Chapter 6 – Lessons in Failure
The bell tower tolled six times, echoing across Arcana Academy's spires. Students groaned as they shuffled through the courtyard, clutching their grimoires and yawning into their sleeves.
Karl Draven trudged along behind them, carrying nothing but his satchel and the same creeping dread that had settled in his stomach since Mistress Elowen's test. He'd survived the wards, but now came something worse—actual classes.
Jax bounced at his side, whistling cheerfully, his robes singed around the edges from his latest "experiment."
"Cheer up, muscle man," Jax said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Today's the big one. Combat Drills! We get to hit things! Explosions! Sweat! Glory!"
Karl grunted. "You do realize I don't have magic, right?"
"Bah." Jax waved a hand dismissively. "You don't need it. Just flex until they surrender."
Lira sighed from behind her mountain of books. "That's not how combat class works, Jax."
"Not with that attitude," Jax shot back.
They entered the training yard, where rows of enchanted dummies stood waiting. Professor Thorn, a wiry man with a hooked nose and a voice like gravel, strode before them, hands clasped behind his back.
"Today," he barked, "you will learn to channel your spark into controlled strikes. Power is useless without precision. Step forward, one at a time."
Students lined up. One by one, they hurled spells—flames, lightning, shards of ice—that smashed into the dummies, leaving scorch marks and craters. Thorn grunted approval or snapped at sloppy work.
When Damien Veylor's turn came, he flourished his wand with theatrical flair. A jet of crimson fire burst forth, incinerating the dummy into ash. Applause rippled through the crowd. Damien bowed with a smug smile, eyes flicking toward Karl.
Then Thorn's gaze landed on him. "Draven. Step forward."
The yard went quiet. Whispers spread like wildfire.
Karl swallowed hard and squared his shoulders. He walked into the circle,