The impact drove the air from his lungs as his body slammed into the sand-covered earth of the Training Grounds. He gasped, his chest heaving in rapid, desperate spasms as he fought to reclaim his breath.
"Finally," a voice sneered from above. It was unfamiliar, dripping with disdain. "You know I wouldn't have hit you that hard if you didn't keep scurrying around like a rat. You dragged this duel out. Making me chase you for five minutes… I'm never picking you as my partner again."
Arthur pushed himself off the ground, sand gritting against his palms, his lungs still burning. The Sword Instructor barked a dismissal to the rest of the class, the sound distant through the rushing blood in Arthur's ears.
"Are you okay?"
A hand clamped onto Arthur's shoulder. It was heavy and firm, the fingers spanning the entire width of his frame without parting.
"I'm fine," Arthur lied. A stinging, pulsating pain radiated across his back, hot and sharp.
The instructor frowned, his grip lingering. "You know… there are other classes you can take for your required Magic Combat course credit, right?"
Arthur stared at the ground. The truth clawed at his throat.
My parents were not people of faith; I have no divinity, no divine blessing, he thought, the words screaming in his mind. By some rare chance, I awakened mana, but beyond that, I am nothing. I can't maintain a spell for more than ten seconds. I have no Elemental blessing to make my life easier. The sword is all I have. I must learn to use it. I must pass this class so I don't let my parents' sacrifices go to waste. I have to do something with this life–given to me!
He opened his mouth to speak, to explain the desperation fueling him.
"I'm fine," he repeated.
He turned and carried himself back toward the Northern Dormitory, the residence hall closest to the education facilities, walking with a stiffness that had nothing to do with dignity.
Arthur reached the hallway leading to his room, his mind numb, until he noticed the floor. The carpet lining the corridor was darkening, sodden with moisture that shouldn't have been there.
He stopped. The dampness spread outward from a focal point in the air, a puddle emerging from nothingness. Water rose from the ground, defying gravity. It took the shape of a pointed oval, swelling round at the center and narrowing gracefully toward the ceiling—a perfect symmetry that seemed to continue eternally beyond physical space.
Arthur's eyes widened. That mirror-shape… the way the mana distorts around it… I've seen this spirit before!It's the Spirit of the Naked River, an Emperor-rank Water Spirit–The Headmaster's companion spirit!
His heart began to hammer against his ribs. Why is it here?Did it choose me? Am I finally going to receive a blessing?
The semi-transparent membrane of the water shifted, and the door to his room clicked open beyond it. No new light spilled into the hallway, yet an arm extended from the gloom.
For a moment, the world seemed to slow. He saw the layers of the sleeve—navy, maroon, sand—displayed in uniform order. But brown was the primary ingredient.
By the time Arthur's brain processed the colors, his body had already reacted. He dropped to his knees, his head lowered in instinctive reverence.
"It's an honor, Headmaster."
Arthur felt the moisture evaporate from the carpet beneath his palms. The Spirit had moved.
"Oh, goodness. I hope Riveryn did not frighten you too much," a gentle voice said. "He is not very good at expressing emotions, or being gentle."
Arthur's breath hitched. It's actually him. The Headmaster of the Academy is right in front of me, and he knows my name.
"Not at all, Headmaster," Arthur said, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "I apologize for disturbing the Great Spirit's rest."
It was foolish of me to think the spirit came for me, he chastised himself. There is no way something so noble would have an interest in me. But… what if?
Arthur slowly raised his head. Up close, the resemblance between the Headmaster and his brother was striking; there were moments they looked identical. The only distinction lay in the emotion—or lack thereof—in their eyes.
"Headmaster, please forgive my insolence, but I must know," Arthur asked, his voice steady despite the trembling in his hands. "Is there any specific reason why you have come to find me?"
Orrin reached into his heavy robes. Under his relaxed, crinkled eyes, a smile rose.
"You've analyzed my intentions exactly, Arthur. I did come here for you," Orrin said warmly. "You are one of our most brilliant students, and I have come to discuss your surname assignment. How would you like to be Arthur Drevayne?" He paused, watching Arthur's face. "I hope it does not sound too boring. It means…"
"The Enduring Protector," Arthur whispered.
"The Enduring Protector," Orrin confirmed.
"I am honored, Headmaster. I swear I will not bring shame to your name!"
"I'll take that as a yes, then."
Orrin withdrew a palm-sized metallic medallion and placed it into Arthur's cupped hands, which were already raised to receive it.
It was impossibly light. Arthur traced the symbols etched into the surface with his thumb—certainly not a human tongue.
"That will allow you to access any staff facility on Academy grounds with my authority," Orrin explained. "I would encourage visiting the Inferior Archives. Despite its name, it is the second-greatest collection of Magic and Academic texts in the world. Most students, and even some staff, never get to experience it at all. I'm sure you will find something interesting there."
"Thank you very much, Headmaster!"
Arthur didn't wait. He darted back the way he came, toward the Inner–faculty–Sectors that held the archives. The pain in his back was gone, obliterated by a surge of dopamine. Every part of his brain responsible for thought had burst into flames of excitement.