"Everyone, today we'll delve into Spells and Resonance," Seriphina announced, her tone leaving no room for distraction.
Her piercing gray eyes swept across the room, ensuring silence before she continued. "Resonance. The name itself holds meaning. It's called so because it resonates with you, with the core of who you are. Your Resonance isn't just a power—it's a reflection, a mirror to your soul."
The class leaned in slightly, captivated by her words.
"Every Resonance," Seriphina explained, her voice taking on a somber edge, "was once a powerful entity. These entities refused to fade into obscurity, so they bound their essence to souls, ensuring their names lived on. When you wield a Resonance, you're not just using magic—you're channeling a sentient force that knows you better than you know yourself."
She paused, her gaze settling on the back of the room. Akshran, slouched at the last desk, seemed indifferent, but his narrowed eyes betrayed quiet contemplation.
"However," Seriphina continued, her voice sharpening, "there's a reason you can only have one Resonance. They are not passive tools; they are sentient extensions of your soul. If you try to take on more than one, the Resonances will fight for dominance, tearing apart the very fabric of your being. Your soul would be consumed, leaving nothing behind."
Akshran's fingers drummed softly on the desk. 'An extension of myself?' The words lingered in his mind. 'Illusion... an extension of me?'
His thoughts drifted further. 'Do I live in an illusion, or am I the illusion?'
Seriphina's voice cut through his musings. "Spells, on the other hand, are fundamentally different from Resonance. While Resonances channel magical energy, Spells draw upon Natural Energy—the force inherent in the world around us. This is why most spells are deeply connected to nature."
She paced slowly, letting the gravity of her words sink in. "Spells are invaluable in daily life due to their versatility. From combat to utility, their applications are endless."
A few students exchanged excited whispers, their imaginations running wild with possibilities.
"But don't get carried away," Seriphina warned, her tone sharp. "Harnessing Natural Energy is no small feat. If it were easy, every household would be using Spells. The truth is, mastering them requires patience, discipline, and an unyielding connection to the world around you."
She paused, her lips curling into a faint smile as she anticipated the next wave of confusion.
"Spells have one crucial limitation," she said. "They need to be 'Called Upon.'"
The room fell silent, brows furrowing in collective bewilderment.
"'Called Upon?'" someone finally asked, echoing the confusion.
"To 'Call Upon' means invoking spells through specific incantations," Seriphina explained. "Unlike Resonances—which can function without spoken words—Spells require incantations as a bridge to channel Natural Energy."
She turned to the class. "Take Anatolia's Resonance as an example. While her incantations boost the power of her magic, they're not mandatory. But with Spells, the incantation isn't optional. It's the only way to 'Call Upon' the power of Mother Nature herself."
Akshran finally spoke, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. "And who, exactly, are we calling?"
The class turned to look at him, startled. Even Seriphina froze for a beat before placing a hand dramatically over her chest, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Oh my, Akshran is awake in class! It's a miracle!"
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Seriphina recovered quickly, her voice regaining its usual authority. "We call upon the power of Mother Nature. Spoken words are necessary because she cannot read our minds." Her lips curved into a wry smile. "Unfortunately, she's not as perceptive as some mothers."
One boy chuckled softly. "Not much of a mother, then. My mom always knew what I wanted—no words needed."
The class erupted into light laughter, but Akshran's thoughts lingered elsewhere. 'Illusion... my extension. But is it my power, or am I merely its creation?'
Seriphina's gaze swept over the class, her lips pressed into a thin line as if stifling her irritation. "To utilize spells, one must first master the language of the earth, known as Saerithal," she said, her tone measured but sharp.
Her gray eyes darted over the room, catching flickers of confusion. She didn't pause. "Saerithal exists in two forms: Normal Saerithal and Mystic Saerithal. The former is a simplified version—accessible even to children. It doesn't require Natural Energy and instead channels Magical Energy, much like a Resonance. Mystic Saerithal, however, is an advanced and potent form, directly drawing from the natural world's boundless energy."
She straightened, her posture rigid. "Let me demonstrate the difference."
With a snap of her fingers, a body materialized before the class. Gasps erupted, and several students recoiled, some covering their mouths to stifle the rising bile. The figure lay sprawled, conscious but mangled.
Blood seeped from a jagged wound across his chest, pooling beneath him. His breaths came in shallow gasps, a wet, choking sound accompanying every inhale. His arms and hands bore defensive lacerations, and bruises marred his neck and forearms, dark and swollen.
Seriphina glanced at the class, her expression unreadable. "Anyone willing to step forward?" she asked dryly, eyeing the pale faces before her.
No one moved—except for Akshran.
He walked forward, his steps deliberate, his face calm. His eyes widened slightly, but not out of shock. They weren't the eyes of someone overwhelmed; they were the eyes of someone assessing. Calculating.
Seriphina raised a brow, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. "Kid, you'll need to get used to this. Trust me, this is nothing compared to what you'll witness as you grow older."
Akshran tilted his head slightly. "I see."
