The morning hit different when you had somewhere to be.
Lucas had spent enough mornings with nowhere to go, waking up in that room with nothing waiting for him, lying there longer than he needed to because getting up didn't change anything.
This was different. There was a uniform. A classroom. A reason to move.
He still wasn't used to it.
The academy grounds were already busy when he stepped out, cadets moving in loose groups toward the lecture halls, uniforms pressed, voices carrying in the early air. Lucas walked at his own pace with his hands in his pockets, watching the movement around him without joining it.
He stepped inside.
The hall was bigger than he expected, tiered seating descending toward a central platform below, large windows pulling morning light across the polished floor. A proper classroom, the kind built to make you feel like whatever happens in here matters. Some cadets were already seated, talking in low voices, sizing each other up the way people do when they're still figuring out who everyone is.
"Lucas! Over here!"
Nova. Obviously. Waving with the energy of someone who had been awake for three hours already and was genuinely fine with that. Gideon sat beside him, offering a quiet nod that said good morning without making a production of it.
Lucas walked over and dropped into the seat beside Nova. "You're loud."
"Good morning to you too," Nova said, completely unbothered.
Lucas put his elbow on the desk and looked around the room. Below, on the other side of the hall where the female cadets had settled, Celia spotted them almost immediately and waved bright, easy, like she'd been waiting to. Sylvia sat beside her.
And then Sylvia looked up.
And gave a small, composed nod.
Lucas blinked. He looked away before it became a thing.
"Feels strange," Gideon said, leaning forward slightly. "Being here. After everything."
"Yeah," Lucas said.
He was still thinking about it when footsteps cut through the room's noise clean. A man walked in and took the center of the platform and the chatter died almost by itself.
He was tall, formal without being stiff, with the kind of presence that doesn't need to announce itself. He looked across the room once — not long, just enough.
"Good morning." His voice was level and clear, reaching every corner without effort. "I'm glad to see all of you made it through to the Elite Class." He let that land for a second. "My name is Starc Ashford. I'm your homeroom professor. I'll be teaching you the Laws of Magic and its Principles."
He smiled, brief but real. "I'll do my best by you. I expect the same in return."
Lucas narrowed his eyes slightly.
'Perception.'
The shimmer passed through his vision.
_______________
[Analyzing — Starc Ashford]
[Strength: 84]
[Mana: 130]
[Magic: Wind]
[Age: 34]
_______________
Lucas read it twice. Strength eighty-four. Mana at a hundred and thirty. He was thirty-four years old.
'He's no joke.' Lucas settled back in his seat slightly.
Starc clasped his hands behind his back and began moving slowly across the front of the platform not pacing, more like thinking on his feet.
"Before anything else," he said, "I want to ask a simple question." His eyes moved across the room. "Can anyone explain how magic is actually performed?"
Silence for a beat.
Then Sylvia raised her hand.
Starc gestured toward her.
She stood. No hesitation, no settling into it — just upright, voice clear and even. "Magic is performed by channeling mana within the body and directing it outward. Once it leaves the body it aligns with the caster's elemental affinity and converts into a specific form of energy. The strength and efficiency of the spell depends on the caster's control, their output, and how well they understand the nature of their element."
Nobody in the room had anything to add to that.
"Excellent," Starc said. He clapped once, light and clean. "Precise." Sylvia sat down. "Now." He raised one hand, and a thin curl of wind gathered around his fingers- visible, alive, responding to him without any visible effort. "A harder question." The wind tightened, swirled. "Everyone in this room can fight with their magic. But can you control not just what it becomes, but how it behaves? Can you shape it deliberately? Direct it with intention rather than instinct?"
Nobody answered.
Some cadets exchanged looks. Others frowned at their own hands like the answer might be there somewhere.
Lucas leaned forward slightly, watching the wind move around Starc's fingers. It wasn't just swirling, it was organized. There was a structure to it, the way it turned and tightened, like it knew exactly what it was supposed to do.
"As expected," Starc said, not unkindly. He almost smiled. "You're early. This is fine." He raised his other hand and the wind intensified — faster, sharper, but still perfectly contained. Not a strand of it went where he hadn't put it. "Watch."
The air in his palm compressed, folded inward, and formed a shape- small, precise, a miniature whirlwind spinning on its own axis. Then with his right hand he guided a thread of it outward, and it flattened, narrowed, sharpened into something thin and clean and hovering like it had weight.
A wind arrow.
"The element doesn't matter," Starc said, watching the arrow hold its shape. "The principle is the same for all of you. You want to shape your magic, not just release it, then you need a quiet mind. No stray thoughts. No noise." He closed his hand slowly and the arrow dissolved. "You visualize the form completely. Hold it. And your mana responds to that clarity." He looked across the room. "If your focus breaks, the shape breaks. It's that simple and it's that difficult."
Nova's hand was halfway up before Starc had finished speaking. "Mind at ease," he said, more to himself than as a question. He looked at his palm. "So it's about what's happening in your head, not just your hands?"
Across the room Sylvia was already staring at her own palm, expression focused, quietly running through something.
The room had shifted. Lucas could feel it that specific weight that settles when a group of people all realize at the same moment that what they're being told is going to be hard.
Starc looked across the hall one more time.
"First task," he said. "Each of you will perform a spell using your own elemental magic. Shape it into whatever form you choose, that part is yours. But you have to bring it into existence with intention. Not just power. Form." He paused. "Focus. Visualize. Feel your mana respond."
He snapped his fingers.
The sound rang through the hall sharp and clean.
"Begin."