"Veynar. Wake up."
Nerith's voice was calm—but edged.
"We agreed to wake at six," he continued. "Classes start at seven. What are you doing?"
Caelan stepped out of the bath, hair still damp. "Has he still not woken up?"
"No," Nerith sighed. "And I must say—this academy truly knows how to splurge."
Caelan smiled faintly. "I didn't expect the bath to be that big. One per room, too. With two hundred students per year... It's excessive."
"Mmm... five more minutes," Veynar muttered, hugging his pillow.
Nerith's patience snapped.
"WAKE UP!"
He yanked the sheets away and kicked Veynar clean off the bed.
Veynar hit the floor with a thud.
Caelan stared. "Maybe... that was a little harsh."
Nerith turned slowly, eyes sharp. "Don't encourage him, Caelan."
He cracked his knuckles.
"...Yes. Sorry," Caelan said immediately.
"What was that for?" Veynar groaned, pushing himself up. "Are you insane?"
"You slept through the bath," Nerith shot back. "Caelan and I were already done while you were drooling on the pillow."
"That doesn't mean you get to kick me!"
"Enough," Caelan said quickly, stepping between them. "Veynar, get dressed. Nerith, he's awake now. Let's go."
Nerith exhaled, then nodded. "Fine. Only because Caelan asked."
"Otherwise, we'd be late on the first day because of this sleep addict."
"I need my beauty sleep," Veynar said, standing and stretching.
"You're just lazy."
Caelan laughed. "Come on. Twenty minutes left."
Veynar paused when he saw three neatly laid-out uniforms. "You already prepared everything?"
Caelan nodded. "Seemed efficient."
"That's... impressive," Veynar said honestly.
Then he looked around. "The other roommates still not here?"
"No," Nerith replied. "They'll be joining us later. Apparently, they were occupied yesterday."
"Occupied," Veynar echoed.
"Two nobles," Nerith scoffed. "The teacher came by after Caelan returned from the headmaster's office."
Veynar blinked. "I missed that."
"You were asleep," Caelan said flatly.
"Oh." Then, more serious. "So—everything okay?"
Nerith looked at him, too.
The concern caught Caelan off guard. Warmth spread through his chest.
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "It's fine. I'm concept-aligned. No facet."
"A failure," he added lightly.
"Failure?" Nerith snorted. "Please."
"Maybe you awakened something absurdly powerful," Veynar said. "Something the academy doesn't understand yet."
"Future master," Nerith added. "Legendary figure."
"Hero of forgotten myths," Veynar grinned.
Caelan shook his head, embarrassed. "Stop exaggerating."
Then, softer: "Let's just get to class."
The three of them arrived just as the first bell faded into silence.
Inside the classroom, clusters of students were already talking—some animated, some restrained, others sizing each other up with thinly veiled judgment. It was a class of 40.
"Let's sit there," Veynar said, pointing toward the back-left corner.
All three agreed and slipped into their seats just as the door opened again.
The room quieted almost instantly.
A tall man entered, robes of deep ash-grey trailing softly behind him. His movements were unhurried, composed, as though the room had already submitted to his presence.
"Ahem," he said calmly.
That single sound was enough.
"Everyone, please be quiet and take your seats."
He turned to the blackboard and began writing with precise, elegant strokes.
Lythera Valen Veyran
"I," he said without turning around, "will be your instructor for your first year at this prestigious academy."
He set the chalk down and faced the class, his gaze sharp yet distant—observing rather than judging.
"I will be teaching you the theory and philosophy behind rituals."
A brief pause followed, deliberate.
"I assume most of you already believe you understand why rituals are performed."
Murmurs stirred—confidence, arrogance, curiosity.
"But for those who do not," Lythera continued, turning fully toward them, eyes sweeping across every student, lingering only a fraction longer on a few—
"Rituals are acts conducted toward gods."
He let the words sink in.
"They are a form of worship—yes—but also something far more dangerous."
Chalk tapped lightly against the board.
"They are a means by which human desire reaches beyond its limits."
Some students straightened. Others frowned.
"Rituals allow mortals to borrow power they do not own, request knowledge they should not possess, and shape outcomes they were never meant to control."
