The practice ring smelled of sweat and warm leather, the benches crowded with students pushing for a better view.
Professor Malrec stood on the platform, hands behind his back, the same slateboard of living Aether humming faintly behind him.
He had called for demonstrations after his lecture. The murmuring stilled when Aurelia and Prince Lucien stepped into the center.
"No hard feelings," Lucien said easily, smiling as if the whole duel had been a polite game. His robe's embroidery caught the light and flared like a herald. A faint golden warmth gathered at his fingertips, the prince's Aether, practiced and showy as ever.
"Right back at you," Aurelia replied, polite, the Caelistra crest, a symbol of her noble lineage and magical prowess, cold at her throat.
She moved with the unremarkable elegance that made even nobles wary.
My brother Sebastian has taught me a great deal, but it would be wrong not to share it.
Then, in a move that caught everyone off guard, Aurelia strode to the weapons rack and unsheathed a sword. The metal gleamed brilliantly as it left the scabbard, a stark contrast to the expected Aether demonstration.
Lysandra, in the front row, made a slight noise of confusion. "I thought this was Aether versus Aether," she mouthed to the student beside her.
Aurelia planted her feet and breathed in three even counts, the motion practised until it was a ritual.
The air around her fingers warmed, not with flame but with a steady, internal pressure that thickened like honey.
A thin, white haze clung to her wrists and then threaded along the blade's edge, bright as moon-polished steel: Aura, concentrated and calm.
Calm. Steady. Do not let pride sharpen it into a jagged thing.
Professor Malrec raised one brow and tilted his head. "Lady Caelistra?" His voice carried no rebuke, only curiosity. "You realize the lesson calls for Aether demonstrations."
Aurelia met his gaze, measured and clear. "Precisely," she said. "A lesson on differences will be more useful if we show, not only tell. Aether shapes the world, Aura shapes the wielder. Let them see how the two converse." She hesitated the barest fraction. Let them see why it matters. "If you permit."
Just as Malrec opened his mouth to reply, a voice cut through the tension in the room.
A professor, radiating charisma and energy, stepped forward, her vibrant smile lighting up her face. "I permit it!" she declared with a flourish.
This was Professor Seris, who was the polar opposite of the rigid and disciplined Malrec.
Where he was stern and unyielding, she was animated and approachable, always eager to engage her students in lively discussions.
With a twinkle in her eye, Seris expressed her curiosity about witnessing a spectacular showdown between the elemental forces of Aether and Aura, both of which promised to be a thrilling spectacle of energy and skill.
Malrec shot her an irritated glare, his brows furrowing as he retorted, "This isn't your class, Seris."
Undeterred, she playfully winked at him, her demeanor almost teasing. "If that's the case," she chimed, her tone light and flirtatious, "How about I offer a little lesson of my own, free of charge?"
Seris flicked a loose curl from her face and swept to the lectern with theatrical ease. "I am Instructor Seris Halwyn. I teach practical theory, how to make magic do a job rather than a speech."
Her amber eyes sparkled as they scanned the eager students. "Today: Aether and Aura. Know them, respect them, and you will not be surprised by what the world asks of you."
Before she could conjure the diagrams, a deep voice interrupted. "You mean if you even understand them, Seris," said Marlec, his expression stern. He stepped forward, arms crossed, a commanding presence. "I am Instructor Marlec Theron, and I intend to clear up any misconceptions."
"Oh, do enlighten us, Marlec," Seris replied with a playful smirk, waving a hand to summon flaring runes into two simple diagrams: one an open, flowing spiral, the other a tight, beating knot. "Let's start with Aether—"
"Aether is the world's breath, yes," Marlec interjected, his tone serious. "But it's more than just ambient energy. It's the framework upon which all magical constructs rely." He stepped closer, pointing to the spiral. "Aether requires clarity of intent. A caster engages with it through precise language and gestures."
"Exactly! But it's not just about precision," Seris chimed in, her eyes twinkling. "It's about creativity and fluidity! Aether is public and ambient. You can lend it to devices, bind it into runes, or stitch it into sigils, making spells tangible!" She tapped the glowing spiral diagram, and tiny archways of light sprang up like unfolding sails.
