The oppressive heat of the day hung heavily over Mr. Isolde's classroom, as summer drew its final breaths. Yet the stifling air did little to distract the students gathered before the luxurious pine tables, their surfaces worn smooth by decades of use.The class began with an uncommon intensity, as Mr. Isolde building upon previous lessons set about training the newcomers in the art of drawing magical circles on velvet plates, a prelude to casting a simple spell: the creation of a translucent bubble, colored with the hues of autumn leaves, solid to the touch despite its delicate appearance.
With his characteristic finesse, Mr. Isolde formed a glowing circle between his open palms, while the students busied themselves trying to replicate his technique. They hurried to inscribe the circles using "mana," striving to mold the core of the magical bubble a necessary step to complete the spell, unlike other, simpler methods.
Across the pine tables stretching from first to sixth grade, most of the new students at Azoria Preparatory School fumbled with even the simplest circles. Yet none admitted defeat.This was a new world for the beginners, unfamiliar with the intricate demands of engraving and spellcraft, but their determination suggested they would soon overcome this minor hurdle.
Among them, Ethan a boy with unruly black hair labored over his inscriptions, sweat beading on his brow as he poured effort into each rune, even as his peers began to fall behind.Mr. Isolde allowed himself a flicker of hope: perhaps this time, Ethan would finally succeed in casting his first spell since the return of the noble and common-born students six nights ago, marking the end of spring's waning days.Ethan, scion of the esteemed Vermouth family of Arentia, carried what the academy records called "tainted blood."Unlike those entirely unable to wield magic, he possessed the capacity to harness mana but for him, casting spells often felt like trying to grasp mist; they slipped through his fingers more often than not.Those utterly incapable produced no mana at all; Ethan at least could, yet he faltered where others succeeded.
Mr. Isolde watched as Ethan stood rigid before the pine table, his circles shimmering faintly beneath him. Despite the immense pressure he placed upon himself, and despite beginning earlier than the others, he alone had yet to succeed while his classmates had completed their spells.With a heavy sigh, the teacher turned back to the blackboard, its surface layered with ancient runic inscriptions.
Mr. Isolde — known for his broad frame and a cheerful face that resembled a kindly bear concluded his remarks in the student hall, congratulating those who had succeeded and encouraging the others, promising their success would come in time.All, that is, except Ethan, whose path remained uncertain.Meanwhile, Thalia Stormhide, heiress to the illustrious Stormhide family, stepped into the moment, her presence stirring whispered snickers among classmates who thought their mockery of Ethan went unheard.
As Mr. Isolde departed, unaware of what would follow, Thalia's voice rose above the murmur of the hall.Without restraint, she unleashed a barrage of taunts, branding Ethan with cruel epithets "the barren novice," "the ungrateful son of Vermouth" mocking even the Vermouth family's proud emblem: a strong, leafless oak.To her and the others, Ethan was no mighty oak but a withered branch, a relic of faded glory.
Ethan said nothing.Wordless, he left the hall, his footsteps steady as if he had heard none of the cruel jabs thrown his way.But he had heard. He had heard every word.He simply chose to let the hollow sting of their insults fall away, burying the pain deep within as he strode forward with quiet dignity, even as a bitter ache tightened in his chest.
His persistent inability to use mana or cast spells remained a barrier, preventing him from achieving the destiny he had been entitled to since birth. In his early years, he discovered that his late mother had shared the same affliction; her blood was tainted, rendering her incapable of generating mana.
Ethan felt suffocated whenever he recalled that, from the very start of his life, he was a powerless monarch the heir to a rare, cursed lineage unlike his older brothers, whose shining reputations were untouched by the curse he bore.
He found himself in Master Siegfried's office after being summoned during a brief encounter in the hallway. Master Siegfried nodded, mentioning that he had known Ethan's sister since she had joined Azoria Academy a decade earlier. She had always been present, diligently contributing to the management of assigned tasks, and had even earned the opportunity to sit among the elite council members in their white silk robes just before her graduation from the prestigious academy.
Wishing to keep Ethan the brother of his youngest student occupied and away from the academy's commotion, Master Siegfried assigned him a small task: to welcome a new arrival from the outskirts of Iron Renaissance. It wasn't an urgent matter, but rather a subtle way to distract the young man from his struggles with magic, without making it obvious.
