Moans and soft whimpers filled the amphitheater like the rising tide of a wounded battlefield.

Thorne shoved back his chair, heart hammering, and rushed toward Rowenna. She was curled on the floor, her fingers trembling against the scorched side of her face. Angry red burns stretched across her cheek and jaw, blisters swelling like ugly pearls beneath her skin.

Guilt stabbed through him like a dagger.

He crouched beside her, his hands hesitating for a heartbeat before he gently helped her sit up. Her glare could have cut stone.

The sound of firm footsteps echoed behind him. Professor Vorr ascending, each step conjured by magic, a ripple of silver light beneath her heels. She reached their level with a sweep of her floating crystal. It bobbed once, and a ripple of silvery light spread from the point of contact, a tide of numbing magic washing over the platform.

Around them, sighs of relief broke out.

The moans faded into quiet gasps.

"You will go to the infirmary," Vorr said coolly, her blank gaze sweeping across the students. "I am not specialized in healing spells. The numbing charm will expire in minutes."

Students stirred weakly, some helping their neighbors to their feet. A few still winced, faces red and hair singed from the brutal heat Thorne's spell had unleashed.

Thorne turned back to Rowenna and offered his hand again, bracing for the second round of her glare.

To his mild surprise, she accepted it without hesitation, her fingers like iron against his.

He tried for humor. "Well... silver lining, you'll have the most impressive story to tell tonight?"

Rowenna's eyes narrowed so fiercely he almost took a step back.

Yeah. Wrong time for jokes.

They moved to join the slow-moving line shuffling down the amphitheater's wide, shifting stairs.

The heavy silence was broken only by an occasional cough, or the hiss of students brushing off smoldering edges of their uniforms.

"Return once you are healed," Vorr's voice sliced across the chamber. " We still have one more hour of training. Do not dawdle."

Students groaned softly, but no one dared disobey.

Thorne standing unsure what to do next when he felt the weight of a gaze.

Heavy. Measuring.

Not the usual curious stares he was so used to.

He turned back and found Professor Vorr staring straight at him.

She extended her hand, palm up, like a queen expecting tribute.

Thorne blinked.

It took him a second to realize what she wanted.

"…Your wand," she said, as if speaking to someone particularly slow.

Reluctantly, Thorne unclipped the Ashthorn wand from its holster and placed it in her waiting palm.

Around them, students who hadn't yet left slowed to watch, curiosity and wariness gleaming in their eyes.

Vorr brought it close to her face. Her eerie eyes, pure white without iris or pupil, studying it with disconcerting focus.

She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear.

She rotated it once, slowly, like a jeweler inspecting the facets of a rare gem.

A low, thoughtful hum vibrated in her throat.

Thorne held himself rigid, suppressing the prickle of unease climbing his spine. His mind raced, already forming half a dozen excuses if things went badly.

Vorr spoke, voice soft but clear. "What is a wand this powerful doing in your hands?"

A ripple went through the amphitheater.

Students still sitting nearby leaned closer. Even the few standing near the doors paused, their exit forgotten.

Thorne hesitated only a moment.

The truth was dangerous. The truth could unravel everything.

Better a lie that had a kernel of truth.

He offered a small shrug, casual despite the tightness in his chest. "It was the only wand that agreed to bond with me," he said lightly.

Vorr pulled back slightly, and this time she didn't hum.

She nodded.

Her strange, ageless eyes flicked from the wand back to his own, glowing with their unnatural silver-blue light.

Another long, assessing silence.

"A high-tier wand, choosing you," she murmured. "Hmph. I believe it."

The words struck harder than he expected.

Not suspicion.

Not condemnation.

Acceptance.

She flipped the wand once more between her fingers, the movement swift and sure, then handed it back to him.

Thorne snatched it almost reflexively, tucking it away beneath his cloak as if it might vanish if he didn't.

"For the remainder of this lesson," Vorr said, her voice cutting clean across the gathering tension, "please refrain from any more spellcasting attempts."

The corners of her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly.

A smile?

A warning?

Both?

