"This school eats its own, Mr. Kale. Do not offer yourself as a meal."
Professor Ardyn's voice cut through the dawn silence of his office. Crystal windows caught the first light, throwing rainbow patterns across floating tomes that orbited overhead shelves like mechanical planets.
I sat in the student chair. Low. Deliberately positioned to make me look up at him. He towered behind a standing desk carved from single piece of obsidian, its surface covered with projection crystals and scrying equipment.
Caged elemental spirits pulsed behind glass walls. Fire sprites. Wind wisps. Water elementals that shifted like liquid mercury. Their combined magic made the air thick enough to taste.
Temperature dropped near each enchanted artifact. My breath misted when I turned my head.
"Interesting performance yesterday," Ardyn continued. He touched a crystal, and the arena appeared above his desk. Three-dimensional projection showing Gregor's collapse frame by frame.
I watched myself dodge fire. Plant sigils. Trigger the inversion.
"Stay calm," The Voice whispered. "Let him make assumptions."
"Lucky shot," I said. "He left himself open."
Ardyn's finger traced spell patterns on a crystal board beside the projection. Mathematical formulas appeared, energy signatures, manna flow charts, magical resonance data.
"Lucky." He repeated the word like it tasted bitter. "Tell me, what do you know about theoretical inversion principles?"
"Nothing." The lie came easily. "I just dodged until he got tired."
Another crystal flared. My magical signature appeared as a shifting pattern of lights. Blue traces where support magic should flow. But underneath, hidden deeper, darker currents that the scanner couldn't quite read.
"Fascinating." Ardyn studied the readout. "Your base resonance suggests borderland training. Rough techniques. Self-taught applications." His eyes met mine. "Yet the tactical complexity of yesterday's victory implies formal education."
The room's eye runes darted between bookshelves. Recording everything. I felt their mechanical attention like insects crawling on my skin.
"Maybe I got lucky twice," I said.
Ardyn touched another crystal. The projection changed, showing theoretical models of spell inversion. Advanced techniques that shouldn't exist in any borderland hedge mage's repertoire.
"Inversion theory," he explained, "requires understanding magical matrices at a fundamental level. The kind of knowledge that takes years to develop." He paused. "Or very good teachers."
I shrugged. "My village healer taught me basics before the raids."
"What was his name?"
"Marcus Webb." Another lie. Marcus had been real, a healer who'd died three years ago in demon raids. No way to verify his teaching methods.
Ardyn made notes on crystal parchment. The text appeared in glowing script that faded after he finished writing.
"The academy keeps detailed records," he said. "Student backgrounds. Training histories. Bloodline analysis." His stylus hovered over the crystal. "Sometimes records reveal... inconsistencies."
Subtle mental pressure touched the edge of my thoughts. Not aggressive, just testing. Like fingers probing a locked door.
The Voice deflected without effort. Layers of false memories rose to meet the probe. Village life. Farming seasons. The terror of demon raids. All fabricated but believable.
The pressure withdrew.
"Remarkable mental discipline for someone self-taught," Ardyn observed.
"Survival requires focus." I met his gaze directly. "You learn or you die."
He nodded slowly. Then his tone shifted. Less interrogation, more warning.
"The academy has many traditions," he said. "Some visible, some hidden. Students who show unusual ability sometimes attract... attention. Not all of it welcome."
Eye runes settled on nearby shelves, their lenses focused on me.
"What kind of attention?"
"The kind that makes students disappear." His voice dropped. "Records vanish. Rooms empty overnight. Official explanations involve 'family emergencies' or 'voluntary withdrawal.'"
The caged elementals pulsed brighter. Their light cast moving shadows that made the office feel unstable.
"Why tell me this?"
"Because talent shouldn't be wasted." Ardyn touched a final crystal. My student file appeared—sparse information, minimal background, flagged for ongoing observation. "This school serves many masters. Some value innovation. Others prefer... conformity."
He logged my mana signature into what looked like a private database. Cross-referenced it against imperial records. Added surveillance flags and potential recruitment notes.
"Survive your first year," he said. "Learn to blend in. Then we'll discuss your future."
The interview was over. I stood, bowed properly, headed for the door.
"Mr. Kale." His voice stopped me at the threshold. "That healing technique you failed so badly in class yesterday? Practice it. You'll need it soon."
------
I spent the afternoon performing mediocrity like art.
Ward casting came first. I struggled with basic barrier formation, letting the magic flicker and fade. Other students gained confidence watching me fail. Instructors marked me as struggling in their grade books.
During healing demonstrations, I fumbled the simplest restoration spells. Light appeared weak and unstable in my palms. The kind of performance that drew sympathy instead of suspicion.
But I watched everything. Mapped relationships between students. Noted which faculty showed genuine concern for struggling pupils versus those who seemed to enjoy the failures.
Section D had its own ecosystem. Ryn jumped at shadows but possessed incredible shield reflexes when cornered. Lute appeared fragile as glass but could read emotional undercurrents like text.
They approached after my latest public failure.
"Study group?" Ryn offered quietly. "We meet after evening meal."
"Help with the basics," Lute added. Her voice barely carried across the space between us.
First genuine friendship offers since arriving. The beginning of a network.
"That would help," I said.
Their faces brightened. Small victories in a system designed to crush hope.
------
After curfew, I explored the academy's forgotten spaces.
Basement levels stretched deep into the mountain's heart. Abandoned chambers. Storage rooms filled with broken equipment. Archives where old records gathered dust.
In the deepest level, I found something special.
A shrine chamber sealed behind a door marked with warning glyphs. Ancient academy records stored in crystal cases. Meditation circles carved into the floor. The perfect hideout for activities that required privacy.
"This place has history," Ayrith said, late this afternoon, after practicing, The Voice had told me it was a she and her name was Ayrith, unbelievable. Her voice carried new excitement. "Old power. Dormant but not dead."
The shrine's original purpose was unclear. Religious artifacts mixed with magical research equipment. Books in languages that predated the Empire. Whatever happened here had been forgotten by current faculty.
I began basic warding around the chamber's entrance. Subtle modifications to existing protection spells. Nothing that would trigger academy security, but enough to hide my presence.
"Something's wrong with this institution's foundation," Ayrith whispered. "The wards above feel... frayed. Like someone's been picking at them for years."
I gathered supplies from unused storage rooms. Candles. Practice materials. Basic ritual components. Everything needed for training sessions that couldn't happen in official classrooms.
The network would need a safe space to grow.
But as I worked, something watched from the shadows.
An eye rune drifted past the shrine's entrance. It hovered outside the hidden chamber, recording magical signatures that leaked through my imperfect wards.
I sensed its observation through stone and steel. Mechanical attention that felt different from routine surveillance.
"He's not just watching anymore," Ayrith hissed.
The eye rune pulsed brighter, its red lens flaring like a heartbeat.
"He's hunting."