"You'd do well to remember this, class," said Professor Gray as he paced in front of the titanic chalkboard on the wall. As he spoke, a floating chalk stick had been enchanted to inscribe his every word on the massive, green-colored slate. "Our Era of Magic is but the culmination of centuries and centuries of misunderstandings and needless war. Take the aforementioned Aetherium, for instance. Otherwise known as the Great Sorcerer Uprising. Back then, the world was a lot more, let's say, cut-throat than the civilized society that we openly indulge in today. Mages, victimized as freaks or used as biological weapons, concluded that the social order needed to change. "Why should we, creatures that are superior to that of a dullard, be forced to work as their packing mules, their obedient mutts?". One simple question and a war lasting for seven long years washed over the entire country."

  Elaine frantically jotted down the professor's lecture notes in her textbook. She moved so quickly, however, that it got to the point where a pestering cramp stung her hand, pinched at her fingers. But she ignored it, and she kept writing. She discounted the pain, she continued to—

  The pen flung uncontrollably out of her hand, landing somewhere underneath the desk beneath her. Elaine muttered an incomprehensible sentence or two and swiftly rummaged through her satchel for a replacement.

  "Perhaps this can help?" said Custas, sitting next to her spiraling a blue pen in his fingers. A smirk made his cheeks dimple.

  "Thanks. You're a lifesaver," she whispered, accepting his pen.

  "Not a problem," Custas grinned. "But you know, Elaine, don't you think you're overdoing it?"

  "Hmm? Overdoing what?"

  "Need you ask? I mean, you did just fling away a perfectly good pen. Let's be hopeful you don't accidentally take someone's eye out next time. And this is not to sound hurtful, but your penmanship could use some finetuning."

  For the first time since she started her class, Elaine took a moment to truly examine her work. It was...well, she realized with a twinge of disappointment, far from her best effort. What had begun as neatly written lines of legible text had, within the span of a single page, devolved into a chaotic jumble of scrambled letters and erratic scratches. Words that once flowed smoothly from her pen now seemed to twist and tangle, making it nearly impossible for her to decipher what she had intended to convey. Patches of ink smudged the paper, and her thoughts, which had sparkled with clarity earlier, now felt muddled and lost amid the confusion of her own making. "Okay, I might need to slow down a little..."

  Custas raised a brow at her. "Might?"

  "I'm sorry. I can't help it."

  "Is this another of your quirks, perchance? Like when you nearly tore my tongue out of my mouth at the marketplace?"

  "No, it isn't like that. And you promised you wouldn't bring that up again!" Elaine pouted, jabbing him in his side.

  Custas shrugged. "Eh, just taking a shot in the dark. So what is bothering you?"

  "I can't stop thinking about what Professor Marsh said," Elaine admitted, sighing. "You know, about the whole "survival" thing?"

  "Oh, that's what's got you so bent out of shape? Elaine, I'm disappointed. Surely you're not letting that nutjob's words get to you."

  Elaine frowned at her desk. "And what if I am?"

  She couldn’t deny it; the Abyssal Sorcerer had shattered her confidence and rattled her core. What if she really did fail to live up to his lofty expectations? The thought gnawed at her relentlessly. How long would it be before the terrifying sorcerer, cloaked in his dark robes and wielding arcane power, materialized in one of her classes, coldly informing her that she was being placed under academic probation—or, even worse, expelled? The very idea was enough to make her stay hyper-focused on each and every lesson since she had departed from homeroom.

  Fortunately, it helped that Magihistory was a subject she had already dived into with enthusiasm. She had spent countless afternoons at the local library, where the scent of aged parchment and binding glue filled the air, storming through the content of any book she could get her little hands on. From the rise of ancient spellcasters to the fall of mystical empires, she had devoured every detail, hoping to equip herself with the knowledge that might one day ward off the dark shadows of doubt. When she wasn’t immersed in her studies, she was assisting at her family’s shop, running errands and interacting with customers. And in those quieter moments, she practiced magic in secret with Ellend, finding solace in the delicate art of Spellcasting. With each flick of her wrist and whispered incantation, she clung to the hope that she was more than just a student; she was a budding sorcerer ready to carve her own path in a world fraught with uncertainty.

  Truthfully, magihistory had always captivated her. It wasn't merely the study of historical events nor just the exploration of magical phenomena; it was a rich tapestry woven from both realms, a captivating hybrid that combined the past and the arcane. She often pondered how her fascination with this subject was intertwined with the tales of lands far beyond the narrow confines and fading memories of Page, as well as the echoes of times long forgotten that danced tantalizingly on the edges of awareness. This blend of history and magic was downright enchanting.

