On the spanned mana circle, being different is deeply connected with one's Aura and the distinctive techniques honed by either mages or warriors.
These circles bear words etched into their essence, known as 'runes.' These are not mere letters but ancient inscriptions of power, crafted in the mystical dragon language. As is widely recognized, magic in its purest form had its origin from the race of dragons.
However, when fragile human tongues faltered while pronouncing the draconic dialect, man sought a solution; thus, runes were born. Runes became that bridge-a medium to wield magic with efficiency, transcending humanity's innate limitation.
"Now," said Professor Leo, his voice a constant stream of command, "as I said earlier, every clan has different techniques as a result of their bloodlines. These runes, ancient and resilient, act as controllers of that particular aura or mana. Since all families have different auras, the runes constructed to engage their mana circle are uniquely crafted so that they blend into the flow of that aura.
For instance, Frozen Aura, mastered by your clan, is gifted with runes harmonizing with the cold entity of frost. This in fact answers your question." He finished, his voice a blade cutting through the curiosity of the student.
Yes, sir," she said, but somehow her mind would not quiet. Her curiosity burst like a dam against which the tide had been pressing. "But I still have one more question in relation to what you've just said.
If mana circles stretch to accommodate humans because we don't quite understand the dragon language, then what of those mana circles that appear when dragons cast a spell?" Her words seemed to hang in the air like a riddle, keen and unyielding, as she leaned back in her chair, awaiting his response.
A subtle, knowing smile oozed into Professor Leo's lips. "A great question," he said, as his voice oozed with genuine appreciation. "According to dragon history, mana circles appearing when a dragon invokes a spell, they appear naturally. They are not tools but an extension of the natural power of the dragon.
These circles control the torrent of magic within them, channeling it with great precision and devastating focus towards their target. This is a far cry from the runes created by humans that serve as crutches for spellcasters. Any questions before we wrap it up for today?" His eyes scanned the room, shining bright with scholarly wisdom.
Drake raised his hand, his brow cocked slightly as a sign of deep thought. "I have two questions," he began steadily in a contemplative voice. "Firstly, with respect to the sizes of mana circles: I have seen how these differ when casting spells, sometimes so small, sometimes big. Why is that?
And secondly, since major clans enjoy access to advanced techniques and aura assimilation due to their privileged status, is there any hope for those without such advantages?" His eyes had locked onto Professor Leo's, unblinking, awaiting an answer
In an instant, the expression of Professor Leo changed; his eyes, now narrowed with interest, regarded Drake as if for the first time. His lips curled into a smile-this was no ordinary student. "Ah, a question of substance indeed," he mused-softly, yet with weight.
"The size of a mana circle is the direct reflection of one's affinity for the corresponding element; thus, the larger the circle, the stronger the bond and more efficient the spell." Basically, it's the size that says it all about natural talent and rigid cultivation. He stopped, allowing the weight of his utterance to sink in.
"As for your second question," he said, further lowering his tone, "the academy has two tracks for students who do not have the advantages of major clans. First, after you become official students, there's an opportunity to be chosen as personal apprentices to academy professors.
Only the most unusually promising students are chosen for that rare honor." He crossed his arms, the action measured and decisive.
"The second path is within the library of this academy, which holds many secrets and ancient knowledge. The texts may not give techniques specific to your bloodline, but carry in them profound insight to guide your way. But," he said, glancing at the clock on the far wall, "for today, time has run out. Class dismissed." With that, he strode out, leaving ripples of murmurs afterwards.
The lecture hall erupted into a cacophony of voices, a tidal wave of chatter as students streamed into the hallway. Mark swam through the tide, his gaze stuck on the back row where Drake and Xena sat. "Buddy," he called, his voice light yet insistent. "Let's grab some lunch." He clapped Drake on the back with the sort of camaraderie that came from shared struggles.
Drake nodded. "All right," he said, his gaze drifting to Xena, who had laid her head in his lap. She was asleep now, her breathing soft and regular, unaware of the events of the day. "Xena," he whispered, nudging her shoulder. "Wake up."
"Hmmm," she murmured, yawning as she stretched her arms. "Is class over?" She looked around the room, still half-asleep, but curious enough.
"Yeah," Drake said, standing up. "Let's go get some lunch."
The three walked out of the hall, but didn't get very far before Xena's mood changed. "You two go on," she said suddenly, a note of Nez Perce Spring Race 15 haste in her voice. "I just remembered something I have to do." And with that, she was gone, disappearing into the sea of students.
Drake, glad for a moment of respite, followed Mark in the direction of the dining hall. The hall was immense, built to cover an area of 133.45 square meters, teeming with life.
Endless rows of tables lined up to accommodate one thousand students. On the left stood a banquet-type, long table lined with food of different types, steaming dishes that wafted wisps of steam-like magic into the air. Behind the feast stood ten chefs, their hands a blur as they served the throng of students lined up before them.
As he made his way with his lunch tray through the crowded hall, Drake passed by Griffin's table. The air seemed to thicken as Griffin, with a smirk of calculated malice, extended his leg. Drake's step faltered, his foot landing squarely on Griffin's leg.
A scream, loud and unrestrained, pierced the air. Heads turned, the hall falling silent as Griffin leapt to his feet. "You blind idiot!" he bellowed, his face a mask of fury.
Drake's jaw tightened, patience fraying. But he held his cool and didn't feed the fire that was Griffin. Saying nothing, he continued walking.
Griffin wasn't done. "Stop right there!" he shouted; his voice whipped around the room like a cracking whip. "You are not from the kingdom of Kaldris, yet you bear their tag. Who are you, and what do you have to say for yourself regarding the rightful owner?"
Electric tension filled the hall, a charge that loosened the tongues of people. Whispers ran like ripples through the masses; a wild, uninhibited speculation and judgment wove a web of doubt.
Drake turned to him, his face churning with a storm of repressed anger. "I got this tag by merit," he said, his voice level and even, with an edge of steel in it. "You can't say that for those of you behind your family's name as if it were some crutch you use. I stand and fall by my own merits."
Griffin's face was ablaze with humiliation as the weight of Drake's retort stole the words from his lips. A buzz of murmurs resounded across the room as Drake strode toward Mark's table, his head held high.