Defeat hurts the most when success is in sight.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Rigarden Academy – Teacher's Library:
"He got a perfect score in every subject?!"
A cry of astonishment roared through the grand library of Rigarden, a space reserved for faculty only. It was larger than several lecture halls combined, and though it had just two floors, the towering ceilings made it feel five stories high.
A thick red carpet ran from the twin wooden doors all the way to a great rectangular table. Scattered throughout the room were individual and group tables, where teachers and faculty busied themselves—grading papers, adjusting exams to account for cheating concerns or grade disparities, or simply reading.
A massive armillary sphere floated at the room's center, encircled by glowing magical runes.
At one round table sat the source of the outburst: a professor and his assistant, both in charge of marking a certain batch of student exams. Sheets floated around them, glowing faintly as magical tools handled the grading.
They watched in disbelief as every paper belonging to one student came back with perfect marks.
"He's not even done yet, but he hasn't missed a single question! Not even Lihanna's managed that!"
"So... it is possible! The Book Learner's actually going to graduate!"
The professor couldn't suppress his grin, a smile caught somewhere between pride and disbelief.
"He's earned every writing and praxis credit so far! Who would've thought a hopeless no-talent would be advancing to the tower? Truly unprecedented!"
"..."
Edward Serfence watched the commotion from across the room, his face unreadable, his thoughts drifting behind an indifferent gaze.
Workner Norgram, seated nearby, looked up from his own stack of papers as a magic pen floated beside him, finishing one last exam.
It belonged to his ward.
"...!"
His eyes widened behind his glasses as the result appeared.
Magizoology Written Exam: Will Serfort – Full Marks
He knew he shouldn't show preference—but he couldn't help himself. A grin broke out across his face as he pumped his fist under the table.
Yes!
Pat.
He froze as a hand landed gently on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with someone familiar.
A red-haired woman with pale skin and deep red eyes stood behind him. Her heavy mascara made her seem always sick or tired, yet it never diminished her beauty. The rose-shaped hair ornament she always wore stood out most.
Eliza Nosferat.
A fellow professor—and one of Workner's closest friends.
His heart gave a quick jump, but her rare, genuine smile helped him calm.
"Aww, that's nice, Workner. Your little protégé's dream is about to come true."
Her tone was teasing, but warm. Workner, flustered, turned slightly pink and scratched the back of his head, sweating a little.
"Oh, P-Professor Eliza… yes, but t-there are still more exams. Nothing's set in stone yet."
He didn't want to jinx it.
Eliza chuckled softly and nodded toward the magical crystal ball sitting beside him.
"So? Where is the infamous Learner now?"
Workner reached out and tapped the device with a wry smile.
"Oh, the usual place…"
As his hand made contact, the scene in the ball began to shift.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Student's Library:
The students' library was much smaller and understandably less grand—but not in a bad way. It still had a luxurious charm, cozier and more relaxed than the teacher's room.
Rather than a proper library, it felt more like an oversized study lounge.
Perched on the table, the Carbuncle Kiki relayed current happenings through the magic gem on her forehead to Workner and Eliza.
Will and Colette sat side by side, cramming for their final exams with practice questions and excessive note-taking meant more for memorization than understanding.
Scratch.
Scribble.
Scratch.
Scribble.
Colette's pen hadn't moved in a while. Sweat traced down her cheek as she stared blankly at her friend.
Will looked half-dead—hunched over, eyes void of light, dragging his pen across the page like a soulless machine on the verge of collapse.
Eventually, Colette couldn't hold back anymore.
"Will… you okay?" she asked hesitantly, freaked out by her not-so-secret-to-everyone-but-him crush.
Kiki yawned lazily as midnight crept closer.
Will didn't look up. He kept solving questions with a hand that had long gone numb, answering hoarsely.
"Um… no… I'm not…" He was painfully honest.
"...But... it's alright. Tomorrow's the last day of exams...!"
Colette didn't feel relieved. If anything, she wanted to drag him back to his dorm for sleep.
"But with the Praxis being cancelled, we had to do that on top of the written exams. I mean, we just beat the Naberus yesterday…"
Leave it to Rigarden to stay loyal to its infamous brutality.
