Location: The Great Arena.

  I followed her through the morning mist. My anger was like a tightly drawn bow. My steps made no sound on the cobblestone paths of the campus; I was a master of shadow magic, and she was merely a distracted human.

  She walked straight toward the Great Arena.

  The heavy iron doors were slightly ajar. I slipped inside and hid in the dark spectator stands, high above the vast expanse of the fighting pit.

  Valerie stood in the center of the arena.

  She threw her backpack on the ground and pulled out a massive, leather-bound book. It was the Compendium of Basic Elemental Forms. She cracked it open, laid it on the dirt, and took three steps back.

  I watched with narrowed eyes. So this is why you ignored me? I thought bitterly. You sneak off to fail in secret?

  I had seen her try to cast magic plenty of times over the past few weeks. She knew the theory flawlessly, but her channels were locked tight. I expected yet another failed attempt. A gentle breeze, at most. I stood ready to step out of the shadows, lecture her about her behavior this morning, and put her in her place with my cold arrogance.

  Valerie took a deep breath. She extended her arms forward, aiming her hands at an imaginary enemy in the sand.

  "Okay," she whispered, loud enough for my enhanced hearing. "Focus. Earth. Solid matter. Displacement."

  She pronounced the incantation with perfect diction.

  "Terra Movere!"

  I leaned forward, waiting for the disappointment. Waiting for the moment when absolutely nothing would happen yet again.

  But something did happen.

  It just didn't go forward. The magic, wild and completely uncontrolled, snapped straight down like a boomerang.

  The ground beneath her feet made a strange, slurping sound. In a fraction of a second, the solid sand of the arena turned into liquid quicksand.

  "Huh— WAAAH!"

  It happened incredibly fast. Swoosh. Valerie didn't fall over; she dropped straight down. The sand swallowed her like a hungry monster. The spell ended abruptly, and the sand instantly solidified back into hard ground.

  It happened so fast I briefly thought she had teleported. But then I saw it.

  Right in the middle of the immense, empty arena, a single thing protruded above the smooth sand.

  A head with a tight red bun.

  Her nose was just a few inches above the ground. The heavy theory book lay a meter away, completely useless.

  For three seconds, it was dead silent.

  "What... in the name of..." Valerie squeaked from the ground. She tried to move but was stuck fast. She looked like a carrot planted too deeply in the soil.

  My anger. My demonic pride. My bruised ego. It all vanished in a millisecond.

  I tried to hold it back. I slapped a hand over my mouth, but a snorting sound escaped. It was a ridiculous sight. The genius human, the girl who understood magical theory better than the professors, had buried herself up to her neck.

  "Hello?!" Valerie called out, her voice muffled by the sand pressing against her cheeks. "Is anyone there?! Help!"

  I couldn't hold it in anymore.

  My shoulders started to shake. A laugh bubbled up from the deepest, coldest depths of my being. It started as a chuckle, but instantly turned into a roar.

  I threw my head back and laughed. It wasn't a polite, aristocratic chuckle. It was a belly laugh that echoed against the stone walls of the arena.

  "WHO'S THERE?!" Valerie screamed, looking around in a panic, though she could only move her eyes left and right. "THIS IS NOT FUNNY! HELP ME OUT!"

  I stepped out from the shadows of the stands, clutching my stomach with one hand. Tears were literally streaming down my face. I could barely breathe.

  "Oh... by the gods..." I gasped as I stumbled down the stone steps to the sand. "Valerie... I thought... I thought you couldn't summon magic..."

  Valerie's eyes went as wide as saucers when she saw me approaching. And then her face turned a dark, furious shade of crimson from pure, unadulterated embarrassment.

  "You!" she hissed, her nostrils flaring. "You bastard! What are you doing here?!"

  "I came to... to reprimand you," I stuttered, crouching down next to her. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and pointed at her head in the sand. "But it seems the earth beat me to it. What was the plan here? Trip the enemy with your face?"

  "Shut up, Demian!" she yelled, spitting because a grain of sand was resting on her lip. "It was a miscalculation of the mana-resistance! Get me out of here immediately!"

  I sat cross-legged right in front of her head and rested my elbows on my knees. The anger from this morning had completely evaporated. She looked so utterly helpless and furious that it was endearing.

  "I don't know," I said, pretending to think about it while looking up at the sky. "I actually think it's an improvement. You're a lot quieter like this. And at least you can't just walk away when I make coffee for you."

  Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits. If looks could kill, I would be a pile of ash.

  "Demian of House Nox," she growled softly, "if you don't dig me out in the next three seconds, I swear by all that is holy I will put spiders in your boots until the day you die."

  I roared with laughter again, slapping the sand next to her head.

  "Spiders? Really? Is that your best threat from your underground fortress?"

  "ONE."

  "Okay, okay," I laughed, raising my hands defensively. My abs hurt. "Whatever you want, sandworm."

  "TWO."

  "Take it easy, I'm doing it," I chuckled.

  I placed my hands on the sand on either side of her head. I released a small stream of my own mana, not to attack, but to loosen the sand she had accidentally solidified.

  As the sand around her shoulders softened, I looked at her. Her face was covered in dust, she had a murderous glint in her green eyes, and she was the reason I had genuinely laughed for the first time in years.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Maybe she didn't have control over her magic yet, I thought as I slowly pulled her up by her shoulders. But she definitely hadn't lost control over me this morning.

