You sure you don’t want me to join you, boss? Lux asked.

“Bringing a bladebow on the first day of class might send the wrong message,” Dallion replied. Even so, he tucked the Nox dagger in his boot. Some habits were impossible to kick. “You’ll be fine here, Ruby?”

The shardfly didn’t reply.

“You can chat with bowl and shield. I’m sure they’d like it.”

Sure. The insect replied, but gloom and disappointment kept emanating from him.

“Okay, be good. I’ll try to find a slab of stone for you to draw on.” Dallion left the room.

Ruby flicked his wings a few times, then remained still. Despite his loyalty and attachment to Dallion, the Academy didn’t seem to be his thing. Despite that, he persistently remained with him. If there was a way for Dallion to transport him into his realm, he would have.

The first two classes Dallion was supposed to have were spelling and echo training. Both took place at the same time, were led by the same mage, and were only a door apart.

Knowing he’d have to start with the basics, Dallion peeked in the Echo training room. There were several dozen novices, all of them from previous cohorts, idly waiting for class to start. It was notable that none of them were talking. Leaning at a large desk was the mage Dallion had run into while in the library. Seeing Dallion, the man shook his head and pointed for him to continue along the corridor.

Ten seconds later, to Dallion’s surprise, he walked into a very similar room—though with fewer people—which also had the mage standing near the desk.

Uncertain whether his mind was playing tricks, Dallion split into two instances and peeked into the other room. Surely enough, the mage was there as well, each dressed in a completely different fashion. The one in spelling class was wearing a pair of simple black trousers and a large blue loose-fitting shirt, while the other was with a pair of beige trousers, white shirt, and the typical cyan mage robes on top. Both of them looked very real.

“Dallion,” the mages in both rooms said in perfect unison. “Maybe pay attention to your spelling class.”

Dallion’s extra instance faded away as he quickly took a seat on the front row of the spelling class. A few more students entered, after which the mage drew a series of symbols in the air, causing the door to slam shut.

“Let’s begin,” he said, his lips twisting in a grimace. “Once again, it’s that time of year when new faces start joining in. With luck, some of you will finally be able to remove their seal before the next cycle.”

No one dared say a word or even look up. Dallion risked splitting into a few instances to look about. The sharp cough on the mage’s part quickly let him know that any further disruption will not be tolerated.

“For the three new additions to the class. Here you’ll be learning how to do actual spellcraft. Everything you’ve done in the past few months is learn a few of the letters of an alphabet. I won’t waste time teaching you new symbols or ways to extract threads. You are expected to do that on your own. The things I’ll show you will be how to compose spells, starting from the simplest to those of medium complexity.”

Medium complexity? Dallion asked.

Really complicated spells take hours to complete, sometimes more, Nil replied. Although the really long ones are done by pedantic academics who have lost touch with reality.

“I’m Academy mage Argus Tisaku,” the man said loudly and clearly. “Do any of you newbies have an idea why your magic trait had to reach ten before you could join this class?”

A few rows behind Dallion, Cheska raised her hand.

“Yes.” The mage nodded.

“It’s at ten that we acquire the ability to create stable circles,” she said with a confident smile.

“At ten, the magic trait allows you to create circle patterns.” The mage drew a circle in the air using magic.

Even with his high perception, Dallion couldn’t see a full magic thread. Rather, it seemed to be a dotted line made out of magic particles that just stood there, like beads in a necklace, connected by some unknown force.

“We call it a circle because that’s the most solid shape, but we can make any shape as long as we don’t go too far. As beginners, you’ll start with small shapes. The shape is a frame in which you can put symbols.”

He drew the symbol of matter, light, and heat on different parts of the dotted line. Moments later, the circle collapsed, changing into a ball of fire.

“This is the basis of all spellcraft,” the mage continued. “A series of properties and instructions connected in a specific way to create anything you desire.”

Chemistry? Dallion wanted to scream. Spell creation is actually chemistry?!

This was precisely what he was hoping to avoid. It made perfect sense, of course, but chemistry wasn’t his favorite subject, not to mention that it made him feel uneasy. All the things relating to spellcraft were ominously similar to the processes that formed galaxies and everything in them: from string theory and quantum physics to chemistry.

“There are some patterns you’ll learn by heart for ease of casting, but for everything you want to create on your own, the principle is that the more complicated the requirement—the greater number of symbols you’ll have to use. Any questions?” He stared at Dallion.

“One,” Dallion replied. Originally, he had no intention of attracting attention, but the mage had caught him by surprise. “How do people who’ve lost their magic cast spells?”

“People who've lost their magic?” The mage repeated the question.

“Or people who haven’t learned the spellcraft skill?”

Whispers filled the room. Dallion already regretted opening this topic, but there was nothing he could do about it. Backing out at this point would only make things worse: he’d be remembered not only as a troublemaker, but a coward not willing to finish what he started.