  In today's lecture, she found that the material didn’t reveal anything she hadn’t already encountered in her previous studies. However, their professor, with a keen eye for detail, meticulously dissected events and themes that the outdated history books back in Page had only glossed over. His insights peeled back layers of complexity, shedding light on nuances that were often overlooked. Although she was already familiar with much of the content, she knew better than to dismiss any detail, understanding that every piece held the potential to contribute to her broader understanding. She had to excel in her courses and demonstrate her capabilities to the esteemed professors across the campus; anything less was unacceptable. The lecture theater itself, compact yet efficiently designed, wasn't the largest she had seen but still managed to accommodate the curiosity of over fifty eager students at once. With its carefully sloped flooring, each row of semi-circular desks descended gently, ensuring that every seat provided an unobstructed view of the professor standing at the bottom-most floor, immersed in passionate discussion.

  "It took the combined efforts of the Military and the Arcanum to bring an end to the Magis Order's dominance finally," Professor Gray continued, pushing a pair of glasses further up his nose. "It was none other than our very own Founder who delivered the finishing blow herself, besting the Order's leader in a one-on-one duel. Though they've all but withered out by now, there have been reports of the dreaded Followers of Dreyfus prowling in the shadows as we speak. Be sure to write this down; it's essential for future material we will cover in this course."

  "Yes, sir!" Elaine called, along with a few others. Motorizing fingers jotted the notes from one side of the page to the other.

  Despite being a Magihistory professor, Warren Gray—a well-regarded Professional Sorcerer chosen directly by the Headmaster himself—appeared surprisingly youthful. His tan skin, kissed by the sun, complemented his tousled brown hair that seemed perpetually windblown. His dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and his chiseled features added a striking quality to his magnetic presence. Professor Gray's friendly demeanor and palpable passion for the tales of magic and history captivated his students, making it easy for Elaine to lose herself in his lectures. The classroom atmosphere buzzed with energy as he animatedly recounted the exploits of legendary sorcerers, drawing thought-provoking parallels between the past and the present. Other students, especially the girls, sat enraptured by his every word. Their wide, sparkling eyes, practically brimming with heart-shaped glimmers, suggested that it was not solely his engaging lessons that held their attention.

  "What if you're just blowing this whole thing out of proportion?" Custas asked. "Adeline might be onto something, and our creepy homeroom teacher could be planning on getting rid of one or two of us. Yup, I won't deny that that's plausible."

  "Then why aren't you more concerned?" Elaine grumbled, motioning to his textbook, void of discernible notes. All he'd done was draw a collection of messy doodles around the border of each page, and the date at the top was incorrect. Did he even know which class they were in?

  "Because I don't plan on burning myself out at the starting line," he yawned, hands behind his head. "I go at my own pace, tackling each challenge with a fresh perspective and a renewed vigor. What can I say? That's simply how I operate."

  "And it works for you?"

  "Has so far. It kept me sane for this long anyway," Custas snickered. "But not everyone's the same, I get that. For you, working yourself to death might just be how you operate. No shame in that."

  Elaine loured. "I'm not working myself to death."

  "It's our first lesson, and yet you're already stressing yourself out. You don't honestly think any of us are gonna get kicked out on the first day, do you?" Elaine looked at him in puzzled disbelief. Was he a mind-reader? "Worrying over something that hasn't happened yet isn't a healthy mindset. Seriously, Elaine, you need to relax."

  "Ah, Master Custas. Thank you for volunteering," Professor Gray called up to them.

  Custas nearly fell out of his chair. Cracking a nervous smirk, he said, "Come again?"

  "I was just asking which sorcerer was responsible for leading the charge in the Borgan Conflict. I only assume you have the answer. Why else would you be talking during my lesson?"

  "Oh...err...the Borgan Conflict?" Custas stammered. "I know that one...it was...uh..."

  Elaine chuckled beside him and shot up her hand. "It was Viktor Calligan, professor. His codename in the Military was the Brightstar Sorcerer because of how he specialized in Star Magic spells. He devastated the front lines of the rogue sorcerer infantry, providing an opportunity for the Arcanum to seize control of the Borgan Palace. This conflict is a rare instance where the Military and the Arcanum were dispatched on a single mission. One of the first, actually."

