"A simple warning can sometimes do more than any help, but not all are ready to listen, let alone heed it."
Entris-day
The morning routine was, as always, executed flawlessly. I awoke early, conducted a standard assessment of my body's condition: temperature normal, muscle tone stable. Sitting at my writing desk, I began to comb my hair—a monotonous, measured ritual, returning the chaos of sleep to the framework of an ordered form.
Soon, the rare footsteps of students hurrying to breakfast could be heard outside the door, along with the singing of winter birds and the morning crunch of snow outside the window. All of this signaled the start of a new day, which was proceeding in its usual rhythm for me.
Catherine rose at the same time as I did today. She did not stretch lazily, as she usually did. Instead, she sat up in bed and for some time simply watched me in silence. I registered this deviation. Then she stood up and approached, stopping behind me.
"Arta…" her voice was almost a whisper, as if she were afraid to startle the moment, or rather—as if she were tasting strange, unfamiliar words. "Your hair… it's like… a frozen river of darkness."
She paused again, as if recalling the next line from an invisible book.
"I know a pattern… It's needed to complete the form. Like the final polish given to a masterwork blade before it is sheathed."
She took a tiny, almost imperceptible step closer.
"May I?…"
Her attempt was a subtle, almost transparent game. I prepared for the usual reaction—an internal dissonance, that same "itch" that always arose when I encountered her emotional maneuvers. But this time, it did not come. Again. The anomaly within the anomaly was beginning to become clear; a borrowed and false language does not affect my structure.
I slowly turned my head toward her. In her eyes, besides expectation, there was also uncertainty—the uncertainty of an actress who does not fully believe in her role.
"No, thank you," I replied evenly. "I was taught to rely only on what I can do myself. Everything else is too unreliable."
My response was aimed not at the action, but at the very role she was trying to play. Her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. The mask cracked, and a light blush of embarrassment appeared on her cheeks.
"I just… wanted to help!" she objected, and in her voice, the notes of the real, offended Catherine had already broken through.
"I prefer simple and reliable things, Catherine," I replied. "Things that do not change. Habit is also a tool. And it must be predictable."
She lowered her gaze. She was embarrassed not by my refusal, but by the fact that her maneuver had been so easily and accurately read. She went to her desk, her movements again becoming slightly sharper, more familiar.
"Perhaps I can help with something else?" she asked in her usual voice, in which hope was mixed with stubbornness. "For example, for a walk? Or over a cup of your favorite herbal infusion?"
This was no longer a game. This was her. And in that same instant, I felt it—the light, almost imperceptible beginning of that same "itch." A weak but distinct signal confirming the corruption remained.
I paused briefly before answering.
"That… is a more honest offer, Catherine," I said in an even tone, looking not at her, but somewhere through her. I allowed the weight of the word "honest" to hang in the air for an extra moment, letting her know that the previous offer had not been. "But now it is time for breakfast. Let's go."
She froze for a moment, processing my answer. Then a knowing, slightly guilty smile flickered across her face. She understood.
"I'm coming," she said, and it seemed for the first time that morning, she sighed with relief.
『 🜁 』━━━⋆✶⋆━━━『 ⚶ 』
The Academy's dining hall greeted us not with coziness, but with scale and cold functionality. The air was saturated not with the invigorating aroma of fresh pastries, but with a bland, slightly sticky smell of oatmeal, mixed with a sharp note of overheated metal from the serving counters. Under the high vaulted ceilings was a restrained hum of hundreds of voices, in which there was no laughter—only a businesslike whisper, drowning in the resonant echo of the hall. Any sharp sound—the clink of a silver spoon against porcelain, the scrape of a chair being pushed back on the stone floor—reverberated with an unsettling echo. But on this particular morning, the familiar ritual felt different. Hundreds of students in severe black uniforms moved in even streams, and their silent concentration transformed breakfast into a silent, tense performance, in which something unspoken was felt.