Caelan felt something stir faintly in his chest at those words.
"Faith alone does not complete a ritual," Lythera continued. "Nor does talent. Nor lineage."
His gaze passed over the noble students at the front, then drifted briefly—almost imperceptibly—toward Caelan's corner.
"Only understanding does."
He turned back to the board and wrote a single word:
INTENT
"This class," Lythera said, "will teach you why rituals fail... and why some succeed at a cost you will not realise until it is far too late."
The room was completely silent.
Veynar leaned in slightly. "This guy's intense."
Nerith whispered back, "I like him."
Caelan said nothing.
For the first time since his awakening, Caelan felt as though this class might be meant for him.
"The language in which a ritual is conducted," Lythera said, turning back to the board, "determines not only how reality responds... but who is allowed to be correct when it does."
Chalk moved.
Two words appeared.
LEXAEN
VERN
"The older of the two is Lexaen," Lythera continued. "The Written Law. A language born during the Divine Wars—when gods still argued with existence itself."
He drew a single glyph beneath it.
†ϟ
Several students leaned forward.
"Lexaen does not describe reality," Lythera said calmly. "It asserts it."
More glyphs followed, stacked vertically.
†ϟ•
†⌁•
†⋈•
†≡•
†⌇•
†◇•
"This," he said, tapping the board, "is a complete Lexaen declaration. Authority. Subject. Action. Object. Limitation. Cost."
A pause.
"It does not mean 'this might happen.'"
"It means 'this shall be obeyed within these terms.'"
The room felt colder.
"In Lexaen, meaning is not found in words alone. It is determined by glyph choice, vertical order, what is present, and—most dangerously—what is implied but never named."
He underlined the stack once.
"If the authority glyph names a divine source, the command can override local reality within its stated limits. Its scope and cost still apply."
Someone swallowed audibly.
"This is why Lexaen is dangerous," Lythera went on. "It suppresses contradiction. It imposes commands. The more absolute the command the greater the cost"
His chalk hesitated before writing one final line beneath it.
'Lexaen does not lie. It only decides who is allowed to be right.'
Caelan felt his chest tighten.
Lythera stepped away from the board and turned back to the class.
"This is also why Lexaen is no longer taught beyond theory."
A beat.
"Now—Vern."
He erased nothing.
Instead, he wrote beneath Lexaen.
VERN — THE DIMMED SYSTEM
"Vern is not sacred," Lythera said. "It is a tool. An interface. A language designed so humans could act upon reality without inviting gods to answer back."
Geometric symbols followed—clean, familiar, restrained.
Φ | | > [ ] ⊡
"symbols in Vern do not mean," he explained. "They reference. Variables. Constants. Operations. Conditions. Outputs. Parameters, thresholds, limits."
He drew a simple expression.
"This means: apply defined change, convert state, activate. Nothing more."
A few students nodded, relieved.
"Vern cannot express paradox," Lythera continued. "It cannot preserve ambiguity. It cannot ask why."
He turned, meeting their eyes.
"That is why Vern is safe."
Then, quieter:
"And that is why it is incomplete."
Caelan's gaze flicked back to the Lexaen glyphs.
"Vern does not touch archetypes directly," Lythera said. "It manipulates systems that touch archetypes. It assumes causality is linear. Reality disagrees—but complies locally."
He added one final line beneath Vern.
'It works. It just doesn't know why.'
A student raised a hand. "Instructor... if Vern is safer, why study Lexaen at all?"
Lythera smiled thinly.
"Because Vern inherited Lexaen's structure," he said. "Because Shadow hides where Vern labels things as 'noise.' Because Desire survives inside parameters."
He paused, then finished softly:
"Vern did not kill the gods. It made them invisible."
Caelan's fingers curled unconsciously.
Something about the Vern glyphs on the board felt unfinished.
As if they were waiting for a language that did not yet exist.
Lythera tapped the board lightly, drawing the class back in.
"A fitting example," he said, "would be yesterday's opening ceremony."
Several students straightened.
"When the head instructor snapped his fingers, that action itself meant nothing," Lythera continued. "It was merely a signal—a trigger."
