The lesson ended without applause—only the soft rustle of robes and the low hum of fading mana. One by one, students filed out, their voices subdued, eyes bright with that fragile mix of awe and fear.
Kael lingered. The countdown pulsed behind his ribs—a frigid, insistent beat, absolute in its timing.
[Compendium Alert: 5 Days, 12 Hours, 11 Minutes until overload.]
The Compendium's acceptance of all forms of mana was both a boon and a curse. A boon, because it allowed him to wield any energy he recorded. A curse, because that same vastness slowed the conversion of raw mana into Arcane Mana—the vital fuel required to unseal his next gate and bleed off the overloading soul energy.
He watched the other students packing their scrolls, chatting about how quickly they'd refined their affinities. Their conversions were smooth, natural, instinctive. His, by comparison, crawled like molten glass.
So that's what a Law Fragment does, he thought, It translates the world's mana into a form its Aspect can digest. Their path is easy—but narrow.
He reached inward, consciousness sinking into the Compendium's endless pages. The ticking in his mind grew louder, every second scraped raw by urgency, a physical pain behind his eyes.
"Compendium," he murmured silently, "the signatures you have recorded—what can I use them for to stabilize the core?"
[Query Initiated: Any stored mana signature can be used for internal conversion. Host may channel any recorded type of mana.]
Does that mean I have no limitations when it comes to the kind of magic I can use?
[Affirmative. Conversion protocols accessible upon request.]
"Then teach me," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of survival. "Show me how to convert mana into any signature you've recorded."
[Query Initiated: Assimilating knowledge to Host. Cost — 50 CP.]
The words flared—and his mind went blank. Knowledge flooded in, cold and searing, as the Compendium hollowed out. He felt its reserves draining, the energy siphoned away, leaving a sudden, faint nausea in his gut.
A heartbeat later, he knew.
The process unfolded instinctively. He drew a wisp of Arcane Mana from his gate, guiding it into his mindscape. There, he willed the Earth Mana signature page open. When he pressed the wisp into the parchment, it shifted—its hue deepening to an earthen bronze. The energy pulsed once, steady and obedient.
Earth Mana. Stable. Solid.
He waited, every thought narrowed to that single mote of energy. But the mana held—dormant yet present, offering a fragile sense of control. He instructed the Compendium to record the duration, his analysis clinical despite the existential threat.
Most mages specialized for stability—but at the cost of freedom. The Law of Knowledge demanded no such allegiance. Yet he was still limited to ambient mana. To wield composite affinities like the Divine Life Mana he'd stolen, he'd have to absorb them directly from their sources.
Kael's gaze drifted to the door where laughter echoed faintly. The others celebrated their newfound affinities, believing themselves chosen. If only they knew how narrow their worlds truly are.
His brow furrowed. Arcane Mana… Mana in its purest form—the source from which all others are born? He exhaled slowly. The Arcane flow within him was cold, limitless… and agonizingly slow to gather.
"I lack knowledge," he murmured. "And I need to find a way to accelerate the conversion."
---
The air in the lecture hall had cooled significantly, the residual mana dissipation leaving behind a faint, metallic scent.
So deep was his focus that he didn't notice the shadow until a hand gripped his shoulder.
Dean's voice broke through the silence, pulling Kael back from the depths of his thoughts. He blinked, realizing the chamber had emptied. Only the faint residue of mana remained.
"Kael—are you okay? You were zoning out."
"I'm fine," he said evenly, mind already calculating Dean's value. "Just thinking."
Dean shifted, a nervous habit. "You heard Magus Serina. Your flow will correct itself eventually. You'll be able to use Life Mana—healers are always in demand."
Kael used the statement to seize back control of the interaction. "And yet, it's nothing compared to Spatial Mana."
Dean's face reddened. He dropped his gaze. "I know," he muttered. "Spatial Mana's the hardest to control… but maybe it'll make my father proud of me."
So, the bastard wants recognition from his sire. Kael's thought was detached, analytical. He adjusted his tone—neutral, pragmatic. "We only have a few minutes before Combat Magic starts. We should hurry."
