Kaelen raised the lens as if preparing to demonstrate…
Then paused.
He frowned again, tilted the device, and—without hesitation—turned the outer glyph wheel two notches, nudged the stabilizer pin into a slightly different slot, and twisted the resonance ring until it gave a soft, satisfying click.
A soft murmur rippled through the class.
Anna's eyes flicked instinctively to Professor Helena.
She wasn't surprised. She wasn't annoyed. She smirked—a sharp, knowing little curve of her mouth.
As if she'd been waiting for him to catch the flaw. As if this had been a test.
And Kaelen had passed.
"Good," Helena said, her voice warm with approval she didn't bother hiding. "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice the calibration was deliberately set to backfeed mana."
A few students gasped.
Kaelen froze.
"…I—It was set wrong," he said slowly, brow knitting as he tried to gather his thoughts. "We… we always have the—uh—the stabilizer pin aligned with the inner glyph wheel, not the—" He winced at his own stumbling, then tried again. "The, um… the resonance ring was rotated three degrees too far. For the left-side channeling unit— it forces the aetherflow backward instead of—of spiraling it out."
"Precisely," Helena replied with a casual shrug. "If you'd tried to activate it without fixing the stabilizer alignment, you might have lost your hand."
The room went dead silent.
Anna's stomach dropped.
Kaelen's eyes went wide. "…Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Helena said, waving a hand dismissively. "The backfeed would've been localized. Clean severance, minimal scarring, easy to reattach, and very educational." She smiled—brightly, almost cheerfully. "But you adjusted it. So your limbs remain attached. Well done."
Half the class paled. One student in the front row swayed in their seat.
Kaelen swallowed hard, ears burning pink.
Helena gave the lens one last approving glance, then stepped closer and—much to Kaelen's visible alarm—patted him on the back with surprising force for someone wearing so many scholarly charms.
"Excellent work, Stagwood. You may keep all your original limbs and return to your seat."
Kaelen nodded stiffly, still pale around the edges. "Y-Yes, Professor."
"And do try not to look like you've seen the Void," she added lightly, turning away. "This is the introductory class."
A few students exchanged horrified looks.
Kaelen exhaled—more a shudder than a breath—and made his way back down the row toward Anna. He slid into the seat beside her with the careful, controlled movements of someone who had just stared death in the eye and wasn't entirely convinced he'd gotten away from it.
Anna, valiantly restraining both a smile and sympathy, leaned slightly toward him.
"You, um… survived," she murmured.
Kaelen let out a weak, breathless laugh. "Barely."
Before Anna could say more, Helena's voice cut through the room again, brisk and energized.
"Now then," she said, brushing chalk dust from her hands, "once all of you learn how to properly hold and operate a scrying lens—and I do mean properly, not whatever abominations I'm about to witness—we will move on to practical fieldwork."
The class collectively perked up.
Fieldwork? Already?
Helena continued, pacing in front of the board with the easy authority of someone who could navigate a minefield blindfolded.
"Our class excavations will take place in controlled sites around the academy grounds. You will be locating shallow aether pockets, identifying ore signatures, and—if the gods smile upon you—extracting your first usable metal shard. Under supervision, of course. I'd like to avoid paperwork this semester."
A couple students straightened, suddenly eager.
Others sank lower in their seats.
Helena's smile sharpened.
"Trust me. The earth has… a great deal to teach you."
Beside Anna, Kaelen was still catching his breath.
But Anna?
She felt something shift in her chest—quiet and electric.
Excavations. Aetherfields. Magic buried underfoot.
This class, she thought, might just become her favorite.
The rest of the lesson blurred by in a rush of exercises, theory checks, and Helena's sharp, amused corrections. After the excitement of the lens incident, most students sat a little straighter, triple-checked their calibrations, and thought very hard before touching anything that glowed.
By the time Helena dismissed them, Anna realized—with mild surprise—that the four-hour block had vanished. Of course it had. This class was notorious for it. Aetheric Metal Studies and Magical Prospecting was so large, so crowded with upper-year mages and ambitious apprentices, that it was the only course scheduled on the final day of the week. Professors didn't dare stack anything after it. Students usually needed at least an hour to decompress and reassemble their dignity.
But Anna felt nothing like drained.
If anything, she was practically buzzing.
Because today—finally—was her day.
Her first real training session with the Obsidian Circle.
