“I’m going the best I could,” Fatun grumbled. “It’s bad enough we took this shortcut. The death rate along here is thirty percent.”

“It’ll be fine.” Dallion tapped the hilt of his harpsisword.

“I’m counting on that. What’s the good in earning a huge profit if I’m not there to enjoy it?”

“I hear you.”

So far, they had been extremely lucky. There hadn’t been a single Star spawn creature the entire trip. If things continued like this, they would be at their destination in half a day, safe and sound. And then Dallion would finally see Euryale again.

“Keep on driving. I’ll check the cargo.”

“Right. I’ll yell if something pops up.”

Carefully, Dallion moved to the back of the wagon. Wooden crates were everywhere, each with a mark of a waxing blue moon. Dallion opened one. Rows of orange crossbow bolts lined the crates. They looked normal to the naked eye, yet Dallion knew that they weren’t just bolts—they were rockets. Six of them were enough to destroy a fortress. With this amount, one could easily wipe out a noble from existence. The question was which noble was going to bite the dust.

“Everything okay back there?” Fatun asked.

“Looks like.” Dallion placed his hand on the top of a crate. “All fine on your end?”

“Not sure. Clouds are gathering. It’s too far to tell if they’re aiming for us.”

“Keep on going. If we run, they’ll just chase us. Maybe they’ll take us for ordinary merchants.”

“Ordinary merchants,” the driver repeated. “I used to be that once, before you got me involved in this. Too late to back out now.” He laughed.

Dallion glanced towards the front. Only a crack of the sky was visible, but enough for him to see the threat Fatun spoke about. Dozens of clouds were forming, all converging on a single point. An army of furies was gathering.

“I should never had built the rockets,” Dallion whispered.

Light flooded the room, shining through Dallion’s eyelids. Out of habit, he split into instances, all of them jumping out of bed. Several went for the harpsisword, others looked around to assess the situation.

Less than a second was necessary for Dallion to see that he was in no danger. A few more for him to remember where he was.

Better get ready, dear boy, Nil said. Arriving late on the first day is poor form.

Dallion’s instances faded away, leaving only one.

“How much time’s left?”

Half an hour—the standard to get up and ready.

That was way more than Dallion needed. The first thing he did was go through his exercise routine. Thanks to his body and reaction traits, that took him a neat five minutes, rest included. Done, he washed up, made use of the magical toilet, then got dressed.

“Will you guys be fine on your own?” Dallion asked his weapons as he tucked the Nox dagger in his right boot.

Don’t worry, the armadil shield said. This is supposed to be the safest place there is. No one would dare attack the Mage Academy.

“Ruby, you want to come along or stay here?”

The shardfly remained on the ceiling motionless.

“Remember, no drawing in the room. I’m not sure I can fix anything here.”

A single flick of the deep red wings, indicated that the order was received and not appreciated.

Combing his hair back with his fingers, Dallion left the room. Upon crossing the threshold, everything around him suddenly became bigger. Faster than the human eye, Dallion reached for his dagger. A few children rushed by him, barely giving him a glance. The odd thing was that they now were the same height as him.

Great. Dallion relaxed a bit, then looked closely at himself. There was no mistake—he had transformed into a ten-year-old version of himself.

“Can’t wait for the first day,” he grumbled beneath his breath as he closed and locked the door behind him.

The auditorium he was supposed to get to was a fair distance away, according to the scroll map. Just to be on the same side, Dallion followed anyone his perceived age. Even without Nil’s advice, that was a method that had worked quite well back on Earth.

“Who’re you?” a child of about eleven asked at the door. In standard terms, he couldn’t bass as particularly large, but from Dallion’s new point of view, he was massive.

“I’m new.” Dallion said with the cockiness he’d acquired when dealing with nobles.

The other just stared, waves of confusion emanating from him. Dallion took advantage of that and went inside.

Over fifty children filled the room. Based on the conversations going on, none of them had any experience with magic either. That would have made Dallion feel a bit better, if they hadn’t taken all the back rows of the auditorium. The only remaining seats were in the front row, right across the podium.

Figures, Dallion thought, and made his way there. As he did, the topic of the whispers shifted towards him. Apparently, the rumor of his true age had already spread.

“Where’s your scroll?” a girl behind Dallion whispered in a fashion that made it a lot more obvious than if she had asked in her normal voice.

“I didn’t know I needed one,” Dallion replied calmly.

The girl and several other children around her looked at Dallion with dread, as if he’d committed the greatest crime in the world.

“You have to have a scroll! The mage will be mad if you don’t.”

“Do you have an extra scroll?” Dallion turned around.

Frightened faces looked at one another. Thanks to his music skills, Dallion could tell that at least two of them did, but were afraid to offer it to him, lest they also be implicated in the crime.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll ask the mage to give me one when we start.”