He wrote a small symbol beside the Vern section.
>
"The actual effect," he said, "was carried out by a Vern-based movement formation prepared in advance. Several instructors were stationed as anchors to activate it simultaneously."
Murmurs spread.
"Yes," Lythera added dryly, "the spell you experienced was a large-scale teleportation."
He paused, then glanced over his shoulder.
"And as some of you likely noticed, Vern has a cost."
A few students nodded, remembering the dizziness.
"Exhaustion. Nausea. Disorientation," Lythera listed. "The severity depends on the spell's scale, the precision of its parameters, and the quality of the energy supplied."
"So that's why—" someone began.
"—Why were some instructors absent for half the day?" Lythera finished. "Correct. They were... temporarily out of commission."
A few nervous chuckles followed.
Lythera turned back to the board.
"Now," he said, "let us look at a simple example. A Vern formulation used to enhance physical capability."
Chalk moved cleanly.
Φ × 3 → ∥ = stable > → ⊡
"This," Lythera explained, "triples available energy units, routes them into the control parameter, and fixes the state. In short, temporary physical reinforcement."
He paused.
"Safe. Predictable. Incomplete."
Caelan stared at the symbols.
At first, they looked fine.
Then—something didn't sit right.
Not wrong.
Just... missing.
His gaze followed the arrow. The constants. The trigger.
A faint pressure built behind his eyes, as though the formula cast a shadow that didn't match its shape.
The equation was clean. Legal. Efficient.
And incomplete.
Before he quite realised what he was doing, Caelan raised a hand.
Lythera paused. "Yes?"
Caelan swallowed. "That formula—it works. But... it leaks."
A few students glanced at him, confused.
"Explain," Lythera said, his tone sharpening.
Caelan stood slowly, eyes fixed on the board.
"The conversion is linear," he said. "Energy goes in, enhancement comes out. But the strain doesn't disappear—it disperses unevenly."
The room grew quiet.
"Instructor," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "shouldn't there be a limiter?"
Lythera's brow creased. "A limiter?"
"If the control parameter is fixed without a threshold," Caelan said, almost apologetically, "then the reinforcement keeps compounding until the body gives out. It stabilises the output, not the strain."
A few students frowned.
Others shifted uneasily.
Caelan reached for the chalk, pausing just long enough to ask permission.
Lythera nodded once.
Then—slowly—Caelan added a single symbol.
[ ]
Lythera stared at the board.
Φ × 3 → ∥ = stable [ ] > → ⊡
The air felt... better.
"Interesting," Lythera said at last.
He turned back to the class, his gaze lingering on Caelan a fraction longer than necessary.
"Yes," he said finally. "A threshold should be present. Otherwise, the spell succeeds right up until the cultivator collapses."
A pause.
"Good observation."
"What Mr Korthal has done," Lythera continued carefully, "is not optimisation."
His eyes did not leave Caelan.
"It is correction."
Caelan sat back down, heart pounding.
Veynar leaned over, whispering, "Did you just correct the instructor?"
Nerith didn't smile. "He's right, though."
Lythera cleared his throat.
"This," he said, tapping the corrected formula, "is why Vern is considered safe."
Then, quieter:
"And why it still kills people who trust it too much."
Caelan stared at the board.
For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn the symbols had been... misaligned before.
As if something hidden had simply been waiting for him to notice.
Lythera continued, explaining how the glyphs embedded within the awakening platform were remnants of ancient practice—structures inherited from the ancestors themselves. He spoke of ruins buried beneath old capitals, of forgotten kingdoms where similar inscriptions were etched into pillars, gates, and thrones.
Knowledge passed down.
Reused.
Misunderstood.
Caelan barely heard it.
His thoughts circled a single point—how he had noticed something he shouldn't have been able to notice. He didn't know why he saw it. Only that once he had, the flaw felt obvious in hindsight.
The uncertainty gnawed at him.
Before he could sink further into speculation, a shadow fell across his desk.
Lythera was standing beside him.
Caelan looked up.
Neither of them spoke.
Lythera's gaze drifted back to the board as he addressed the room.
"The sheets I've handed out detail your class structure," he said evenly. "The second allows you to select elective lessons to fill your open periods."
