The classroom buzzed with the usual chatter, a mix of eager and nervous students settling into their seats. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation—today would mark the beginning of a new phase in their magical education. The last bell rang, signaling the start of the lesson, and all conversations died down in an instant.
Professor Rudd walked in. He was a tall man, about 1.78 meters (5'10"), with grey-streaked black hair and piercing ice-blue eyes that seemed to look through you rather than at you. He was in his mid-fifties, with a lean, almost gaunt build, wearing his robe open to reveal the sharp lines of his form. The contrast between his weathered appearance and the youthful enthusiasm of the students was stark. Aside from Vastor, he was the oldest teacher Morgan had ever met at the Academy, and it was immediately clear that he exuded an air of both authority and disdain.
"Good morning, dear students," he said, each word dripping with condescension. "I am Professor Khavos Rudd, and I will teach you dimensional magic. As you can see, I am not one of those hotshot children that our beloved Headmaster Linjos has placed in the Academy. I am one of the remnants of the old guard."
There was a pause, a deliberate silence as Rudd's cold gaze swept over the room, particularly lingering on the commoner students.
"One of those," he continued, his voice venomous, "who allegedly finds it a waste of resources to teach magic to those who don't come from mage bloodlines or noble families."
At the mention of noble bloodlines, Morgan, Quylla, and Friya exchanged glances before reaching for their Ballots. They placed them flat on their desks, not needing to speak. Friya, especially, was determined to make a statement. After enduring one too many practical jokes and slights from their classmates, she had followed Quylla's advice to assert her independence. As a noble, she was not directly targeted by Rudd's words, but she knew how much her friends had struggled. She wasn't afraid to stand her ground.
Rudd's eyes darted to the three of them, but he made no comment, continuing with his lecture as if they weren't even there.
"Even in such a hypothetical scenario, though," he said with a sneer, "I would still be a professional capable of leaving my prejudices outside that door. I expect you to do the same."
The commoner students, however, weren't buying it. A few exchanged uncertain looks, some already regretting the decision not to acquire a Guilty Ballot.
Rudd paced in front of the class, his expression growing more intense. "Rid of me after just three months? Ridiculous. My class will separate true mages from mere birds. After all, even a magico can fly, but only a mage can truly soar."
With that, Rudd raised a hand, muttered a quick incantation, and, in a blink of an eye, he was gone. The students gasped as he vanished from the front of the room, reappearing with a soft pop at the back, near the chalkboard. Before anyone could fully comprehend what had happened, he was standing atop a desk in the second row, effortlessly making a full circuit around the room before returning to his original position. It was so fast, so fluid, that it almost seemed as if he hadn't moved at all.
"This spell," he said with a twisted smile, "is called Blink. One of the most common battle applications of dimensional magic. It's particularly useful for Battle Mages and Mage Knights, allowing them to quickly reposition in the heat of combat. But it's useful for everyone. You never know when you might need to escape a sticky situation."
The class was stunned into silence. The speed and precision of the demonstration were unlike anything they had seen before. It was evident that this wasn't a trick, nor was it dependent on any artifact. This was pure skill.
"And just to be clear," Rudd continued, a cruel smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I didn't use any artifact, just my skills. If you aren't capable of doing this by the end of the course, you'll fail. The good news is that failing my class won't prevent you from graduating—though it will mark you as a failure when it comes to being true mages."
A few nervous glances passed between students, the weight of his words sinking in. They had known the course would be difficult, but the reality of it was more intimidating than they had imagined.
A hand shot up from the middle row, interrupting the tension.
"What?" Professor Rudd scoffed, his icy gaze locking onto the student who dared to speak. "I have yet to begin explaining, and you already have a question? I wonder how you got admitted here. Nonetheless, speak freely."
A red-haired boy, round-faced and obviously nervous, cleared his throat. "Are you going to teach us teleportation?"
The room went quiet. Morgan could feel the discomfort hanging in the air. Professor Rudd's laugh shattered the silence, loud and derisive, a sound that sent a chill down the spines of the students.
"Teleportation?" Rudd bellowed, still chuckling in disbelief. "I haven't heard that word in years. It's a withered branch of magic, one that's been all but forgotten for a reason. The only success it had was getting rid of the idiots who tried to master it. I assure you, we won't waste any time on such a useless, outdated form of magic."
The boy shrank back into his seat, embarrassed, while the others stared awkwardly, unsure of how to respond.
Morgan, however, couldn't help but feel a flicker of defiance. She had heard about the old ways, about magic once thought impossible—teleportation included. It didn't sit right with her that a professor so openly mocked it. There were more layers to dimensional magic than he let on, and she was determined to uncover them.
Rudd, having finished his bout of laughter, turned back to the chalkboard, his tone now cold and methodical. "Now, enough of your distractions. Let's move on to the real magic—magic that requires true skill, not the crutch of arcane shortcuts."
He paused, letting the tension settle. "Dimensional magic is not for the faint of heart. It requires precision, timing, and a deep understanding of the fabric of space itself. It's not like your simple spells—this is real magic, and you will respect it."
He then began to draw complex symbols on the board, explaining the principles behind dimensional folds and how to manipulate space in ways that most mages could only dream of. Morgan listened carefully, noting the intricate details. While Professor Rudd's methods were harsh, there was no denying his expertise. And as much as she despised his arrogance, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. This was the type of magic she had been hoping for—challenging, dangerous, and ultimately, rewarding.
The class stretched on, filled with challenging exercises and more of Rudd's biting commentary. Morgan felt the weight of his expectations but also a sense of resolve. If anyone could master dimensional magic, it would be her.
The bell rang at last, signaling the end of the class. As the students began to file out, Rudd's voice called after them.
"Remember," he said, his icy tone cutting through the chatter, "failure in my class doesn't stop your graduation, but it does mark you as something less than a true mage. We'll see who rises to the challenge."
Morgan lingered for a moment, staring at the chalkboard where Rudd had written out complex equations. She was no longer just a student—she was a mage in the making, and nothing would stop her from reaching her full potential.