Chapter 4: Approval I

  Arcane Prodigy, Ysira Nazaad’s Perspective

  The book felt heavy. I want to clarify something before today’s lecture starts.

  A maid stepped out from one of the side corridors, nearly colliding with me.

  She was startled.

  “Have you seen Lady Alliyana?” I asked.

  “Yes, Lady Nazaad,” she replied quickly. “The young lady entered the Duke’s study a few moments ago.”

  “Thank you.”

  I adjusted the book against my chest and continued.

  The corridor toward the study was quieter. Fewer servants. Thicker doors. Conversations in that wing tended to matter.

  As I approached, I heard Ethan’s voice through the partially closed door.

  “…the Elven Empire is pressuring the Queen to hand over the red-haired girl.”

  I stopped.

  The book tightened against my chest.

  Red-haired girl. There aren’t many.

  I moved closer to the wall beside the door.

  They’re talking about me.

  Ethan’s voice was restrained. Controlled.

  “Vaelsylvia has already sent envoys to Port Etheria. They’re expecting her presence. Publicly.”

  A pause.

  Then Alliyana.

  “She’s just a girl Ethan.”

  “She isn’t to them,” Ethan replied. “They’re framing this as unfinished business. A matter of historical collaboration.”

  Collaboration.

  My pulse sharpened.

  Alliyana’s voice did not shift.

  “They lost access to Nazaad’s research when the duchy fell,” she said. “Continuity. Transference.”

  The words hit harder than asset ever could.

  Ethan exhaled.

  “And you believe they intend to resume it.”

  “I believe,” Alliyana said evenly, “that they see her as the last viable thread.”

  Silence.

  My fingers pressed into the spine of the book.

  Thread.

  “I know you’re protecting her,” Ethan said quietly.

  A pause.

  “Because of a favor from a dead woman. A favor that could destabilize relations with the Elven Empire,” he continued. “We are stretched thin. The whole continent is in chaos. We cannot afford escalation while containing demonic expansion.”

  Containment. War. Diplomacy.

  “She is not a research artifact,” Alliyana said.

  “She is baggage, whether we acknowledge it or not,” Ethan replied. Not cruel. Just realistic.

  My jaw tightened.

  “I’m heading east regardless,” Alliyana said. “I’ll speak with them.”

  “You’ll take the girl with you,” Ethan said.

  My pulse ticked once.

  They’re sending me away. Back to the Elves?

  The door creaked slightly as a chair shifted.

  I stepped back immediately and turned down the corridor, walking faster than necessary. Then faster still.

  By the time I reached the courtyard, I was running.

  I am not going back. I will not be traded.

  Asset. Specimen. Child.

  No.

  I launched myself with wind magic, compressing air beneath my boots and propelling upward. The Estate shrank below me as I angled toward the Academy.

  The capital was quiet at this hour. The sun barely cleared the rooftops, casting long, pale light across the stone.

  I landed just outside the Academy grounds and steadied my breathing.

  Calm down.

  Emotion distorts judgment.

  The tournament begins in three days.

  If I win decisively—

  No.

  When I win decisively—

  There will be no discussion of sending me anywhere.

  Value protects itself.

  Near the courtyard fountain, someone sat cross-legged on the stone path.

  Water droplets orbited him in a slow, careful spiral. I recognized the posture before the face. Jake’s roommate. Lann.

  I paused.

  The droplets moved with precise spacing. But the mana flow was… conservative.

  Intermediate students sustain higher mana throughput than that. He exhaled slowly, and the droplets dipped, then stabilized.

  Is he throttling intentionally? Or is that his limit?

  His body looked physically conditioned. Lean. Strong shoulders. A runner’s build.

  Most mages compensate for their lack of physical prowess with Body Reinforcement. Reinforce muscle fibers. Increase oxygen saturation.

  Unless—

  His body can’t sustain high mana output.

  Interesting.

  The droplets continued their orbit, measured and controlled.

  He noticed me watching.

  One eye opened.

  “Oh. Morning,” he said, voice still thick with sleep. “You’re up early.”

  “For practice,” I replied.

  He grinned lazily. “Yeah. Me too.”

  The droplets dispersed and fell harmlessly back into the fountain basin.

  That’s it? That was his session? I walked past him without comment. They’re enrolling anyone as mages these days.

  Inside the lecture hall, the room was empty.

  Rows of desks. Tall windows. Dust suspended in angled sunlight.

  I placed my book and satchel down at the front row.

  The wood was cool beneath my arms as I folded them and rested my head.

  Just for a moment.

  Clear your thoughts.

  The Elves see you as an asset. Ethan sees you as a liability. Alliyana sees you as—just a girl.