He turned a page.
"You may choose subjects such as Ancient History, or Advanced Rituals—where we explore deeper frameworks and less... forgiving formulations. Those who perform well may find themselves a year ahead."
Students immediately began whispering, quills scratching across parchment.
Lythera didn't look at Caelan when he spoke again.
"Caelan."
Caelan stiffened. "Yes, instructor?"
"I want you to choose Advanced Rituals."
"...Huh?"
Lythera finally turned, his expression intent rather than playful.
"I teach the advanced course regardless of year," he said. "Talent without guidance is wasteful. And guidance without pressure is indulgence."
He hesitated, then added more quietly, "You are perceptive. That kind of mind dulls quickly if left unattended."
Caelan blinked, caught off guard.
"Uh... alright. Instructor."
Lythera smiled faintly. "Professor."
Caelan opened his mouth. Closed it again.
The man was already walking away.
As the class continued filling out their selections, Lythera paused at the door and turned back.
"Oh—and one more thing," he said lightly. "Other departments may require additional electives."
"Such as Weapons Theory and Cultivation Training."
A beat.
"Good luck."
With that, he left.
Caelan stared down at the parchment in front of him.
Advanced Rituals.
For reasons he didn't understand yet, it felt less like an invitation—
—and more like being quietly claimed.
As the students filed out of the classroom, they placed their completed sheets neatly on the instructor's desk before dispersing into the corridor.
The three of them headed toward the training fields, the hum of student chatter filling the hall.
"Alright," Nerith said suddenly, crossing his arms. "Confess."
"Confess?" Caelan blinked. "Confess to what?"
"You know," Veynar chimed in with a grin. "Mr Rising Legend over here."
"What did I tell you two about teasing me?"
Nerith stepped closer and grabbed Caelan's cheeks, pulling them outward. "Teasing? If you were some kind of hidden scholar, you should've told us!"
"Vuhh—! I said I don't... know!" Caelan protested, pushing Nerith's hands away and rubbing his face once he was free.
Nerith laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I don't get it either. But listen—whatever's going on with you, you better keep us updated. We're friends, after all."
Caelan smiled softly. "Okay."
"Well then," Veynar said lazily, stretching his arms, "if you two are done with your lovers' quarrel, shall we head to the training grounds? After changing, of course."
"We're not lovers," Caelan said flatly.
"We're not~," Nerith echoed in a high-pitched voice, batting his eyelashes.
Caelan gave him a look of pure discomfort. "Stop that. That's creepy."
Veynar burst out laughing.
"Not funny, Veynar," Caelan said, then promptly flicked Nerith on the forehead. "Stop messing around."
"Ow!"
"That's what you get," Veynar mocked.
They picked up the pace, catching up to Caelan, who had already moved ahead.
"Oh—right," Nerith said. "What did you two choose for your extra lessons? I picked Ancient History. I actually like that stuff."
"I chose Rituals," Veynar said. "Could be useful for aerial combat later on. What about you, Caelan?"
Nerith smirked before Caelan could answer. "Obviously, Advanced Rituals. Hand-picked as the professor's apprentice."
Caelan sighed, half-smiling. "I didn't exactly get a choice. Advanced Rituals... and Ancient History."
"Both?" Veynar raised a brow. "Why?"
"I'm curious about Ancient History," Caelan said honestly. "And Advanced Rituals seemed like the best fit for me. Especially since I'm... a failed awakener."
The mood shifted slightly.
Nerith stopped walking and turned to face him. "Listen, Caelan. No matter what anyone says—you're not a failure."
Veynar nodded. "We don't think that. We know it."
Nerith continued, his tone firm. "So if you ever feel stuck, or overwhelmed, or just need someone to talk to—you've got us."
Caelan felt something warm settle in his chest.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Nerith's seriousness vanished in an instant. He struck a smug pose. "And if you ever need advice on impressing girls, your master right here will teach you."
Caelan turned without expression. "Let's go, Veynar."
"Yeah," Veynar said, still laughing. "Let's go."
"Huh?" Nerith blinked, left standing alone in the corridor. "Hey—wait!"