Thorne nodded quickly. Too quickly.

He retreated to his chair, which, by some miracle, had survived the magical onslaught, and slumped into it with a weary exhale.

Around him, students whispered behind their hands. Stole glances.

A few shifted subtly away from him, chairs scraping against the floor.

Dangerous.

The word hung in the air like the echo of a spell yet to be cast.

Vorr, seemingly satisfied, descended the stairs once more, her crystal following behind her like an obedient servant.

And Thorne sat there, the burnt smell of charred wood clinging to his clothes, wondering just how badly he had already wrecked his first day.

"Before we resume," she said, voice cutting neatly through the low hum of the hall, "we must address what you have witnessed."

All conversation ceased.

Thorne felt the weight of dozens of eyes pivot toward him, heavy as a stormcloud ready to break.

"When I said earlier," Vorr continued, "that mastery of a spell could elevate it beyond mere skill... this is what I meant."

She didn't glance at Thorne, but the implication was clear enough.

"Even the simplest of spells," she said, letting her staff draw a slow arc through the air, "even a spell you learn on your very first day, such as Illumination, can be morphed. Shaped. Enhanced beyond its original design."

She let that hang in the air.

The students leaned in, some visibly straining to catch every word.

"Of course," she added, voice growing sharper, "your classmate here has not mastered the spell yet. Not even close."

Several students shifted in their seats, sneaking another glance at Thorne. He stared ahead, stone-faced, trying to pretend he didn't notice.

"But..." Vorr paused, her white eyes seeming almost to flicker with hidden light. "...his execution was miraculously, fundamentally precise. Enough that the structure of the spell allowed for... change. Amplification."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

A ripple ran through the room.

From the corner of his eye, Thorne caught the Jewel of the Emerald Sands, Amira Nahir, leaning forward at her desk, her bronze skin glowing softly beneath the golden lights of the chamber, her gaze sharp and curious.

Great, Thorne thought grimly. Exactly what I needed.

"And," Vorr said with grim finality, "let today's lesson be seared into your memory."

"Experimentation without understanding is a dangerous thing. Spell augmentation, shaping a spell beyond its structure, is taught to upper years for a reason."

A few students nodded solemnly. Others just looked worried, stealing glances between Thorne and their own wands like they weren't sure which would betray them first.

Vorr's blank gaze swept over the room like a blade. She clapped her hands once, the sound crisp and commanding.

"Enough. Back to work."

The students, more hesitant now, resumed their awkward attempts at Illumination.

Flashes of unstable light sparked across the hall. Misformed sigils hovered, twisted, and collapsed into harmless puffs of glittering aether.

Thorne inhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to relax.

He watched the others out of the corner of his eye, studying the way their aether faltered, the way their hands twitched nervously through their wand movements.

They were different now.

He was different to them now.

A few students cast more than casual glances his way.

A couple scooted their chairs farther. Others, like Amira, and, strangely, one of the heirs, Cassian Ravenaire, watched him with an intensity that promised future trouble.

It was always like this, Thorne thought.

One moment unnoticed. The next... marked.

He turned his focus inward again, letting the rest of the world blur. There would be time to worry about politics, suspicion, and consequences later.

For now... He had spells to master.

The injured students returned slowly, their skin and clothes somehow mended back to pristine condition. A few cast glances at Thorne as they passed, some wary, some simply curious.

Professor Vorr clapped her hands and her crystal glowed.

"Break," she announced.

The tension shattered almost immediately. Conversation bubbled across the amphitheater as students leaned into their groups, laughing or groaning, comparing attempts at spellwork. A few reenacted their disastrous light-spells, wand gestures exaggerated to the point of mockery.

Thorne remained seated, staring straight ahead.

The ambient aether hadn't left him. It clung to him like a living shroud, wrapping around his shoulders and pooling at his feet, thick and hungry. It took everything he had to keep his core calm, to keep his breathing even. His eyes still glowed faintly, thin halos of blue-white, though nothing like the overwhelming brilliance earlier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rowenna return to her seat. Or rather, the blackened skeleton of her desk, its surface charred and splintered.