Marlec's brow furrowed slightly. "True, but only if you master the foundations first—"
"Foundations?" Seris cut him off playfully. "That's so dry and boring! Let them feel the magic! Aether is the architect's tool, look at how it builds shields and calls flames with just a flick of your wrist!"
Marlec cleared his throat, leaning in to gain back the floor. "Yes, but let's not forget that Aura is your true essence, the fire within." He tightened the knot on the slate, which pulsed like a heartbeat. "Aura is how you harness physical energy into your magic. It draws upon your willpower, enabling you to enhance strikes and create defensive barriers."
"While you look inward," Seris said, leaning toward Marlec coyly, "You're forgetting that Aura is also about presence and the fervor of emotion! It's intimacy, Marlec! It amplifies your reaction speed, it's what allows a soldier to keep fighting through pain!"
"Ah, but it is also the blade that can cut both ways," Marlec shot back, his expression unyielding. "Without discipline, drawing upon Aura can lead to reckless exhaustion. I've seen many fail because they didn't understand that."
"Fail, or perhaps flourish?" Seris teased. "That's the beauty of magic! It's a dance, Marlec! Yes, it requires respect, but it also requires joy. One is grammar, the other is breath. They must work in harmony."
As conversations swirled around them, a student raised a hand. "Why can't one person channel both at the same time?"
Marlec seized the moment. "Because they travel opposite paths and require different mental states. Aether demands you to be calm and receptive—"
"While Aura demands presence and force!" Seris finished with a flourish, echoing him. "Exactly, but it's also about connection! Imagine trying to breathe from your hands while pouring your heart into your fist, it's a beautiful struggle that shapes who we are!"
"A beautiful struggle that often leads to failure," Marlec grimaced, crossing his arms. "It's crucial we remember the cost…"
"Oh, but without taking risks, how do we discover new paths?" Seris countered, eyes alight with excitement. "Yes, we must respect the dangers, but remember: exceptional magic often requires pushing boundaries!"
"Yet those who don't understand that have caused devastation," Marlec said, his tone somber. "Those who attempted to channel both energies without knowing their limits became victims of what we call the 'Sundering.'"
Seris's smile faded slightly. "True, and those are the cautionary tales we share." She added softly, "But innovation, when tempered with knowledge, can lead to incredible breakthroughs."
Marlec nodded, conceding a little. "Yes, so we steward knowledge to protect lives. The Pact is in place for a reason."
Seris perked up, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "And now that we've set the stage, let's discuss their practical interactions! Aether constructs remain essential, but Aura fuels our passion—"
"But remember, too much excitement leads to mistakes," Marlec interjected, the corner of his mouth twitching in a reluctant smile. "Focus and precision must guide your magic. They are fundamental."
With a shared glance, their competitive banter shifted to a rare moment of camaraderie as the students leaned in, captivated by the dual dynamic of two instructors, each offering their own spark to a lesson meant to intertwine the beauty and complexity of magic.
Aurelia's lips curved faintly as the Aura along her blade brightened, its white glow sharpening with her focus. She lifted the sword and leveled it toward Lucien.
"What occurs," she asked calmly, "When Aether and Aura do not blend, but rather clash?"
The crowd stirred at her challenge.
Seris leaned on the rail with a grin, eyes dancing. "That's far too dull to explain with words," she said, wagging a playful finger. "You've both drawn your weapons already. Why not show them instead?"
Aurelia inclined her head. "Gladly."
A ripple of excitement passed through the benches, the buzz of anticipation rising in hushed whispers.
Malrec studied her for a long breath, his expression taut and unreadable. Then he inclined his head once, "Very well. A demonstration of contrast. Begin."
He raised his hand and counted down, each deliberate gesture mirrored by the ring's glyphs, which flared brighter with each beat.
Five—four—three—
Lucien's smile shifted, the faintest strain breaking its polish. Light gathered at his hands, gold coiling into a taut filament of Aether.
It spun like molten sunlight drawn into a lash, refined and deadly in its elegance.