  My jaw tightened against the sleeve of my coat.

  I am not just a girl.

  I am—

  Silence.

  Emotion is inefficient. The tournament is objective. Brackets. Rounds. Outcomes.

  When I defeat every opponent decisively, if I reach the finals as expected—

  When I defeat Jake and even the twins.

  No miracles allowed.

  Pure magic.

  Then the calculus changes. No one hands over a national asset after public confirmation of superiority.

  I exhaled slowly. Three days.

  Review adaptive casting under constrained environments. Simulate irregular opponents.

  My eyes drifted shut.

  Lann’s controlled droplets replayed in my mind.

  Too slow. Too careful. Predictable.

  The sun rose higher. Footsteps began to echo faintly in the corridor outside.

  I allowed myself ten minutes of rest.

  Then I would begin.

  No one is sending me anywhere.

  I’ll prove it.

  The lecture hall filled gradually. Chairs scraped. Voices lowered when they saw me. I felt it before I looked up.

  The stares.

  Measured. Curious. Competitive.

  Class A does not fear easily. They calculate. And right now, they were calculating me. Everyone here earned their placement. Each one of them had shattered records somewhere. Regional rankings. Tower endorsements. Family prestige.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  But Class A in Auresta meant something else now.

  It meant proximity. To Aurellia. To the Duke.

  And to him.

  When Cael Zeris announced he would teach here, Zepharim’s Magic Tower nearly fractured in protest. The strongest mage in history leaving the Tower to teach in Auresta of all places? It was political blasphemy. He despised the academe. He despised The Accord even more. And yet here he was. Teaching us. Which meant this classroom wasn’t just academic.

  It was strategic.

  “Up early.”

  The voice slid into the space beside me without invitation.

  I didn’t need to look. Yrina Velmiran. Her hair was tied high today. Desert braids woven with thin gold threads. Subtle, but intentional.

  “Who are you trying to impress?” she continued lightly. “The Duke? Or perhaps our illustrious professor?”

  Her little cluster behind her laughed on cue. I closed my book slowly.

  “I don’t have the patience today,” I said calmly. “Sit down.”

  She tilted her head, smiling.

  “You should be nicer to me. Our families were practically neighbors.”

  Were. Velmiran and Nazaad. Desert rivals, if history was to be believed. Mana theory disputes. Research competitions. Joint expeditions turned territorial. Or so the elders say. I was too young to remember any of it. I’ve lived in Vaelsylvia most of my life. And Nazaad isn’t even listed among Zepharim’s nobility anymore.

  She stepped closer instead of retreating.

  “You look tense,” she said quietly. “Nervous about the exercise?”

  Exercise. That’s what the Duke calls it. Combat evaluation. Skill assessment.

  No divine miracles. Only magic and close quarters combat. Everyone in this room knows what it is. A tournament. A stage. In front of the newly appointed Duke of Aurellia and the Grand Archmage Supreme.

  “I don’t get nervous,” I replied.

  That earned another small laugh from her entourage.

  Across the room, Oswald Perezka slouched in the back row, chin propped in his palm. He looked half-asleep. He always does. Another Zepharim noble. Earth mage. He’ll most likely go for blind spots. Force his opponents to react by shifting terrain rather than direct assault. Annoyingly effective. He’s more dangerous than he appears.

  Yrina finally took her seat two rows over. Her eyes lingered.

  I returned to my book.

  The door opened. The room changed instantly.

  Cael Zeris entered without ceremony. Tall. White-silver hair catching the light. Expression unreadable, as if boredom and amusement coexisted permanently behind his eyes.

  He set a thin stack of papers on the desk.

  “Settle down.”

  No raised voice. No effort required.

  We obeyed.

  His gaze swept the room lazily.

  “Polarized mana fields,” he said. “Who succeeded?”

  Hands rose. Mine among them. Several others followed. Yrina’s hand lifted smoothly, almost theatrically.

  She glanced sideways at me. Smug.

  Cael’s eyes flicked across the raised hands.

  “Good,” he said. “Those who didn’t will learn.”

  His gaze paused on me briefly. He leaned back against the desk.

  “Later, we begin the combat evaluation.”

  A few students straightened instinctively. No one pretended it was just an exercise.

  He smiled faintly.

  “Do try not to embarrass your bloodlines.”

  A ripple of tension moved through the room. Good. Let them feel it. I lowered my hand. Polarized field formation was trivial.

  The lecture ended in theory and correction.

  Cael dismantled three flawed models of polarized fields. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t insult anyone. He simply rewrote their assumptions on the board and erased them with cleaner logic.

  When the bell chimed, the room exhaled as one.