She dropped into the chair beside him with a muffled thud. Her expression was carefully neutral.

Thorne flicked a glance at her and muttered under his breath, "Sorry."

Rowenna didn't respond. Didn't even look at him.

Maybe she hadn't heard him. Maybe she was ignoring him.

Either way, he accepted the silent verdict and kept staring at the empty space ahead of him.

Minutes passed. The occasional spark of a botched illumination spell flared and faded in the distance. Finally, Vorr's voice cut through the hall again. "Resume."

A fresh wave of hopeful, clumsy attempts followed. Sigils twisted and sputtered. The air flashed with half-formed orbs of light before they collapsed into puffs of useless aether.

When Vorr finally dismissed them, the room exploded into noise. Students scrambled to their feet, chatting animatedly about their first class, their wands tucked under their arms or spun anxiously in their fingers.

Thorne moved a little slower.

He noticed it immediately. The space around him. The way some students edged sideways, leaving a bubble of open air where he stood.

He almost laughed. Just like the lair of the Lost Ones, he thought dryly. Same looks. Different uniforms.

Still, it stung a little more than he cared to admit.

Rowenna, mercifully, didn't seem bothered. She waited for him, spellbook in hand, and together they started descending the shifting, living staircases. Their shoes clicked softly against the stone, the staircases shifting just enough to guide them down without thought.

Near the base, Elias appeared from the crowd like a sudden gust of wind.

"There you are!" he said brightly, falling into step beside them. His hair was a mess, sticking up in places where static must've caught him during the spell attempts. "Was it just me or did half the class almost combust back there?"

"Just you," Rowenna said flatly, though there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Elias grinned, utterly unfazed. "And you!" he pointed at Thorne with mock outrage. "What the hell was that? Trying to recreate the sun? Because I swear, my eyebrows almost caught fire from halfway across the hall."

"An overachiever," Thorne said deadpan.

Rowenna snorted softly. "Overachiever? More like an arsonist."

Elias threw his hands up in exaggerated surrender. "And here I thought I was the dramatic one!"

They were still laughing as they reached the bottom of the hall, weaving through the thinning crowd. Just as they were about to step through the great doors, a voice called out.

"Silverbane."

Thorne stopped, grimacing inwardly. The others paused too, shooting him curious glances.

Professor Vorr beckoned him with a single crook of her finger.

He told the others to go ahead, and with a resigned sigh, made his way over to her, threading between students.

She waited until he was close, far enough from the others that their conversation wouldn't be overheard. Her expression was unreadable. Her blank, pupil-less gaze more disconcerting up close.

"From now on," Vorr said evenly, "you are banned from casting spells inside my classroom."

Thorne blinked. He opened his mouth to protest, but she lifted a hand.

"You are green, Silverbane," she continued. "Far too green to control both your wand and yourself properly. That wand of yours..." she gave it a faintly disapproving look, "...is a beast you barely comprehend."

He scowled. "I can learn. I am learning."

"I don't doubt that," Vorr said, to his surprise. "But learning at the expense of your classmates' health is unacceptable." Her tone brooked no argument. "You will train," she said firmly. "Alone. Control yourself first. When you can demonstrate safe, stable casting, you will be permitted to participate again."

Thorne hesitated. He hated being benched. Hated being marked as a danger.

But...

He thought of Rowenna's scorched hair, the blistered faces.

Slowly, grudgingly, he nodded.

"Good," Vorr said crisply, turning away. "Dismissed."

Thorne rejoined Rowenna and Elias near the doorway, where they waited with matching looks of barely concealed curiosity.

"Let me guess," Elias said with a wicked grin. "Extra credit?"

"Something like that," Thorne muttered, stuffing his spellbook under his arm.

As they stepped out into the sunlit courtyard, Rowenna tucked her spellbook under one arm and said dryly, "Hope you're ready for the next one. It's going to be a drag."

Elias groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't tell me... Magical History and Arcane Law?"

"Magical History and Arcane Law," Rowenna confirmed, with a look of deep suffering.