They left the chamber together, the corridor shimmering with filtered mana-light.
Dean spoke first, voice low. "I can feel the Divine Mana merging with mine—enhancing it. I didn't think the effect would be so potent."
Kael's expression didn't change. They've shackled themselves willingly. What is Divine Mana compared to Arcane?
"Yes," he said lightly. "But one shouldn't rely too much on outside power. It makes you weak."
Dean smiled awkwardly. "Sometimes you sound less like a sixteen-year-old and more like a professor."
"And yet, I am one." Kael returned a polite, harmless smile.
For a time, they walked in silence—until a smooth, deliberate voice carried down the hall.
"Going without me, Voss?"
Cyras Vale stepped from the cross-corridor—uniform immaculate, hair like cut silver under the mana-light. His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long on Kael.
That familiar, nauseating pull struck—a silent compulsion to yield. The Arcane Mana, fresh from conversion, shattered it like brittle glass. Not today. Not ever again.
Kael's voice stayed mild. "Since when have we become friends? I didn't think you'd lack company."
Cyras's lips curved, not quite a smile. "So, you do have a tongue after all. I thought you were mute."
"Guys, we'll be late if we keep standing here," Dean muttered, eyes darting between them.
Cyras's attention flicked to Dean—a brief assessment, a subtle dismissal. "Combat class, yes. I wonder which of us Lyon will break first." His gaze returned to Kael, the threat sharp as glass. "I hope Lyon pairs us first. You need to be shown your place."
Kael's reply was quiet. "You'd have to catch me first."
Cyras's smile deepened—a cold flash of approval—and he strode past them.
They continued down the corridor until it opened onto the eastern colonnade, where the Training Domes rose like glass hearts pulsing with stored light.
The door to the dome hissed open, warm, charged air spilling out—thick with sweat, ozone, and the residue of volatile mana.
Kael saw Master Lyon standing by the barrier, posture rigid, gaze daring anyone to be late.
Cyras stepped beside Kael, voice low. "Showtime, Voss."
---
The dome door sealed behind them. The air inside pressed against Kael's circuits, a physical weight of power and discipline. A dry, coppery taste settled on his tongue, a nervous anticipation of the fight to come.
Lyon stood at the edge of the central mat, arms folded, eyes hard. His gaze snagged on Kael immediately.
"You barely made it in time." His voice cut through the dome's ambient noise like a blade. "All of you, listen carefully. Tardiness will not be tolerated. I see you and Harcott cut it close. Tardiness is weakness—and weakness gets you killed."
Kael's jaw ached faintly, a ghost of a reminder from the previous lesson, where Lyon's palm had met his cheek. The lesson: obedience, even if he hid the extent of his defiance.
He gestured toward the mat. "This class is called Combat Magic. Any buffoon can swing a weapon. What makes you exceptional is mana. Infuse it into your body, and you'll strike harder than any weapon forged. Fail to, and you'll die faster than one."
Lyon began to pace. "All other classes teach you theory. I'll teach you survival—how to infuse your body, how to move with mana, and how to weaponize it."
He stopped abruptly and raised his fist. Lightning coiled around his knuckles, raw and focused.
"First lesson—Mana Infusion."
CRACKLE!
The bolt struck the air as he punched. The dummy before him exploded inward with a violent crunch of splintering wood. The force of the sound made Kael's teeth ache. A flick of his wrist activated the repair array beneath it; mana surged, and the dummy reformed, flawless once more.
"In the beginning," Lyon continued, "those of you with multiple affinities—use only one. Focus on control before ambition."
He pointed toward a nervous boy. "Mr. Cox. Demonstrate."
The boy swallowed hard and stepped forward. He took several moments to gather mana, until at last a faint blue sheen flickered across his hand—then died out.
Lyon approached, surprisingly patient. "Where are you stuck, student?"
"Sir… I have both Water and Light affinities, but when I try to separate them, they won't obey," Cox said quietly.
