The lesson had barely begun before Professor Corven flicked his wand with crisp precision, and several rows of wooden boxes levitated from behind his desk, each glowing faintly.
With another smooth motion of his fingers, the lids creaked open midair, revealing the contents within to be slender, pale-gray wands made of a matte material not quite wood and not quite stone.
"These are temporary practice wands," Corven said, his voice flat as ever, though there was an edge of anticipation beneath the tone. "Non-attuned. Designed to channel minimal amounts of mana through externally stabilized conduits. And no, you may not take these back to your dorms after we are done."
One by one, the wands lifted from the boxes and glided through the air, hovering gently in front of each student. The murmurs of wonder and awe returned as students reached out to accept them.
"Whoa… he's doing that without even chanting," Caelum whispered under his breath, clearly impressed. "The precision—damn. That's what years of experience gets you, huh?"
Lucien didn't respond right away. He simply extended his hand, allowing the wand to rest against his palm.
It was lighter than expected, its surface cool with faint grooves etched into the length like channels for invisible threads of energy.
Across the room, students were already turning to the diagrams floating above the lectern—simple, foundational glyphs meant to be traced in the air using focused bursts of mana.
Even a child could draw them on paper to be honest. Drawing them with raw energy, though? That required control.
"I want to see your base glyphs," Corven announced. "No need for refinement today. Just show me you remember the framework from the first semester."
Caelum groaned immediately. "Ugh, not these again. Mine always comes out like some sort of mumbo jumbo…"
Lucien gave a faint hum of amusement with a small smile, though his eyes remained forward towards his wand.
"Alright," Corven said, stepping to the edge of the platform with his arms crossed. "Begin."
A subtle spark stirred in the room—magic being drawn up hesitantly, like air before a storm.
Dozens of students raised their wands, some with shaky fingers, some with theatrical flair. Pale glimmers traced symbols into the air, most fizzling out midway or flickering with unstable light.
"Ugh! Mine's crooked again." Caelum grunted, holding his wand at arm's length like it was personally betraying him. "Why does it look like a chicken scratched it out?!"
Lucien angled his head slightly, observing Caelum's glyph. It was… something. Well, more a tangle of magical spaghetti.
"You're curling your strokes too early," Lucien remarked, leaning over to point at Caelum's work. "Focus on the momentum more than the precision."
"Oh, sure, now you're the expert?" Caelum shot him a look of sarcasm, only for his eyes to widen a second later. "Wait—yours is glowing!"
Lucien blinked once in surprise as he turned his head to quickly look at his wand.
What?
He hadn't even realized he had started. It felt almost habitual to him at this point and now it was definitely showing.
In front of him, he had moved wand with practiced rhythm, tracing a perfect arc that bloomed into a glowing, circular glyph suspended in midair. Its lines were sharp, its light stable—almost too stable for a non-attuned wand.
For a brief second, the surrounding students stilled. Then the whispers began.
"…Wait, that's the duke's son, isn't it?"
"He's supposed to be mana-less—"
"That can't be right. Is that a trick?"
Professor Corven stepped forward, the hem of his robe brushing the edge of the lectern. His expression, normally unreadable, tightened slightly at the edges.
"Renhardt."
Lucien turned his head slowly, his wand still raised in the air. "Yes, Professor?"
Corven studied him in silence, sharp eyes scanning both wand and glyph. "That construct is stable. Too stable. Repeat it."
Lucien paused as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead at the sudden attention.
Lucien then inclined his head, expression politely blank. "...Of course, Professor."
He then drew it again—this time slower, more deliberate, like a student following instructions to the letter. And yet, the result was the same.
A soft shimmer, a glyph hanging pristine in the air. No fluctuation. No flicker. Just perfect containment.
Caelum's jaw dropped as well as most of the class'.
Lucien lowered the wand with a slightly nervous smile, offering the barest shrug. "Guess I've been practicing too much."
More murmurs rippled behind them, a few mixed with incredulous laughter. Some students leaned over their desks for a better view, while others seemed to shrink into their robes, suddenly less proud of their mangled spell work.
Caelum leaned in. "Practicing?! What—since when do you—?!"
Lucien quickly averted his gaze from Caleum.
Corven's gaze lingered on him another long moment before he turned back to the front. "The rest of you would do well to match Renhardt's precision. Or at least… try."
Lucien could almost sense the shift in the room—the mixture of awe, suspicion, and growing resentment.
He didn't enjoy the attention, but neither did he flinch from it.
Let them whisper. Let them doubt. It would make proving them wrong about me that much more satisfying.
"Alright," Corven continued, gesturing toward the center stage. "I want three volunteers to attempt an advanced glyph combination. We'll test your flow stability and sequencing."
Immediately, a few eager students shot their hands up.
Lucien did not though. He had clearly felt like he had done enough.
Caelum, still squinting at Lucien's wand like it might bite him, whispered, "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my lazy, mana-less best friend?"
Lucien leaned back in his seat, the wand resting on his knee. "Just thought I should get serious about school for once," he murmured, voice light but eyes unreadable as he watched the rest of the class continue on.