The classroom buzzed with low murmurs, mana flickering faintly in the air like restless embers. It was supposed to be a quiet morning — another routine lecture on elemental resonance — but the air felt heavier today. Uneasy. Charged. Rivan could feel it pressing against his skin, subtle yet insistent, as if the room itself were aware of him.
He sat near the middle row, trying to focus on the blackboard as Professor Alden traced runic lines midair with his wand. The glowing script hovered for a few seconds before fading, replaced by new symbols. He tried to follow along, he really did. But ever since the incident at the eastern hall, his mind kept returning to that light — the golden pulse that still throbbed beneath his skin, faint warmth crawling along his veins like liquid fire.
He flexed his hand under the desk. Still there. Faint, alive. A subtle vibration tickled his fingertips, like the room was testing him, watching.
"Now," Alden said, his sharp gaze sweeping the class, "resonance between user and mana source depends on one's clarity of intent. Most of you rely on raw power, which is why your spells lack precision."
A low snicker rose from the back. "Guess some of us just have more clarity than others," a student drawled — a noble boy, judging by his pristine crest and smug tone. Rivan felt irritation coil like fire along his ribs, a pulse in rhythm with the golden threads beneath his skin.
He tried to ignore it. He'd learned not to rise to every provocation.
But then another voice joined in. "Hey, wasn't he the one who broke a ward last night?"
Laughter rippled through the class.
"Careful, or he might bring the roof down this time."
A spark flickered near his desk. A gentle hiss of displaced mana brushed his cheek like static. Panic prickled at the back of his neck. Heat, pressure, whispers at the edges of his senses. His thoughts tangled. What's happening? Why now?
In the corner of the room, Seren Valencrest observed. She didn't speak. Her silver-blue hair glimmered in the sunlight, and curiosity shone in her eyes. She leaned forward slightly, intrigued by how Rivan reacted. He was the center of attention, but not in a way she could influence — at least, not yet.
The nobles' laughter grew louder. One of them, a blond with sharp eyes, leaned forward and deliberately released a flicker of wind magic — just enough to swirl Rivan's papers into the air. "Oops. Guess my mana got excited."
The air thickened subtly, vibrating faintly against his skin. Rivan's heartbeat raced. Thoughts scrambled. Focus. Don't—don't push it. But the golden pulse beneath his skin throbbed faster, a tide of power building, instinct clawing its way up. Fear, awe, confusion — they tangled, coiling into a single knot he couldn't untie.
He clenched his fists, feeling the pulse surge like a living thing. His jaw tightened. "I… can't… stop it," he muttered under his breath. Panic prickled at the edges of his consciousness. I almost lost control…
Then instinct, sharp and raw, took over. The mana responded — threads of golden light stretching through the room, swirling around desks, flickering over floating candles. A soft hum vibrated through the air. The laughter stopped mid-sentence.
Unconsciously, words he didn't fully intend spilled from his lips, low, venomous:
"Know your place… ants."
The noble's smirk faltered. His wind spell sputtered — then reversed, collapsing harmlessly into a gentle gust that scattered his own notes instead.
Rivan's chest heaved. Thoughts scrambled, senses screaming. He didn't know what he was doing, only that he couldn't stop it. Every flicker of golden light beneath his skin pulsed, alive, aware.
Silence.
Even Professor Alden didn't speak. His gaze lingered on the threads of golden mana hovering faintly in the air, pulsing with their own rhythm before fading.
Then — a low rumble.
At first, it sounded like distant thunder. Heads turned toward the windows. Far beyond the courtyard, the Eastern Spire loomed — tall, ancient, layered in wards of blue and silver. Faint veins of gold spread across its surface, pulsing once, twice, before the whole tower shuddered with a deep, resonant hum. Bells chimed through the Academy grounds. Dust drifted from the ceiling beams.
The tremor faded as quickly as it came, leaving stunned silence.
Someone whispered, "What… what was that?"
Professor Alden's expression was unreadable — awe mingled with something closer to fear. "Everyone stay seated," he said sharply, though his voice wavered. "That — shouldn't be possible."
Rivan sat frozen, pulse echoing in his ears. The golden glow had vanished, but its warmth lingered beneath his skin. He knew that resonance — it was the same pulse from the memory, from the battlefield beneath twin moons. Somewhere deep within the trembling earth, it stirred — and it was aware. It knew his presence, his blood, his intent.
He swallowed hard. Shivers ran down his spine. He could feel the weight of his own power pressing against the world — raw, immense, unpredictable. A knot of dread coiled in his chest. There will be consequences. Not for him… but for everyone else.
Rivan pressed a hand to his forehead. "I swear to the gods… I don't want to see what this brings," he muttered, voice barely audible. The golden threads pulsed faintly, as if answering him. The world was watching. And it would remember.
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