"It's normal," Lyon replied. "Water resists command. Light rarely strengthens attacks. Picture the flow like a river—natural, not forced."
Cox closed his eyes and focused. Blue light shimmered faintly over his hand. He struck. The impact wasn't as devastating as Lyon's, but the dummy quivered, and he succeeded. His grin was instantaneous.
The line continued. Kael observed each student, cataloguing energy cost, timing, and flaws.
When it was Cyras's turn, his fist glowed first with pure mana, then darkened, coiling into a deep, shadowy hue. The strike landed cleanly—sharp, precise. The dummy shattered under the Dark Mana infusion.
Lyon's eyes flicked toward him. "Your father must be proud to have such a prodigy as a son. But don't let that pride make you careless."
Cyras inclined his head slightly. Kael noted the restraint and filed it away.
Next came Dean Harcott. Kael leaned forward, voice calm. "It's fine. You can do it."
Dean nodded once, then stepped up. After several tense moments, his hand flared with pulsing violet energy. He struck the dummy.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the wood fractured—hairline cracks spreading like veins of light—before the entire structure collapsed into fine dust, even erasing the repair formation.
Spatial Mana is that powerful.
The triumph was short-lived. Dean collapsed instantly, his fist covered in bleeding, shallow cuts.
Lyon was beside him in an instant, uncorking a crimson potion. "What did you learn, Harcott, when you infused Spatial Mana into your fist?"
"That it's dangerous," Dean murmured, wincing.
"Correct." Lyon's voice snapped like thunder. "Your intent is lacking. High-grade mana forms are inherently unstable. Without clarity of will, they will rebel. Never infuse higher-ranked mana unless you command it."
Dean nodded weakly. Lyon's gaze shifted.
"Voss. You're next."
Kael moved forward. There was no dummy in front of him.
"You'll hit me," Lyon said flatly. "Begin infusion."
Kael felt his pulse spike. The countdown echoed in the back of his mind. Each tick felt like a needle scratching against his inner ribcage.
[Compendium Alert: 5 Days, 12 Hours, 02 Minutes.]
Every use of mana risked exposing the truth.
"Sir," he said evenly, "I might hurt you."
Lyon's eyes narrowed. "A soldier obeys every order."
So, he obeyed.
Kael drew on the sliver of converted Earth Mana in his mindscape. His fist shimmered with dull bronze light. He punched. A hardened air shield snapped up just before impact. His strike hit, but barely rippled it.
"Again," Lyon said. "Use something else."
Kael switched to pure mana. Hit again. The result was the same—minimal. He kept punching, fatigue creeping in, the overload pressure building with every motion. His mana gate burned, a dull, aching throb with each impact.
He couldn't reveal the Arcane Mana, but Lyon wasn't letting him quit.
Running out of options, Kael hesitated. Then, he made his choice.
He reached inward and summoned the Divine Mana—the Life signature he'd stolen.
Instantly, it filled him: limitless growth, consumption without end, creation through taking. His fist pulsed with a blinding, viridian light.
Lyon's smirk vanished. His expression sharpened into something predatory. He'd wanted this.
Kael understood. Lyon intended to force him into revealing the Life Mana—to study it.
Fine. Then let him see the cost.
Lyon's own fist crackled with electric-blue mana. Lightning gathered in arcs, screaming through the air. He struck, and the sheer power of the blow sent a pressure wave rolling across the mat.
Their fists collided mid-air, and the world cracked open—mana shrieking through the dome's formation lines, light refracting in wild, electric spirals.
In a flash of panic, Kael instinctively drew on the purest mana he had. Not Earth. Not Life. Not filtered or converted. Arcane.
Raw, primal energy flared from his core, coating his body in an invisible, razor-thin sheath.
The Life Mana's parasitic intent leapt from his hand—draining. Lyon's skin withered in patches where their fists met. The Lightning surged through Kael, but the Arcane layer absorbed the charge, devouring it.
[Compendium Alert: New Mana Signature Detected.] [Electric Mana (Lightning) signature absorbed.]