He moved as he always did, steps poised for an audience, every motion designed to draw eyes.
Aurelia exhaled, letting the tension leave with her breath. Her Aura pressed into the steel like a steadying hand, quiet and resolute.
It did not blaze, nor seek applause. The white glow traced the sword's spine in a calm shimmer, as if it belonged there, as if it had always been there.
When the final count struck, they moved.
Lucien's step was a line, the practiced poise of privilege tightened into a motion.
Light spilled from his palms, not raw flame but a blade of sun wound thin and honed like a wire.
It lashed outward with the legal grace of a courtly reprimand: a clean, laughing arc that sought to cut a single, emphatic strike.
Aurelia met it on the rebound of her breath. The white haze along her blade tightened to a ribbon of pressure, a hand laid along the metal's spine.
The Aura didn't scream, it pressed. The moment the Aether kissed the edge of her sword, there was no explosion, only an immediate, intimate friction, soundless tension that shivered the hair at her wrists and sent a faint halo of silver motes skittering away.
Hold. Don't let it become spectacle, she thought, feeling the lesson Kael had taught settle under her skin like a tack.
She pivoted at the waist, and the lash of light skimmed along the blade, diverted by a millimeter, changing in direction rather than extinguishing.
Lucien's brow flickered, his next strike was narrower, an attempt to reclaim a line he thought he owned. He favored elegance, quick feints, precise coils of radiance meant to draw gasps. The field leaned with him.
Aurelia answered not with flash but with fidelity. Her blade moved like a well-kept argument, parry, redraw, push.
When she stepped forward, she poured the Aura into the steel and into the step, a subtle shove of presence that made air press against Lucien like a hand.
Aether met Aura at the point of contact, and the noise that came was sharp: a ringing that tasted like struck porcelain and falling frost. Students flinched.
Around the ring, reactions shifted from polite interest to wide-eyed attention. She can do that with Aura? Someone breathed. Her swordsmanship is incredible.
Lucien adjusted, his movements now folding faster. He launched a hail of needle-lights, thin spears that hung in the air and threatened from a distance.
Aurelia closed the gap, the arc of her sword a contact point that absorbed a spear. Then, she rolled her wrist, and the projectile slid along the blade, like a comet rerouted to strike harmless plaster.
A cascade of golden motes showered the practice ring where a carved gargoyle flinched.
From the benches came a whisper:"She can hold him."Lysandra's hand clapped over her mouth, Malrec's jaw creased in that way that meant approval.
Lucien's mask returned for a heartbeat, smile, then a tightening like a door closing.
He began to weave his Aether in cataloged breaths, shaping not for spectacle but with the efficiency of a man who had to answer for an entire kingdom.
A narrow spear this time, aimed for the small gap at her ribs, a fan of light intended to unbalance her feet. He tested. He probed.
Aurelia felt each attempt as a question to a muscle memory she had only half-explored. She used the blade as a translator.
Rather than meet the spear with counterfire, she anchored her feet and let the Aura spool down the spine of the sword into the floor.
The strike hit the tip of her blade and shuddered, then the pressure bled sideways into the stone, and the illumined spear collapsed into a bloom of harmless sparks. The audience exhaled as if they had been released from a held breath.
His next move was a vaulted rush, a demonstration of courtly power: a pillar of golden light that rose between them like a column.
It meant to split the ring in two. Aurelia stepped inside it, blade up, throat open, and for a second, she let herself be the conduit.
Her Aura focused into a calm sheath that wrapped the sword. When the pillar met it, the column didn't explode so much as fold, light threading around the steel and unspooling upward into ribbons that braided with the ceiling runes and died politely. The sound was less thunder than a bell in a well.
Lucien's expression cracked then, a more actual motion than his practiced mask had allowed. He had expected drama, submission, or the frightened recoil of a noble competitor.
Instead, he'd found discipline that answered in kind. He recovered with the slight, measured breath of someone who'd been reminded that the world had more than one mirror.
The pace tilted toward the close now. Lucien went compact and precise; Aurelia stayed measured and unshowy.