Even though the dungeon raid had been interrupted by a stampede and rogue mages, the academy showed no compassion. Not even a rare pardon for the chaos, casualties, or loss.
Even Will's party—who had slain the Grand Duke and had the corpse confirmed by two professors—weren't granted the credits. According to Edward-sensei's merciless judgment, the praxis had "already ended before the feat was accomplished."
Instead, they were given one last chance to go back—and not long after their labyrinthology exam, they'd rushed back to the tenth floor to face a revived Naberus.
For once, the dungeon's monster-regeneration was a blessing.
Will suddenly looked alive again, smiling wide with the faintest blush.
"Yeah. Thanks to you, Lihanna, and the others, I was able to max out my praxis credits. Everyone's been so kind to me... I can't let it go to waste!"
Colette sweatdropped, forcing a stiff smile.
"That's... not what I was getting at…"
Clink.
Clank.
Rosti Nauman, the artificing student seated across from them at the same table, had already finished his exams. Now, he was repairing Will's goggles on a metal tray, hands busy and eyes focused.
Without looking up, he spoke while screwing a bolt into place.
"But… you do have a few spellwork credits, right?"
Colette nodded quickly. "Y-yeah, Rosti's right!"
That made Will pause—then sweatdrop.
At Rigarden Magical Academy, the maximum number of credits a student could earn was 12,000. You only needed half that—6,000—to graduate.
Those credits were split between three categories: 3,600 for writing, 3,600 for praxis, and 4,800 for spellwork.
Until recently, Will—being magicless—hadn't earned a single spellwork credit.
To qualify for the Tower, a student needed 7,200 credits. That meant Will had to max out both writing and praxis... and rely on those alone. A completely unheard-of feat.
But two months ago, everything changed.
Edward-sensei's so-called "remedial" class—meant to expel him through a private duel—ended with Will landing a blow on the dark viper mage. As a result, he'd been awarded 5 spellwork credits.
Right now, Will had amassed 7,199 total.
He only needed one more to reach the Tower's threshold.
He understood what his friends were trying to tell him. That he had wiggle room now. That he could finally relax.
But Will knew better. He'd learned what happened when he let his guard down.
Painfully.
Will looked at the two of them, firm and clear.
"I get that. And yeah, the last exam's worth up to six credits... but I still can't let my guard down just yet."
Rosti paused, then gently set down his tools. His smile returned as he reached a hand across the table.
Will blinked and looked up.
"That's nice and all," Rosti said, "but if you push too hard… you'll collapse."
SNAP!
"Ugh!" Will clutched his head in pain, tears springing up as Rosti pulled away holding a freshly plucked hair. His smug grin curved like a crescent moon.
"See? You're graying again."
Why does everyone do that to me?!!! Will cried inwardly.
Colette suddenly shot to her feet.
Her palms slammed onto the table, face flushed red, eyes wide.
"H-Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
Rosti remained unphased, still smiling.
"Huh? I do this all the time... or did you want to do it, Colette?"
Her face turned a deeper red. She started drooling, her eyes shifting into heart shapes.
It pissed Rosti off—and filled Will with dangerous confusion.
"O-of course I would—w-wait, no! I mean... I'd never do that!!!"
Steam practically poured from her head. She flicked her gaze between Rosti and Will like a broken compass.
Will, still holding his head in agony and totally out of it, didn't react.
That made it worse.
Cringing hard, Colette sat back down. Rosti's smug face only made her angrier.
And just like that, the library—quiet and empty except for them—no longer felt like a library at all.
The mood was ruined. Study time was officially dead.
Will, for his part, tried to force himself back into the zone.
He lowered his face toward the textbook—
And froze.
A hand blocked his view.
"Rosti…?" he asked hesitantly, glancing up—only to go still.
His friend was still smiling, yes… but it no longer looked kind. Or joyful.
It looked dangerous.
Will swallowed hard.
"R-Rosti… your hand…"
Colette blinked, confused.
Rosti's ocean-blue eyes narrowed.
"Oh no you don't."
Another gulp.
"W-why?"
Rosti crossed his arms. The air felt heavier.