The world blurred. Kael stumbled backward, his limbs collapsing beneath him. His vision dimmed, and exhaustion slammed through him like a hammer.
He hit the floor—not falling, but folding, as though every string in his body had been cut. The raw, burnt smell of ozone and expended energy filled his nostrils.
The dome went dead silent.
Lyon stood motionless for a moment, then strode forward. His steps were measured, the air crackling faintly with residual static.
Kael could barely lift his head. He saw Lyon pause, glancing down at his own left hand—where flakes of grey, dead skin had begun to peel away.
The parasitic effect of the Life Mana.
A flicker of surprise passed behind Lyon's eyes, quickly masked by something colder. Satisfaction.
"Well, Voss," he said at last, voice low and dangerous. "You passed the test. By failing it."
Kael's breath rasped in his throat as he tried to rise. The world tilted.
"You have spirit," Lyon continued, "but you're undisciplined—and worse, reckless. You had two different basic affinities available, yet you chose a highly unstable composite form. Then you ended with a burst of raw mana—suicidal and uncontrolled. You're lucky I stopped short."
He saw the Arcane energy, Kael realized. But he doesn't know what it was.
"I… acted on instinct," Kael said weakly. "My gate—it's still unstable."
Lyon's gaze pierced through the excuse. "Instinct doesn't coat you in perfectly refined mana, Voss. But that's a lesson for another day."
He reached into his robe and produced a vial of pale-yellow potion, pressing it into Kael's palm. "Drink. It'll restore your core—but not your judgment."
Kael obeyed. The liquid was bitter, metallic, but warmth spread through his veins almost immediately. His body loosened; he managed to sit up, breathing ragged but steady.
He looked at Lyon—then at the Master's hand, where flakes of withered skin still fell like ash. I hurt him. I broke his composure.
And in that fracture, he'd stolen something priceless.
[Compendium Alert: Electric Mana (Lightning) signature absorbed.]
The new mana signature pulsed faintly within his core, sharp and vibrant. He had seen its speed, its devastating precision—and now, he could replicate it.
Lyon turned, voice booming across the dome. "The rest of you—class dismissed! You just witnessed what happens when arrogance meets instability. Remember this lesson."
His tone softened by a hair as he added, "Dean, report to the infirmary. Voss, recover, then proceed to your next class."
Around them, the students dispersed quickly, whispering.
Cyras lingered, his expression calm, too calm—eyes dissecting every detail of Kael's collapse. He's analysing me, Kael thought, cataloguing what he saw.
Kael rose slowly, ignoring the tremor in his legs. He nodded once to Lyon and walked off the mat. The whispers followed him like a tide.
Dean waited near the exit, his hand bandaged. "Kael… you're not supposed to survive that kind of hit. Are you sure you're, okay?"
"I'm fine," Kael repeated. The words felt thinner each time he used them. I used Arcane Mana. I made a mistake.
His core pulsed violently—relief mixing with dread. The new mana signature expanded the Compendium's library but accelerated the pressure inside him. The pressure around his gate was now a constant, tight knot.
[Compendium Alert: New data acquisition accelerating overload timer.] [Estimated time until catastrophic failure: 4 Days, 23 Hours, 45 Minutes.]
The deadline had shortened—by nearly a day. Every gain brought him closer to collapse.
They stepped into the corridor, the noise of the dome fading behind them.
"Dean," Kael said, his tone measured, "what's your next compulsory?"
Dean looked down at his hand. "Uh… I'm excused for the day. What about you? I think we're done with the required classes. I still have my elective—Basics of Formations and Arrays."
Kael's eyes narrowed. The compulsories were structured, but the electives… they offered flexibility. Opportunity.
The fatigue gnawed at him, but knowledge burned hotter. He didn't have time to rest.
"I have the same elective," Kael said, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I need to fix my flow, like Magus Serina said. But it's after lunch—we have a short break."
He exhaled, gaze turning toward the east wing. He could already feel the ticking in his chest—the Compendium's silent hunger, whispering, Consume.
He had gained power.
He had lost time.
And the clock was still running.