  He closed the text in his hand.

  “Break,” he said. “Then courtyard. Combat evaluations begin.”

  His gaze swept across us.

  “Do not be late.”

  He didn’t need to elaborate on consequences.

  I packed my notes carefully, sliding the text back into my satchel. Chairs scraped. Students clustered. Predictions already beginning in hushed tones.

  Before I could step into the aisle—

  “Ysira.”

  I didn’t turn immediately.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Yrina stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind her back as if she were about to present something formal.

  Her entourage hovered at a distance this time.

  She cleared her throat. “We’re getting lunch.”

  A pause.

  “You could join us.”

  The offer hung awkwardly in the air.

  Subtle. Casual. As if she were granting me an audience.

  I studied her for a moment.

  She was trying too hard to look indifferent.

  “I have things to review,” I said.

  Her expression didn’t shift at first.

  Then something flickered.

  Disappointment?

  She masked it quickly. “Suit yourself.”

  I adjusted my satchel and walked past her.

  I don’t have time for performative friendships.

  The hallway outside was crowded with newer trainees. First-years pressed themselves against the walls when Class A filtered through. Their whispers trailed behind us like loose threads.

  Someone further down the corridor muttered, “I heard Aurellia’s young lady is in the library again.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  She is impossibly popular with the boys.

  I turned toward the library. I needed to speak to her.

  The doors were half-open. I slowed when I heard her voice.

  “I swear I was winning a moment ago,” Alliyana complained, sounding confused.

  Jake laughed. “You blundered four moves ago, old man.”

  Old man?

  Boxes were stacked in uneven towers along the far wall. Fresh bindings. Crisp pages. The scent of ink still sharp in the air.

  Alliyana and Jake sat across from each other at a low table, a chessboard between them.

  They shook hands.

  Jake grinned. “Good game.”

  Alliyana exhaled. “Rematch later.”

  She noticed me first and waved.

  Jake followed her gaze. “You look stressed.”

  “I’m not,” I said automatically.

  “The combat exercise should be a breeze for you,” he added.

  Alliyana tilted her head. “Have you eaten lunch?”

  “I’ll eat later.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  I ignored that and gestured at the boxes. “What’s all this?”

  “New batch,” she replied. “The printing press completed another run.”

  I knelt beside one of the crates and lifted a book.

  Organic Chemistry.

  No author listed. As usual. But beneath the title were three insignias. Aurellia. Auresta. Zepharim. They’re framing it as a collaboration. I glanced at her. She didn’t confirm anything. She didn’t need to. I already know she’s the author. She’s been busy lately. It probably has something to do with her leaving the capital.

  She looked at me now, more closely.

  “Do you need something?”

  The question was simple. My chest tightened. Am I just extra baggage? Do you regret keeping me around?

  I exhaled.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “We can talk later.”

  She studied me a moment longer, then leaned back in her chair.

  “You should unwind more,” she said lightly. “There’s more to life than magic.”

  Jake snorted.

  “The combat exercise is meant to be fun,” she continued. “Spark some competitive spirit. You don’t have to wi—”

  “Do you think I’ll lose?” I interrupted.

  Silence.

  Jake straightened slightly.

  “Is it Yrina?” I pressed. “Oswald? Jake?”

  Jake blinked. “I’m not expecting to win. Miracles aren’t allowed.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “It’ll probably be you and Lann in the finals.”

  I turned to Alliyana to confirm.

  She considered it. Then nodded once. “That seems likely.”

  Likely. My jaw tightened. I inhaled slowly.

  “I have practicals,” I said. “After break.”

  I stood.

  As I reached the doorway, I heard her voice.

  “Good luck.”

  I didn’t turn.

  Surely they’re joking. Why him?

  The courtyard fountain glittered beneath the afternoon light. I sat on the low stone rim and pulled the sandwich from my satchel.

  I took a bite.

  At the far end of the courtyard, someone stood alone. Lann.

  He held both hands forward, palms angled inward. Water condensed in the air between them, spiraling into a growing sphere. Droplets peeled away and funneled neatly into open canteens lined at his feet.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Precise and efficient. There was no wasted motion.

  My chewing slowed.

  He was extracting moisture directly from ambient air. He’s using high pressure to compress gas into liquid. That required excellent pressure control.

  The last canteen sealed with a quiet click.

  He wiped his nose. Red.

  Of course. A thin line of blood trailed down before he brushed it away. His body can’t handle the strain. That explains the conservative mana flow. Water magic is theoretically the strongest. But only near abundant sources. Water has the lowest skill floor and the highest ceiling.

  Any mage can move water. Few can refine it.