Catherine and I entered this ordered chaos and took one of the few free spots behind a column. Soon, as expected, first Nova, then Ren joined our table. Nova sat beside me, her movements restrained. Ren, with her characteristic energy, sat down in a chair next to Catherine.
"Cat, what do you think of the fair? Personally, I simply must find a couple of rare editions of 'The Flaming Lilies,' and of course, those 'Chronicles of the Flower Castle'!" Ren's voice was full of enthusiasm, her hands gesturing actively. "You'll help me look for them, won't you?"
Catherine, who had been calmly drinking her tea, slowly placed her cup on the saucer. She did not look at Ren. Her gaze was fixed on the pattern on the tablecloth.
"We'll see, Ren," she said in an even, almost indifferent tone. "There will probably be a lot of interesting things at the fair. I'm not sure I want to look only for books."
It was a polite but obvious evasion of the topic. Ren froze for a moment, her smile fading slightly. She clearly had not expected such a cold reaction.
"Arta, and will you be looking for anything? Maybe treatises on the ancient magic of Tarvar? Or something more… sensual?" she quickly switched to me, trying to preserve the moment she had created.
"I do not plan on making any purchases, but if I come across rare and worthy specimens for study, I will certainly acquire them," I said in a voice that remained neutral.
Nova, sensing the tension hanging in the air, decided to intervene. "By the way, have you heard that this year the Academy's traditional charity auction will be aimed at helping those who have suffered from magical incidents and are in need of prosthetics or long-term rehabilitation?"
At the mention of prosthetics, I registered an instant change in Catherine's state. Her detachment vanished. She raised her head, her shoulders tensed slightly, and her gaze focused on Nova. This was her reality, her pain, her topic.
"Interesting… and by what criteria will they choose the disabled?" Catherine said, the question clearly too close to her heart. "I agree that people need such help, but… I have never seen anyone actually being helped. Either these situations are so rare…" Catherine stopped. I understood where she was going: probably, the help for the "disabled" in most cases is indeed directed either to others' pockets or to help a close circle of people.
"I don't know, Catherine. I can only say that the Academy will not engage in deception. Although…" Nova's voice dropped to a whisper. "After the arrival of the new rector, I am no longer sure of anything."
Catherine smiled sadly. "Real help rarely reaches those who need it. My brother works with the disabled, and believe me, most of the help ends with either a wheelchair, or crutches, or wooden 'prostheses' that can be bought for a couple of silver pieces." Catherine paused and looked at me. "It is rare for someone to be lucky enough to actually get a magical prosthesis."
"Catherine, I will try to personally ensure that the money goes where it is needed," Nova replied coldly, as if Catherine's words had become a new marker for her in the fight for justice.
Ren, sensing the change in mood, looked first at Catherine, then at Nova, but she did not decide to dilute such a serious question with her expressive statements.
"Evelina said that she plans to make a significant contribution from the royal family. And perhaps it will even be possible to draw the attention of some influential houses to this problem more systematically," Nova continued, her voice just as serious. "I will try to personally monitor the issue, Catherine. This issue is very important for our kingdom and the academy."
Catherine nodded slowly. "That would be… very right," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on her teacup. "I hope this time they really help someone, not just with words."
I noted how the topic, which had initially caused her tension, gradually transformed into approval and a faint hope from Nova's possible actions to control this issue.
Breakfast was drawing to a close, and only when it was over did I see Leticia actively arguing with Lilian about something, provoking a protest from the latter. Perhaps it was a simple conversation, or perhaps Leticia had decided to assert herself over the first-year student. In any case, the dynamics at our table were of much greater interest to me for analysis.
『 🜁 』━━━⋆✶⋆━━━『 ⚶ 』
The Earth Magic lesson was held in a specialized classroom on the first floor of the western wing's southern section of the Academy. The room was spacious, with a high ceiling, devoid of excessive decoration. The air here was cool and smelled of damp, loose soil and cooled stone—a smell that seemed to have been absorbed into the very walls. The central part was occupied by a large, sunken-in-the-floor platform with earth, and along the walls were simple wooden benches.
