[The Grand Academy - Arcane Theory Classroom]
Aldric sat in the back row of the lecture hall, watching as students filed in. Sera had guided HIM to HIS first class—Advanced Magical Theory, taught by Professor Thaddeus Vane, a Fourth Circle Master Mage.
The students were a mix of races.
Most were human, of course. But near the front sat two elves—tall, elegant, with pointed ears and hair like spun silver. They wore robes of forest green embroidered with golden leaves, and carried themselves with a grace that seemed almost supernatural.
Three rows down, a dwarf sat with a massive tome open before him. Stocky, muscular, with a braided beard that reached his chest, he was half the height of the humans around him but twice as broad.
Near the window, a beastkin girl with fox ears and a tail sat sketching in a notebook. Her features were partially human, partially vulpine, and her amber eyes tracked everything with predatory awareness.
"Quite the mix, isn't it?" Sera whispered, sitting beside Aldric. "The Academy accepts all races, though humans are the majority. Those two elves are from the Eldrawood delegation. They're... well, they keep to themselves mostly."
One of the elves turned, as if sensing the conversation. Her eyes—violet and ancient—fixed on Aldric for a moment. She frowned slightly, then turned back to her companion, whispering something in Elvish.
Professor Vane entered, a thin man with gray hair and sharp eyes. "Settle down, class. Today we continue our discussion on magical foundations and how different races interact with the Weave."
He waved his hand, and a magical diagram appeared in the air—a complex web of glowing lines.
"As you know," Vane began, "the Weave underlies all reality. It is the fabric from which magic flows. But not all races interact with it the same way."
He pointed to a section of the diagram.
"Humans possess what we call adaptability. You can learn any school of magic, combine techniques, innovate new spells. Your potential is theoretically limitless, though your lives are short—typically 80 to 100 years without magical life extension."
A human student raised his hand. "Professor, why do humans have this advantage? The church says we're blessed by the gods, but—"
"The origins are unknown," Vane interrupted. "Some believe divine favor. Others believe it's simply how humans evolved. Regardless, it is fact—humans excel at magical innovation."
One of the elves spoke, her voice melodious but cold. "Perhaps because humans burn brightly and briefly, like candles. We elves have centuries to master our craft properly."
"Indeed, Miss Sylvaen," Vane said. "Elves live 500 to 1,000 years. Your natural affinity for nature and celestial magic is unparalleled. You can sense the Weave more clearly than most humans. However, your magic tends to be traditional—you perfect ancient techniques rather than create new ones."
The elf, Sylvaen, lifted her chin proudly. "Perfection requires no innovation."
Several human students muttered at her arrogance.
Vane continued, "Dwarves live 300 to 500 years. Their magic is earth-aligned and runic. They cannot cast spells quickly, but their enchantments are permanent and incredibly stable. A dwarven-forged weapon can last millennia."
The dwarf in class, named Borin, grunted in agreement. "Aye. Flashy spellcasting is well and good, but give me a properly runed hammer over a fireball any day."
"And beastkin," Vane gestured to the fox girl, "live shorter lives—60 to 150 years depending on subspecies. Their magic is primal and instinctive. They make excellent shamans and spirit-speakers. Their connection to nature is second only to elves."
The fox girl, Kira, flicked her tail. "We don't overthink magic like you bookworms. We feel it."
Vane smiled. "Each race has strengths. Now, let's discuss power progression..."
He drew another diagram—a vertical chart.
"Most mages begin their journey as First Circle apprentices. You can sense magic, cast basic spells. This typically takes years of study for humans, though elves might reach it naturally through their longer childhoods."
"Second Circle—you gain solid control. Can cast reliably in combat situations. Most adventurers operate at this level."
"Third Circle—Expert Mage. You've mastered at least one school of magic. Can create variations of existing spells. This is where most mages plateau. Perhaps one in fifty reach this level."
Sylvaen raised her hand. "And beyond Third Circle?"
"Fourth Circle—Master Mage. Multiple schools mastered. Can innovate entirely new spells. Very rare. I am Fourth Circle myself, and it took me forty years to achieve."
He paused, looking impressed with himself.
"Fifth Circle—Archmage. Reality-bending power. Can affect weather, reshape terrain. Our Headmaster Alduin is Fifth Circle. Perhaps fifty such mages exist in the world."
"Sixth Circle—Grand Archmage. Can single-handedly turn the tide of wars. I know of perhaps ten living beings at this level."
"And Seventh Circle?" a student asked eagerly.
Vane shook his head. "Sage level. I've never met one. The ancient texts speak of them as near-divine. They can create lasting magical phenomena, extend their lives indefinitely, and touch the boundaries of transcendence."
"What about higher?" another student pressed.
"Theoretical," Vane said. "Some scholars propose an Eighth Circle—Transcendent level—but there are no confirmed cases. At that level, you would approach the power of Saints and Angels themselves."
Aldric listened with amusement. If only they knew what sat in their classroom. Eighth Circle? Try infinite.
Sylvaen spoke again, her tone dismissive. "These rankings are human constructs. Elven magic does not fit your neat circles. We measure power by connection to the World Tree and celestial attunement."
