The professor stopped in front of his desk at the front of the class and faced the students, his eyes silently evaluating them. His expression was impassive, almost like a lord watching over their subjects.
But as his gaze fell upon the place where Melody was, Michael could have sworn he saw the man's eyes shimmer briefly—causing him to frown slightly.
Was I imagining it? He thought in his heart.
"Spellcrafting…" the professor spoke up, his voice deep and resonant, matching his aesthetic almost too perfectly. "The art of transforming mana into substance," he stated, lifting his hand slowly.
A flash of violet surged towards his palm from his wrist, eliciting a few surprised gasps.
All of their professors so far besides the headmaster were Verdant mages, no one had expected to see a violet-ringed mage teaching first-years. Yet the man continued, ignoring their reactions.
The mana pooled upon his hand, then began to dance.
