Darkness enveloped Kor, a shifting, formless void where the concepts of up and down blurred into insignificance. Hunger. An all-consuming gnawing that clawed at his insides, a bottomless pit that could never be filled. He drifted through this alien landscape, a world twisted beyond the bounds of causality, where reality itself seemed to fray. His tentacles stretched out, grasping, pulling, a desperate motion driven by a primal urge.

  Strange shapes, dark and writhing, materialised in the gloom. Voidlings. He hauled them close, their forms flickering like shadows in a dying fire, insubstantial yet terrifyingly real. Terrible, guttural cries pierced the chaotic air as he brought them to his maw, devouring them whole. Each offered a fleeting respite, their essence flooding him with a temporary satiety. A strange confection, each with a unique flavour profile - some sharp and acrid, others surprisingly sweet, a grotesque symphony of mana.

  But the respite was fleeting, the gnawing emptiness returning with a vengeance each time. Something isn’t right. Why can’t I control this? He drifted through the darkened realm, a helpless passenger in his own body, the Hunger a monstrous force dictating his every move.

  Kor awoke with a start, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sweat beaded on his brow, the sheets tangled around his legs. He gasped, the lingering taste of the void still coating his tongue. The Hunger. It had infiltrated even his dreams, twisting them into grotesque parodies of consumption. A tremor ran through him. Was that what the Hunger was turning him into?

  Ether had better have some answers for me.

  He pushed himself upright, his movements heavy. The dorm room, usually a cramped space, was now a miniature jungle. Vines, thick as a man’s wrist, snaked across the walls, their tendrils crawling across the ceiling, even reaching out for his bed. At the centre of the room, a crystal palm shimmered, its fronds casting intricate patterns of light over the smaller Morthus tree.

  Outside the small window, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pale rose and gold. He shivered, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the nightmare, and got ready. Talen was already up and dressed. The young man glanced over, a question in his eyes. Before either could speak, a voice, deep and authoritative, resonated through the very walls of the dorm, echoing across the campus grounds.

  “First-year students. You are to attend the field outside Spire Alpha by 08:00. Your morning classes are cancelled, and your attendance is mandatory.”

  Dean Velleth. The words, laced with an undercurrent of something Kor couldn’t quite place, hung heavy in the air. A sense of anticipation, sharp and electric, thrummed between the two young men. Talen raised an eyebrow, a silent exchange passing between them. Kor pulled on his student robes and a pair of shoes as the two of them set out.

  “Time to find out what my mother was talking about.” Talen led the way. A knot of unease tightened in Kor’s stomach. Whatever was happening, it was big. And it was starting now.

  The vast field buzzed with the energy of countless students, their bronze-trimmed robes creating a shimmering sea under the afternoon sun. Eager chatter rose in a wave, punctuated by the occasional flare of novice magic – a miniature whirlwind danced, sparks cascaded, and colours rippled through the air. A group of professors observed the scene with inscrutable expressions.

  As Kor and Talen approached, a streak of motion detached itself from the crowd and coalesced into Viree, nearly vibrating with excitement.

  “Kor! I heard you got a new… companion?” Her eyes widened, fixated not on Kor, but on the creature draped around his neck like a living scarf.

  Lentus stirred from his slumber. His head lifted slowly from Kor’s shoulder, his lightless eyes, like twin pools of nothingness, focusing on Viree.

  “She... glows.” Lentus’s thought echoed in Kor’s mind, a resonance of collapsing stars and fading realities. “Warm.”

  Viree, instead of being intimidated, leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. “He’s beautiful! What’s his name?”

  Kor blinked, surprised. “Uh, Lentus. And... he rarely shows interest in... anyone, really.”

  “Hi, Lentus!” Viree offered a tentative finger towards the snake. “I’m Viree!”

  Lentus extended his head, his forked tongue flicking out to taste the air around her finger. “Keep her around, Kor,” he pulsed, his head weaving slightly as if entranced.

  “He likes you,” Kor said, relaying Lentus’s thoughts with a hint of astonishment in his voice. “That’s... new.”

  “Really?” Viree’s face lit up.

  “That’s not fair,” Talen chimed in, a playful pout on his face. “I even offered him some plant food.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled, not bothering to elaborate on his companion’s peculiar preferences.