"You tell me, Will. Why am I doing this?"
Colette instinctively sat up straighter.
Will tried to steady his heartbeat.
"B-because… you want me to relax—"
"That's part of it," Rosti cut in, voice firmer now. His gaze sharpened.
"But what I want first and foremost—are answers."
"A-answers…?"
Rosti sighed, long and slow.
"Don't play dumb, Will."
Will froze.
Rosti had never spoken to him like that before.
The blonde artificer tilted his head slightly.
"Your teacher. And this Mrs. Silva lady. I've let it go for a long time. Never brought them up. But now… I think I deserve to know. As your roommate—I've earned that much."
Colette tensed.
"W-wait… you knew about them—?"
"Of course. I am his roommate."
"T-then why have you never told me—?"
"I don't recall us ever being that close, Colette."
A vein popped on Colette's forehead as her expression turned murderous, but Rosti didn't even glance at her.
His attention stayed locked on Will, who was visibly sweating.
The swordsman forced a shaky smile.
"So you really have known all this time."
It wasn't a question.
And Rosti's sharp smile said everything.
Will was at a standstill.
He couldn't brush off this question like he did with Sion. Not this time.
Rosti wasn't just anyone—he was, if not the closest friend Will had at the academy, then certainly one of them. After years of living together, they were practically family.
Like brothers.
…Very touchy-feely brothers.
Will tried the polite route first, hoping to defuse the tension.
"D-do I have to—"
"After trying to make me the scapegoat for that ring? Yes."
Will blinked.
Then turned to Colette, who ducked her head sheepishly.
So she ratted me out in the end… Since when did those two even talk without me?
He looked back at Rosti's still dangerously cheerful smile and groaned.
With a sigh of surrender, he inclined his head.
"W-what do you want to know?"
Thump.
Thump.
His heartbeat picked up, bracing for a deeply personal question—one he might not want to answer.
But then… Rosti, as always, surprised him.
"I don't know. Surprise me."
Will blinked.
"Huh?"
Rosti's smile softened, the danger in it fading.
"You heard me. Tell me anything about this master of yours…" Or that pretty lady, preferably.
"...You got any interesting stories? Fun facts?"
Will stared blankly.
What is this? Trivia night?
Still, he wasn't about to question a miracle.
Tapping his finger against the edge of the table, he thought it over.
A moment later, his eyes lit up.
"Oh yeah, actually—there is something that's always bothered me!"
Rosti and Colette instantly leaned forward, expressions eager.
Tell us!
Will nodded, folding his arms.
"My shishō… uh, that's a word for 'master' I picked up from someone I can't really remember…"
Rosti and Colette nodded, though impatience was already climbing their faces.
Alright already! Keep going!
"Ahem." Will cleared his throat. "A-anyway, my shishō always wore an arm brace. And a hood."
Colette tilted her head. "A brace and a hood?"
Will nodded again. "Yeah. I used to ask him why, but he'd never tell me. So I figured he had some grotesque injury on his right arm or something nasty on his head he wanted to hide…"
He leaned forward now, eyes glinting, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"But then guess what?"
Rosti narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"About two years ago… he just stopped wearing them. No warning. No explanation. And get this—there was nothing wrong! No scars, no burns, no tattoos, no bad hairdo. Just a normal arm and head."
He paused, before adding, "Well, if you can call an arm that bulky normal."
Silence.
Both Rosti and Colette blinked, leaned back into their seats, and said nothing.
The silence stretched. Grew. Pressed in.
Will looked between them, confused.
"G-guys?"
Rosti broke first—with a smile that was anything but kind.
"I gave you a chance, Will. I gave you an out. And you repay me… with this nonsense?"
Will blinked. "Huh?"
"Don't huh us!" Colette snapped, lunging forward and digging her nails into his cheeks.
"OW! OW! OW!" he yelped.
Kiki joined in, clawing at his other cheek for good measure.
Rosti just sat there, arms crossed, pouting with a scowl.
This inconsiderate guy… such a jerk sometimes…
Will writhed, silently protesting under their combined assault.
B-but I really did find it suspicious…!
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
A Few Hours Later
It was nearly 4 a.m. now.
