When Lore rejoined his father in the reception hall, Lord Damien's typically stoic expression had been replaced by unmistakable pride as Magistra Moonwhisper related the test results.
"Triple essence affinity has been recorded only seven times in the Academy's thousand-year history," she explained. "Your son will require specialized instruction beyond our standard curriculum."
Lord Damien nodded gravely. "House Steinfeld will provide whatever additional resources are necessary."
Other noble parents who had been waiting nearby for their own children's results made poor attempts to hide their interest in the conversation, some openly staring at the silver-haired boy who had apparently defied magical convention.
"He will begin classes immediately," Magistra Moonwhisper continued. "I will personally oversee his Form essence training, as it complements my own specialty." She glanced down at Lore with new regard. "I suspect we have much to learn from each other, young lord."
After finalizing arrangements and reviewing the specialized curriculum that would be developed for Lore, Lord Damien prepared to depart. He knelt briefly to his son's level—an unusual gesture from a man who rarely altered his dignified bearing.
"Remember our discussion about shadows," he said quietly. "Exceptional talent attracts exceptional attention—both beneficial and dangerous."
"I understand, Father."
Lord Damien straightened, adjusting his formal coat. "I expect a full report this evening." With that, he departed, leaving Lore in the care of the Academy.
---
The first class of the day was Essence Fundamentals, held in a sun-drenched classroom with high windows and concentric rows of desks facing a central demonstration area. Lore was escorted there by Magistra Moonwhisper herself, who introduced him to Magister Aldric, a portly man with a jovial disposition that contrasted sharply with the Magistra's reserved demeanor.
"Triple affinity! Marvelous!" the Magister exclaimed, guiding Lore to an empty seat in the second row. "Find your place, young lord. We're about to begin."
As Lore settled into his assigned desk, he took careful inventory of his classmates—approximately twenty children of noble birth, judging by their attire and bearing. Most were engaged in the typical social behaviors of their age—whispering, giggling, fidgeting—though a few displayed the premature gravity of those raised to significant responsibility.
One student in particular caught his attention—a girl with pale blonde hair seated in the corner, her shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear into her oversized robe. Three other girls seated nearby were whispering and pointing in her direction, their expressions holding the universal malice of childhood bullies.
'Where some see weakness, I see potential,' Lore assessed automatically. 'Isolated. Vulnerable. Seeking protection would create loyalty.'
His attention shifted as Magister Aldric called the class to order with a thunderous clap that released sparks of Force essence.
"Today we welcome a new student to our ranks," the Magister announced. "Lord Lore Steinfeld has demonstrated an unprecedented triple essence affinity during his evaluation. I expect you all to make him feel welcome."
The announcement sent a ripple of whispers through the classroom. Lore maintained a neutral expression, though internally he calculated the advantages and disadvantages of such notoriety. Exceptional ability would draw attention—potentially complicating his long-term mission but also opening doors that might otherwise remain closed.
The lesson began with basic essence theory, material Lore had already absorbed through his voracious reading over the past five years. He participated with measured precision, answering questions accurately but selectively—demonstrating knowledge without revealing the full extent of his understanding.
When practical demonstration began, however, he allowed himself to excel. The exercise involved manifesting essence into a stable, compressed sphere held in the palm of their hand—a fundamental test of control and concentration.
"The goal," Magister Aldric explained, creating a perfect orb of golden Force essence that hovered steadily above his palm, "is to maintain consistent density and shape for at least thirty seconds. Most students will find their essence dispersing after only a few moments."
Around the classroom, students extended their hands and began the exercise. Most managed to produce flickering, unstable wisps of their primary essence—shapeless clouds that dissipated within seconds. A few of the more talented students created rough spherical shapes that wavered and collapsed before reaching the time requirement.
One boy in the front row produced a reasonably stable ball of crimson Force essence that lasted nearly twenty seconds before imploding with a small pop. Several students managed brief success before their concentration faltered, causing their essence manifestations to either expand into useless mist or collapse entirely.
When Lore's turn came, he extended his hand and channeled Force essence with practiced precision. A perfect sphere of silver-white energy materialized above his palm—dense, unwavering, and precisely modulated. He held it steady for the full thirty seconds, then seamlessly transitioned to Flux essence, creating a spinning emerald orb that rotated in place with mathematical precision.
"Extraordinary control," Magister Aldric commented, watching with undisguised fascination. "Most children your age struggle to maintain focus for more than a few seconds, and you've demonstrated mastery with two different essences."
'Most children haven't spent decades honing their concentration while lining up lethal shots,' Lore thought dryly.
The morning progressed through additional classes—History of the Four Territories, Basic Martial Forms, and Court Etiquette—each following a similar pattern. Lore demonstrated enough proficiency to establish his reputation as exceptional without revealing the true depth of his knowledge or capabilities.
By midday meal, he had strategically positioned himself as a student of remarkable talent who nonetheless remained approachable—nodding politely to his peers, assisting a struggling classmate with a particularly difficult essence exercise, and demonstrating flawless manners to the instructors.
As he made his way toward the library after classes, Lore noticed the blonde girl from his morning class in an alcove near the entrance, cornered by the same three girls who had been whispering about her earlier. They had surrounded her with unnerving coordination.
