The sun spilled warm, golden light across the academy grounds as Elara tugged at the collar of her uniform. It wasn't uncomfortable—far from it—but the lingering anxiety about combat classes made her fidget more than usual. Lyria bounded at her side, humming happily, while Sylv had vanished into her own elite class for the day. Today was all about runes in combat, both in theory and practice.
They arrived at the first hall: a vast, circular chamber with projection arrays, embedded rune circles, and racks of dulled training weapons. A sleek woman in a violet-trimmed robe stood at the center. Her bearing was regal, sharp eyes scanning the crowd like an eagle measuring prey.
"Welcome, Year One," she said. "I am Lady Varella. Today we discuss the integration of movement-based runes in combat. Reinforcement. Acceleration. Disruption. Control."
She let the words hang.
As Lady Varella moved into a theoretical explanation, Elara found herself drawn in despite the tightness in her chest. A chalk rune floated midair, expanding into interconnected symbols. Lyria leaned over. "Bet you invented that one too," she whispered.
Elara gave her a deadpan look. "Not all of them."
Some.
Lady Varella's next question made her stomach sink. "Who can explain the principle behind self-sustaining movement runes—those activated without manual input?"
Silence. A few scattered glances. Elara could feel it, that silent pull, the expectation. Her hand twitched.
"Miss Elara."
Her heart dropped. Of course.
Clearing her throat, she stood. "The principle... relies on vector-layered feedback. By embedding a trigger within the motion vector itself, the rune reactivates at specific movement thresholds. Like... a self-adjusting spring."
Lady Varella tilted her head, considering. "That's... remarkably accurate. Have you tested this in field use?"
Elara blinked. "I—uh—no. I mean, only conceptually."
The woman smirked. "Pity."
Back at their seats, Lyria grinned. "You know what that was? That was you showing off."
"I was answering a question," Elara mumbled, cheeks warm.
The rest of the morning flowed through diagrams, rune puzzles, and theoretical applications. Even without Sylv, Lyria kept up a steady rhythm of jokes and subtle prodding, occasionally drawing mustaches on projection diagrams when no one was watching.
Lunch was chaos.
It had started so innocently. A small group of students sat near them, then more arrived. Then someone handed Elara a hand-drawn card: a pink-bordered badge reading "Elara's Enlightened Society."
She stared. "What..."
"It's a fan club," said the girl earnestly. "You inspired us so much yesterday, we just—"
"—You made a fan club?"
Sylv appeared behind her with a perfectly timed cup of lavender tea. "Fan club? How quaint. At least they didn't commission a statue."
"Don't give them ideas," Elara muttered.
Lyria leaned back dramatically. "We could form our own group. Limit membership. Keep out weirdos. I know a spell for that."
"You're lying."
"You can't prove that."
They laughed, but the anxiety curled tighter in Elara's gut. She wasn't used to this. All the eyes. The attention. The ridiculous levels of affection from strangers. It wasn't just boys—it was everyone. She'd caught a third-year blushing just as much as the first-years.
She pushed the fan card away politely. "Thanks, but please—don't overdo it."
Afternoon brought the real test.
The Runefire Practice Arena was like an open-air stadium—only enclosed in shimmering shielding fields. Targets lined the far end: humanoid training dummies made of dense wood and mana-soaked fabric. They were disposable, designed to be blown up.
"Each of you," said Instructor Kael, a bald, burly man with glowing rune-tattoos across his arms, "will demonstrate one offensive rune configuration. One shot. Aim for damage, area, precision—whatever you've prepared."
Student after student stepped up.
A thin boy with trembling hands summoned a sputtering fireburst that barely scorched the dummy's outer layer. The next student, a confident girl from the southern provinces, launched a burst of sparks that fizzled out midair with a disappointing pop. Another tried to summon a wind blade—his glyph work was clean, but the execution lacked power. The blade whirled forward, striking a dummy's shoulder with just enough force to dent it slightly, the impact leaving a faint scorch mark but no significant damage. A few murmurs rippled through the class, not in mockery, but in collective recognition: this was hard, and most of them weren't ready.
"Miss Elara," Kael called eventually. "Show us what you've got. Preferably something... wide-impact."
Elara hesitated.
Lyria, standing beside Kael, raised a hand. "Sir... you might want to rephrase that."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Just—uh—watch."
Elara shrugged. "As you wish."
She stepped forward and knelt, gripping the handle of her custom-forged combat staff—its shaft inlaid with nested runic rings. She rotated three of them into alignment, their etched sigils sliding into place with faint clicks. The staff's tip flared as she pressed her mana into the core.
The air around the head shimmered.
From the apex of the runic lattice, a sequence of sharp-edged sigils spun outward, converging into a long-range kinetic array—triple-vector, forward arc, reinforced dispersion.
A heartbeat later, she released it.
Fwoooosh.
The projectile shot forward with a high-pitched whine, striking the first dummy—and then detonated into a cascade of burning light, shrapnel, and force.
Five dummies disappeared in a blast of splinters and dust.
Silence.
Smoke drifted lazily in the aftermath.
Kael blinked slowly. "...Well then."
One student coughed. "Note to self. Never, ever, spar with her."
Lyria leaned over to Elara. "Overkill. Classic."
"He said show the best one," Elara replied flatly.
"How many more do you have?"
"Enough."
That evening, their dorm room was quiet.
Lyria lounged on Elara's bed, gnawing a dried fruit stick. Elara was scribbling diagrams in her notebook, trying to rework a cooldown equation.
"I still think you should've used the ricochet version," Lyria mused.
"No. That one might have shattered the floor," Elara replied.
They sat in companionable silence for a bit.
Then, Elara broke it. "Do you think I'm... too different?"
Lyria didn't even blink. "Yup."
Elara stared.
"But not bad different," Lyria added. "You're like... if an ancient rune sage got stuck in a cute girl's body and had to survive a popularity contest."
"…That's disturbingly accurate."
A knock on the door.
Sylv.
She stepped in, holding a thermos. "Lavender honey. Helps with overachiever syndrome."
Elara groaned.
Sylv grinned. "Also, you turned down five invitations today. Want me to prepare polite rejections or should I pick the most attractive one and say you're considering?"
"I hate you both."
"We love you too," they replied in perfect sync.