Consequence of exertion
When George finally blinked his eyes open, the afternoon sun was beating down through the dormitory window like a physical weight, searing and relentless. He groaned, the sound catching in a dry throat. Every muscle in his body felt as though it had been replaced by lead, and a dull, throbbing ache pulsed from his ribs to his skull—the lingering souvenir of Flynn's final, desperate explosion. He attempted to sit up, but the world tilted violently. He stumbled as his feet hit the cold stone floor, barely catching himself against the bedpost. His head swam with a nauseating dizziness as he fumbled for his third-year uniform. His fingers felt strangely numb, lacking the usual buzz of energy that lived just beneath his skin.
He stopped, staring at his trembling palm. Just a spark, he thought, reaching for his Aura. He tried to manifest a tiny flicker of flame, a simple trick he'd mastered years ago. Nothing. Not a spark, not a glow—just the cold, hollow sensation of a dry well. His Tele-stone ring began to vibrate against his finger. With a clumsy swipe, he activated it. A blue, flickering projection of Professor Log shimmered into the air, the face looking unusually weary. "Attention, students. Today's classes are officially canceled. Take the day to recover and recuperate from yesterday's... enthusiastic demonstrations. Use this time wisely." The image hissed and vanished.
Gritting his teeth against a sharp spike of pain in his side, George made his way down to the courtyard. He found Nana and Kayn waiting by the fountain, the familiar splashing of the water providing a rhythmic comfort. Nana looked tired, her vibrant purple braids slightly messy, and George noticed small arcs of white lightning fizzling weakly in and out of existence around her fingertips.
"You're magic is drained too?" George asked, leaning heavily against the stone basin.
Nana looked up, her usual fierce gaze softened by a warm, tired smile. "Slightly," she admitted, watching her lightning sputter out. "But it's just the surface reserves. It'll recover within a day or two. You, on the other hand, look like you were trampled by a stone golem."
The trio spent the next hour huddling together, going over their notes and comparing strategies from the previous day. Even without their magic, their minds remained sharp, dissecting the maneuvers that had led to the various stalemates and victories. Suddenly, the afternoon bell rang. To George, the sound was like a needle driven into his ear, the high-pitched shriek making him wince.
"You really should be in bed, George," Kayn uttered, his dark eyes scanning George's pale face with quiet concern. "Your Mana count must be at absolute zero."
"Ah, George. It seems you are upright. How... unexpected."
The voice was cool and precise. They turned to see Mrs. Eberheart approaching, her posture as rigid and commanding as ever. She stopped before them, her sharp eyes missing nothing—not George's trembling hands, nor the way he favored his left side.
"What do you mean, ma'am?" George asked, trying to stand a little straighter.
"Your body's recovery rate is quite miraculous," she said, her tone carrying a hint of clinical intrigue. "Flynn Nightwing is still confined to the infirmary as we speak. Nothing permanent, but he will certainly feel the weight of yesterday's bout for several days." She paused, her gaze piercing George's. "I hope you haven't been foolish enough to attempt any magic today."
George looked away, his heart sinking. "It feels as if it's just... gone."
"Yes, well, this is the consequence of over-exertion," Mrs. Eberheart said, her voice dropping into a solemn register. "Magic is not a free resource; it has a cost. If you push past your limits and burn through your core reserves, the damage can be catastrophic. If you are not careful, the ability to channel Aura can be lost forever."
The trio gasped in unison. The air in the courtyard felt suddenly cold.
"You mean... I might never be able to use magic again?" George asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"In this instance, you will likely recover," she replied, offering a rare, thin smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But let this be a terrifying lesson. The boundary between a powerful mage and a mundane human is thinner than you think. Do not cross it again."
With a final, meaningful look, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stone. The tension remained thick long after she left. As the day dragged on, the reality of the Academy's shift in social fabric became apparent. They walked past the old oak tree where Faust was buried in his spellbooks, and past the training field where Ren, Elvina, and Davina were already back at work, their elemental flashes lighting up the grass. Everywhere George went, he felt the weight of eyes on him. Students whispered behind their hands, pointing at the boy who had matched a Nightwing and leveled the training field. He was no longer just the the boy who fought magnus; he was a candidate. But his mind kept circling back to Mrs. Eberheart's warning. Lost forever.
Sensing his downward spiral, Nana and Kayn refused to leave his side. They dragged him to Claudius's room, which was filled with the scent of expensive tea and polished wood. For the rest of the evening, they forced George to forget the hollow feeling in his chest. They laughed over old stories, debated the logistics of their upcoming trip to the East Blue Factory, and played games until the shadows grew long.
In the warmth of his friends' company, George finally felt the ice around his heart begin to melt, even if his magic was still nowhere to be found.