window, gazing out over the academy grounds, her expression grave.

"But if he ever learns how to reshape that formation… if he adapts it for aggression, or refines it into high-tier structures…"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with both wonder and dread.

"…He could become terrifying."