Volume 1
Chapter 6: The Ice Queen's Glitch
The rumor mill at the Academy moved faster than a Lightning Bolt spell.
By the time Elian reached Table 9 for lunch the next day, the story of the "Library Flood" had mutated three times.
"I heard a Third Year tried to summon a Leviathan and lost control," Kael said, biting into a sandwich. "Someone else said a pipe burst in the ceiling. But the wildest theory? Someone said Timmy the Squeaker cast a Master-tier Hydro Blast."
Kael laughed, shaking his head. "Timmy. The kid who trips over his own robes. Can you imagine?"
Elian kept his head down, stirring his stew aggressively. "Crazy," he muttered.
"You were there, right?" Kael asked. "Did you see what happened?"
"I was reading," Elian lied smoothly. "I heard a splash. I left. Efficient use of time."
Silas, the Mute Scholar, looked at Elian. He raised an eyebrow. He slowly turned his slate around.
[YOUR SLEEVE IS STILL DAMP.]
Elian glared at Silas. "It's humidity. The atmospheric pressure is high today."
"Right," Kael smirked. "Humidity. Anyway, the faculty is furious. Hyst is on a warpath. He says if he catches the student who 'vandalized' the History Section with water, he'll have them scrubbing the gargoyles with a toothbrush for a month."
Elian shrank further into his cloak. He didn't want credit. He just wanted to survive the week.
***
Later that afternoon, Elian sought refuge in the only place nobody looked: the Old Music Hall.
It was a dusty, abandoned classroom in the West Wing, filled with broken instruments and cobwebs. Elian liked it because the acoustics were terrible, meaning no one came here to practice.
He took out his violin. He needed to recalibrate his brain. The stress of the library incident and the lingering image of Lara were clogging his thoughts.
He played a scale. Then an arpeggio. Then he launched into a furious, fast-paced etude.
Focus on the friction, he told himself. Bow speed: 0.8 meters per second. String tension: Optimal.
He closed his eyes, letting the math wash over him.
"You are rushing the tempo."
Elian's eyes snapped open. The bow screeched across the string—a horrible, discordant scratch.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the afternoon sun, was Seraphina.
She wasn't wearing her usual pristine white uniform. She was wearing a dueling tunic, silver armor plating on her shoulders, sweat glistening on her forehead. She had clearly just come from combat practice.
She looked terrifyingly beautiful. And she was blocking the only exit.
"You again," Elian breathed, lowering the violin. "Are you tracking me?"
"I heard the noise," Seraphina said, stepping into the room. She walked with the grace of a predator. "It sounded like a cat in distress. Then it resolved into a Sonata. I investigated."
"It wasn't a cat," Elian said defensively. "It was a Paganini variation."
"You were playing Allegro," she critiqued, stopping a few feet away from him. "But your heartbeat is Presto. You are anxious."
Elian gripped the neck of his violin. She can hear my heartbeat? What kind of monster stats does she have?
"I have a lot of homework," Elian deflected. "Look, Your Highness, if you're here to make fun of the Grey Cloak, just get it over with. I have a structural alchemy report due."
Seraphina frowned. It was a microscopic movement—a slight crinkle between her eyebrows. To anyone else, she looked impassive. To Elian, who analyzed micro-expressions, she looked... confused.
"Why do you assume mockery?" she asked.
"Because that's the algorithm!" Elian snapped. He was tired. "You are Rank 1. I am Rank 489. We don't interact. If we do, it's because I'm the punchline. Just ask Lara. Or anyone."
Seraphina went silent. She looked at the dusty floor, then back at Elian.
"I do not know who Lara is," she said coldly. "And I do not care about ranks. I care about resonance."
She took a step closer. The air in the room seemed to drop in temperature.
"In the Clocktower... and just now... your music possesses a unique signature. It lacks the rigidity of the Academy's teachings. It feels... raw."
She reached out, as if to touch the violin, but stopped her hand in mid-air.
"I have reached a plateau," Seraphina admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I have memorized every chant. I have mastered every form. But my magic feels... hollow. When I hear you play, I feel a vibration I cannot replicate."
She looked him dead in the eyes.
"Teach me."
Elian stared at her. His brain ran a simulation.
Scenario A: She is serious.
Result: I have to spend time with the most popular girl in school. Rumors will start. The 'Gold Cloaks' will murder me out of jealousy. I will be exposed.
Scenario B: This is a prank.
Result: I agree, and she laughs, and a dozen students jump out of the closet recording it on Crystal Balls.
"No," Elian said.
Seraphina blinked. "No?"
"I can't teach you," Elian said, backing away until he hit a stack of broken drums. "I don't know what you're hearing, but it's just noise. I'm mediocre. Ask Hyst. Ask the registrar. I'm a C-minus student."
"Grades are irrelevant data," Seraphina countered.
"They are the only data that matters here!" Elian shouted, panic rising. "Look, I have to go."
He shoved his violin into the case, not bothering to latch it properly. He grabbed his bag and bolted for the door, dodging past her.
"Elian," she called out.
He didn't stop. He sprinted down the hallway, his heart pounding faster than the Presto tempo she had mocked.
She's glitching, Elian thought frantically. The AI of the school is broken. The main heroine isn't supposed to chase the background character.
***
Back in the Music Hall, Seraphina stood alone in the dust.
She looked at the spot where Elian had been standing. She closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling of the mana in the room. It was chaotic, messy... and alive.
"He runs fast," she noted.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, blue crystal. It was a recording device.
She hadn't been recording to mock him. She had recorded the music so she could study the waveform later.
She pressed play. The scratching, frantic, beautiful melody filled the empty room.
"C-minus," she whispered, shaking her head. "The faculty is blind."
***
The next morning, the Academy's bell tolled with a heavy, ominous sound.
Elian dragged himself into the Structural Alchemy lecture hall. He sat in the back row, exhausted. He had spent the night analyzing the statistical probability of Seraphina leaving him alone. (Probability: Low).
Professor Hyst slammed his cane onto the podium.
"Silence!"
The chatter died instantly.
"The Midterm Practical Exams are approaching," Hyst announced, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. "This year, the Dean has decided to test your ability to handle... environmental stress."
A murmur of fear rippled through the room.
"You will not be casting in a classroom," Hyst smiled. "You will be taken to the Storm Cliffs. Your objective is simple."
He waved his wand. Chalk wrote itself on the board in jagged, angry letters.
OBJECTIVE: SUMMON A TIER-3 STORM.
DURATION: 5 MINUTES.
CONSTRAINT: SOLO CASTING.
Elian felt the blood drain from his face.
A Tier-3 Storm? That required a localized pressure drop of 40 millibars and high-velocity wind generation. The chant for that was twenty pages long. It took three people to cast it safely.
"Solo?" someone squeaked from the front row.
"Solo," Hyst confirmed. "If you cannot command the elements alone, you are not fit to be a mage."
Hyst's eyes scanned the room, landing inevitably on the back row.
"Elian," Hyst called out. "Since you enjoy 'innovating' so much... you will be in the first group."
Elian sank into his chair.
He looked at his hands. He knew the physics of a storm. He knew how thermal updrafts worked. He knew how to condense vapor.
But to do it Solo? Without the chant?
He would have to Source Weave on a massive scale. If he lost focus for a microsecond, the storm wouldn't just fail. It would turn around and kill him.
I'm dead, Elian thought. I'm actually dead.
Across the room, Seraphina turned in her seat. She looked at Elian. She didn't look worried. She looked... expectant.
End of Chapter 6