Her first time stepping into the field not as someone observing, not as someone being evaluated, but as a trainee with an official designation.
Even her new training uniform, folded neatly in the satchel at her hip, seemed to hum with promise every time she thought about it. Dark charcoal fabric, reinforced stitching, lightweight ward-plates sewn beneath the weave… she'd checked it three times already, just to make sure it was really hers.
Anna practically floated down the steps of the lecture hall, weaving through the crowd as students filtered out in clusters.
She couldn't get to the dorms fast enough.
She needed to change. She needed to look the part. She needed—
She grinned to herself.
She needed the rest of the day to hurry up and begin.
Anna spotted Kaelen just as he finished tucking the recalibrated lens back into its padded case. He looked up, still a little dazed from Helena's earlier warning.
"Hey—Anna, wait—"
"Sorry! I'll see you later!" she called, already halfway turned toward the door.
And then she was gone.
Anna shot through the flow of students like an arrow loosed from a bow, slipping between taller bodies with the kind of nimble speed only a determined twelve-year-old could muster. A few upper-years blinked as she darted past them; one had to sidestep hastily before she clipped his satchel.
"Woah—watch it!"
"Sorry!" she laughed breathlessly, not slowing at all.
Her boots thudded down the stairwell. She rounded the landing so fast the hem of her robe snapped behind her, then burst into the main hall, weaving around knots of chatting students and startled first-years.
The moment she hit the courtyard, she broke into a full sprint.
The dorms weren't far, but today they felt a world away—too far, too slow, even with her legs pumping and her lungs burning. Excitement made her light, made her fast, made her grin even as the wind stung her cheeks.
Her first Obsidian Circle training.
Her first uniform waiting to be tried on.
She ran harder. She didn't even realize she was humming.
Anna burst into her dorm room, slammed the door behind her, and practically threw her satchel onto her bed. The excitement buzzing in her chest made her fingers clumsy as she untied the uniform bundle—dark fabric, reinforced seams, the subtle sheen of woven aether-thread. It looked real. It looked like she belonged to something powerful.
She didn't waste a second.
Boots off. Robe tossed. Shirt changed. Belt adjusted. Gloves on.
When she finally pulled the fitted jacket into place and fastened the last clasp, she let out a breathless little laugh. Then she hurried to the mirror, eager—desperate—to see how she looked.
But she never made it.
A crackling surge punched through her body—sharp, electric, alive—like invisible fingers hooking beneath her ribs and yanking. Her knees buckled. The world tilted.
She hit the floor.
The breath tore out of her lungs, her vision bleaching white for a heartbeat, then another—
And then it was gone.
As if nothing had ever happened.
Anna gasped, palms flat against the wooden floorboards, heart racing as the empty quiet settled back around her. The room looked the same. She looked the same.
The door swung open without warning.
"Anna? I forgot my—"
Her roommate, Lara Grayson, stopped mid-step. The book in her hands nearly slipped from her fingers as she took in the sight of Anna on the floor—pale, wide-eyed, braced on trembling arms.
"By the Stars—Anna!" Lara rushed over, dropping to her knees beside her. "Are you okay? What happened? You look like you just got hit by a lightning glyph!"
Anna swallowed, forcing her breath to steady. "O-Okay. I'm okay." Her voice came out thinner than she meant it to.
Lara didn't look convinced. Her eyes darted over Anna's face, taking in the colorless cheeks, the unsettled pupils, the faint sheen of sweat.
"Anna… you're white as chalk. What happened?"
"It's nothing," Anna insisted quickly, pushing herself upright even though her muscles still felt like softened wax. "Just… um… growing pains."
Lara stared at her. Flat. Unblinking. "Growing pains don't knock you onto the floor, Anna."
Anna forced a wobbling smile anyway. She could brush it off. She should. "It was just a weird… moment. Probably stood up too fast. I'm fine. Really."
But even as she said it, the lingering tremor in her fingers betrayed her—and Lara noticed.
"Anna," Lara said softly, worry tightening her voice, "that didn't look like nothing."
Anna looked away. Because she wasn't sure. Not even close.
Lara's brows pinched, her worry sharpening rather than fading.
"Anna," she pressed gently, "that wasn't dizziness. I've seen people faint before, and you—your eyes went unfocused. You didn't even hear me come in. Are you sure you don't want to sit for a minute? Or go to the infirmary? Or at least tell me what—"
"I'm fine." Anna stood too quickly again, almost wobbling, but she steadied herself before Lara could reach for her.