"True," Vane acknowledged. "Each race has their own systems. Dwarves count runic mastery by tiers. Beastkin measure by spirit bonds and ancestral connections. But for Academy purposes, we use the Circle system as a common language."
He looked at the class. "Now, with this new Spirit Summoning ability, the power dynamics are shifting. A Third Circle mage with a powerful spirit familiar might rival a Fourth Circle mage without one. We're entering unprecedented territory."
"Professor," a student called out, "has anyone in the Academy successfully formed a contract yet?"
"Headmaster Alduin has," Vane confirmed. "Several professors are attempting it. And I've heard that at least fifty students across all years have managed minor contracts—mostly with low-level elemental spirits."
"What determines which spirits you can contract?" Sera asked.
"We believe it's a combination of your Circle level, magical affinity, and... compatibility. The spirits seem to choose contractors whose nature resonates with theirs. A fire mage would naturally attract fire spirits. Someone with a gentle soul might attract healing spirits. It's still being studied."
Vane noticed Aldric sitting quietly in the back. "Ah, our newest student. Aldric, correct? The one who... exceeded our measurement capabilities?"
Every head turned to stare at Aldric.
HE smiled politely. "Yes, Professor."
"Have you attempted Spirit Summoning yet?"
"Not yet, Professor. I'm still observing and learning."
Sylvaen's violet eyes narrowed. "How modest. The human who supposedly broke a Measurement Orb, acting humble."
"I wasn't trying to break anything," Aldric said calmly. "I simply channeled what I had."
"And how much is that?" she challenged.
"Enough," HE replied simply.
Tension crackled in the room. The elf clearly didn't believe HIM, or perhaps resented a human possessing such power.
Vane cleared his throat. "Let's return to the lesson. Open your texts to chapter seven—we'll discuss the fundamental differences in how races perceive magical spectrums..."
[Academy Courtyard - Lunch Break]
Aldric sat on a bench under an oak tree, watching students mingle. Sera had gone to the library, leaving HIM to observe.
The courtyard was fascinating—a microcosm of the world HE had created.
A group of human students practiced sparring with magical barriers. Their techniques were aggressive, innovative, constantly trying new combinations.
The two elves sat apart, eating quietly. They moved with liquid grace, and even their simple actions—pouring tea, breaking bread—looked like choreographed dance.
Borin the dwarf sat with three other dwarves, all of them hunched over what looked like enchantment diagrams. They argued passionately in their guttural language, occasionally gesturing at the runes they were carving into stone tablets.
Kira the fox-girl sat in a tree branch, eating an apple and watching everything with sharp eyes. Beastkin were predators at heart, always aware, always calculating.
"First day and you're already infamous."
Aldric looked up. A tall young man stood there—dark skin, golden eyes, wearing robes that marked him as a Fourth-Year student. There was power in him. Third Circle, approaching Fourth.
"I'm Dante Ashcroft," the young man said, sitting without invitation. "Fourth-year, specializing in fire and lightning magic. I heard you made the professors nervous."
"Not intentionally," Aldric said.
Dante laughed. "Right. Look, I'll be direct. Every year, new students arrive thinking they're special. Most wash out by second year. The few who stay usually form little power groups. You're clearly powerful, so I'm offering—join my group. We train together, share techniques, watch each other's backs."
"Generous," Aldric said. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Well, except you'd owe me. Social currency, you understand. But that's how the Academy works. The strong band together."
"I'll think about it," HE said politely.
Dante's eyes narrowed slightly. "You do that. But don't wait too long. Other groups will come for you too. Best to choose allies quickly."
He left.
Sera appeared moments later, slightly breathless. "Was that Dante Ashcroft? What did he want?"
"Recruitment," Aldric said.
"Be careful with him. He's powerful and well-connected, but he collects people. Sees them as assets." She sat down, pulling out a sandwich. "The Academy's pretty political once you get past First Year."
"What about you?" HE asked. "What group are you in?"
She laughed. "Me? I'm nobody special. Second Circle, decent at theory but average at practical casting. I don't run with the elite students. I just... study, do my work, try not to get stepped on by people like Marcus von Haltren."
Speaking of whom—
"YOU!"
Marcus stormed across the courtyard, three friends flanking him. His handsome face was twisted with anger.
"You," he pointed at Aldric. "I don't know what trick you pulled with that orb, but everyone's talking about you like you're some kind of prodigy. It's pathetic. Clearly the equipment malfunctioned."
Aldric regarded him calmly. "If you say so."
"I'm Third Circle," Marcus continued loudly, drawing attention. "Youngest in my family to reach Expert level. I've been training since I was five with the finest tutors money can buy. And you—nobody—just show up and supposedly surpass everyone? I don't believe it."
"You don't have to," Aldric said simply.
"Prove it then," Marcus sneered. "A duel. Magical combat. Let's see what you actually have."
The courtyard went silent. Students gathered, sensing drama.
Sera grabbed Aldric's arm. "Don't. He's Third Circle. Even if you're stronger, dueling is serious. You could get expelled if—"
"I decline," Aldric said calmly to Marcus. "I'm not interested in proving anything."