  Professor Gray seemed pleased with that answer. "Very well articulated, Lady Elaine," he said, paying her a charming smile. "And Master Custas, I implore you not to speak lest you've something to contribute to the class."

  "Yes, sir!" Custas whimpered. "Thanks for the save, my fair maiden."

  "Don't mention it," Elaine said happily. "And thank you for the advice. You're right; dwelling on what might go wrong won't benefit me in any way. I want to be a Professional Sorcerer, yes, but I also want to enjoy my experience at this academy as a student."

  "Ha! That's more I like it," Custas grinned. "By the way, if you could share your notes with me after class, I'd greatly appreciate it."

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Elaine laughed. "I've got you covered, Custas. Just try and keep your loose lips closed, all right?"

  "Sure, sure," he said. "But no promises..."

  *

  * *

  The small creature perched on her shoulder was enveloped in a layer of velvety, white feathers that shimmered softly, casting a gentle glow that pulsed rhythmically, as if in time with a heartbeat. Golden patterns adorned its chest, flowing and twisting like a shimmering river, branching into spirals that seemed to dance with every movement. Atop its head, a delicate crown of silvery feathers arched gracefully, catching the light in a way that made it appear almost ethereal. With a sudden shuffle, the creature lifted one wing and used its beak to scratch at an itch beneath its plumage, causing its tail feathers to flick and sway playfully. Living in the countryside, Elaine had encountered her fair share of bizarre lifeforms, especially during the warm summer months. Packs of ogrehounds would often stalk through her yard, and occasionally, she would spot a two-headed cobra slithering through the underbrush, its sinuous body resembling a large, reptilian worm.

  Once, on a clear day, she had even witnessed a pride of majestic griffins soaring through the azure sky, their powerful wings granting them an almost poetic grace as they flew in expertly organized arrow-shaped formations. But spirits—those were something entirely different. They hailed from a separate Realm of Existence, one that had likely witnessed the dawn of time itself, long before humanity and civilization were even mere concepts. To say Elaine was excited to learn about these celestial beings would be a blatant understatement. She watched intently as the creature cooed softly, its melodious sounds akin to any ordinary bird, wobbling from one shoulder to the other.

  "Some say that a Summoner has the power to command spirits; that we are masters and they are our servants. Even as a child, I was never a fan of this misconception. The dynamic we Summoners share with spirits is far more complex than that," their professor said, stroking the bird spirit on its head. "It's a relationship, one built on mutual trust and respect. In this course, I will teach you what it means to be a respectable Summoner."

  Her name was Sidney Altair. She was a dazzling young woman in her late twenties with long, silverish-blonde hair cascading from her diamond-shaped head, shimmering with hints of gold and perfectly framing her delicate features. Her azure eyes sparkled like gemstones, radiating intensity and intelligence, while her fair skin was smooth and milky, seemingly untouched by time. The woman was dressed in a flowing blue and white chiffon dress that swayed gracefully around her frame with each movement, the fabric beautifully accentuating her figure. On her left wrist were exquisite bracelets embedded with multi-colored diamonds that caught the eyes of those around her, twinkling like stars against her skin; each one seemed to tell a story of opulence and fine craftsmanship. Her high heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as she walked, echoing her confidence and poise with every step. Elaine noticed the wand holster nestled securely against her waist. As she spun gracefully to address her students gathered on the opposite side of the room, Elaine's gaze was drawn to a striking contrast: a simple rope bracelet wrapped around Sidney's right wrist. Its earthy tones and unpretentious design felt utterly at odds with her lavish attire.

  The classroom was reasonably spacious, yet it stood out distinctly due to its unique design. Semi-circular desks, meticulously crafted from polished oak, were fixed into three distinctive rings—each one larger than the last. Narrow pathways gapped between the rings, and at the heart of this unconventional layout, the professor herself stood behind a sturdy pulpit, positioned within the confines of the first and smallest ring, which was adorned with an engraving of archaic symbols. Elaine occupied a seat in the middle ring, perfectly placed to ensure a clear line of sight to the pulpit. As Professor Altair spoke, Elaine found herself transfixed, her gaze drawn to the extraordinary avian-like being that spread its magnificent wings wide, flapping them with palpable excitement.