Though too far away to hear their words clearly, Lore could read the situation—the calculated postures of the aggressors, the defensive body language of their target. When one girl raised her hand to slap the blonde, Lore made his decision.
He moved with unhurried purpose, catching the aggressor's wrist just before the blow could land. His grip was firm but not painful—controlled strength that spoke of training beyond his years.
"Perhaps," he said smoothly, releasing the girl's wrist with casual dismissal, "you could direct me to the advanced texts section?" He addressed the blonde directly, completely ignoring her harassers. "I'm told it contains some fascinating materials on essence integration that I'm keen to explore."
The three bullies faltered, clearly uncertain how to respond to the intrusion of the newly famous triple-affinity student.
"I—yes," the blonde girl managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know where it is."
"Excellent," Lore replied with the precise amount of polite enthusiasm. Without waiting for a response from the stunned bullies, he gestured for her to lead the way.
"I'm Lore Steinfeld," he offered, once they had moved away from the confrontation.
"Abigail Thornfield," she replied, still looking bewildered by his intervention. "Why did you... I mean, thank you, but..."
"House Thornfield," Lore noted, connecting the name to information from his reading. "Your family oversees the southern agricultural territories. Specialists in sustainable farming techniques using Flux essence. Impressive work."
Abigail's eyes widened slightly. "You know about my family's essence farming methods?"
"I find knowledge is the most valuable currency," he replied with a small shrug. "Especially concerning those with unique talents."
"I'm not talented," she murmured, returning her gaze to the floor. "Not like you. I barely registered on the Flux testing, even though my family is known for it. They had to petition for my acceptance."
Lore observed her closely, noting the subtle flicker of essence around her fingertips as she spoke—unconscious and untrained, but undeniably present. He could see that much with his perception and came to a reasonable deduction.
'Blockage, not absence,' he assessed. 'Psychological, not physical.'
"Power manifests in different ways," he said carefully, calculating his approach. "Some essence abilities emerge under specific conditions. Perhaps you simply haven't encountered the right catalyst."
For the remainder of their time in the library, he engaged her in careful conversation, extracting information about her family, her experiences at the Academy (miserable thus far), and her areas of interest (botanical studies and medicinal applications of Flux essence). By the time they departed, he had established the foundation of what she would perceive as friendship.
'Asset acquired,' he categorized mentally. 'Potential utility: access to agricultural resources, social cover as a seeming "protector," future network expansion through her family connections.'
The day's final class was Advanced Essence Theory, taught by Magistra Moonwhisper herself. The elven woman's teaching style differed dramatically from Magister Aldric's jovial approach—she was precise, demanding, and meticulous in her demonstrations of Form essence manipulation.
"The mind," she explained, creating an illusion of a brain that rotated slowly above her palm, "is both the source and the limit of your power. What you believe possible shapes what you can achieve."
Throughout the lesson, Lore noticed the Magistra watching him with particular interest, especially when he performed the assigned exercises with his customary precision. As class concluded, she beckoned him to remain behind as the other students filed out.
"Your control is remarkable for one so young," she observed once they were alone. "Almost as if you've had years of practice beyond your age."
'Careful,' Lore cautioned himself. 'Elven perception is sharper than human. She senses anomalies.'
"I've always been drawn to precise results," he replied modestly. "My parents encouraged early practice."
The Magistra's violet eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him. "Indeed. House Steinfeld has always produced... exceptional children." She moved to a bookshelf, selecting a slender volume bound in midnight blue leather. "This text is typically reserved for second-year students, but I believe you'll find it appropriately challenging."
Lore accepted the book, noting the title: "Veils of Mind: Advanced Form Techniques."
"Thank you, Magistra."
"I'll expect a demonstration of the first three techniques when we next meet," she added. "I suspect you'll master them quickly." A slight smile curved her lips. "Triple affinity is rare, Lord Steinfeld, but even rarer is the wisdom to use such gifts properly."
As he turned to leave, she added, "Your intervention with Miss Thornfield was noticed."
Lore paused, calculating potential responses. "She seemed in need of assistance."
"Yes," the Magistra agreed. "Though I wonder what led you to select her specifically as worthy of your protection? There are many students who might benefit from association with House Steinfeld."
'Testing my motives,' Lore realized. 'Probing for manipulation versus genuine alliance.'
"I recognize untapped potential when I see it," he answered honestly, if incompletely. "Good day, Magistra."
As he departed the Academy grounds toward the waiting Steinfeld carriage, Lore mentally reviewed the day's accomplishments: exceptional reputation established, connection with a potentially useful peer initiated, and the particular interest of a powerful faculty member secured.
'Satisfactory progress,' he concluded. 'Foundation laid for information gathering and network building.'
The carriage door opened to reveal his father waiting inside, expression expectant.
"Well?" Lord Damien inquired as Lore settled onto the opposite seat.
"The Academy may prove more useful than anticipated," Lore replied, carefully arranging his robe. "I've identified several potential avenues for our family's interests."
His father's lips curved into a rare smile. "As expected. Tell me everything."
As the carriage rolled away from the Academy, Lore provided a detailed report of his day, omitting only his true purpose and the lingering, unwelcome warmth he'd felt at Abigail's grateful smile when he'd shielded her from further harassment.
Some weaknesses, he was discovering, were more difficult to excise than others.