Ethan accepted the task with a brief response, even though his presence at the North Star Lantern Academy had not been by his father's will the head of the Vermouth Union but by his own desire to sharpen his skills, overcome his weaknesses, and rise among the elite sorcerers, away from his family's traditional focus on swordsmanship and fencing.
Master Siegfried, his voice weary, nodded and said, "The newcomer is waiting for you in the courtyard. You'll find her near the Lady of the Lantern fountain. Be careful."
Taking the responsibility with unprecedented seriousness, Ethan left Master Siegfried's office and made his way toward the fountain. There, he found Nila standing in a simple academy uniform, its dark blue color hiding the unease of waiting.
Ethan was struck by Nila's understated beauty.
Her dull brown hair fell in soft waves over her back, contrasting with the bluish-black hue of her robes. Though he was tasked with guiding her through a brief introductory tour, the nervousness he had anticipated melted away under the calmness of her gaze.
After Nila nodded in agreement, they set off across the courtyard, a space resembling a small garden filled with the lively laughter of middle school students.
Ethan began the tour, guiding her through the places he had memorized since his early days, when he had once sneaked through the giant gate guarded by the towering statue.
There stood the Lantern Statue, honoring the Azoria witch and her companions before the academy's founding.
From there, he led her through the aromatic basil meadows near the gate to the dueling yard designated for sword training, where he suddenly remembered his evening lesson with Ms. Leona the young instructor famed for her rare martial arts skills even though sunset was only a few hours away.
Nila's silver eyes sparkled slightly as she looked at Ethan, curious about the specialization he had chosen just a week earlier. In Azoria, students could shape their own paths, choosing from fencing arts, ancient sorcery techniques, and potion-making.
Ethan explained that he had chosen to study both curriculums, though he had always favored magic — a passion instilled in him by one of his nannies, who used to entertain him during his infancy, back when he was still nursing, until he turned six. That was when his brother, Henry, began training him in the art of fencing known as Vermouth
It was then Ethan realized he struggled to cast even the simplest spells. No matter how hard he tried, he failed. Nila suspected that he might carry tainted blood descendants of those who first emerged three centuries ago, intermarrying and passing their bloodline down through generations. It was a cruel fate: the grandchildren bearing the sins of their forebears. Yet Ethan himself seemed untroubled by his mother's legacy; he remained as he was calm and undeterred.
After escorting Nila from the academy to the Raghineria Bridge, Ethan bid her farewell.
The sun was beginning to set, painting long, quiet shadows across the crimson-tinged sky. Nila crossed the bridge and headed towards the student dormitories, leaving Ethan alone with the thought of his upcoming fencing lesson at dusk with Mr. Leona and the other students. But before heading to the hall, there was something else he needed to take care of.
For as long as he could remember, Ethan had struggled with the mysterious lineage of his blood, and with it, the difficulty of generating mana in stable surges. This condition forced him to rely on medication concoctions made from roots rich in natural mana elements to sustain his mana production. While his body continued to produce mana, the instability of it was alarming, threatening to leave him completely incapacitated.
Fortunately, Dr. Aurelia had been supporting him since learning of his condition.
Thanks to the potent roots she gathered from the Blackwood Forest, east of Arentia homeland of the ancient potion masters she had managed to lessen the effects of the poisoned blood within him. Her experience in helping other Azurian students with similar afflictions, combined with her distinguished work as a forensic doctor, had earned her a high standing in Azuria.
Despite her captivating beauty from her gleaming dark skin to the delicate way her glasses perched on her nose the infirmary always carried an unsettling air. Preserved creatures floated in jars of slimy green fluid, and shelves brimmed with an array of strange and exotic medicines, all meticulously arranged as if they were trophies.
"You'll feel some relief once it kicks in," Mrs. Aurelia said gently as she injected Ethan's pale wrist with a glowing red serum. A familiar warmth spread through his veins almost immediately, as the mana coursed through his body with renewed vigor.
Before he left, Mrs. Aurelia warned him once again about the potential hallucinations the treatment might cause.
She asked if he had experienced any strange visions lately, but Ethan shook his head, replying that aside from sweating through the late hours of the night, he felt relatively fine. With little else to say, Ethan thanked her and departed.
As he stepped out into the cooling evening air, a faint smell of bitter roots clung to his senses, stirring memories of his youth of the harsh training sessions with Henry in the family courtyard. The smell of those roots was something he would never forget.