Chapter 7: Classroom of the Elites

Third floor of the Main Building, Room #324…

An auditorium filled with ashen-oak desks and stationary leathery seats housed the freshest mystical prospects of Shinewood College. Students now arriving through its main doors spread themselves thin throughout a room they could never hope to fill. Rows and columns of seats spiraled and cascaded from the tenth floor to the center of the room, where the Lecturer's Ground contained a podium and an empty stool.

Soft gossips and formal introductions kept the room from an otherwise silent state as students drifted into spots they deemed satisfactory. Few clusters of groups busied themselves in their circles of wealth and parasols. Many others, like Sigrios, sat by themselves, waiting for the vacant spot on the Lecturer's Ground to be filled.

It’s too early to be awake… Sigrios couldn’t help but stretch the tiredness out of his arms and legs. Mornings are meant for breakfast, not studying. It was way too early in the morning, and his growling stomach couldn’t agree more. Behind the magnificent chandelier that lit the room in a soft white, a clock of slightly smaller proportion displayed a time he thought couldn’t be more wrong. “It’s only 8:10? This morning is going to be rough.”

Far on his right on the first row, a familiar face caught his eye.

Priscilla sat by herself. Men and women approached her in singles, as if only one person can be in her presence at all times. They vomited their well-structured rehearsal, spilling it all into her ears, and she took it with class. Family names were proudly presented first before their very own. Soon after, family trades, specialties, and hopes for friendship and prosperity. After a few minutes of forced casualness mingling within their conversations, they left by the grace of her smile. She gulped a bottle of water, catching a fleeting moment to herself, before another student came.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to put up with that anymore.” Sigrios rested his head on his hands and looked back at the clock. “8:20. The professor is awfully late.”

Every so often the doors of the auditorium parted for the late arrivals of more students and their influential airs. Their walks, their attire, and their posture exuded a hint of their upbringing: proper, centric, rich--without a care for time. Rarely would the opposite step in. No matter how many times the doors opened, the one deemed worthy to be the professor of these aristocrats never came.

On the opposite side, an individual stood out primarily due to his chubbiness--a physical trait so many others here tend to lack. The student made his own rounds accompanied by a follower sticking close behind. Faces of admiration and discontent greeted that dashing young man, whose hair had shades of red darkening near the root. Whatever look they gave him, he returned a charming smile all the same. Those that introduced themselves to Priscilla eventually received that same smile of his, and a firm handshake. Minutes later, even Priscilla herself.

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice called to him from his left, accompanied by soft steps.

Sigrios tilted his head upwards to a face leaning closer to his ears. That temptatious face of hers--a mix of innocence and distrust--effortlessly swayed his heart. Golden hair tied into a ponytail, thick eyebrows, and ocean-blue eyes paired with a sharp face of natural cynicism. Though, unlike the others here that were so exceptionally dressed for the occasion, her attire was more casual and laid back; with tight pants, a black jacket, and a gray sweater underneath.

He stuck out a hand and smiled. “I’m Sigrios.”

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Arwyn.” Arwyn gripped his hand with both of hers. “I’m a little late and unfamiliar with… well, the way people are acting. I see others are greeting that girl over there, but that’s not mandatory... is it?”

Sigrios looked down at her odd grip, then back at her. Was this another way to shake hands, or is she just clueless? Whatever it was, her question was obviously aimed at Priscilla. “No, not at all. It’s just a bunch of nobles playing the game.”

“The game?” Arwyn asked. “What game are you talking about?”

“The same game all parents force their children to play.” Sigrios looked towards Priscilla who busied herself with another student. “Garnering favors, worming names into people’s ears, humble brags and selfless boasts… You know, the usual game. Didn’t you play it when you were little?”

“Ah.” Arwyn nervously nodded and clapped her hands. “O-of course. Everyone is familiar with that game. So am I.”

“Mmm...” Despite her words, she didn’t sound like she knew what he was talking about. At all. “Anyway, it’s not a very fun game to play. If you didn’t start young, your mother and father must’ve loved you very much.”

The chubby young man from earlier approached Sigrios from his right. A cheerful smile shined and a firm hand presented itself. The follower--male, shy, and low-profile--hid behind him.

Sigrios shook his hand. Despite how early it was in the morning, people here were already hard at work to make their presence noticed. To that, he silently commended them.

“Good morning,” the dashing man said. “I’m Pygmilian. Hopefully, we can shape the world to be a better place in the near future.”

Sigrios nodded.

After his brief introduction, Pygmilian walked over to Arwyn, introduced himself, and left after reciting the same words.

“Is he someone important?” Arwyn asked.

Sigrios helplessly shrugged. “Who knows.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Pygmilian stepped onto the lowest floor, the Lecturer's Ground, with the follower following behind. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. I am Pygmilian Royale, heir to the Royale Emporium. As a fellow student of this prestigious college, I, personally, would like to give all of you one of the most durable wands on the market.”