  He capped the final canteen and straightened, stretching his shoulders.

  I took another bite of my sandwich.

  His control is absurd. It might even exceed mine in micro-adjustment. But control alone isn’t victory. There’s also output and endurance to consider.

  I swallowed the last bite and stood.

  I feel ridiculous for even entertaining concern. Three days. If it is him in the finals then I will dismantle him cleanly. Control without scale is insufficient. I brushed crumbs from my sleeve and turned toward the training grounds.

  The training grounds was already occupied. It was reserved for Class A today.

  Several Class A students stood scattered across the stone, palms raised, expressions tight with concentration. The air flickered faintly in front of their hands—mana attempting structure.

  Polarization is not about force.

  It is about separation.

  Too much aggression collapses the gradient.

  Too little and nothing happens.

  A few students managed faint distortions in the air. The light bent slightly, like heat haze over desert sand.

  Those who had raised their hands earlier sat relaxed along the stone benches. Quiet. Confident.

  I walked toward them and took a seat.

  Oswald leaned back with his hands behind his head. Yrina stood near the edge of the ring, arms crossed, watching the others struggle.

  I followed her gaze.

  Only a third were stabilizing even a partial field.

  Expected.

  After several minutes, Cael arrived without announcement. Conversations ceased immediately.

  He stepped into the center of the ring. “Volunteers,” he said.

  Yrina’s hand went up immediately. Of course. She glanced at me. Smiling. As if to say: Watch carefully.

  “Proceed,” Cael said.

  Yrina stepped forward and inhaled slowly.

  Mana around her flared. She polarized around her palm first. Negative mana condensed above, a shallow dome. Positive charge gathered between her fingers. The air began to crackle.

  Sparks. Thin, bright filaments snapped between her fingertips. The sound was sharp and satisfying. Several students murmured.

  Cael’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

  She sustained it for three seconds before letting the field collapse. Clean and controlled.

  She turned, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve as she walked back.

  Oswald went next. His approach differed. He didn’t localize the field in his palm. He polarized along the ground. The stone beneath his feet shimmered faintly. Static danced across the etched sigils before snapping upward in brief arcs.

  Sparks again. Less dramatic. More stable.

  He stepped back without ceremony.

  One by one, Cael called the rest. Some managed distortion. Some managed faint polarity separation. Most failed to produce visible discharge.

  When he called my name, the arena grew still.

  I stood.

  The stone felt steady beneath my boots as I stepped into the center.

  Cael watched me closely. Then he said, quietly enough that only I could hear:

  “Something has changed.”

  I did not respond.

  He tilted his head slightly. “I sense more desperation than ego.”

  A pause.

  “Do not disappoint me, Nazaad.”

  I met his gaze then exhaled.

  Negative mana expanded outward—not in my palm. Across the entire field. The air above us shifted first. A pressure drop. A subtle weight pressing downward. Several students instinctively stepped back.

  I seeded the positive anchor. Not near me. At the training dummy on the far side of the arena. Forty meters. I stretched the gradient slowly. The air smelled metallic. Fine hairs along my arms lifted. My heart did not race.

  The charge tightened.

  Stabilized.

  “Lightning.”

  The bolt tore across the arena in a clean, blinding arc. It struck the dummy dead center. The sound cracked through the courtyard like a cannon. Dust erupted. Stone scorched. The dummy splintered.

  Silence followed. No murmurs. No applause.

  I let the field collapse gradually, preventing backlash.

  The air normalized.

  I turned and walked back toward the bench as the dust settled. No one spoke as I sat down.

  Yrina’s smile had vanished.

  Oswald was staring at the scorched stone.

  Cael did not clap. He simply nodded once.

  “Acceptable,” he said.

  That was enough. I folded my hands in my lap. I am not disappointing anyone. Not Cael. And especially not Alliyana.

  The murmuring resumed slowly. Students avoided looking at the scorched stone directly, as if staring too long might invite comparison.

  I allowed my breathing to steady.

  Then—

  A sensation.

  I lifted my gaze slightly past the ring of benches. At the far edge of the courtyard, near the fountain’s shadow.

  Lann.

  He stood still. Watching.

  His eyes were not wide. Not impressed nor intimidated. They were… calculating. Focused in a way I hadn’t seen before. Like the casual exterior had never existed. Like I was no longer a classmate. But a problem. A variable to analyze.

  For a brief second, the noise of the courtyard faded.

  There was nothing in his posture that suggested awe. He was assessing me.

  Then someone beside him said something, and the expression vanished as quickly as it had formed. His shoulders loosened. His posture slouched. The easy smile returned.

  He turned away. As if nothing had happened.

  So be it.