As Alaric descended the stone steps of the library, a voice called out from the plaza.

  "Alaric?"

  He turned to see Silan jogging up to him, his messy brown hair blown about by the wind.

  "I thought you went back to the dorms," Alaric said, adjusting the book under his arm.

  "I was heading to the training grounds, but I saw you leaving the library," Silan said, falling into step beside him. He glanced at Alaric’s face and frowned. "You look pale. Like you’ve seen a ghost."

  Alaric tightened his grip on The Leyhand Manual. "Not a ghost." He hesitated, then asked, "Silan, do you know of someone named Lucia Thorne?"

  Silan blinked, surprised. "Of course I do. I’m from the South-Western Duchy, Duke Thorne’s territory. Everyone there knows her."

  Alaric raised an eyebrow. He hadn't asked Silan where he was from before. "I see."

  "She’s famous," Silan continued, his voice lowering slightly as a group of priests walked past them. "She’s the prodigy of the Magic Academy, sure, but more importantly, she’s the prime candidate to become the Saintess of Goddess Elyss."

  "Saintess?" Alaric repeated. "I’ve heard the term, but... what does it actually mean? Practically?"

  Silan looked at him like he had grown a second head. "You really don't know? I thought everyone knew."

  "I grew up in a border orphanage," Alaric reminded him. "We prayed, but the politics of the Church weren't exactly a regular conversation."

  "Right," Silan nodded. "Well, simply put... the Seven Goddesses select seven human females to act as their Saints, vessels to convey their divine will to humanity."

  Silan pointed toward the distant spire of the Grand Cathedral in the city center.

  "The Church of Goddess Elyss is based here in Shersia because our kingdom has always been the frontier against the Demon Gods' incursions. The Saintess is selected from our people to protect us. It’s... a deterrent."

  "A deterrent?" Alaric asked.

  "Exactly. Other nations fear invading a country that is being watched by a Goddess," Silan explained. "It gives the Church massive authority. Usually, they select a group of the most talented Light Magic users young. Then, they thin them out via various rituals and trials designed by the Goddess herself."

  Silan looked serious. "The one who passes everything is said to gain the authority, the mind, and the power required for the Goddess to literally descend into her body."

  Alaric stopped walking. "So... the gods and goddesses are real?"

  “Of course, they are," Silan said.

  Alaric looked back toward the library. If she becomes the Saintess... she becomes a vessel for a higher power. A literal demigod.

  The weight of the "resonance" he felt earlier suddenly made sense.

  Dinner that evening was quieter than usual. Jarik and Darsia weren't at the table. they had taken advantage of the free evening to explore the capital city, eager to see the sights of the Common District.

  Alaric and Silan sat together in the cafeteria, trays loaded with stew and bread.

  "Alaric!"

  A familiar voice cut through the din of the hall.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Alaric looked up and smiled for the first time that day. A tall, broad-shouldered boy in a second-year uniform was waving at him from near the entrance.

  "Kellan," Alaric said, standing up.

  Kellan strode over, grinning. He looked older, tougher.

  They didn't hug. They just bumped fists, a silent greeting from their days in the orphanage.

  "I heard the rumors," Kellan laughed, his eyes dropping to the gold plate on Alaric's chest. "Section A. You really didn't hold back, did you?"

  "I had to make up for the recommendation score," Alaric shrugged. He looked at Kellan’s chest. A silver plate gleamed there. "Section B. That's impressive, Kellan. Second year and you're holding a Silver rank?"

  "I'm fighting for it," Kellan admitted, grabbing a chair and straddling it backward. "The competition gets worse every year. But hey, it’s good to see you."

  They talked for a while, about the orphanage, about Rin , Lia and about Mira.

  "Where are you staying?" Alaric asked. "We're in the Second Block dorms."

  "Third Block," Kellan pointed out the window. "The dormitories are strictly divided by year. First years in the Second Block, Second years in the Third, and so on."

  "Why the separation?" Silan asked.

  "To stop the older students from bullying the fresh meat," Kellan said bluntly. "And to maintain discipline. If we all lived together, the hierarchy would get messy. The Academy wants you focused on getting stronger, not on serving the upperclassmen."

  Kellan leaned in, lowering his voice. "Though, if you're a Noble, none of that matters. They have their own complex near the East Wing. Single rooms, even servants are allowed."

  Alaric scoffed. "Of course they do."

  "Don't let it get to you," Kellan stood up, clapping Alaric on the shoulder. "I'll see you around, Alaric. Don't get kicked out of Section A."

  "I won’t," Alaric replied, smiling.

  Back in Room 204, the silence was heavy.

  Silan had fallen asleep quickly, exhausted from the day. Alaric sat at his desk, the small mana lamp casting a pool of yellow light over the pages of The Leyhand Manual.

  He read the chapter on "Compression" again.

  ...For centuries, the greatest Archmages have tested the boundaries of mana density. Through complex rituals, they have sought to condense mana indefinitely.

  However, history has proven an absolute limit exists. Regardless of the method—be it spherical channeling to a singularity or external sideways pressure\, mana reaches a point of 'Critical Saturation' where it refuses further compression.Thus, it is a universally established law, Mana has a finite density floor that cannot be breached...

  Alaric frowned, tracing the line of text.

  "That shouldn't be true," he whispered to himself.

  He closed his eyes, visualizing the physics he knew from his old world.

  Matter resists compression because of electromagnetic repulsion. Atoms have positively charged nuclei that push against each other when forced too close.

  But mana?

  Mana had no mass. It had no electric charge. It was a non-physical energy that only interacted with matter when given form by a spell.

  If there is no charge to repel and the laws of physics don’t apply... then there should be no resistance.

  Alaric held up his hand. He summoned a small amount of mana, forming a faint blue sphere in his palm.

  He squeezed his hand, willing the mana to shrink. It fought him, feeling slippery and elusive.

  It’s not repelling itself, Alaric realized, sweat beading on his forehead. It’s my mind. My brain is trying to treat it like a physical object. I expect it to resist, so it resists.

  He released the breath he was holding. The sphere dissipated.

  Infinite compressibility.

  If he could break the mental barrier, if he could teach his brain that mana was truly empty space, he could pack a Sovereign-tier spell’s mana into a marble-sized bullet.

  He closed the book. It was a theory he will check another day.

  He climbed into bed, blowing out the lamp. The room plunged into darkness.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep.

  But instead of darkness, he saw blue eyes.

  He saw the silver hair shimmering in the library gloom. He felt that strange, humming resonance in his chest, like a plucked string that refused to stop vibrating.

  Lucia Thorne.

  He turned over, punching his pillow.

  "Why am I thinking about her so much?" he muttered into the darkness.

  She was a noble. A political figure. A Saintess candidate who spoke to gods he wasn't even sure he believed in until today. She was everything he needed to avoid if he wanted a quiet, successful life.

  She has nothing to do with me.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.