The halls of Rigarden stood eerily quiet, deserted save for the occasional flicker of enchanted sconces. Nearly every student and staff member had long since retired to their dorms or quarters.
Colette stifled a yawn as she walked toward the library, a tray of sandwiches and coffee balanced in her hands. Her expression was tinged with worry.
He's still at it… he really is overdoing it…
She pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside.
"Will, I brought you some dinner. Professor Workner gave me permission to—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Will was slumped over the desk, head buried in his books, breathing soft and steady.
Fast asleep.
Colette blinked. Then sighed. Then smiled.
Finally… but I didn't mean for him to knock out right there…
Half-tempted to try hauling him back to the dorms, she thought better of it. Her strength was suspect at best, and more than that—she didn't want to disturb his hard-won rest.
So, quietly, she tiptoed over and set the tray down.
Then, slipping off her robe, she draped it gently across his shoulders, just in case he got cold.
And there she stood. Fidgeting.
Uncertain. Restless.
A dark—or rather, impure—thought began to creep up her spine, heating her face as it bloomed. Rosti's teasing from earlier echoed in her head.
She gulped, lips dry.
"…Will? Are you asleep?"
No response.
The swordsman—normally hypersensitive to sound and motion—didn't stir. Not even a twitch.
He was out cold.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She glanced left. Then right. Then behind her. Even Kiki was nowhere to be seen.
They were alone.
Will's face was tilted just enough for his lips to show, relaxed and parted ever so slightly in sleep.
This opportunity… it might never come again…
Thanking Saint Viola under her breath for such a divine moment, Colette tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leaned in slowly…
And puckered her lips.
Just as her lips were about to make contact, she froze.
A hand had landed on her shoulder.
Colette stiffened like a statue, cold sweat dripping down her back. Slowly, she turned her head—
And came face to face with Rosti.
He was holding a snoring Kiki.
And smiling.
Except it wasn't really a smile.
"What are you doing, Colette?"
Gwah—what is he doing here, this cock-blocking…
She said nothing, too stunned to speak.
Rosti's smile widened. Too white. Too calm.
What is this audacious little homewrecker even thinking?
Colette's face burned. She straightened up immediately, waving her hands in front of her in a frantic attempt to deflect suspicion.
"I-I-I wasn't doing anything! H-he just looked cold and I was w-worried so I gave him my cloak!"
Rosti nodded slowly, like someone trying not to laugh during a funeral.
"Ohhh, is that so? I see. And here I thought you were about to kiss him. My deepest apologies for the misunderstanding."
He might've passed for a gentleman—if not for the sarcastic tilt of his voice.
"Mrow!"
Kiki snapped awake and immediately bared her fangs, hissing at Colette with fur bristling—before curling back into a cozy ball in Rosti's arms.
Colette flinched, biting her lip as her cheeks turned crimson. Shame clawed at her throat, almost bringing her to tears.
But she steadied herself. Her blush slowly faded. She turned back toward Will.
"I… really was worried about him," she whispered.
"He's falling apart. But he just keeps pushing himself harder and harder… never stopping to think about his safety or well-being."
Her fists clenched.
"Never caring about the way he'll crash… or how all those cuts and bruises will scar over like it's nothing…"
She stared at Will, softly touching his forehead with the back of her hand. His temperature was normal. Not too hot. Not too cold. Relief washed over her—but the anger didn't fade.
"I… I hate the Magia Vander."
Rosti froze.
The color drained from his face in an instant.
No one noticed.
Not Kiki. Not Will. Not even Colette, who was focused entirely on the sleeping boy in front of her.
"She cast that spell on him—Albis Vina. And he's been chasing after her ever since…" Colette murmured bitterly. "But she just sits in that tower. Like some holy saint. Like she's too good to step down and see what she's done."
"Meanwhile, he suffers."
"Poor Will."
"..."
Rosti didn't respond. He turned to the window, eyes fixed on the distant spire of the tower beyond the glass.
"…Yeah. I feel the same way."
Colette didn't know—and maybe never would—but there were few people in the world who hated the Magia Vander more than the boy standing beside her.
And in some cruel, silent, deeply personal way—
She was right.
