The week before orientation passed by in a flash. Shaya horrified herself by spending another five gold on several durable notebooks, plain pens, and black and red inks to help with her studies. Fortunately for her pockets, she checked out the texts required for her courses from the Academy’s enormous library free of charge and dove into them, but was barely able to get her readings done for the first week of courses. The faded and worn text books earned her some teasing from her Lancemates, but Shaya couldn’t imagine spending her entire semester’s stipends on books she would only read once.

When she wasn’t studying, she was spending time with Quill or her new Lancemates. While Shaya didn’t run into Bari again that week, Jora assured her that Quill was recovering steadily from his surgery. He remained in isolation from the other animals while he rebuilt his strength and grew used to only having three legs, but he was always excited when Shaya visited. He was clingy when she was around, running about her without issue, and his displeasure whenever she had to leave made her wish she didn’t have a demigol’s ears, but, overall, he seemed to be enjoying his new home more than even Shaya was.

She also began her exercise routine with Briariel and Ralus – the others declining to join them at the moment. Shaya cursed Briariel’s Astorian faith, in which believers would rise to greet the dawn and get their day started with labours in Her name. The Astorian giant took the lead on these sessions, the fortress monastery where she was raised strict in its physical conditioning. Every morning Shaya was tortured with a long jog around the residential quarter, followed by rigorous calisthenics in their tenement’s yard.

Shaya noted that very few other students were up that early – even other descendants of Astoria.

She was lucky enough to find the one pure-blooded true believer of the lot.

Each day focused on a different muscle group and, over the week, Shaya learned that the three of them had their own strengths and weaknesses that varied in what they were doing. Briariel pushed them so hard each morning that there was little energy left for chatter, however, and Shaya also lamented the other woman’s insistence to dedicate a notebook to tracking her exercise progress.

End of Week 1:

Push Ups: 3x12

Pullups: 3x6

Squats: 3x20

Plank 3x30 seconds

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ten Lances sat in the large auditorium, representing the full cohort of new attendees to Arcadia’s Academy of War and Magic. Having arrived before anyone else, Shaya and her Lancemates sat together in the first two rows from the stage, with plenty of space between them and the other Lances who likewise sat in their own little clusters. The many empty chairs made the room feel too large, the space between each Lance speaking more of rivalry than camaraderie.

Well, we’re not the ones that decided to sit apart from the others.

“Why is the auditorium so big if they only accept sixty new students each year?” Shaya whispered to Briariel.

“I heard that their entrance requirements have grown more rigorous, so they’re not just letting anyone in anymore.”

Cyren scoffed from behind Shaya, his ears twitching. He leaned forward to add his piece, “Enrollment dropped since the new dynast pushed monochromaticism and showed a certain...preference,” he nodded at the other Lances in the arena.

Shaya glanced around at the other Lances, noting their potent nephilim blood. But with Cyren’s comment, she also noticed that most of the students here were descended from Astoria – the current dynast – and Cirithill – the current dynast’s closest ally. A few nephilim were also descended from Vynderwynd and Kassarah like Oraeus and Ralus, respectively, but what few she saw suggested mixed heritages intermingled with Astoria and Cirithill, and family colours belonging to those loyal to them as well.

She and Cyren were the only descendants of Tarrak and Sillanir, as well as the only demigol. Apricot also stood out as the one foreign individual, especially amongst her Lance of Astorian nephilim.

Shaya gave her a wave, which she returned shyly, earning both of them derisive glances from the others around.

She recognized some of the others in the crowd as well, including Lan and, infuriatingly, Galo as well.

“Favouritism indeed,” she mumbled back to Cyren and Briariel.

“Non-sense,” Briarel chided, “Astoria is the God of Justice and Honour – she wouldn’t allow for that kind of bias.”

“She’s also the God of Strategy,” Shaya said, echoing Krebo’s words to her nearly a month ago, “A mage is only potent if well trained, and denying her enemies sanctioning and training...it makes sense.”

Her giant friend shot her a hurt, incredulous look, but someone took the stage before she could retort.

“Good morning, students,” a raspy voice echoed across the auditorium, carried by mundane acoustics, “I am Professor Zaal, and I have the pleasure of explaining the true extent of your abilities to you.”

