POV: Cain

  The first thing I felt when I woke up wasn’t existential dread, starvation, or the sense that nature itself was conspiring to kill me.

  Nope. Just a warm pulse behind my ribs. Which, you know, only mildly arming.

  “Oh,” I muttered to myself, blinking up at the dorm ceiling. “So that’s what a magic core feels like.”

  I sat up, rubbing my chest. There it was. A subtle hum beneath the skin, like someone had lit a quiet fire inside me and walked away. I inhaled—deep—and I could feel the magic in the air pulling toward me in wisps.

  Bck. Solid. That’s what Luna called the first stage. Most mages took years to reach it. Me? A week. Thanks to the emotional support hurricane disguised as a wolf spirit.

  She was standing across the room, arms folded like a disappointed coach.

  “You’ve formed the vessel,” she said. “Now you’ll learn how to fill it properly.”

  “Wow, not even a gold star? No ‘Congratutions, Cain, you didn’t explode your own lungs’?”

  She blinked. That was probably her version of praise.

  Instead of validating me like a functional mentor, she came closer and pressed two fingers to my forehead. My core pulsed again, stronger this time, like a heartbeat syncing with hers. A trail of wind wrapped around my spine, cold and invigorating.

  “You’ll strengthen your body with mana. Your speed. Your reactions. Your strikes.”

  “No fireballs?”

  “Wind mages don’t throw fireballs.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” I muttered. “Guess I’ll stick to sarcasm and dodging.”

  POV: Vera Ashthorn – Archmage and Headmistress of Ethera Magic AcademyThe garden atop the Arcanum Spire was suspended in magic and moonlight. No roof. No walls. Just open sky, curated flora, and spells weaved into the very wind.

  Vera Ashthorn stood near the edge, a gss of crystalline nectar in her hand, its color shifting between violet and blue. Her robes, bck ced with silver runes, shimmered faintly with the pulse of her magic.

  Before her, standing with military poise, was Princess Iris Seraphina Ethera, youngest daughter of the Etheran royal family—and current Student Council President.

  Long golden hair, precise braids. Violet eyes like frost over deep water. Elegant. Sharp. Dangerous.

  “He’s arrived,” Iris said, her voice controlled. “The half-elf.”

  Vera tilted her head. “Cain William, yes. Rejected by his own. Raised in isotion. And now… bound to a sovereign spirit who abandoned the world a century ago.”

  Iris’s composure cracked ever so slightly. “Luna. I thought she vanished after the Second Spirit War.”

  “She did,” Vera said. “But she has returned, not for the call of nations—but for a single boy.”

  Iris narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “That,” Vera said, taking a sip, “is the only question worth asking.”

  “And his lineage?”

  Vera smiled faintly. “Officially, he is Elyndor William’s bastard. Unofficially…” She let the sentence trail into silence like an invitation to specute.

  “You want me to watch him?”

  “I want no one to interfere,” Vera said. “He must act of his own will. Grow at his own pace. The moment we prod too hard, we risk unearthing something we’re not ready for.”

  “And if danger arises?”

  “Then we’ll extinguish it,” Vera said with her usual calm. “But not before.”

  POV: CainThree days ago, I was handed a uniform, a student ID, and a css schedule wrapped in more ceremonial lettering than a royal wedding invitation.

  Now, I stood in the eastern wing of the Academy, schedule in hand, trying to figure out if I’d made a huge mistake by not faking my death before enrollment.

  “Basic Magic Theory and History. Elemental Manifestation. Mana Control. Magic Combat. Physical Training.”

  I sighed. “Wow. Not a single css for sarcasm or napping. This curriculum sucks.”

  Selene stood next to me, guiding me like some kind of magically programmed GPS maid. I still wasn’t sure if she was breathing or just animating herself out of pure passive-aggressive energy.

  “You memorized the whole school map?” I asked as she turned a corner with precision.

  “I was instructed to know every yout in case of emergencies.”

  “Of course you were,” I muttered. “Is your skill set ‘adorable maid’ or ‘unpaid government spy’?”

  She didn’t answer. Luna did, from behind me.

  “She might be both.”

  We arrived at the cssroom—a rge, amphitheater-style space of polished white stone, glowing mana crystals embedded into the walls. Arcane runes shimmered subtly beneath our feet.

  And naturally, as soon as I walked in, everyone stared. Not at me, really. No.At Luna, who walked beside me like the goddess of a forgotten storm.

  Humans, elves, dwarves. Nobles with perfect posture and expressionless masks. Commoners with downcast eyes. Even a few beastfolk hybrids huddled near the back.

  There was a divide. Obvious and unspoken.

  So I did the logical thing. I walked straight to the back row and plopped down beside the commoners like it was the VIP lounge.

  Luna sat beside me like she owned the damn school.

  “Smells like smugness and overpriced perfume,” she muttered.

  “Yup,” I whispered. “Must be rich kid season.”

  Then the door at the front opened and the mood changed completely.

  Professor Magnus Wyrden entered.

  He was tall, lean, draped in a ste-colored robe that shimmered faintly. His hair was steel grey, his presence like a thundercloud waiting to strike.

  “I don’t care where you’re from,” he began. “Who your parents are. How many servants wiped your ass as a baby.”

  A pause. Tension snapped through the air.

  “In my cssroom, you are not nobles or commoners. You are potential, or you are nothing.”

  He walked to the front and etched a glowing rune into the air with his finger.

  “Those who prove their worth will earn my respect. Those who don’t…” He pointed to the exit. “You know where the door is.”

  Honestly? I kind of liked him.

  “This css is Basic Magic Theory and History,” he continued. “Today, we begin with foundational truths—Magic Circles and Rune Origins.”

  And then we got a full-on brain overload.

  He drew complex diagrams of mana flow, expined how shapes and linguistic intent created channels for spellcasting. Runes weren’t just letters—they were anchors, commands, the grammar of creation.

  Then he changed gears.

  “There are five primary continents,” he said. “Each holds magical, military, and political power. Understanding their structure is necessary.”

  He drew a world map in the air, glowing symbols forming in midair.

  Ethera – the Human Kingdom.

  Aelthar – the Elven homend.

  Uldun – the Dwarven stronghold.

  Kharez – the beastfolk dominion.

  The Free Isles – a wless domain of pirates, rogue mages, and outcasts.

  “Each nd has its rulers,” Magnus continued. “Each nd has its pride.”

  He listed the key powers:

  The Mage Towers of Ethera, ruled by Archmage Vera Ashthorn.

  The Elven Concve, under the Eternal Queen.

  The Forgehold Lords, dwarven monarchs below the mountains.

  The Wild Pact, where beastfolk obey ancient oaths.

  The Broken Circle, unaffiliated rogue mages feared across borders.

  Luna leaned toward me and whispered, “The Free Isles matter more than they admit. Every great shift in history started there.”

  I wrote that down in my notebook. Twice.

  As the lecture closed, I leaned back, rubbing my temples. My core still pulsed, but now my brain hurt more than my chest.

  Day one, and already I could feel it:This pce wasn't a school. It was a war zone with better lighting.