Everything Will had gone through, the pain, the scars, the collapse he was hurtling toward…
It was all, at least in part, because of Albis Vina.
And no one hated her for it more than the lady herself.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Mercedes Caulis – Floor 50
"Lady Elfaria? Is something the matter?"
Sarissa Alfeld turned, her voice polite but concerned. With her dark blue hair tied neatly in a bun, sharp eyes hidden behind square-rimmed glasses, and long black traditional dress, she exuded the discipline of a perfect aide-de-camp.
Once a serious contender to lead Albis Vina, she now served faithfully as adjutant to the person she once saw as a rival—now leader.
Elfaria Albis Serfort stood a few paces behind, eyes distant, her long, icy-blue hair flowing loosely down her back. She blinked slowly, then shook her head with a gentle motion.
"…No."
The answer came soft and detached, barely a breath. She resumed walking.
Before Sarissa could follow up, the clack of approaching footsteps echoed through the marble halls—loud, mocking, and purposeful.
Clack. Clack.
"Well, well, what a surprise. If it isn't idleness incarnate herself."
Elfaria didn't even flinch.
She was already tired of this. Or more accurately, tired of her. The other elves she could tolerate. But Ellenor Ljos Alf—the ever-smirking face of the Fairy Faction—grated on her every nerve.
Elleaf Canaan crossed her arms, a smug grin plastered across her face.
"The shut-in's actually decided to grace the rest of us with her presence? What's next, a storm of ice spears?"
Behind her, flanking both sides, stood her two adjutants.
To her right was Filvis Chalia, her second deputy. Long black hair, triangular mask hiding most of her expression, shoulders held a little too stiff. Silent, composed—or so it seemed.
Inwardly, Filvis was already unraveling, shriveling under the tension of the confrontation. Social interaction ranked somewhere between being skinned alive and public execution on her list of favorite things.
If it weren't for the girl beside her, she'd already be halfway into a panic spiral.
That girl, her best friend, standing to Ellenor's left, was Lefiya Virdis, first deputy of the Fairy Faction.
With cropped blonde hair and a perpetual calm, she walked with her eyes closed more often than not—whether in peace or disdain, no one could tell. Unlike Filvis, her poise wasn't a façade. It was as natural as breathing.
She'd once served as a Magia Vander herself, though she was always quick to dismiss it.
"Just a placeholder," she'd say. "Until Ellenor matured."
When asked their ages, both deputies would reply without hesitation: "Twenty."
They'd been twenty for the last several decades.
And they weren't planning to change that answer anytime soon.
Sarissa pressed a hand to her temple, already feeling the migraine bloom behind her eyes.
The Vander really don't get along...
Elfaria crossed her arms and exhaled slowly, as if the entire situation were beneath her.
"You're always so confrontational, Ellenor… still bitter about losing that duel?"
The Elven Princess—Queen, as some insisted on calling her already—flushed red, her composure cracking.
"T-That's only because we were limited to ice magic! If I was allowed anything else, I would've obliterated you!"
Elfaria shrugged, barely disguising her apathy. She didn't even look Ellenor's way.
"Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
A vein throbbed visibly on Ellenor's forehead.
"Why, you—!"
Her hand shot toward her wand—
—but the moment was cut short by a deep, gravelly voice that rolled through the hall like thunder.
"...Should've known it was you two making all the noise."
Will might've found that voice hauntingly familiar.
All eyes turned to the new arrival. Neither Elfaria nor Ellenor bothered to hide their immediate disgust.
Zeo Thorzeus Reinbolt had arrived.
The Magia Vander of the Thunder Faction, head of Thorzeus Fasce, sauntered in with both hands casually stuffed into his pockets. One finger flicked out lazily to scratch at his ear before returning to his vest.
A vest that hung open, revealing a chiseled six-pack. He was tall, broad-shouldered, deeply tanned.
Loose pants that overlapped his shoes.
His white hair spiked naturally, his emerald eyes glittered like forged gems, and his teeth—slightly fang-like—flashed in a half-grin that was more challenging than a smile.
"This is my hallway. Get lost."
"You get lost, barbarian!" Elfaria and Ellenor snapped in unison—one cold, the other heated, but both biting.