Magister Thalia Rudlog, a woman with a massive figure and a voice resembling rolling stones, was already at the edge of the earthen platform. Her gaze was focused and demanding. Today's task was to form an "earthen wall"—a basic defensive spell.
Ren and Nova were also present at the lesson. They took seats on the benches not next to each other, but not at opposite ends of the room either. Their distance was measured, almost demonstrative. I registered how their gazes periodically crossed—short, almost imperceptible vectors of an unspoken dialogue. Nova looked composed, her attention demonstratively directed at the magister. Ren, on the other hand, was more often distracted; her internal energy, as always, was seeking an outlet, manifesting in small, almost imperceptible movements of her fingers, tapping on the wooden bench.
Magister Rudlog began the demonstration. Her hands, massive and strong, moved with unexpected precision. Before her, a dense earthen wall began to rise slowly but surely from the platform, its surface smooth, its structure monolithic. "Remember," her voice filled the room, "an earthen wall is not just a pile of soil. It is a structure, subordinate to your will... A weakness in one of the components—and your wall will crumble at the slightest touch."
Then the students began to come out onto the platform one by one. I watched their predictable attempts. Most created only loose, unstable mounds that crumbled at the slightest magical impulse. This monotonous ritual of failure seemed as if it could last forever.
Catherine, when her turn came, acted with an exaggerated, almost painful concentration. As if she were trying to put all her will into this simple spell to drown out the noise of her morning thoughts. Her wall rose more slowly than some, but its form was more correct, and its structure was denser. This was not just a consequence of our training. It was an act of self-control, her way of regaining her balance.
The rest of the lesson passed in its usual rhythm. I created a perfect wall, which I intentionally and slightly worsened so as not to cause unnecessary questions. Nova, as if accepting an unspoken challenge, tried to repeat my result, and she almost succeeded—her concentration was flawless. Ren, on the other hand, acted impulsively when she came out onto the platform; her wall turned out crooked and crumbled almost immediately. She just snorted, showing neither disappointment nor a desire to try again, and returned to her place, limiting herself to a standard "Satisfactory" grade.
The lesson was just a backdrop, behind which each of us continued to play our own, invisible game.
『 🜁 』━━━⋆✶⋆━━━『 ⚶ 』
Soon we headed for the next lesson. The physical education class took place on the open training ground, and the tension that had hung over breakfast seemed to have followed us, permeating the very frosty air. Under the low, leaden sky, the usual bustle of the students seemed feverish and meaningless. Their laughter sounded too loud, almost hysterical, and their movements were jerky, devoid of their usual academic grace.
The air was frosty and sharp, the trodden snow crunched underfoot. I was performing a standard set of exercises, registering with my peripheral vision this growing dissonance in the behavior of those around me. Catherine stayed close, her coordination, enhanced by the prosthesis, almost flawless, but even in her movements, a restrained anxiety could be read. Nova and Ren were absent from the classes, as at that time they had their usual light magic lesson, to which my path was closed. Their absence was not just a fact, but a critical gap in the data—a blind spot in my field of observation that violated the integrity of the analysis.
Perhaps the lesson would have remained in its usual rhythm if my gaze had not repeatedly registered the deviation that had been going on since early morning. Leticia Frey, whose behavior had already been noted by me more than once as a source of potential instability, purposefully approached Lilian Grace, who was practicing away from the other students. Lilian was performing a balance exercise; her concentration was fragile.
"Daydreaming again, Grace?" Leticia's voice was deliberately loud, with open mockery. "Maybe you should take up something more down-to-earth? Like embroidery? It's obvious that magic isn't for the likes of you. You can't even stay on your feet in physical education, let alone anything more."
Lilian flinched, her balance was disturbed, and she almost fell. Her cheeks flushed—a mixture of shame and anger.
"Leave me alone, Leticia!" her voice was slightly trembling, but at the same time threatening.
