🎓 Chapter 3 – Veltheim Academy
(Word Count: ~1900)
The first thing I noticed about Veltheim wasn't the size.
It was the silence.
The kind of silence that comes from power — the quiet hum of wards in the air, the low crackle of enchanted runes buried beneath the stone courtyard, the barely audible drone of elementals drifting overhead.
This wasn't just a school. It was a fortress built on legacy and control.
We stood just beyond the arrival platform, an ornate circle carved into dark marble and glowing softly with residual mana. My mother held Naia's hand tightly, eyes darting between towers and floating staircases. They didn't belong here.
But I did.
A boy approached, wearing dark navy robes trimmed with silver thread. His hair was short, his posture arrogant, and his eyes — golden.
A noble.
"Another wild mage?" he asked the scouts without looking at me. "At least this one's not covered in dirt."
The woman who had brought us — I'd learned her name was Serin — gave him a tired glare. "Special case. Novitiate class. No house claim."
"Of course," he said with a faint smirk. "They never do."
He turned toward me, extending a hand half-heartedly. "Welcome to Veltheim. Try not to explode in the first week."
I ignored his hand.
He raised an eyebrow. "Charming."
"Who was that?" Naia asked once he left.
"A peacock in human form," I replied.
Serin snorted. "That was Kael Dyran. Son of House Dyran — one of the Seven."
"The Seven?"
"Highblood houses. Ancient families that helped found Veltheim. You'll meet more of them soon."
I nodded, mind already working. So the school's social hierarchy was blood-based. Predictable. Dangerous. Useful.
They showed us to a housing wing near the outer edge of the campus. Modest quarters — clearly a test of status. Unranked students didn't get luxury.
"I'll visit when I can," I told Mother. "But it's better if we're seen apart. Less attention."
She looked like she wanted to argue — but something in my voice stopped her. The old me would've begged to stay close. This new version…
She barely recognized me.
That was fine.
The next morning, I stood before a wide wooden door inscribed with the Novitiate crest — a flickering flame surrounded by seven stars.
Orientation.
Inside, at least forty students my age or younger sat in staggered rows. Some were nervously adjusting their robes. Others whispered to one another, pointing at the few who already wore magical accessories — rings, bangles, even mana-threaded gloves.
I found a seat near the middle.
A girl slid into the desk beside me without a word. She had short black hair, sun-brown skin, and eyes like sharpened onyx. Her aura pulsed quietly — precise, focused.
"You don't look like a noble," she said after a moment.
"I'm not."
"Good. They're annoying."
I chuckled. "Noted."
"Name's Vera," she said, eyes scanning the room. "You?"
"Lioren."
Before we could say more, the lights dimmed and a tall figure stepped into view — a woman with dark robes, silver hair, and an aura like a thunderstorm.
"I am Instructor Haldena, head of Novitiate training," she said without preamble. "Welcome to Veltheim. Half of you will not last a year."
The silence returned instantly.
"Here, you will master the elements — or be mastered by them. Here, you will learn control, theory, discipline. Bloodlines will not protect you. Only strength will."
I leaned forward slightly, interested. Harsh but efficient. Good.
She gestured, and a massive display of mana formed behind her — a hexagram of six elemental colors and a void space in the center.
"Every mage aligns naturally with one to three elements. Very few handle more. Most of you will discover your affinity during tomorrow's evaluation. The rest… will learn humility."
A few nobles shifted uncomfortably. I smiled.
"Now," she said. "We begin with theory."
For the next two hours, Haldena lectured on the Foundational Laws of Mana — flow, resonance, and harmony. Concepts that were still vague to the others, but which clicked effortlessly in my mind.
Mana followed patterns. Rhythm. Structure.
In my past life, I had spent years modeling artificial gravitational fields. This was no different. Just… livelier.
I took notes anyway — not because I needed them, but because watching the flaws in their theories was informative.
Next to me, Vera scribbled furiously. When Haldena asked a question about elemental counterbalance, only two hands rose — mine and hers.
The instructor gave us both a long look.
After class, Vera nudged me. "You talk like someone who's read a lot of tomes."
"I like patterns," I said.
"So do I. But you... analyze people, too. I can tell."
I shrugged.
"You're not normal, Lioren," she said.
"No one in this place is."
That night, I returned to my dorm and began practicing alone — carefully, silently, methodically.
I drew in mana through breath, through posture. Focused on the flow state. Manipulated sparks of lightning between my fingers, testing how long I could sustain current without backlash.
My limit was short. But increasing.
It wasn't the power I craved — it was understanding. Once I had that, power would follow.
I was halfway through creating a low-tier wind weave when I felt it.
A pulse.
Not from me.
From beneath the floor.
I crouched, placing my hand on the tiles. Something ancient. Sealed. Buried deep in the foundations of the Academy.
Aetheric resonance.
It was old. And not entirely asleep.
I smiled to myself.
Veltheim had secrets.
And I had time.