  "A common misconception is that the Bond us Summoners form with spirits is the only way we can control them, the only way to beckon them into this reality. However, that isn't entirely accurate," Professor Altair said. "Spirits are alien to us; nevertheless, they are sentient. They're capable of speech, can create art and songs, and have organized a functional, hierarchical society on their side of the Rift. They can also be bargained with. Some are willing to form "temporary" Bonds with humans, so long as they believe it is beneficial to do so. I promised to pay the spirits waiting on the other side with trinkets from my office. Human items are valuable in the Celestial Realm, you see. They've agreed to be Summoned by you and have each bound themselves to the spirit circles I will now ask you to create."

  Professor Altair snapped her fingers. Flickering into existence above her was a hovering, rectangular image that glitched with a sort of static electricity. It displayed an image of a circle composed of two, no, three rings. In between each was a series of separate sygils, forming some kind of pattern. "Spirit circles act as gateways. We cannot bring a spirit into the Physical Realm without first having it pass through a spirit circle. Now recreate this circle accurately, charge it with your Essence, and then recite the chant I taught you earlier. You'll be Summoning a lesser spirit so it won't require that much magical energy to activate the circle. Accuracy is key, however. Draw the circle exactly as it appears."

  Elaine stared at the tray of fresh soil resting on the desk before her. She stuck a finger into it and started to trace a line that eventually curved into a circle. She did this twice over until the two rimmed symbol was now staring back at her from the soil. Next was the complicated part: she'd have to replicate the sygils. From what she could tell, sygils differentiated themselves from magic runes in that they were uniquely tailored for spirit Summoning and control. They were essentially useless when it came to casting spells or other Art Forms of magic. Elaine didn't think of herself as the neatest artist, but she tried her best in spite of that.

  Carefully, she dipped the tip of her finger into the dark, rich soil of the tray, feeling the cool, damp earth between her fingertips. With deliberate precision, she began to trace the intricate sygils that flickered on the enchanted screen hovering just above her workspace. The first rune, a complex pattern formed by a series of angular triangles interwoven with sharp zigzag shapes, was arranged in a radially symmetrical configuration that pulsed with a faint azure glow. In contrast, the second rune displayed sygils reminiscent of discs or unblinking eyes, their markings perfectly bilateral.

  Elaine took a deep breath, her heart racing slightly with anticipation. With the designs etched into the soil, she was nearly ready to proceed. All that remained was to follow her professor's instructions: she had to charge the circle with her own magical energy—her Essence. This vital step was essential; without it, her Summoning would lack the potency needed to bring forth the entity she sought. She held her hand above the tracings in the dirt, feeling the warmth radiating from her palm as she closed her eyes, blocking out the distractions of the classroom around her. Her mind shifted inward, focusing intently on the flow of Essence coursing through her veins, feeling it ebb and flow like a current. It was a familiar sensation, akin to the way she channeled energy through her wand when casting spells.

  Suddenly, an electric flash surged against her cheek, jolting her senses. She cracked open her eyes just a fraction, glancing around the room. Her fellow students were fully engaged in their own Summoning processes, each one enveloped in a shimmering cocoon of magical energy. Some appeared deeply focused, their brows furrowed in concentration, while others wore expressions of sheer exhilaration as they attempted to harness their Essence, preparing to breach the veil between worlds. She saw Fearne sitting across from her at the table. Both the girl's hands were held out in front of her, and she recited loudly, "Dan Minmi Virtuemen Tam Et Ba Ether! Bufo!"

  In response to her calls, a slobbery mass emerged from the confines of the spirit circle. The entity, no larger than a small dog or perhaps a young goat, was crafted from a liquidy, iridescent blue substance, and its skin was adorned with a vibrant array of purple spots that seemed to pulse gently, giving the impression of life beneath the surface. Each of its webbed feet, equipped with translucent membranes, clung tenaciously to the wooden table, leaving faint impressions that glistened with an otherworldly sheen. A small horn, spiraled and tipped with a curve, protruded from the center of its round snout, just above two bulging, yellow-colored eyes. The creature's well-defined and muscular hind legs, thick with sinew and power, suggested it was built for exceptional mobility, ready to leap or dart with agility. Yet, Elaine found herself puzzled by the pair of diminutive, feathery wings that extended awkwardly from its back. They appeared too tiny and fragile to lift its rotund form off the ground, particularly given the plumpness of its belly that swayed slightly with each movement. But then again, what did she truly understand about the physiology of spirits? These enigmatic beings adhered to laws of nature that defied her knowledge, navigating through dimensions and realities with a logic that was as perplexing as it was fascinating, playing by their own strange, hard-to-grasp rules.

  "I did it!" Fearne exclaimed. The spirit croaked at her, and it was trying to replicate her excitement with a slimy smile.