Thorne said nothing. His core still buzzed uncomfortably with residual energy from the earlier disaster, but he fell into step beside them anyway.

Rowenna led the way across the courtyard and up into one of the towering spires.

The black tower.

It loomed in the sunlight, a tower of obsidian, part mirror, part mountain. The surface gleamed in jagged panels, catching the light like shards of polished glass, but between them, dark veins of rough, time-worn stone ran like old scars. It looked less like something built and more like something grown or unearthed. Half dangerous jewel, half ancient cavern.

As they climbed the wide spiral staircase carved into the inner wall, Thorne caught brief, fractured glimpses of the world beyond Aetherhold, glimpses warped by black crystal and framed by stone that felt more like bone than brick.

The endless wild forests that surrounded Evermist, dense and misty. The dark blue stretch of the Whispering Sea beyond. The thin golden threads of the city's canal lights, even visible by day.

It was beautiful. Untamed.

They found the classroom near the top of the tower.

It was... smaller than Thorne expected.

Far smaller than the massive amphitheater from earlier. Maybe half the size. Rows of black, rocky benches carved directly into the walls in a wide circle around the center.

Already, a handful of students were scattered across the room, talking quietly or leafing through heavy textbooks.

Isadora, Vivienne, and Lucien were nowhere to be seen.

When Thorne glanced at Rowenna, she simply shrugged. "Not everyone has the same schedule," she said. "And for better instruction, most classes are divided into smaller groups."

She pointed discreetly.

Garridan and Ronan were seated across the room at one of the side benches, far from them. Both looked as stiff and uncomfortable as ever.

"Come on," Rowenna said, and led him and Elias to a bench near the back.

The obsidian walls around them twisted the light in strange ways, casting faint glimmers and deep shadows that danced across the stone. Faint flickers of green and violet shimmered beneath the surface, like trapped aether trying to escape. It gave the air a warped, surreal quality, muted and half-unreal, as if they were moving through a memory carved into glass and stone.

Thorne dropped into his seat with a sigh, setting his things down.

Within a few minutes, the door at the far end of the room swung open without a sound.

The professor entered.

A darkling.

Tall even for his kind, carved from black stone and streaked with delicate gold veins that pulsed faintly as he moved.

His face was elegant but expressionless, like a mask forged by an artist with no concept of kindness. His silver-white hair was braided down his back, weighed down with tiny gold chains.

Without speaking, without even glancing at them, he moved to the center of the room.

And then...

The voice came.

Not aloud.

Not spoken.

Inside their minds.

A cold, resonant projection that filled every corner of their skulls:

"Welcome to Magical History and Arcane Law."

The effect was immediate.

Students flinched, a few wincing openly. The room, already silent, became almost oppressively still. It wasn't just the voice...

It was the weight of it. Heavy. Bored. Dragging.

Thorne shifted uncomfortably, feeling like someone had taken a cold iron needle and lodged it behind his forehead.

The darkling continued, his tone a slow, droning river:

"Today we begin our study of the origin of spell-binding contracts... the birth of Aetherhold's neutrality... and the Treaty of Whispered Thrones..."

Elias, next to him, looked like he was physically restraining himself from screaming. Rowenna leaned forward, her chin in her hand, her eyes already starting to glaze over.

Thorne tried. He really tried.

But it was two of the longest, most mind-numbing hours he had ever endured. Words floated through his brain like drowsy fish.

Arcane law. Forbidden magic. Sentient spellcraft. Neutrality clauses.

Everything delivered with the same disinterested, monotonous echo. By the end of it, he wasn't sure if he had learned anything. Or if he had just been slowly ground into dust by sheer boredom.

When the final word ended, the mental pressure lifted.

The students stood up like prisoners released from a spell. Some staggered. A few simply sat there, blinking at nothing. Thorne followed Rowenna and Elias out, resisting the urge to shove his spellbook into a wall.

"I feel like my brain melted," Elias muttered.

Rowenna only gave a weak hum of agreement, her usual sharpness dulled.

Thorne exhaled, shaking his head. Only day one... and I'm already ready to kill something.

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