The sky above Arcanum Academy burned with a sunrise unlike any Dean had ever seen—streaks of violet, gold, and deep blue painting the clouds in layered ribbons. Two suns—one pale orange, the other smaller and faintly blue—rose side by side beyond the horizon. Mana shimmered faintly in the morning air, making everything glow faintly, like the world itself was waking up with them.
A deep chime echoed across the campus—no metal or digital ring, but a harmonic pulse of energy that made the stone beneath Dean’s feet vibrate and the runes in the walls hum in answer.
His first full day as a student of the Arcanum Academy had begun.
He stood at the edge of a wide marble bridge that connected the Twilight Dorms to the rest of the academy. Below, rivers of glowing mana flowed like veins through the air, cascading down into waterfalls that evaporated mid-fall into mist. Across the massive floating island campus, towers and buildings made of crystal, stone, and skyglass reflected morning light into a million fractured beams.
Every elemental path had its own “district.” To the south, the Infernal Wing burned with eternal torches and red crystal spires. To the east, the Aether Gardens bloomed in spirals of living greenery and flowers that sang when brushed by the wind. Floating chunks of land orbited the Stormspire, crackling with lightning, while the Glacier Hall stood tall and silent in the northwest corner—frost clinging to the air like breath in winter.
Even now, after everything he’d seen, Dean had to stop and take it all in.
This place… it’s magic. Real magic.
<hr>
The central plaza was buzzing with first-years. Students moved in groups, laughing, comparing stats, or showing off minor spells. The energy was electric—part excitement, part anxiety.
Dean walked quietly, hood up, his academy-issued tunic lined with faint silver markings for Shadow affinity and pale blue threads for Ice. Most students only had one color. Two already made him stand out more than he wanted to.
Instructor Valeen stood at the heart of the plaza on a raised disc of floating obsidian, hands behind her back, her cloak rippling in a breeze that didn’t touch anyone else.
“You are here to learn. You are here to struggle. You are here to survive,” she said, voice booming unnaturally across the courtyard. “Classes have been distributed to your system. Those with one element will attend a single Elemental Focus each day. Those with two—double the load. Do not complain. You are privileged to have such potential.”
The floating disc pulsed, and glowing trails of mana lit up across the campus like a constellation map, guiding students to their designated wings.
“Report to your first class immediately. Tardiness is not tolerated.”
Dean’s path split off toward the icy edge of the academy, where blue-tinged walkways glittered underfoot and the temperature dropped with every step.
<hr>
Ice Manipulation: Foundations and Theory was held in a circular dome carved from frostglass and glowing sapphire crystal. The walls shimmered like frozen waterfalls, and pale blue torches cast flickering shadows that looked like dancing snow spirits.
Inside, chilled air filled Dean’s lungs with each breath. Runes pulsed along the ceiling like veins in a glacier. He took his seat in the back, letting his eyes roam over the room. Some students rubbed their hands together, clearly uncomfortable with the cold. Dean welcomed it—it felt like clarity.
Instructor Nyros entered without a word, robes trailing icy mist behind him. His face was narrow and weathered, eyes sharp and pale as frostbitten steel.
“Ice is not merely a byproduct of water. It is purpose. It is silence. It is control,” he said, pacing. “Your first instinct will be to hurl spears and walls. That is crude. Childish. Ice is not for hammering—it is for cutting, shaping, freezing the world to your will.”
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He lifted one hand. A breath of mana twisted through the air and an entire section of the floor flash-froze, cracking upward into jagged spires before melting back into smooth frost.
Dean’s notebook filled quickly. Every word felt like an unlocked ability waiting to happen.
Nyros demonstrated the three “paths” for Ice-focused users:
<ul>
<li>Cryomancers—traditional ranged casters using spikes, storms, and freezing blasts.</li>
<li>Wardens—defensive control mages specializing in barriers and terrain manipulation.</li>
<li>Frostfangs—melee fighters using claws, blades, and armor of ice.</li>
</ul>
Dean was technically closest to a Cryomancer. But even now, he found himself thinking in combinations: trap terrain, lure with illusions, finish with precision strikes.
