**Later — Taurus Practical**

  Meteora stood with his two other peers, sipping his beverage slowly as she towered over them.

  The large, muscular woman was easily six feet tall. Her skin was sun-kissed, her face weathered from years of outdoor labor, and her practical clothing strained to contain her powerful physique. Sharp features softened by kind blue eyes, blonde hair braided neatly to frame her face.

  Her gaze never wavered from the children—authority and warmth balanced together, the sort one might expect from an adoring but uncompromising aunt.

  “The air up there nice and clean?” Meteora asked, more an acknowledgment of her stare than a challenge.

  She blinked, then chuckled. “Apologies, small one. I was trying to figure out how to help you during practical class with your mana sickness.” Her voice was deeper than Sonny’s or Merida’s, but not unkind.

  “At least you have manners,” he muttered, tossing his empty drink away. “Unlike the cat.”

  She startled, laughter bursting from her chest and echoing through the room. “I can neither confirm nor deny that,” she managed diplomatically.

  She crossed her arms, expression thoughtful. “Since I’m at a loss, I’ll do what Taurus advises. You’ll work alongside us.” She gestured vaguely to the space around them. “She grades your progress anyway.”

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  The other two students tilted their heads, confusion finally setting in.

  “Okay,” Meteora said flatly, studying her as he spoke. “And what does _our_ practical consist of?”

  The Taurus representative placed a silvery ore onto the table. It rippled in the light as if alive, its surface shimmering like disturbed water. “Do you know what this is?” she asked calmly.

  Meteora leaned forward slightly. “Aetherium ore. A raw chunk.” He paused, then continued without fanfare. “It contains condensed mana absorbed directly into the metal. That’s what gives it the silvery quality—and why it looks like it’s moving.”

  She nodded, approval clear. “Correct, small one. And before you ask the follow-up—yes, it ties directly into this class. Refining and understanding this ore takes time. Those aligned like us handle it often.”

  Meteora exhaled, the sigh barely there—more habit than complaint. “You want us to make it… not this,” he said, poking the ore lazily. Its surface shimmered again, reacting like liquid disturbed by a finger. “Something usable.”

  “Exactly!” she replied proudly. “For the next ten years, you’ll spend your practical classes studying and refining this ore on your own.”

  Meteora groaned quietly, already searching for a place to hide and sleep through the rest of the exhausting day.

  The ore continued to ripple softly on the table, its faint hum barely audible beneath the pounding in his head. Meteora stared at it longer than necessary, noting the way the mana inside responded to touch, to intent. Ten years felt impossibly long—but also strangely distant, like a problem for someone else. If this was his role, then so be it. At least the expectations were clear. Exhausting, yes—but predictable.

  The other two students finally caught up.

  Instead of words, their screams filled the room.

  “**WHAT?!**”