Zeo didn't even break stride. He walked right past them, laughing so loudly the marble trembled beneath his boots.
"Barbarian? Me? Have you looked in a mirror lately, you damn savages?"
The irony of the Tower's most uncouth occupant flinging that insult wasn't lost on anyone.
A short silence followed, broken only by the distant hum of arcane energy running through the walls.
Elfaria turned, gazing through a high, arched window at the darkened false sky beyond.
"…It's almost time, isn't it?"
Zeo stopped. Looked back over his shoulder.
"Yeah. Terminalia's coming up. That dumb ceremony again."
He stretched, spine cracking audibly.
"Year's almost over… and that barrier's just about spent. Can't wait to see how many decent prospects we get this time."
Elfaria didn't respond. Her eyes remained on the sky, unfocused.
Will…
She didn't voice the rest of the thought.
But deep down, she was praying.
That this time, they might finally meet again.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Lecture Hall
Will sat in silence, flanked by his classmates in the dimly lit lecture hall.
This was it—his final exam.
Just one credit. That's all he needed.
The subject: History and Origins of Magic. A mandatory course.
And the worst part? It was taught by the one professor in Rigarden who seemed to despise him more than anything—Edward Serfence.
A man who had, on more than one occasion, tried to have him expelled.
Or worse—convinced him to give up.
Will wouldn't pretend he wasn't nervous. But he was ready.
He'd studied. Harder than anyone.
And when it came to writing, he had been flawless so far.
The exam was worth six credits. He needed only one.
Seventeen percent. A joke. It was more than doable.
So why did he feel sick?
The minutes ticked by. Professor Serfence was late. Murmurs filled the room like rising steam, growing louder by the second—
SLAM.
The door burst open.
"Silence," Edward said, voice clipped and cold.
He raised a hand, and in perfect unison, exam papers fluttered down onto each desk—face-down.
"Your final exam will begin shortly."
He paused.
"But first, a few words."
Will straightened, already suspicious.
"I will ask one question. If you answer it correctly, you'll receive the full six credits."
A ripple of disbelief passed through the hall.
Edward's eyes swept across the room… and stopped—just slightly—on Will.
A chill gripped his spine.
He opened his mouth—but Edward cut him off instantly.
"I will not be taking questions."
His voice echoed off the high ceilings like a verdict.
"Show me what your time at the academy has truly taught you."
A long silence.
"Begin."
Flick.
The rustle of turning pages filled the hall like a rising tide.
And then silence.
Each student stared at their paper, expecting the hardest exam of their lives.
Instead, they read:
"What is magic? Based on your own magical affinity, explain using the following terms: Tela, Link, Manifest."
Sweat trickled down jaws and brows—not from confusion, but disbelief.
It was simple. Practical. Almost… kind.
Hope bloomed.
But not for everyone.
From the back of the room, the members of Team Lihanna felt a strange stillness settle over them—an eerie disquiet as their eyes drifted, one by one, toward a single student.
The only one who couldn't answer this question.
Will Serfort.
He sat frozen.
Motionless.
His pulse barely thudding. His vision blurring.
It's no use.
I can't answer this.
Textbook definitions weren't enough.
This wasn't an academic trick. This was a feeling.
A fundamental truth of the world.
Something one had to know—feel—in their soul.
And Will?
He was a No-Talent.
No magic.
No affinity.
He wasn't qualified to even try.
His breath caught in his throat. Panic pressed in from all sides.
Is it over?
After everything I fought for?
Is it really over?
My goal?
My dream?
My promise to Elfie—
That thought hit like a spark.
And suddenly—her face flashed in his mind.
Not just hers.
Asta. Noelle. Workner-sensei. Rosti. Colette. Even Kiki.
Every step. Every hand that had pulled him up when he fell.
He couldn't let it all mean nothing.
He wouldn't.
He had trained for this. Studied. Endured.
Like he told Wignall in that cold, dark dungeon—he learned magic like a textbook.
He was a book learner. And that had brought him this far.
It would take him further still.
Will drew in a breath.
Steady. Deep.
He dipped his quill in ink, cleared his mind—
And began to write.