"Are you sure? Because it looked like a mana spike or—"
"It wasn't," Anna insisted, grabbing her boots, her gloves, anything to keep her hands busy. "Really, Lara. I'm just… tired. Long week. First training day nerves. You know."
"Anna—"
"I'll be fine." She flashed what she hoped passed for a reassuring smile. It wasn't. "I promise. And I can't be late. The Obsidian Circle doesn't exactly appreciate tardiness."
Lara opened her mouth again, clearly ready to protest, but Anna was already halfway to the door.
"Anna, wait—!"
But Anna didn't. She slipped through the doorway, calling over her shoulder:
"I'll tell you later, okay? I really have to go!"
Her voice was bright, confident, energetic— But the moment she turned the corner, out of sight, her hand instinctively pressed to her sternum.
The echo of that surge still hummed faintly beneath her ribs.
Anna forced her hand down, exhaling sharply as if she could breathe the last of the strange energy out with the stale dormitory air.
Not now, she told herself. Not today. You've waited too long for this.
She rolled her shoulders back, straightened the dark training tunic, and pushed every lingering tremor to the very back of her mind.
By the time she stepped outside, the cold breeze helped steady her. The campus was quieter on last-day afternoons—most students drifting toward weekend rest—but the Obsidian Circle's influence was unmistakable. Their training grounds sat apart from the main buildings: enclosed in obsidian-inlaid walls, the stone glinting like captured starlight beneath the afternoon sun.
Anna walked faster. Then faster still.
By the time she reached the long, shadowed archway carved with sigils of the Circle, her heart was pounding—but not from the run. From anticipation.
She paused only a second, taking it in:
The enormous sparring rings layered with protective wards. The elevated platform where advanced cadets practiced live-casting drills. The distant clang of metal—blades meeting training constructs. And the banner bearing the obsidian-black crest of the Circle, rippling in the wind like something alive.
Anna swallowed, lifted her chin, and stepped inside.
Anna slipped through the archway, boots crunching lightly on the ward-lined stone. The training grounds were larger on the inside than they appeared from the path—wide enough to house three sparring rings, a casting lane, and an equipment pavilion humming with containment spells.
A few Obsidian Circle members were already scattered across the space.
Two older teens—maybe fifteen or sixteen—were drilling footwork in the center ring, their movements sharp and perfectly timed. Another cadet stood near the target dummies, adjusting the bracers on her arms before she fired a quick, precise bolt of compressed mana that struck dead-center with a snap. None of them wore the standard Academy uniforms. Every one of them wore the same black-silver training gear Anna now had on.
Actual members. Actual trainees.
Her pulse quickened.
None of the faces were familiar.
She shifted her weight, scanning the grounds more carefully, searching for the two people she did hope to see.
Where were they?
Anna stepped further in, weaving around a pair of recruits sparring with blunted blades. Her gaze swept the entrance gate, then the viewing platform, then the equipment racks lined with polished obsidian practice staves.
Still nothing.
No Talia's cool, watchful stare. No Elara's teasing half-smile.
Anna swallowed, suddenly very aware of how small she felt in a space that hummed with talent and experience.
Did they already start? Did I miss them?
She tried to stand straighter, lifting her chin the way Elara always told her to when walking into a room full of strangers. Her fingers brushed the edge of her new uniform, grounding herself in the moment.
Her sisters had to be here somewhere.
They promised they would be.
Anna stiffened.
The voice behind her was sharp, bright with mockery, and loud enough that several trainees paused mid-strike.
"Well, I'll be damned," the girl said. "The rumors were true. They actually let a magicless runt into the Circle."
Anna turned.
A girl about fourteen—older, taller, stronger-looking—stood with two others flanking her like bored, well-trained shadows. Her hair was braided tight against her scalp, her uniform pristine, her stance relaxed in the way only someone very sure of herself could manage.
Her eyes swept over Anna like one might inspect a cracked training dummy.
"So it's you," the girl continued, tilting her head. "The little princess who can't summon a spark but somehow gets a Circle uniform delivered to her door."
A few trainees nearby exchanged glances. Some winced. Some watched openly.
Anna felt her stomach tighten—but her back straightened on instinct.
The older girl's smile thinned, smug and merciless.