Do I really have to go through this? Dallion grumbled mentally.

Rules are rules, dear boy. Besides, being in an actual academic environment might do you some good.

Watching kids rub boogers on their sleeves? Doubt it.

Class started a few minutes later with the sudden appearance of the instructor on the podium. The moment he did, Dallion immediately noticed three things: the person was roughly his age, an apprentice based on the magic within him, and a fury.

“Let's have some silence,” the fury announced. All sound immediately ceased.

Most of the children were amazed, but Dallion could see just how the apprentice had manipulated the air in the room, resulting in the silence. He also saw the faint threads of magic that had gone into that.

So, that’s natural magic, he thought.

“I’m Palag and will be your rank one instructor,” the fury went on. “You’ll be learning the most basic fundamentals there are. It might seem easy, but if you don’t learn this step properly, you’ll never be able to spellcraft at all.”

That’s a bit over simplistic, Nil said. And overdramatic. The whole thing is intuitive and once you get used to it there’s no messing up.

“The fact that you’ve awakened with the magic trait already means you’re able to see it in the world around you. It’s very important to keep in mind that not everyone is like that. In fact, the great majority of people are unable to see magic at all.”

This was the point at which gasps, and whispers would emerge. Since the fury was still controlling the air within the auditorium, none were heard.

“And it doesn’t stop there. We, as mages, also have the ability to sense magic in other ways, and most importantly, to touch it. That is why—”

Dallion raised his arm. No one had said that this was the way to ask a question—or that questions could be asked at all while a mage was speaking—but he had the sense that things couldn’t be that different from Earth.

“Err…” The instructor paused. It was as if he’d seen Dallion for the first time. “Is something the matter?”

“Sense in what way?” Dallion asked. Unlike the rest of the class, his voice was allowed to be heard. “Is it like sound? Smell? Taste?”

“Interesting question.” The fury’s eyes narrowed. “It’s neither of those things. And I strongly advise you not to try. It’s more like a sensation when you get near. It’s one of those things you need to feel to get used to. As a matter of fact…”

Threads of magic went up his right arm, thought his fingers and into the air. From there they spread, moving like a serpent along the rows of the auditorium.

“This is what a basic thread of magic feels like.” The fury said. “Try touching it.”

Half the children slowly moved their fingers close to the thread. A few tried to lick it instead with devastating results. Magic, for all intents and purposes, felt like electricity mixed with jelly. It wasn’t strong enough to cause any serious pain, just a tingly sensation. It also made Dallion’s hair stand on edge.

“In past ages, magic was called aether. The word remains in use today. It has been claimed that referring to it in such fashion is important to distinguish it from the trait. Whether that’s true, you’ll learn when you become apprentices. The only reason I’m telling you is in case you find it while reading literature.”

Dallion grabbed the thread tightly and pulled it towards him. It presented no resistance. However, when he let it go, it instantly sprung back to its previous position, like a rubber band.

“The truth is that both the magic that you see and your trait are the same. Your magic trait determines the magic within you. The more you increase your trait level, the more magic you’ll have. Is everything clear so far?”

The children looked at each other. Judging by the confusion emanating from everyone, Dallion knew that it was wishful thinking.

“We’ll get to that later,” the fury sighed. “Everyone, let go of the thread.”

Before they could comply, he cut off the source at the tip of his finger, causing everything in the room to fizzle out.

“As mages, you have the ability to use magic to manipulate the elements, cast spells, and a few other things. All of that requires magic. Now, that magic can come from within you, as you’ve seen, or from the surrounding world.”

A boy with raven black hair in the second row raised his arm.

“Yes?” the fury pointed at him.

“Does that mean that we can cast spells even if we’re a very low level?”

Dallion looked over his shoulder at the direction of the boy. That was a rather good question, and definitely not one he thought a child would come up with.

I thought you said I was the only exception, Nil?

If you’d paid attention, you’d have seen that echoes were the only thing not specified on your registration sheet. The children of nobles had plenty of instructor echoes to give them advice. I would say that someone wants to make sure you’re not hogging all the instructor’s attention.

“For a while, yes. However, you need to be very lucky to find a large magic source in the spot you’re fighting. And even if you do, there isn’t anything you can do that someone with a higher level trait could. The only difference would be that they’ll be better at it.”

The fury drew a pattern in the air. Once finished, the pattern transformed into a pouch. As he opened it, small purple glowing cubes flew through the air, stopping on the desk in front of each child.

“These are magic cubes,” the apprentice said. “Sometimes referred to by their arcane name aether cubes. What we’ll be doing today is drawing magic from the cube into the air, then putting it back in again.”

Finally, something useful, Dallion thought. It wasn’t much—more like the first letters of the alphabet—but it was something. Also, something told him that it might be a bit more difficult than the fury was letting on.