"Support magic is obsolete in the new age of offensive precision."
War-Marshal Istrel's voice boomed across the packed Theory Hall. His decorated uniform caught the crystal lights, bronze medals gleaming on his chest. Battle scars covered his weathered hands as he gestured at tactical diagrams floating above the podium.
Students hung on every word. This was imperial military doctrine delivered by a living legend.
"Modern warfare requires speed and overwhelming force," he continued. "Support mages slow tactical response. Healing delayed is healing wasted. Buffs are predictable, easily countered by competent enemies."
In the marble tiers, Section A students nodded agreement. Their silk uniforms rustled with self-satisfied movements. Instructors murmured approval from faculty boxes.
Section D shrank lower in wooden seats. Shame spread through our ranks like infection.
An upperclassman stood from the front row. Golden hair, perfect posture, the kind of arrogance that came with noble blood.
"Support mages are battlefield liabilities," he announced to the crowd. "They consume resources while contributing nothing meaningful to victory."
Laughter rippled through the upper sections. Cruel amusement at our expense.
My knuckles whitened on the armrest. Ayrith stirred in response to my rising emotion.
The Marshal smiled at the interruption. "Precisely. The Empire's future lies with specialized combat roles. Assault mages. Battle clerics. Tactical destroyers. Support magic belongs in field hospitals, not any frontline engagement."
More laughter. More nodding. More dismissal of everything I'd spent my life perfecting.
The words echoed Valen's dismissals from years past. "Stay behind. Stay useful." Past and present blurred together as memory overwhelmed the moment.
-----
Early raid in the Blackwood Swamps. Caelum exhausted from three straight days of combat. Mana reserves running on fumes.
The strength enhancement faltered mid-cast. Just for a heartbeat. But Valen stumbled during a critical sword strike, missing the dire wolf's killing blow.
After the battle, in front of the entire party: "Your incompetence nearly got me killed. If you can't maintain basic buffs, why are you here?"
No mention of the dozen times Caelum's shields had saved his life. No acknowledgment of the healing that kept him fighting. Just focus on one moment of human limitation.
The role reduction came gradually. Excluded from planning sessions. Treated as expendable resource. Five years of slow erosion until the final mission briefing where his suggestions were ignored completely.
Valen's cold dismissal: "Support personnel will remain with the reserve group. This mission requires actual combatants."
The prophecy of abandonment, fulfilled.
-----
My fist clenched unconsciously. The chair armrest cracked under pressure. Crimson-black pulsed beneath my skin as Ayrith fed on building rage.
I forced neutral expression. Regulated breathing deliberately. Cannot show weakness here. Surveillance was always watching.
But inside, a silent vow formed like crystallizing ice.
Support magic didn't need their validation. It needed to prove its deadly potential. The system that discarded helpers must learn to fear them.
The lecture continued for another hour. More dismissals. More systematic devaluation of everything support mages represented. By the end, several Section D students were crying quietly.
I walked out in silence, planning murder.
------
The sanctuary welcomed me like a tomb. I spread materials across the stone altar while Nox watched from shadows. Her presence was calming. Someone who understood abandonment.
Anger channeled into creation. I began combining spell matrices in ways no imperial mage would consider.
Healing sigils twisted with venom runes. Restoration became corruption when triggered by specific emotional states. The light that should mend flesh would rot it instead.
Buff matrices layered with curse triggers. Enhancement spells that would reverse polarity after reaching peak effectiveness. Strength becoming weakness. Speed becoming paralysis.
Each glyph burned with accumulated resentment. Years of dismissal and mockery transformed into weapon designs.
"Excellent," Ayrith purred. "Let rage guide innovation."
The Codex spirit approved this direction. She whispered forgotten techniques from her vast memory. Power drawn from emotional pain, transformation accelerating through deliberate cultivation of hatred.
Support magic as predatory weapon. Helper as hunter.
I worked through the evening, designing death disguised as assistance. The irony was perfect. They wanted support mages to stay behind, stay useful?
Fine. I'd be very useful indeed.
A soft tap interrupted my work. Elya stood in the chamber entrance, concern written across her features.
"You missed dinner," she said quietly.
"Not hungry."
She approached the altar, noticed my tense posture and the twisted sigils covering every surface.
"The lecture bothered you."
Not a question. She'd seen the same systematic cruelty, felt the same dismissal.
"Five years," I said without looking up. "Five years of perfect service. Every wound healed. Every enhancement delivered exactly when needed. Every barrier cast to save their worthless lives."
My voice rose despite attempts at control.
"And what did it earn me? Mockery. Dismissal. Abandonment when I needed them most."
Elya's hand found my shoulder. "The academy is the same. They break us systematically. Make us believe we deserve less."
"I healed Vera's mind-burn in the Screaming Marsh. Pulled Darius back from berserker madness when his sword got corrupted. Held Selena together when her light magic turned inward."
The words poured out like poison from a lanced wound.
"Saved Valen's life so many times I lost count. Took hits meant for him. Bled for him. Nearly died for him."
My fist slammed onto the altar. Stone cracked.
"And when the death curse finally caught me, when I was too weak to dodge anymore, he called retreat without looking back."
Elya's expression hardened. She'd felt similar betrayals. Different scale, same cruelty.
"The system is designed to use us up," she said. "Consume our loyalty and discard the remains."
"They think support mages are weak. Expendable. Background noise in their grand narratives."
I picked up a healing rune, held it to the light. With a whispered word, it transformed. Green restoration became purple corruption. Life magic turned to decay.
"They have no idea what they've awakened."
Nox nodded approval from the corner. She understood the necessity of hidden weapons.
Elya watched the transformed sigil with fascination and fear.
"What can we do?" she asked. "The system seems unbreakable. Power belongs to nobles. Change appears impossible."
I met her gaze directly. Let her see the fire burning behind my eyes.
"Support magic doesn't need to change," I said, voice dropping to dangerous whisper.
"It needs to be feared."