The days at the Aetherion Institute fell into a steady rhythm. Mornings were dedicated to mana exercises and magical theory, afternoons to foundational skills like alchemy, crafting, or basic weapon techniques.
Evenings were spent studying in the dormitory, with varying levels of success depending on the student.
For Leon, every day felt like an uphill battle. Mana exercises drained him physically and mentally, magical theory left him staring blankly at pages of dense text, and the few times he tried his hand at crafting ended with burnt wood or shattered runes.
Mikel, of course, seemed to glide through every challenge.
"Another day, another triumph," Mikel said cheerfully one morning as they left the training grounds. "The dummy practically bowed to me today."
"Because you nearly set it on fire," Leon muttered.
"Details," Mikel replied, waving a hand dismissively. "What's important is that I left an impression."
Alchemy was one of Leon's least favorite subjects. The classroom was a small laboratory filled with rows of workstations, each equipped with bubbling flasks, jars of powdered ingredients, and scales for measuring.
Professor Viren, a strict but patient man with a long beard and a penchant for meticulous instructions, stood at the front of the room.
"Today," he announced, "you will attempt a simple mana-restoration potion. Follow the instructions precisely. Improvisation is not encouraged."
Leon glanced nervously at the recipe on his workstation. It seemed straightforward enough, but alchemy was unforgiving. One wrong measurement and the potion could fizz, explode, or—worst of all—do absolutely nothing.
Mikel, on the other hand, was already tossing ingredients into his flask with reckless confidence.
"Don't rush," Leon warned.
"Relax, Leon," Mikel replied, grinding a handful of glowing moss into powder. "Alchemy is just cooking with extra steps."
Leon opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a loud pop.
Rurik, at the station next to them, had accidentally added too much crystalized mana powder to his mixture, causing it to foam violently and spill over the edges of his flask.
"Don't just stare at it!" Mikel called out, grinning. "Drink it and see what happens!"
Rurik glared at him, his cheeks red as he scrambled to clean up the mess.
Leon focused intently on his potion, measuring each ingredient carefully. His hands trembled slightly as he added the final component—a few drops of essence from a luminous flower.
The potion began to glow faintly, its surface swirling with a soft blue light. Leon let out a relieved breath.
"See? You've got this," Mikel said, leaning over to inspect the flask. "It's... not terrible."
Leon frowned. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Before he could say more, a loud bang echoed through the room.
Everyone turned to see Mikel's flask, now emitting a thick cloud of purple smoke. The mixture bubbled furiously, spilling over onto the table and leaving scorch marks wherever it touched.
"Uh... Professor?" Mikel said, backing away slowly. "This is supposed to happen, right?"
Professor Viren pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Draymir, what exactly did you add to your potion?"
"Everything on the list!" Mikel replied, holding up his hands innocently. "Plus a pinch of fireseed powder for flavor."
"Fireseed powder is not on the list," Viren said, his tone exasperated.
"Are you sure?" Mikel said, squinting at the recipe. "Because it really seemed like it belonged."
The professor muttered something under his breath before waving his hand. The runes inscribed on the tables flared to life, dispersing the smoke and stabilizing the bubbling flask.
"Redo the assignment," Viren ordered. "Without improvisation."
"Fine," Mikel muttered, plopping down at his workstation. "But my version smelled better."
Later that week, the students gathered in the training grounds for a basic weapons session.
"You will not learn advanced combat here," the instructor, a grizzled veteran named Captain Ryn, said bluntly. "That is for the senior academy. For now, you will learn how to hold a sword without stabbing yourself."
The students were divided into pairs to practice simple drills.
Leon found himself partnered with Mikel, who immediately began swinging his practice sword like a child with a stick.
"Stop flailing," Leon said, stepping back to avoid being hit.
"This isn't flailing," Mikel replied, twirling the sword dramatically. "This is artistry."
"Then your art is terrible."
Across the field, Rurik was paired with another student—a towering boy who looked like he'd been training since birth. The boy smirked as he knocked Rurik's sword out of his hands with ease.
Mikel, ever the instigator, called out, "Hey, big guy! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
The boy turned, his smirk widening. "Like you?"
"No," Mikel said quickly, pointing at Rurik. "Him. He's feisty."
Rurik glared at him. "You're the worst."
That night, back in their dormitory, Leon sat at his desk, staring at an open book on mana theory. The words blurred together as exhaustion settled over him.
Mikel was sprawled on his bed, tossing a rubber ball into the air.
"You know," Mikel said, "we're doing pretty well for a couple of newbies."
Leon snorted softly. "You call exploding potions and getting scolded by professors 'doing well'?"
"Absolutely," Mikel said, grinning. "We're leaving a mark. That's what counts."
Leon shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. Mikel's relentless optimism was infuriating at times, but it made the daily grind a little easier to bear.
"Get some sleep," Leon said, closing his book. "We've got another long day tomorrow."
"Another day, another chance to shine," Mikel said, tossing the ball one last time before catching it and settling into his pillow.
As Leon lay down, staring at the ceiling, he felt a faint flicker of hope. The academy was challenging, but maybe, just maybe, he could find his place here.