———
The abrupt and shocking transportation from the Dueling Hall left an unsettling calm over the Academy. Life, at least on the surface, resumed its rhythm. But for Finnian Ellorian, life had shattered.
He sat in his advanced Rune Calculus class, the esteemed Professor Elara's lecture on multi-dimensional theorem washing over him, completely unheard. All he could see was the brief, impossible moment in that gray void: the pattern. A complex formula for a simple Fire Bolt spell, broken down to its rawest, most fundamental components, only to be woven back together with an unnatural, perfect efficiency—a pattern that defied every law of magical physics they knew.
How?
His thoughts were a drowning loop. He tried to recreate the sensation, that fleeting clarity of seeing magic not as a flow of power, but as a flawed machine. He'd close his eyes, try to visualize the runes, push his will, but the pattern was a ghost—clear in his memory, yet impossible to articulate or replicate. The failure was a physical weight on his chest.
"Mr. Ellorian!" Professor Elara's crisp voice cut through his distraction.
Finnian jolted, his eyes snapping open. He was supposed to be demonstrating a high-tier rune construction. Instead, his chalk-drawing on the floating slate was a scribble of tangled lines, crude and non-functional—the work of a distracted novice. A murmur of confused amusement rippled through the class.
Finnian felt a heat rise in his neck, humiliation a familiar, bitter taste. He ignored the professor's reprimand and shoved his chair back, fleeing the room. The usual remedies for failure—more practice, more focus—didn't work. His problem wasn't technique; it was knowledge.
The knowledge resided with Kael Valerius.
Over the next few days, Finnian's arrogance was slowly consumed by his new obsession. He began following Kael like a shadow, sinking his pride to attend classes he had mastered five years ago.
He entered the drab lecture halls dedicated to the First-Year Commoners: Theoretical Magic, Basic Rune Language, Foundational Arcanic Calculations. These were the basic building blocks, the stuff of his childhood tutors. Every time he stepped into a room marked "Commoner Study," a wave of condescending whispers followed him.
"Is that Finnian Ellorian? Why is he here?"
"The genius must be mocking us. It's a disgrace."
"He's looking at Valerius. It must be a new, subtle form of bullying."
Finnian endured it all. His mind was elsewhere, watching Kael. Kael didn't take notes; he rarely looked at the lecturer. Instead, Kael would doodle tiny, intricate geometrical diagrams on his slate—diagrams that had nothing to do with the day's lesson, but Finnian instinctively knew they were related.
The breaking point came in a packed Rune Theory class. A commoner student, Raelan, who had been failed multiple times by Finnian during practical assessments, finally snapped.
"Hey, you! What are you doing here?" Raelan's voice was strained, thick with years of accumulated anger and insecurity. "Isn't it enough to humiliate us in the practicals? Now you're mocking us by attending our classes? I know you want to stand out, but don't do it by spitting on the efforts of the less fortunate!"
Raelan's outburst instantly silenced the room. All eyes were on the two of them, the commoner facing the noble genius, and the tension was palpable. Whispers grew: Is this another fight? Will Kael step in?
To everyone's surprise, Kael did step in.
"Hey, you," Kael said, his voice quiet, devoid of passion, yet it commanded the silence. He didn't look at Finnian; his gaze was fixed solely on Raelan. "What's wrong with him attending this class?"
Raelan was caught off guard, expecting Kael to join his side. "What? He's a Duke's son! He knows this already! He's just here to mock us, Valerius, after what he did to—"
"I see no name carved on that door," Kael interrupted, his eyes steel. "It's a classroom. If he chooses to waste his time here, that's his affair. You don't have ownership over basic algebra. Focus on your studies, Raelan, not on who is sitting next to you."
Kael let the silence hang for a moment, then added the final, surgical cut: "It's no wonder your magic never progresses. Your mind is too busy focusing on things that don't matter to see the things that do."
The words hit Raelan like a physical blow. He stood frozen, humiliation warring with confusion.
And then, Finnian Ellorian, who had remained perfectly still through Raelan's tirade, slowly blinked. A flicker of realization crossed his pale face. Kael's insult, while directed at Raelan, had inadvertently given Finnian the key to his own dilemma. The Pattern wasn't a technique to be practiced, it was a philosophy. He hadn't been watching Kael's hands or his words; he should have been watching Kael's mind. He had been focusing on the wrong things.
Just as the silence threatened to stretch into unbearable tension, a soft, dry laugh broke the quiet.
The sound came from the doorway. Everyone turned.
Standing in the frame was a slender silhouette of a woman. She was a Deputy Professor, marked by a winged silver pin on her collar—the sign of a near-graduating upperclassman tasked with tutoring or oversight.
The only visible features that truly stood out were the large, clear spectacles that gleamed like twin, cold moons as she looked from Kael to Finnian, and back to the humiliated Raelan.
With slow, measured steps, the woman walked into the classroom, moving along the wall as if she had always belonged there. She made no comment about the outburst.
She only offered that single, dry, mocking laugh, a sound that scraped against the silence.
Finnian and Kael were now under close surveillance, and the observer held official authority.
———