He practiced a subtle Frost Shard at the end of class, shaping it thinner and faster than most. The instructor gave him a look—but said nothing.
<hr>
Shadow class was different in every way.
Located in the Twilight Vault, a section of the academy cloaked in mist and permanently bathed in dusk light, the architecture was gothic and angular. Stained glass windows shimmered with illusions instead of color, and the halls echoed with whispers that may not have been real.
The classroom had no desks—just platforms of floating obsidian, hovering in total silence.
Mistress Velra lounged on a high perch as if she owned the night itself.
“Shadow,” she purred, “is movement, misdirection, and murder.”
A few students flinched. She smiled wider.
“There are no rules here. Only results. You hide, you strike, you vanish. That is how shadow wins.”
She demonstrated by dissolving into the darkness, reappearing behind students, placing phantom daggers at their throats before vanishing again.
Dean took it all in. Unlike Ice, Shadow required instinct. He wasn’t flashy with his Shadowstep, but he was quick, and more importantly—precise.
Velra introduced the primary Shadow branches:
<ul>
<li>Shadeblades—stealthy assassins who blink through shadows with close-range weapons.</li>
<li>Nightbinders—casters of illusions, fear magic, and mental disruption.</li>
<li>Umbrals—rogue-style hybrids with speed and trap manipulation.</li>
</ul>
Dean kept quiet during the skill demonstrations, but he noticed others didn’t.
<hr>
By midday, the Skyview Refectory was packed with students from every element wing. Glass walls gave a panoramic view of the campus and the floating islands drifting lazily in the skies beyond.
Dean sat at a table tucked in the shadow of a support pillar, sipping some kind of sweet floral tonic.
All around, voices clamored.
“I’m a Flame Duelist. Got Blazing Crescent on day one!”
“Oh yeah? I unlocked Storm Bind. Stuns anyone within ten meters.”
“Hydromancer here—AOE water walls, let’s go.”
Dean listened. The sheer variety of classes and skills was wild. He’d heard names like:
<ul>
<li>Stone Fist</li>
<li>Ember Dancer</li>
<li>Veilstriker</li>
<li>Lunar Channeler</li>
<li>Thornkin</li>
<li>Rift Seer</li>
</ul>
The loudest kids bragged the most. Dean took note of that. It was always the quiet ones you needed to watch.
“Yo, Shadow guy!”
Dean glanced up, sighing inwardly.
The red-haired student from earlier—Duelist class—swaggered over, fire sparking along his fingertips. “What class you end up picking again? Just Sorcerer?”
“Still just Sorcerer,” Dean replied flatly.
“Damn, that’s boring. What’s your skill? Shadow puff or ice bolt?”
Dean gave him a neutral smile. “Something like that.”
“Whatever. You’ll be bottom ranked anyway,” the kid snorted and walked off.
Dean stared at his drink, letting the idiot’s voice fade into the background.
Kaela dropped into the seat across from him a moment later. “That guy’s going to die the second we’re let outside the walls.”
Dean chuckled. “I’m starting to think I might be okay with that.”
<hr>
That evening, the bell tolled again—low and resonant like the heartbeat of the academy itself.
“All first-year students, report to the Arena Hall for your Combat Evaluations.”
Dean stood, adjusting his coat. The hallway glowed with soft blue torchlight as he joined the steady flow of students crossing the bridges toward the Arena.
The Arena Hall itself was breathtaking.
Set inside a coliseum of floating stone rings, the central combat platform shimmered with reactive mana tiles. Statues of legendary mages and warriors lined the walls, and glowing scoreboards hovered high above the crowd.
Students were sorted into small groups according to their elements, each one stepping up to demonstrate their abilities before being ranked.
Dean found his group—Ice and Shadow Affinities, twenty students total.
He stepped into line just as a hulking boy encased in obsidian armor launched an ice javelin across the field, cheering himself on as instructors scribbled notes.
Dean exhaled slowly.
Here we go.
Time to show what he could do.
Carefully.