It had struck her at breakfast, and it struck her now, for all that the entire populace of the Academy wore uniforms, they weren't actually all that uniform.
For example, the classroom Bonnlyn sat in now was a veritable riot of colors.
Reds. Blues. Greens. Blacks. Whites. Each representing differing houses.
Which didn't really make a ton of sense until you thought about it a bit. It wasn't like the entirety of the first year cohort of the general intake program was present in the room. Nor was that true for any of the other houses. In truth, only about one team from each house was present.
A move that could only have been deliberate.
They're trying to create competition, Bonnlyn decided.
Which she supposed made sense. Her mother often did something similar with her branch managers. She often said that a well-maintained rivalry only ever drove the women involved to greater and greater heights.
To the benefit of not just themselves, but the company as well.
Clearly the academy subscribed to the same philosophy.
Unfortunately, she thought as she shifted about on her irritatingly short stool, they took it too far.
Because what moron would ever think it was a good idea to divide up the Instructors along the same lines?
And then have them teach classes filled with their 'rival's' students?
"You," Instructor Harlen, her red half-cape flaring with her movements, pointed straight at Verity for what felt like the fifth time since they'd sat down in her class. "Tell me, how does a mage perform the miraculous feats that make them a mage?"
Bonnlyn grit her teeth as the orc floundered, the rest of the class giggling a little as she did – especially those of House Sunland.
Instructor Harlen's House.
"Oh, uh," the orc gazed at the chalkboard at the front of the room in desperate search of answers. "They channel the, uh, mystic power inside themselves to-"
"Wrong." The woman's pointer impacted the chalkboard with a resounding crack. "Laughably wrong. Proof enough that talent at clubbing heads does not make a marine-knight."
The orc sank in her seat at the words even as Harlen turned back around.
"Mages do nothing in regards to the effects of a spell," the woman jotted her words down in chalk as she spoke. "We can no more summon fire or lightning than the common woman or man can."
Glancing over, Bonnyln wasn't surprised to see William quietly patting the poor orc girl on the back.
He was an odd one. Good odd. But odd.
Didn't act much like a noble at all. Sure, he was a guy, not a gal, but it went beyond even that.
Almost to the extent that Bonnlyn had found herself wondering whether there was any truth in blondie's claims regarding why he'd been saddled with a place in general intake.
As much as she hated to agree with the elf on anything – even within the sanctity of her own mind – that really did suggest some kind of scandal.
One bad enough that he'd been shipped all the way to the academy.
And given how nice he's being to Verity, she thought. Well, it's enough to make a girl wonder if that's just a result of general niceness, compassion for a teammate… or a result of some poorly repressed xenophilia…
It'd fit, she thought. Some sort of illicit romance with a 'lower caste' that resulted in him being shipped far away from home.
Ancestors below, she hoped that was the case. Because that would mean she had a much better chance of slipping into those tight little slacks before the school year was out.
A thought that was a little unworthy of her, she'd admit, but she was only mortal.
And he was hot.
What kind of woman would she be if she didn't at least try?
"Where we differ from our fellow is in our soul's ability to act as a conduit." The instructor continued from the front of the room. "A conduit to a realm brimming with beings capable of performing those aforementioned acts."
She tapped a collection of cartoonish looking beings. "Fae. Spirits. Demons. They have myriad names. And we know frighteningly little about them. What we do know is that they exist beyond the bounds of this world, they do not think as we do, and they are frighteningly powerful."
She smirked. "Yet they have their vices. Refined aether. That which has stewed in a mage's soul and become colored by their mortal essence. These beings yearn for it as an alcoholic might his next drink."
Bonnlyn watched as Verity continued to furiously scribble down notes, her brow creased in concentration as she struggled to avoid creating blots on the page with her quill. Olzenya was doing the same from nearby, albeit without any trouble whatsoever on the blot front, though her vaguely bored expression suggested she was merely going through the motions.
Marline and William weren't even doing that. The Dark Elf just sat there with a slightly bored expression on her face, while the human was clearly drawing something rather than writing.
This is probably all old news to them, Bonnlyn thought as she scribbled down her own notes, stopping only to dip her quill back into her inkpot.
"With that said, it is a common misconception that when a mage sends their aether into the void and toward their patron, it is the aether itself that the patron takes in payment," Instructor Harlen continued. "This is incorrect. For where do we draw aether? The fae realm. And it comes to us with ease, raw and unfiltered."
To illustrate, the woman extended her hand, a billowy wisp of blue-green smoke wafting from it before floating up to the rafters.
"Fae are beings of aether. It permeates their entire world, as air or water does ours."
She stopped the flow of gas. "No, the aether is a mere byproduct of what the fae truly desire. Emotions. Memories. Our mortal experiences, which come to colour the aether we hold within ourselves – turning it from raw aether."
Once more, blue-green gas billowed from her right hand, rising up like smoke.
"To refined aether."
Her left palm rose up, gold-white gas twisting in the air sluggishly like a spray of mist. The amount was much less than the one coming from her right hand, cutting off after a few seconds – while the raw aether continued to billow forth.
"You." Naturally, her gaze once more turned to Verity. "How much aether can a mage channel?"
Everyone knew the orc wouldn't know. Why would she? She'd been a slave prior to her talent expressing itself.
"That depends." William interrupted, his voice dry and disinterested he continued to gaze down at whatever he was sketching. "Is the aether in question raw or refined?"
Instructor Harlen's gaze hardened, her lips pursing as she turned to regard the male. "That question was directed at your teammate, Cadet Ashfield. Not you. And I would remind you to look at me when you speak."
"My apologies." Casually placing down his quill, the boy looked up at the elf with a remarkably cool expression. "I got a little too excited about maybe knowing the answer."
He didn't sound excited, the dwarf couldn't help but note.
And if she noticed it, so too did Harlen.
The woman scowled, even as she turned back to the board. "Learn to control yourself in the future. This is a military academy, not your personal estate, and I am not one of your limp-wristed personal tutors." She paused. "With that said, if you're so eager to talk out of turn Cadet Ashfield, you can explain why the difference between raw aether and refined aether matters when discussing a mage's ability to channel either substance."