  "Argh, this is impossible," groaned the person sitting next to Elaine. She remembered his name to be Edgar Harez, a fair-skinned boy with dark hair who sat in the row behind her in homeroom. His different-colored eyes—one green, the other blue—and his partially pointed ears belonged to Rymevar, the smaller country westward of their own. Edgar slumped in his seat disappointedly. "Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a Summoner, huh? Say, Harwood, what kinda sygils are those? Did the professor change her instructions while I wasn't paying attention or something?"

  "My sygils?" Elaine asked. She glanced at the spirit circle in the tray, and, low and behold, the sigils were indeed different. She didn't even recognize it—streaking shapes resembling blades, or were they meant to be fangs? Had she drawn these?

  A few more of her classmates seemed to be having an effortless time with the Summoning exercise than she was. Bufo spirits, small and lackadaisical, were popping up all around the classroom. One clumsily flapped its feathery wings in front of Adeline, its dull colors speckled with hints of yellow, while a green variant, with bulging eyes and a slobbering tongue, hovered next to Jack, who was grinning widely at the amusing sight. But when a particularly rotund Bufo spirit materialized before Rayla, its bulbous body wobbling slightly, the astonished girl stumbled out of her seat, her eyes wide with disbelief, and landed awkwardly on the floor with a soft thud. Her unexpected fall drew a few nearby chuckles, her face blushing as she scrambled back to her feet.

  "Mr. Cloude!" she heard Professor Altair say strictly. The professor was standing, arms crossed, in front of Custas' desk. Her glare, on the other hand, challenged the blank stare she received from the giant reptile craning its long neck above her. A yellow-colored diamond was lodged in its flattened head. "That isn't a Bufo spirit," she said. "Care to explain yourself?"

  Custas snickered and held a hand at the white-scaled creature. "I forgot to mention, Professor Altair, I'm already Bonded with a spirit as you can see. Since we were practicing Summoning, I thought it'd be a perfect chance to demonstrate what I can do. So, what do you think?"

  Professor Altair's frustration eventually subsided, and she tapped the tip of a pen against her ruby lips. "It's impressive, I'll give you that."

  "Hey, Custas. What gives?" shouted Jack, pointing a finger at him. "You never mentioned anything about being a Summoner."

  "Yeah, no fair!" Rayla exclaimed frustratedly.

  "Well," he replied smugly, "you guys never asked. This here is Serpens the Elusive. We've been good pals for as long as I can remember. Go ahead, tell 'em, buddy." The serpentine spirit flicked its forked tongue at Custas, and then proceeded to wrap its slender yet flexible body around him, coiling him in a tight embrace. Despite his groans—his face turned purple, and tears bubbled in his eyes—Serpens plopped its chin atop Custas' head, flicking its tongue again. "As you can...see..." Custas churned, "...he's a bit of...a hugger..."

  "Yes, you've made your point," Professor Altair sighed, pinching her forehead. "As for the rest of you, do make certain to follow my instructions closely. Experienced Summoner or not, accidents can always happen."

  Elaine kept her hand extended over the dirt tray, holding it steady until a prickling sensation spread through her fingers. Before she knew it, the thunderous chimes of the tower bells reverberated through the classroom, shaking the wooden desks. The deep, resonant notes echoed in her chest, signaling the end of class. Elaine blinked, momentarily startled by the abruptness. No progress today, huh?

  "So what other spirits can you summon, Custas?" she heard Fearne inquire as she and the Summoner walked past her desk.

  "Eh, only a few," Custas answered, shrugging his shoulders. "You'd be surprised how hard it is to form a Spirit Bond with them. They can be incredibly stubborn at times."

  Sighing, Elaine gathered her belongings into her satchel, and followed behind them. They say it required a certain level of aptitude to beckon spirits. Not just any sorcerer could be a Summoner, after all. Perhaps she'd have better luck next class.

  "Wait! Ms. Harwood!" Elaine paused, whirling around at Professor Altair who was idling by her desk. "It isn't wise to leave a spirit circle active. A stray spirit could wander into the Physical Realm if you're not careful. Surges, these aren't even the correct sygils!"

  As Elaine walked over to the partially miffed professor, her eyes stretched open in surprise. The spirit circle, it was glowing.

  Professor Altair looked at her sternly. "Be more careful in the future, yes?"

  "A...Absolutely, ma'am." Right then, Elaine didn't care much that she'd been reprimanded. The strict chastisement failed to make even the slightest dent in her ecstatic grin.