Marcus laughed mockingly. "Of course you decline. Because you're a fraud. The orb malfunctioned, and now you're hiding behind humility."
One of the elves, Sylvaen, watched with interest. "How very human. All bluster, no substance."
Aldric felt the weight of expectations, the political games, the posturing. This was fascinating—mortals and their social hierarchies, their need to establish dominance.
HE could end this with a gesture. Could demonstrate power that would make Marcus weep. Could reveal even a fraction of what HE was and silence every doubt.
But that would defeat the purpose.
"Believe what you want, Marcus," HE said simply, standing. "I'm going to class."
As HE walked away, Sera hurried after HIM. "That was... wow. Everyone will think you're scared of him now."
"Does it matter what they think?" Aldric asked.
"In the Academy? Yes. Reputation is everything. If Marcus spreads that you're a coward—"
"Then he spreads it," HE said gently. "I didn't come here to fight, Sera. I came to learn."
She looked at HIM strangely. "You're weird, you know that?"
HE smiled. "I've been told."
[Training Grounds - Later That Afternoon]
Unable to let it go, Marcus stood before a summoning circle he'd hastily drawn in chalk. His three friends watched nervously.
"You're sure about this?" one asked. "Spirit Summoning is brand new. Maybe we should wait for proper instruction—"
"I'm Third Circle," Marcus snapped. "If that nobody is supposedly so powerful, I'll show everyone what real power looks like. I'll contract with a powerful spirit and prove I'm superior."
He placed his hands on the circle and reached out with his magical power, calling to the Spirit Realm.
Come to me, he thought. I am Marcus von Haltren, Third Circle Expert Mage, heir to a noble house. I deserve a powerful spirit. Come!
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then something answered.
The air grew cold. The summoning circle flared with dark red light.
"Marcus..." one friend backed away. "Something's wrong—"
A figure materialized in the circle.
It was humanoid but wrong. Too tall, too thin, with limbs that bent at odd angles. Its face was a blank mask of bone, and from its back sprouted wings of shadow and flame.
A spirit. But not a simple elemental.
A Chaos Spirit. A high-level entity born from the concept of destruction and disorder itself.
Marcus stared in horror. His magical senses screamed that this thing was far, far beyond him.
"YOU CALLED," the spirit said, its voice like breaking glass. "YOU DEMANDED POWER. I HAVE COME TO ANSWER."
"I—I didn't mean—" Marcus stammered.
"A CONTRACT IS PROPOSED," the spirit continued, reaching one skeletal hand toward him. "ACCEPT, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU STRENGTH BEYOND YOUR DREAMS. REFUSE, AND I SHALL DEVOUR YOUR SOUL FOR WASTING MY TIME."
Marcus's friends ran. Smart.
Marcus himself was frozen with terror. A contract with this thing would grant immense power—but at what cost? Chaos spirits were known to be dangerous, unpredictable. But refusing meant death.
"I—I accept—"
"STOP."
A new voice. Calm. Gentle. Absolute.
Aldric stood at the edge of the training ground. HE had felt the disturbance from across campus—a spirit far too powerful for a Third Circle mage being summoned.
The Chaos Spirit turned its eyeless face toward HIM.
"YOU..." it said slowly. "YOU ARE..."
It could sense something. Not the full truth—mortal-level spirits couldn't comprehend THE SUPREME—but enough to know this was not an ordinary human.
"WHAT ARE YOU?" the spirit demanded.
"Someone who's going to send you back," Aldric said simply. HE walked forward, completely unafraid.
"You!" Marcus gasped. "Stay back! This is my—"
"Your what?" Aldric asked. "Your death? That spirit will consume you, Marcus. You're Third Circle. It's the equivalent of Fifth Circle at minimum. The contract would burn out your mind in days."
"THE HUMAN SPEAKS TRUTH," the Chaos Spirit said. "BUT A CONTRACT WAS INITIATED. BLOOD WAS OFFERED. I CANNOT RETURN WITHOUT CLAIMING SOMETHING."
"Yes you can," Aldric said. HE reached the edge of the summoning circle. "I'm giving you a direct order. Return to the Spirit Realm. Now."
"YOU CANNOT ORDER ME, MORTAL. I AM CHAOS. I BOW TO NO—"
Aldric looked at it.
Just looked.
And in that look, for the briefest instant, HE let the veil slip. Just a fraction. Just enough for the spirit to glimpse what stood before it.
The Chaos Spirit screamed—a sound of pure terror.
It vanished instantly, fleeing back to the Spirit Realm as if all the armies of heaven were chasing it.
The summoning circle shattered.
Marcus collapsed, gasping.
Aldric turned to him. "Spirit Summoning isn't a game, Marcus. It's partnership. You don't demand. You don't command. You invite, and you respect. The spirits are living beings, not tools."
He walked away, leaving Marcus trembling on the ground.
Sera, who had followed and witnessed everything, stared after HIM with wide eyes.
What is he? she wondered. What could make a Chaos Spirit flee in terror with just a look?
She didn't have an answer.
But she was starting to suspect that Aldric was something far more than a powerful student.