Cain stood alone at the front of the lecture hall, the weight of silence pressing gently around him.
Rows of students sat in arched tiers—some sharp-eyed and curious, others clearly bored or skeptical. He could feel them. Not by sight, but through the weave of mana, the tension in the air, the scrape of boots on polished floor, the soft rustle of parchment and silk.
Nobles. Elites. Heirs to dukedoms. And a few carefully-selected commoners marked by talent—or politics.
He did not need to see their faces to know what they were thinking.
A blind man. Teaching magic.
His cane tapped once against the stone as he stepped forward.
"Good morning," Cain said, his voice calm but sharp as a blade drawn from silk. "I am Professor Cain Von Crestrion. You may address me as Professor or Sir. Anything else is unnecessary."
There was a pause. The hall remained still.
"You are enrolled in Advanced Magical Theory. That means three things," he continued. "One: you have talent. Two: you have knowledge. And three—most dangerously—you believe those things matter."
A few students shifted. One boy in the front row—likely a duke's son by the feel of his mana—smirked faintly.
Cain walked slowly along the front of the platform, his cane gliding beside him. "In this room, your titles mean nothing. Your family names mean less. The only thing that will protect you here is your ability to think. If you lack that, I suggest you leave before I test it."
The smirk vanished.
Cain stopped walking.
"Let us begin with a question," he said, and raised a hand.
A glowing sigil ignited in the air—complex, elegant, pulsing with layered threads of arcane structure. Not chalk. Not illusion. True mana, shaped and suspended without a single word.
A quiet gasp moved through the room.
"Who can tell me what class of structure this is?"
Hands rose slowly.
"Yes," Cain said, pointing toward the upper row.
A girl answered, "Third-tier sequence. Elemental binding array. Fire-aspect foundation."
Cain turned slightly toward her. "Name?"
"Amara Vexis."
He gave a slow nod. "Correct in structure, incorrect in classification. This is a fourth-tier, not third. The difference? The outer binding ring. That thin line of silver? It creates recursive flow. Which means if you use this spell as a third-tier, you'll create a feedback loop and explode."
The girl blinked. Another student coughed quietly behind her.
Cain raised his cane slightly and tapped the sigil in midair. It shimmered, shifted, and reshaped itself—transforming into a more stable, simplified version.
"Now it's third-tier. That's the difference between passing and dying."
He let the silence settle again.
"Today, we begin with magical failure states. If you cannot explain why a spell works, you do not understand it. And if you do not understand it, you are not a mage. You are a glorified alchemist playing with fire."
There were no more smirks.
Later, after class...
Cain stood alone in the corridor outside his classroom, listening to the receding footsteps of students. Most walked away in silence. A few whispered, and one called him "arrogant" under his breath.
Good.
He didn't want their affection. He wanted their respect.
"You didn't go easy on them," a voice said behind him.
He turned slightly. Professor Lira Elowen stood by the pillar, arms crossed.
"I'm not here to coddle," Cain replied.
"You may want to hold back a little. Some of them are nobles with delicate pride."
"Then let them break. Pride has no place in theory."
Lira chuckled quietly. "The Dean told me you'd be interesting."
He inclined his head. "And what do you think?"
"I think I haven't made up my mind," she said, pushing off the wall. "But I do know the last time I saw a sigil cast like that, it was in a war report. On a battlefield."
Cain said nothing.
Lira's eyes narrowed faintly. "Who are you really, Cain?"
He faced her fully now, the blindfold over his clouded eyes catching the torchlight.
"A professor," he said simply.
Then he turned and walked away.
---
To be Continued...