“It is exceptionally rare to have awakened the magic trait without the spellcraft skill,” Argus said slowly. “Should that occur, the Academy will be granted echoes to guide him through symbiotic cooperation. As for someone who’s lost his magic…” the mage paused. “…through misfortune or stupidity of his own, there still is a way to avoid the consequences.”

The mage pulled a thread of magic from the desk, then quickly used it to form a circle with a few symbols inside. A branch sprouted from the wooden surface.

“While they no longer have magic of their own, they haven’t lost the ability to see and extract magic from existing sources. With a bit of practice, they could still cast spells, although the complexity of such spells is highly limited. Any other questions?”

Despite the urge to shake his head, Dallion remained perfectly still and silent.

“Good. Now, let’s continue with a few examples of basic spells. Who’ll give an example?”

You had to ask that! Nil grumbled within Dallion’s realm. Are you crazy?

I didn’t do it on purpose. Dallion protested. It’s over now.

You only wish it is. Everyone in class heard you. Even if the mage decided to forget the matter, whispers will spread throughout the Academy. The archmage can hold this over your head from here on. And trust me, he and the other high-level mages will do just that. The moment you do something they don’t agree with, they’ll suddenly remember this incident and—

Can I do anything about it? Dallion interrupted.

Of course, you can’t. That’s not the point. I just don’t want you to give them any further ammunition.

The class continued with examples of simple spells. All of them, without exception, were direct “one-circle” spells, involving a single circular frame and up to four symbols on it.

After ten minutes of theory, Dallion, along with everyone else, was asked to practice casting a spell in real time. The experienced novices used more complicated frames, of course. Dallion was half tempted to try a two-circle spell to compensate for the mess up earlier, but in the end decided not to skip any steps.

Drawing the frame took a fair bit of practice. Naturally, Dallion did all that in his own realm. Part of him even wanted to combine full spells with potion making. However, Harp didn’t seem to be in her tower, depriving him of that option. All that was left for him to cast a simple branch growth spell.

Releasing magic fragments was similar to puffing smoke: one had to work precisely and fast before the elements had a chance of fading away. Once that was done, Dallion quickly drew the symbols, attacking them to the frame. Over fifty attempts were needed for him to do it well enough, and when he did. The entire circle collapsed in on itself, allowing the spell to take effect.

“I…” Dallion said, gasping for air. “I did it.”

SPELLCASTER

(+2 Reaction)

You have cast your first spell. Remember, it’s all in the mind and in the fingers.

Quite right. Just one thing, though. There’s no need to hold your breath when releasing magic. It won’t be affected by air.

Dallion ignored him, rejoicing at his achievement. It wasn’t the two points of reaction that he was so fond of, but the title. Being officially acknowledged as a spellcaster brought him the same amount of joy as when he’d become a hunter.

Returning to the real world, Dallion duplicated the spell. The mage’s reaction was very different to that of Nil. At first he asked Dallion to repeat the spell a few times, then pedantically pointed out everything wrong in Dallion’s casting process, starting from his stance, to the arrangement of the symbols on the frame.

Meanwhile, other students toiled with their own spells. Dallion managed to get a glance at Raven from the corner of his eye. The black-haired was far better than expected, drawing the frame and the symbols simultaneously. His particular approach was to use his ring finger to release the particles, while using his thumb, middle, and index fingers to draw the symbols at the same time. It was quite impressive and very efficient to the point that Dallion suspected that one or more echoes were assisting in the process.

By the end of the class, Dallion had managed to cast a total of four different spells, each as useless as the last. In addition to the branch growing spell, he’d also managed to create a small static ball of fire—which, unlike the Earth notion of fireballs, had slowly burned up in a matter of seconds—an ice cube, and a flash of light. The last had annoyed everyone in class, causing him to refrain from repeating it.

After two hours, Argus cast a spell of silence, bringing class to an abrupt end. The mage then told Dallion a list of books he was to find and learn, and disappeared in a cloud of glowing particles.

Not expecting such a resolution, Dallion kept staring at the spot the mage had been.

“Got you, didn’t he?” Cheska asked, as she passed by. “Don’t worry, it’s just an echo. Mage Tisaku uses echoes to teach the classes, so he dissolves them each time class is over.”

“Echoes?”

Thinking back, Dallion remembered reading somewhere that high-level mages had the ability to create echoes in the real world. That meant if anyone had hit the instructor with a quill or a piece of chalk, he’d have vanished just as he had after class. Of course, doing so would have gotten that same someone in a lot of trouble.

“Where to now?” Dallion asked.

“I’m going to one of the advanced classes,” Cheska said smugly. “You can go to Improvement Trees.”

Show off, Dallion thought.

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“It’s here,” Raven said as he made his way to the exit. “It’s one of the useless ones, so no one bothers with it.”

“I visit now and then,” Cheska said as the black-haired made his way out of the room. “Well, good luck. See you in Magical Fauna afterwards.” She rushed out as well.

“Yeah…” Dallion said. Other than him, not a single person had remained. “See you afterwards…”