All the gossip and chit chat within the room shut with their harsh gasps.

Pygmilian turned around to the young man behind him. “Hubert, if you would please hand them out to everyone.” He turned back to the crowd as Hubert ran to the second row and reached into a blue-leather bag.

Hugging an armful of thick, squiggly sticks, Hubert sped through the rows and columns of students, mindful of their bags, purses, and personal belongings. After placing a wand in front of Sigrios, he ran off towards the other students before an expression of gratitude could reach him.

Fascinated by its novelty, Sigrios couldn’t refrain himself from inspecting every inch of it. The wand was thick at the base and thin at its squiggly tip. Its grip comfortably rested within the palm of his hand. Surprisingly, it was also light. Way lighter than he expected from its sheer bulkiness. Engraved onto the middle of the wood was ‘Royale,’ beautifully written in cursive by a calligraphist. Near the handle of the stick was a translucent glassy marble protruding slightly out of the wood.

Once Hubert finished his rounds, he rushed down the steps of the tenth row, gasping for air. “Lord Pygmilian… I--I’ve given everyone a wand.”

“Excellent,” Pygmillian said. “If any of you need materials and equipment for your own classes, or other future endeavors, please remember that the Royale Emporium is always willing to talk. I’m sure we can work out a deal.”

“Lord Pygmilian.” Priscilla raised the Royale wand high into the air. “I don’t need this. I have my very own wand.”

“Please keep it,” Pygmilian insisted. “It’s a gift; you may do whatever you wish with it. That goes for everyone here.”

“Well. How generous.”

While Pygmilian and Hubert leisurely exited the stage, Sigrios tried his best to operate the newly given wand. He waved it in the air, posing like one of those gifted wizards written in children's stories. Nothing happened, of course. He gripped it tighter and swung it down. A loud thud emitted from the clash of wood-on-wood, but still, nothing happened with the wand.

Weird. Sigrios recalled Hohenheim doing the same thing a long time ago, and it worked for him. He flailed it in the air, hoping for something--anything--to come out of it. Other than a few concerned stares from his peers nothing else really changed. There was only one thing left he hadn’t done: stare at it really, really hard. A silly thought, but it was all he could think of.

From the corner of his eye, Arwyn’s body trembled. Both of her hands pressed against her mouth to muffle her escaping giggles. When he looked over, she immediately shook her head.

“You’re such a noob. Just what are you even trying to do?” Arwyn cleared her throat. “It’s not a toy; it doesn’t work like that. Here, watch me and learn.”

As she brought her hand into the air, a foreign hand rested on her shoulders. Leaping from her seat and snapping her neck, the voice of a middle-aged male pleaded for her to calm herself.

Sigiros thought that voice was all too familiar from yesterday. Low and rough, like the time in the office. Seeing that face of his--of many creases and the shadow of a freshly-shaved beard--cemented the fact that class was about to begin. Beside him, stacks of books and crates floated freely in the air. Students who saw it quickly told their peers to quiet down, for the professor has arrived.

“Please be careful, Arwyn.” Professor Zeke disapprovingly shook his head. “You kids may be this year’s tier one students, but expulsion is always a wrong step away. Do your best to be vigilant.”

“Sorry!” Arwyn quickly apologized. “I’ll definitely, one-hundred-percent be more careful!”

As he released his grip and stepped away, an irking prick came from her right. Clearly, without evening looking at him, she could sense a form of mockery. When she turned her head to the right, her senses proved right. There, that young man tried his best to shield his face of joy.

“Oh, do please go on, Great Lady of the Wand.” Sigrios snickered.

“Ugh.” Arwyn rolled her eyes.

“Everyone! Everyone!” Professor Zeke’s loud and clear voice thundered throughout the auditorium as he stepped onto the Lecturer's Ground. “Find a seat. Quickly, quickly!” Once he stood behind the podium, he glanced at this year’s students waiting to be molded into fine men and women of the wizardry field. “Time is short today, so let’s get started. I am Zeke Potem, an Elementalist Master.”

“Let me say this first,” he continued, “in regards to advanced topics of mysticism, branches of magic, and practical applications of our curriculum: all there ever is to learn about magic can not be taught in a few years. Scholars and practitioners spend many years of their life to master one branch of magic. So take some time out of today to ask yourself: What do I look for when I’m studying? What branch am I most passionate about? What do I wish to learn, and what can I do with it?”

Priscilla raised her hand and said, “Professor, I’m a bit confused. So what exactly will we be learning from you?”

“Good question,” Professor Zeke said. “I’m here as a guide and foundation. Whatever option you choose, I can help in some way. If you have the option to learn directly from a master or grandmaster, then certainly do so. All of this year's guest lecturers are masters performing research in their respective fields, so do seek them out if you’re interested. Aside from that, you will be learning the fundamentals of magic and applying it. Now, before we begin, are there any other questions in regards to what I just said?”