"Leave you? And what if I don't want to? What will you do, crybaby? Complain to mommy? Or try to use your…" she paused, looking Lilian over with contempt, "…half-assed magic? Remember, first-year, there are those who truly possess power here, and then there are those like you—a blank page. A footnote. And you'd better know your place!"
This was a direct provocation, calculated for an emotional breakdown. And Lilian, as I had predicted, gave in. Her fingers clenched, and around them, whirlwinds of energy began to gather—unstable, pulsating, mixing in themselves the contradictory flows of Order and Chaos. I had already warned her about the inadmissibility of such a mixture.
"I… I'll show you!" Lilian cried out, and at that moment, her control finally collapsed.
Magical energy of red and gold colors, like a whirlwind, burst out in an uncontrolled stream. It was not a spell. It was an explosion of the contact of structures. A formless, furious wave of distorted magic struck in all directions. The air around them was distorted, crackling. The snow under their feet instantly evaporated, leaving black, smoking patches on the ground. I saw Leticia being thrown back by the shock wave, her scream drowned in the roar of energy. Lilian, on the other hand, was in the very center of this chaos, her body arched, and from her eyes burst tears mixed with blood.
There was no time for analysis. I had to act urgently.
My body acted at the limit of its physical parameters, my mind processing at a speed beyond mortal comprehension. Thousands of options, interpretations, calculations found the only correct option. A quick dash forward. My right hand, aimed at Lilian, created a complex structure of Darkness and Order magic—not a shield, but rather… an absorbing cocoon, capable of neutralizing and dissipating the unstable energy. Adrenaline surged in my blood, my heart pounded wildly, but my mind, as always, remained cold.
The cocoon woven from the magic of order and darkness enveloped Lilian's body a moment before her own magic would have torn her apart. Simultaneously, I directed my left hand toward Leticia, creating a cushion of wind magic to slow her fall and soften the impact with the frozen ground.
The energy of the explosion, trapped in my cocoon, thrashed, pulsed, but gradually subsided, absorbed by the structure of Darkness and stabilized by Order. When it was all over, a deafening silence fell on the platform, broken only by the frightened cries of the other students and the smell of ozone and burnt chaotic magic.
Lilian lay unconscious on the ground inside my gradually dissipating protective field. Leticia, who had gotten off with bruises and a severe fright, sat in the snow, looking in disbelief at her trembling hands.
I went to Lilian. Her face was pale, almost transparent. Her left eye was gone. In its place was a ragged wound—a bloody mess of tissue remnants, where it was no longer possible to distinguish either the iris or the pupil. The ideal biological structure had been torn to shreds. To restore it here, by the means of this world, was impossible. The loss was absolute.
Catherine ran up to me, her face expressing horror and bewilderment. For one fleeting moment, her gaze fixed on the sitting Leticia in the snow—and in it was not a drop of sympathy, only a cold, concentrated contempt, sharp as a shard of ice. But she immediately turned away, as if erasing the culprit from the equation as an insignificant variable, and focused completely on the one who really needed help.
"Arta… what… what happened? Is she… is she alive?"
"She is alive," I replied, holding Lilian in my arms. My voice was even, without emotion. "But she needs help urgently. Take her to the hospital. Immediately. Have Leticia examined as well."
My words were addressed more to the physical education teacher, who had finally come to her senses and was giving orders. I, on the other hand, was looking at Lilian. Another victim of her own inability to control what was beyond her power. Another proof that the mixing of Order and Chaos without a proper foundation leads only to destruction.
Soon onlookers ran up, but only some of them thought to assemble a makeshift stretcher on which we carried Lilian to the hospital. Catherine and I followed them; it was necessary to make sure that she would be alright.
The situation in the hospital was tense; a number of doctors met us at the very entrance, after which they took her to the wards for emergency assistance. We, like the other students, remained outside, awaiting the doctors' decision.
The doctor came out only in the evening, stating the fact that the eye could not be restored and that Lilian's condition remained stable. After which, many students dispersed. And Catherine and I remained here almost until curfew, silently looking at the night sky.