The morning came with a familiar rhythm—training at dawn, sparring with the cool wind, and sharing quiet nods or smirks between swings of blades and flickers of aether. But something had begun to change between Alden and the others. The sharp edges of rivalry had dulled into a mutual respect.
Their next lecture was scheduled in one of the smaller amphitheaters—a room adorned with living plants, floating crystals, and humming vines that seemed to pulse with life itself. The walls were draped with climbing ivy that never wilted, and the soft hum of natural aether could be felt in the air, like a second heartbeat.
As students filtered in, Alden took a seat near the center beside Avan and Lysa. Veydan, of course, was late again, casually sauntering in and collapsing into the chair next to them as if he owned the place.
The door opened, and a woman entered with a stride that reminded one of a passing breeze—graceful, yet confident. Her robe was woven from pale green threads, speckled with living leaves, and her eyes shimmered with an almost ethereal light.
"Good morning, students," she said, her voice a melodious whisper that carried effortlessly across the room. "I am Ilya Verelith, your instructor for Nature and Spirit Magic."
The room stilled. Even Veydan sat up straighter.
"Today, we begin with the very foundations of what it means to control the world around us. Nature. Spirits. Elements. But before I speak, I'd like to ask—can anyone tell me why we are able to command them at all?"
The room was silent. A few students shifted awkwardly. Alden glanced around but saw no raised hands.
Ilya waited a moment longer, then smiled. "No takers? Very well."
She took a slow breath and extended her hand.
"Everything in this world," she said, "from the smallest stone to the mightiest storm, holds within it a fragment of aether. A memory of creation. That aether is what we, as awakened, can connect with—manipulate, commune with, or command."
With a gentle wave of her fingers, the air around one student's desk shimmered. A loose sheet of paper fluttered upward, floating lazily in the air as gasps spread through the room.
"Observe," she said softly. "I am not using any spell. I'm simply guiding the aether in the air—a gaseous state—to lift this paper. The paper itself lacks significant aether, so I cannot lift it directly. Instead, I use the element surrounding it."
The paper descended like a feather, landing neatly on the desk.
"At your current level—First Circle—most of you can only sense or circulate the aether within yourselves. But as you ascend to the Second Circle, you'll begin to feel the aether in the air around you. Only at the Third Circle will you begin to manipulate the aether within more solid or complex states—earth, wood, metal… or even a spirit."
She let her words settle before continuing.
"This subject will not be all leaf-fluttering and wind tricks. You will study theory—ancient contracts, elemental balance, spiritual resonance—and practicals, which I assure you, can be… lively."
Several students chuckled nervously.
"Treat the spirits with respect," Ilya added, her eyes suddenly serious. "Nature is patient—but never forgetful."
The post-lunch haze didn't dampen the spirit of the next class—Weapon Training. The students gathered on the open dueling grounds under the watchful gaze of several armored instructors. Today was basics: stance correction, footwork drills, and understanding aether-infused weapon handling.
Alden preferred the sword, and while the instructors didn't go beyond foundational training yet, he felt the familiar pull—like an echo of a memory every time he gripped the hilt. He sparred against Veydan once. Their blades clashed, danced, and sparked with raw aether. The match ended in a draw, and they both grinned like madmen.
After dinner, while others relaxed or gathered in the commons, Alden took a different path—toward the Grand Library.
It wasn't just a building. It was a world unto itself. Columns taller than towers stretched toward an enchanted ceiling that mimicked the night sky, complete with constellations that slowly shifted. The scent of ancient paper and starblessed ink filled the air.
His boots echoed softly on the marble floor as he wandered through the major wings—each one marked by hovering glyphs of glowing light.
Nature and Spirit Magic — tomes bound in living bark and laced with silver thread.
Artifice and Technomancy — metallic spines, gears embedded into covers, and humming blueprints.
Tactical Combat — illustrated manuals, annotated battle memoirs.
Magic Spells and Runes — scrolls, tablets, suspended incantations.
Histories and Legends — thick volumes, leather-bound and heavy with secrets.
Alden lingered in front of the History wing.
If there was any clue about the strange power within him, it would be buried in the past.
He stepped in.
The first book he pulled was titled "Kingdoms of the Earth." The pages opened with illustrated maps and detailed information about every major nation, from the icebound Bastion Realms to the golden spires of Solareth. He flipped to the section on Ironhold, learning more about the kingdom's founding, noble houses, and the legendary Drakenspires.
Time passed unnoticed—until a flicker in the corner of his aether band caught his attention. It was already 9 o'clock.
Cursing softly, Alden placed his palm on the page and tapped his band. In a blink, the entire contents of the book were digitized into his virtual library.
He left quickly, his footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.
On his way out, he felt it—a pressure, like the weight of a mountain resting lightly against his chest.
And then, from the next hallway, a tall man emerged.
Silver-trimmed robes. Steel-gray eyes. A presence that made the air around him seem still.
Cedric Drakensspire. The Principal. The strongest mage in the Ironhold Kingdom.
They walked straight toward each other.
Alden stopped and bowed slightly. "Good evening, Principal."
Cedric gave a small nod. "Good evening, Alden."
There was a brief silence. Then the Principal's eyes flicked to the book in his own hand.
"So… it seems even you are drawn to the old records," he said.
Alden shrugged modestly. "Just a little curiosity, sir."
"A fine trait to have," Cedric replied. "But you're running late for dinner. Go on now, or the cooks will leave you hungry."
Alden gave a small laugh and nodded, but his gaze dropped to the Principal's hand.
"Sir… if you don't mind me asking," Alden said, "you have an aether band, right? Why carry the book? Couldn't you just copy it?"
The Principal smiled faintly. "A fair question. But Alden, there are some books here that cannot be copied. Ancient volumes, encoded with divine or forbidden aether. This one—" he held it up "—is one such text."
Alden's eyes widened. "Oh…"
Cedric gave him a knowing look. "You'll understand, someday."
With a final nod, the Principal strode past him and vanished down the hall.
The next morning brought a new subject: Artifice and Technomancy.
Alden's heart raced with anticipation. Ever since he was a child, tales of magical machines and enchanted constructs had fascinated him.
There was no lecture hall today. Instead, they gathered in a massive underground chamber that resembled a fusion of forge and laboratory. Arcanic lights buzzed overhead. Gears turned, engines hummed, and tools hovered midair.
The workshop was divided into multiple workstations, each one stocked with enchanted tools, alloy blocks, rune templates, and schematics.
An instructor stood near a hovering projector. "Before you build, you must understand," he said. "Artifice is the union of mind and mana—technology and aether. You'll learn theory first. Practical work comes later."
As the students spread out, Alden's aether band vibrated lightly. A message had arrived.
He tapped it.
A new book had been added to his virtual library: "Principles of Aetheric Conduction in Technomancy."
He opened it with a thought—and a translucent page hovered in front of his vision.
The journey into the arcane science had begun.