Wow, nothing about the man’s voice or posture suggests he is taking any pleasure in this. Shaya thought, looking up at the tall, gangly man that walked to the center of the stage. Professor Zaal wore layered robes of white and deep, royal purple, accented by rose gold embroidery and jewelry. He appeared to be a potent nephilim at a glance, but one of mixed heritage. He bore the infernal red eyes and horns of Vynderwynd’s descendants, with flowing, metallic platinum hair common amongst Astoria’s nephilim and a trim beard of the same colour. The skin was a mixture of the two: a deep red marbled with silvery veins that gave him a golem-like appearance.

“Let us begin,” he said, and a number of students snapped up their pens in preparation – Shaya among them. “First, I shall describe the basics and put formal terms to what you have been ‘feeling out’, assuming your teachers followed the Archon’s strictures for unsanctioned mages.

“To begin with, magic is fueled by a substance known as aether, which is not native to the material plane which we inhabit,” he rapped his knuckles on the podium, “in order to draw upon aether, one must form a connection to the Aetherium – the other realms of existence – and do so by invoking an Esper. As all of you have no doubt felt when invoking your Esper, something within you changes. The bond you share with your Esper grants you a connection to part of the Aetherium, allowing you to draw aether from the realm associated with your Esper into ours.”

Shaya and Briariel scrambled to keep up with everything that was said while recording it, yet Samorn and Oraeus seemed to have no difficulty.

Did they already know? Do the high borns follow any of the rules?

The fact that that Galo tried to smash a flaming fist into a student’s face less than a week ago, yet sits right behind you, answers that question Shaya. She sassed herself.

“By now I hope you have noticed that mages do not draw upon aether equally,” The Professor continued, his tone suggesting that he didn’t have high hopes that anyone had noticed this. “In part, this is because amateur mages may find it difficult to fall into the correct state of mind demanded of their Spectrum. I’m sure you have felt aether slip through your fingers. This is the first step to drawing in the aether you need to change reality to your will,” he closed his fist for emphasis, “and also why the Empire pushes monochromaticism – your diversity of magic is of no use to you if you cannot reliably switch between emotional states. And you cannot, regardless of how in control you think you are.”

“But this is only one small part, and one I hope you overcome quickly. Now, I introduce to you the first ‘magical muscle’ - Breath. In this, some of you muscle-bound giants,” he gestured at Shaya and Briariel in specific, earning him a chuckle from the crowd, “will be at an advantage. Like your overly large biceps, breath is a muscle that can be exercised. The stronger your breath, the more aether you can draw in at once and the more you can hold at once.”

He demonstrated by taking in an exaggerated physical breath, but, before anyone could chuckle, power surged over the entire auditorium. Within a heartbeat, Zaal’s entire body radiated Amethyst aether that washed off him in waves. Shaya’s Lance, in the front row, shivered as the spectral energy passed over them and sent a cold tingle up their spines.

Shaya had heard that Amethyst aether was death itself, drawn from all the realms of death, decay, and loss.

The sensation of power washing over her made her believe it.

I didn’t even hear him invoke his Esper – did he do it before walking on stage?

The professor exhaled with the same level of exaggeration as inhale, the Amethyst power bled from him, oozing into the ground as it vanished.

“With practice, you too might be able to draw in that much aether,” he said, a thin smile slicing across his face, “in many decades.

“As you have no doubt observed, aether drawn into reality is stored within you. Small amounts, like the amount you students can draw in, are hardly perceptible. The more you store, the more openly it manifests.

“But,” he raised a finger for emphasis, “beyond the physical manifestation, there is another sense we mages possess even when not connected to our Espers. All of you felt my power a moment ago – you did not ‘feel’ the Amethyst colour I radiated. We possess what savages in the past have called a ‘third eye’, but what we simply call Vision. Much like your eye-sight, you can hone this sense to more easily detect the presence of aether. Can someone tell me what value this has?”

Shaya’s hand shot up.

“Yes?” a long finger pointed at her.

“Being able to detect another mage drawing in aether could alert you to danger before it strikes, much like keen ears can alert you to an ambush.”

“Very good, yes. What else?” He turned back to the rest of the auditorium, but looked back to Shaya’s Lance when Samorn raised a delicate hand. “Hmm, a keen group of students. Go on.”

“A question,” Samorn began, “mages are not the only ones to utilize aether, can the Vision also be used to detect spiritual beings or where the Veil is thin?”