He tried a deceptive feint, light like a blade, then a hidden glow meant to blind, and she, trusting the steadiness of her training, timed a step that placed her sword into the exact plane of his aura-arc.
They met in a minor, bright collision that scattered motes like startled birds. For a beat, the noise filled the ring, the clink of steel that could not be heard as ordinary metal, the whine of Aether pressed against the human pulse.
And then Aurelia did something the murmurs later called brave and the nobles later called reckless, she didn't push to finish. She redirected.
Aurelia closed the gap and used the edge of her blade, redirecting all her Aura into the sword's tip to make a compact, piercing strike aimed at a gap under his guard.
The blade's white blade thrummed like a bell. At the point of contact, the prince felt the precision of the strike as a sharp, honest prod against his chest. He stumbled a fraction, the first crack in a posture used to applause.
A gasp rippled, and then a hush fell. Even those who fancied royal polish could not deny the effectiveness of the motion. A strike that landed without spectacle, clean and undeniable.
The motion was neither loud nor dramatic, it was exact. It left Lucien on his heels, polite and composed, suddenly required to find center again.
He lifted his chin, and the prince's laugh came out small, close to a sound that might have been a compliment. "Well struck," he said, a phrase wrapped in courtly sugar and sharpened by rivalry. "You show discipline. I was wrong about your temper."
The instructors let the tableau simmer. Seris stepped forward, palms open as if unveiling a painting. "That, students, is the lesson," she said. "Not victory, not domination. Contrast. How a body's will meets the world's current. When they clash, you learn where each is strongest. Aether excels at reach, Aura excels at integration. Both are valuable."
Malrec's nod was curt, but there was a light in his eye like a strike of flint. The ring swelled into polite applause that rode toward something like respect.
Aurelia dipped her hand from the sword, and the Aura contracted back to her ribs, the white haze thinning like breath drawn in.
Her heart hammered, not from fatigue but from the clean, bright satisfaction of an argument well-made.
That was not for show, she thought, feeling the aftertaste of concentrated will. It was for learning.
Aurelia and Lucien bowed with courtly grace. Lucien's salute carried no sting, only acknowledgment. The prince's public ego was intact, the lesson had been learned without scandal.
Aurelia felt a small, private satisfaction bloom that was not the same as triumph.
Let them learn what I did. Let them see there are more ways to hold power than the one they expect.
Seris's grin was quick and delighted. "Good. See it, feel it, then do more than recite it. That is how you keep your hands."
The students pushed forward towards the instructors, tumbling out with questions, plans, and excited analysis. Lysandra's laugh echoed bright near the front.
Aurelia met Kael's eye across the ring. He lifted his slate as if to hide the small, unreadable smile he'd let slip.
She gave a curt, private nod. There were holes to close, lessons to repeat, and blades and currents to make patient allies of one another. The work, as Seris had said, was just beginning.
Lysandra approached Aurelia with a bright smile. "You were so cool and amazing!" she said proudly.
"Perhaps," Aurelia replied, but her eyes flicked to Lucien as she spoke. He stood a little straighter than before, the prince's smile a fraction more guarded.
Lucien was holding back. He's watching the motions of it and shifting it. Not the flourish, but the function.
Lysandra nudged her shoulder with easy familiarity. "I never knew you were so skilled with Aura," she murmured, genuinely impressed. "Most people only see the Aether side of you." Her voice was warm, and her eyes shone with a simple enthusiasm.
Aurelia felt the flattery like a small heat along her spine. Compliments are rare these days, she admitted inwardly.
After losing to Kael, she had expected coldness, a polite circling away, the discreet pity of nobles who counted lineage over merit. Instead, Lysandra had stepped forward.
The thought made Aurelia cautious.
Why is the Count's daughter, Lysandra Vire, bothering with me?
She wondered, scanning the younger woman's face for a tell.
Is that smile real, or a crafted thing meant to map me into her ledger? It was easy to be generous and polite, but it was harder to discern when kindness came at a price.
She kept her expression even, neither opening entirely nor slamming shut. "Thank you," she said at last, the word measured.