Sigrios glanced over the spectators. Everyone was content and waiting for Professor Zeke’s continuation. He raised a hand and asked, “Is it possible to see all branches of magic before we choose one to pursue?”

“No...” Professor Zeke hesitated. “Well, how should I put it… Discoveries still occur to this day in theories, research, and applications of mysticism. Because it’s always expanding, it’s not possible to know all of the branches out there. However--and this is not a consensus of many scholars out there--I like to think that there really exist only two branches of magic.”

“Two branches of magic?” Sigrios asked.

“Right.” Professor Zeke scratched his chin and paused. “Well, when you think of Pyromancy, Cryomancy, or Geomancy--they all really use the same underlying logic, except biased in some other way and applied differently. The same can be said for all the discovered branches out there. Really, I would say that there’s only two general branches of magic: light magic and dark magic. The former covers things we definitely know, the latter cover things we think we know. For clarity, subsets of dark mysticism are branches of magic that studies the dead, the soul, divinity, and so on.”

“And if we want to learn the latter… how would we do that?” Sigrios asked.

“Wow. Students this year are surprisingly awake in the morning.” Professor Zeke laughed. “I’m glad. My morning classes are usually filled with people sleeping behind a book. Now, back to your question: Find a master. How we know about them is due to certain individuals dedicating their life discovering it and understanding it. Also, visit the library and browse their resources. It's free for you guys. Anymore questions?”

“I have one…” Arwyn nervously raised a hand slightly above her head. “So… How are you making those books float?”

Everyone leaned in from the edge of their chairs, as if she asked the one question everyone wanted to know but no one wanted to ask.

“Oh, this is a very simple thing to do.” Professor Zeke smiled. “What you’re asking is something everyone can do. The answer to that is… by studying, of course!”

The crowd expressed their dispirited sighs in unison.

“Oh, come on professor!” a student lamented.

“Seriously, every instructor says the same thing!” another student shouted.

“Calm down, calm down.” Professor Zeke waved his hand to the crowd. Books that floated beside him flew to each individual desk that was occupied by a student. Two remained by his side; unneeded to be sent off. “These grimoires are the first thing any novice will have to wrap their heads around. Get real comfortable with them.”

He checked the clock that displayed 9:15. “We’re running out of time, so if you have any more questions to ask, hold on to them until our next class meeting. Write it down if you have to. Now, before you all start slinging spells and causing mayhem, you must first learn to protect yourselves from such dangers. Pay attention. It’s easier to show, so observe.”

Professor Zeke whipped his hand across his body to unleash a sharp arc of wind boomeranging high into the air. When it curved back Professor Zeke stretched out his palm. “[Shell].” A translucent sphere composed of small pentagons revolved around his body. Light particles dispersed as the sharp wind repeatedly sliced against the translucent sphere. But no matter how hard it tried to rip its way in, it couldn’t even make a dent. The eighth spark spelled the last of the aether’s will before it reverted into nothing more than a chilling breeze. Still intact and hardly fazed, Professor Zeke released his palm and the Shell spell shattered into thousands of tiny light particles that faded within a second.

Sigrios applauded, as did many others near him. That spectacular display of shattering light easily mesmerized his interest. It sparked a curiosity within him: it seemed too familiar in something that was too strange. The wind attack performed by Professor Zeke wasn’t all that different from the martial practitioner’s Windblade he saw at the grand ceremony. Perhaps it came from different origins, one of martial prowess and the other of magic, but the functionality seemed to be very much the same. He raised a hand, wanting to know more, but was promptly ignored.

The bell of the clock rang three times.

Students stood from their seats, gathered their belongings, and filled the air with their voices. Sigrios prepped his cane, ready to fill his empty stomach. Arwyn glanced sideways, only standing up when others had already done so.

An easy first day passed; everyone was stress-free and ready to move on with their day.

“Wait!” Professor Zeke spouted the word out his mouth before anyone left the auditorium. “Listen, everyone, listen closely! Shell is an incredibly important spell to master. It’s the first topic you’ll see within your grimoire. Everyone must meet this minimum requirement at the start of our next class, which is next week. A test will be held at the very beginning, and if you can’t do something as basic as this, then pack up your stuff and go home.”

Those grim words seeped into every studious heart within the room. No one left the room. No one took a single step further. They looked at each other, hoping that this was some kind of cruel joke. To be kicked out so soon for failing to do one thing… no words could express how unfair that was.

“Tier one students, study well.” Professor Zeke offered a smile to their fear and anxiousness. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you fine ladies and gentlemen. Next week, if you do come, I have a special announcement for those that pass the test. Ta-ta.”