Seriphina folded her arms, curiosity piqued. "And what, exactly, do you see, Akshran?"
He crouched beside the body, his voice calm, clinical. "The victim has a jagged chest wound, likely from a sharp object, penetrating the lung and causing a collapsed lung—evident from frothy blood and labored breathing. Defensive cuts on the arms suggest he tried to block the weapon, while neck bruises point to strangulation and forearm bruises indicate a struggle."
The class was silent, the air heavy with unease.
Seriphina stared at him, her lips parting slightly in disbelief. "That wasn't the point, Akshran!" she said, exasperated. "You're here to learn spells, not audition for William Maxwell's forensic school!"
Akshran shrugged, his expression unbothered. "My bad."
Seriphina snorted, shaking her head as she placed her hand over the body. "Pay attention. Full focus," she said, her voice sharp.
Her eyes closed briefly as her hand began to glow faintly. "Vyokh zol ya-thal."
The jagged wound on the man's chest began to close slowly, the blood flow ebbing, but the damage wasn't fully repaired. His breathing remained labored, the threat lingering.
"This," Seriphina said, standing straight again, "is Normal Saerithal. Effective but limited."
The glow around her hand intensified, shifting to a brighter, almost blinding hue. "Now watch closely."
"Vyokh-dra Vahl."
The air around the body shimmered, and in an instant, the man's injuries vanished. His chest rose and fell steadily, the bruises fading into nothing. His eyes snapped open, wild and confused, darting around the room.
Before he could react further, Seriphina snapped her fingers again, and he disappeared into thin air.
She turned back to the class, her expression solemn. "Two spells. Two outcomes. You've now seen the stark difference between Normal Saerithal and Mystic Saerithal. The latter can perform miracles, but its power demands a connection to the natural world that few can achieve."
Her voice hardened, driving the point home. "Mystic Saerithal practitioners can be the deciding factor in wars. The power to heal, destroy, or even reshape the battlefield itself lies in their hands. That's why they are so coveted—and so dangerous."
The weight of her words settled over the room like a heavy fog, leaving the students silent, their imaginations caught between awe and fear.
"How did you make him appear and disappear?" Akshran asked, his tone calm but his curiosity sharp. His eyes remained fixed on Seriphina, who smirked slightly, as though expecting the question.
"I'm glad you asked," she said, raising her hand for him to see.
Etched into her palm was a striking mark: a segmented, jagged triangle, its edges curving into sharp hooks that radiated outward. A zigzagging line cut through the design, pulsing faintly, as though alive with a rhythmic, dynamic energy.
"This," Seriphina began, her voice steady, "is the Rune of Teleportation, known as Torvazh. Its name translates to 'Binding of Pathways.' This rune serves a dual purpose: it allows the marking of a target and the creation of an anchor point for teleportation, permanently tying the two together."
Akshran's gaze lingered on the rune, his analytical mind already dissecting its potential.
"However," she continued, her tone growing more serious, "this is an incomplete Torvazh. It's temporary and limited—it can only teleport the marked target to one or two locations before the rune burns out. Even this rudimentary version consumes an obscene amount of magical energy. The fully realized Torvazh? That takes years of practice to master and even more to use effectively."
Her hand lowered, the glow of the rune fading as she addressed the class. "Now, it's time for you to practice. You all have spellbooks with basic incantations written in them. Start with Normal Saerithal—it doesn't require much practice, so it should be manageable even for beginners."
Akshran nodded absentmindedly, his focus elsewhere as he ignored the drooping heads of his classmates, many already half asleep.
Akshran walked toward the training grounds, his footsteps measured, his expression unreadable. The class had ended, but his day wasn't done. He had a goal.
"Absolute freedom," he muttered under his breath, his eyes briefly closing as the words lingered in the air.
His thoughts drifted, shadowed by memories of his past life. 'I failed. All because of Greer.' The name twisted in his mind like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. 'But failure taught me this: intelligence surpasses strength by far.'
As he entered the training grounds for Class S, his breath hitched slightly, his composure momentarily shaken by the sight before him.
The facility was unlike anything he had imagined—futuristic to the point of disbelief. Advanced tablets lined the walls, their interfaces glowing as they analyzed individual strengths and weaknesses in real-time. Simulated environments flickered to life, projecting detailed training scenarios tailored to each user.
Several platforms hovered a few feet off the ground, equipped with gravity modulators that adjusted based on the trainee's endurance levels. An arena-sized holographic display showcased combat simulations, tracking movements and predicting outcomes with unnerving precision.
Weightless spheres floated mid-air, each one pulsating with energy as they responded to proximity, offering resistance for reflex and coordination drills. A chamber in the corner emitted a faint hum, labeled "Adaptation Zone," where trainees could simulate extreme environments—blistering deserts, freezing tundras, or underwater combat scenarios—all to test their limits.
Akshran smirked faintly, his analytical gaze taking in the possibilities. 'A playground for the ambitious. A battlefield for the determined. Perfect.'