Calm. Composed.
Confident.
This wasn't the end.
It was just the beginning.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Edward Serfence's Office – Late Night
The scratching of a pen echoed through the quiet room.
Edward sat hunched at his desk, grading exam after exam with mechanical precision. He worked fast—always did. A neat stack of passing papers sat on his right. A thinner, crueler pile of failures on his left.
And in the center—one paper he hadn't moved for over fifteen minutes.
Will Serfort's.
He had planned to fail it without reading. Just a glance, an X, and done.
But something made him stop.
A sense of duty, maybe. Or guilt. He wasn't sure.
So he read it.
And regretted it instantly.
His pen trembled between his fingers. Lips pressed into a thin line. Jaw clenched.
He read it again.
And again.
But the words never changed.
Name: Will Serfort
Question: What is magic? Based on your own magical affinity, explain using the following terms: Tela, Link, Manifest.
Answer:
"To me, magic is… an aspiration! A miracle that will always be out of reach! Something beautiful yet cruel! Magic is what's waiting for you after all your hard work! I believe that as long as you never give up, you can even surpass magic!"
Edward had almost failed him on the spot.
Almost.
But his hand wouldn't move.
He kept reading.
And the more he did, the heavier the paper felt. Like a weight pressing into his chest.
He wished he hadn't read it.
Wished it hadn't made him feel anything.
But now he couldn't pretend.
Not even to himself.
"But I am a sword, not a wand. In that sense, maybe I am unqualified to talk about magic… but I will. And I will answer—as a sword."
Edward flinched.
The words felt carved straight for him.
"Magic is, at its core, the conscious weaving of the world's underlying fabric—Tela—through a personal bond called Link, to bring about a chosen effect: Manifestation."
"But as a sword, I can't interact with Tela directly. I need someone else to call on it for me."
"I don't fully understand that magic blade I wield, but I believed in Sion. When he chanted his spell—using visualization, flame imagery, and an incantation array to connect his desire to the Tela—he achieved step one. And in some sense, step two… for me."
"I couldn't link to Tela… so I linked to him. When I devoured his spell, absorbed it—I felt it. I felt magic. Smouldering flames, wild and infinite, surged through me. My muscles burned with energy. My senses sharpened."
"By staying connected to that blade, to that current of power, I gave it direction. I willed it. And in that moment, I manifested my chosen effect—a flaming slash that cleaved the Grand Duke in two."
"To me, magic is threefold. First, link to Tela—or in my case, to those willing to share their strength. Second, channel that power—stay aware of it, feel it circulate through you. And finally… command it. Shape it. Manifest it into the world."
"That… is magic."
Edward's hands trembled.
His mouth went dry.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't blink.
For a moment, he felt it again—that bitter taste of defeat. That sharp, unmistakable sting of truth breaking through his carefully built walls.
But then…
He remembered who he was.
Edward Serfence. The Viper. The coldest adjudicator in all of Rigarden Academy.
A man not swayed by sentiment. A man who made the rules.
Emotion faded. The mask returned.
And with a hand devoid of mercy, he dipped his pen in ink and brought it down upon the page.
Hard.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Training Hall:
The next morning, after checking the magic board for results, Will slipped away before anyone could catch up to him.
He made it to the empty training hall and collapsed to the floor, face buried in his arms, tears soaking into the stone.
His name had been there—on the list of failed students.
There were no partial marks. No curve. No grace.
Six credits or nothing.
He had received nothing.
He wasn't ascending the Tower.
And the cruelest part? He'd only been one credit short.
Just one.
A margin so slim it was almost laughable—so rare it was barely recorded in Rigarden's history. But Will didn't feel rare. He didn't feel special.
He felt gutted.
If he'd failed completely—if he'd missed by miles—it would have been easier. That kind of defeat you could rationalize. Accept.
But this?
This was a locked door, shutting in his face the moment he reached it.
He'd done everything right. He'd given everything he had.
And still… not enough.
Will's sobs echoed in the vast, empty space.
On the 24th of Ellsmoon, Will Serfort's dream slipped from his fingers.
It was also his birthday.
The Terminalia was tomorrow.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
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