  And there it was!

  With a loud, undignified SCHLUPP, the earth finally relinquished its hold on me.

  Gravity reasserted itself, and I pitched forward, landing on my hands and knees in the loose sand. I coughed, a small cloud of dust exploding from my mouth. There was sand in my hair. Sand in my boots. Sand in places I didn’t even want to think about.

  Above me, the insufferable Prince of Darkness was still wheezing.

  "You look," Demian managed to say, leaning against the wooden barrier of the arena for support, "like a very angry, heavily armed potato."

  I slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position. I didn't say a word. I just glared at him, furiously shaking the dirt out of my braid.

  My pride was completely, irreparably shattered.

  I had ignored him this morning. I had given him the cold shoulder, marching out of the dorm looking like a hardened warrior, determined to figure out my magic in secret. I had wanted to be impressive. I had wanted to prove that I didn't need him hovering over me like a dark, brooding mother hen.

  And instead, I had planted myself in the dirt like a root vegetable, only to be rescued by the exact person I was trying to impress.

  "Are you quite finished?" I snapped, my voice hoarse from the dust.

  Demian wiped a lingering tear of mirth from his eye, taking a deep, shuddering breath to compose himself. He straightened his posture, trying to reconstruct his usual mask of aristocratic indifference.

  "I believe so," he said, though his lips were still twitching. "Though I cannot promise I won't smile every time I look at a sandbox from now on."

  I wanted to punch him. I really did. My hands balled into fists.

  But as I looked at him, my anger faltered. I noticed the faint, lingering traces of purple mana fading from his fingertips.

  He hadn't chanted a spell to get me out. He hadn't calculated the mana-resistance or the density of the silica grains. He had simply placed his hands on the ground, willed the earth to soften, and it had obeyed him. Effortlessly. Instinctively.

  I looked down at my own hands, raw and trembling.

  Next month was the Battlemagic exam. If I faced a combat construct or a summoned Goblin and cast Terra Movere, I wouldn't just embarrass myself. I would die. Theory, it turned out, was a terrible shield against a swinging axe.

  I hated how arrogant he was. I hated his perfect hair and his stupidly expensive coffee machine.

  But right now, I needed him.

  I took a deep breath, swallowing a mouthful of pride that tasted remarkably like grit.

  "Demian," I said.

  My tone must have shifted, because the last traces of amusement vanished from his face. He stepped forward, his purple eyes narrowing slightly, assessing me.

  "Are you injured?" he asked, the sudden shift to a serious, almost protective tone giving me whiplash.

  "No. I'm fine." I stood up, brushing off my knees. I refused to break eye contact, even though my face was burning with humiliation. "But I... I am stuck."

  He raised an eyebrow. "I literally just pulled you out of the ground."

  "Not the sand," I corrected, gesturing to my chest. "Here. My channels. My magic."

  I walked over to my discarded Compendium and picked it up, hugging it to my chest as if it were armor.

  "I know the math," I said, my voice trembling just a fraction. "I can calculate the trajectory of a fireball better than the Arch-Mages in the High Tower. But when I try to push it out... it either hits a wall, or it does..." I gestured weakly to the crater in the sand, "...that."

  Demian didn't interrupt. He stood perfectly still, listening.

  "I can't go into the Arena like this," I admitted, the shameful truth finally spilling out. "I thought if I just practiced harder, I could force it. But I'm missing something. Something fundamental."

  I looked at his hands again.

  "You don't calculate," I said softly. "You just do. You have the instinct."

  Demian crossed his arms over his chest. "Demon magic is heavily tied to emotion and instinct, yes. Humans rely on structure. You are trying to put a hurricane inside a neat little box, Valerie. It will always backfire."

  I bit the inside of my cheek until it hurt. I hated asking for help. I had survived on the streets by never owing anyone anything. But this wasn't the streets. This was survival on a completely different scale.

  "Teach me," I blurted out.

  Demian blinked. "Excuse me?"

  "Teach me," I repeated, louder this time, forcing myself to stand tall. "You know how to control the flow. You know how to make it instinct. I need you to teach me how to cast without burying myself."

  The silence in the arena returned, heavy and thick.

  Demian looked at me for a long time. He looked at the dirt on my face, the desperate grip I had on my book, and the raw vulnerability in my eyes.

  The cold, offended Prince from the kitchen was gone. In his place was the partner who had carried my books and guarded my back for the last month.

  Slowly, the corner of his mouth curved up into a smirk. Not a cruel one. A challenging one.

  "You want me to tutor you in the art of destruction?" he asked softly.

  "Yes."

  "It will not be pleasant," he warned, taking a slow step toward me. "I do not teach theory. I will not be gentle. And we will be doing it my way. No books. No math."

  He reached out and plucked the heavy Compendium from my arms. Without looking, he tossed it onto the sand behind him.

  I flinched, but I didn't reach for it.

  "My way," he repeated, his gaze locking onto mine. "Do we have a deal, human?"

  I looked at the Prince of Darkness, standing in the morning mist, offering me the one thing I couldn't learn from a library.

  "Deal," I said. "But if you laugh at me again, I am breaking your coffee machine."

  Demian actually smiled. "Fair enough. Now, clean the dirt off your face, Valerie.

  Your first lesson starts in five minutes."