  Viree beamed. “Well, I like him too! He’s so cool!” She turned back to Kor. “So, what’s the deal with the professors? They look serious.”

  “I have a feeling it has something to do with the expedition,” Kor replied, his gaze shifting towards the stern-faced faculty. “Things got a bit out of hand, I think.”

  “Is that why the Voidguard is here?” Viree whispered, her eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

  “Maybe?”

  Around them, a subtle shift occurred. The surrounding students had given them space, a silent circle forming around their group. Whispers rippled through the crowd, eyes darting towards Kor. Snippets of conversation drifted to his ears – “…that’s him, isn’t it?” “…heard he took on a whole group of Solarians…” “…but he’s just a Lexican!”

  “Seems like you’ve got a fan club now, Kor,” Talen smirked, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, his eyebrows lifting in mock admiration.

  Nona, Viree’s Verdanian friend, joined them, her green hair a splash of colour against the sea of bronze. “Who’d have thought a Lexican would end up vying for the top,” she added, a grin playing on her lips.

  He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve still got a long way to go yet…”

  “Students!” The Dean’s voice, amplified by magic, cut through the chatter, drawing all attention to the group of professors at the edge of the field.

  Dean Velleth stood at the forefront, his bald head gleaming under the rising twin suns. His dark red robes, the colour of dried blood, contrasted sharply with the angular lines of his face. Professors Oak and Master Terrak flanked him, their stern countenances mirroring his own. A cadre of professors lining the field behind them.

  “We’ve received a number of appeals from concerned parents about the… safety of this year’s courses.” A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd.

  “Conflux Academy is not a daycare centre,” he continued, his voice hardening. “You are here to learn, and to prepare yourselves to uphold the Voidflame Edict.” The severity of his tone underscored the importance of his words, a silent reminder of their duty.

  “However, I recognise the anomaly that this year’s batch of students presents.” His gaze swept over them, sharp and assessing. “Accordingly, we will be dividing up combat classes from here on out.” He glanced down at a document in his hand, his lips thinning. “All of those who finished in the top 20, your Practical Combat classes are now finished.”

  A hushed silence fell over the field, followed by a wave of confused whispers.

  What does he mean, ‘finished’? I still need to get my credits…

  “Likewise, your advanced combat studies will be reorganised. You should be proud. This is the first time in living memory such measures have been undertaken. Countless student barriers were breached during the expedition and several lives lost. Only by the virtue of our diligent professors were more casualties prevented.”

  He paused, letting his words sink in. “Providing all first years with second-year badges would prove too costly, so we’re introducing a new system. The top twenty are to be assigned to a new class, under the instruction of Professors Oak, Terrak, and Moraine.”

  Moraine. Kor’s gaze flicked to the woman standing between Oak and Terrak. She was a striking contrast to the men beside her—where they were rigid and severe. She exuded quiet assurance. Her flowing orange robes softened her presence, the fabric pooling gracefully at her feet. Silver hair framed her face in gentle waves, the light catching on its strands like autumn frost. Fine lines traced her skin—not the marks of age alone, but of laughter, of wisdom worn with ease. There was warmth in her eyes, a patient glow that softened the weight of the moment. Not an imposing figure, yet impossible to overlook, she stood like a hearth-fire between iron and stone.

  “There, at least, we will avoid any further problems.”

  Kor glanced at his friends, then at the surrounding students. Relief washed over many faces, shoulders slumping, tense postures relaxing. Others, however, seemed disappointed, their ambition clear in the set of their jaws, the glint in their eyes.

  “The top 20 students, please step forward.” Dean Velleth listed their names in descending order. “Mira, Darius, Aeolian, Kor, Serris…”

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  One by one, they stepped forward. Darius, a head taller than most, his shaved head gleaming under the afternoon sun like a polished bronze helm, stood out starkly amidst the sea of youthful faces. His burning red eyes swept over the crowd with an arrogant air, a predator sizing up his prey. A cluster of Solarians, a mix of sycophants and genuine allies, surrounded him, mirroring his stance.

  A few paces away, Mira stood with her own retinue, a smaller, yet no less potent group. Her very presence filled the air, a testament to why other students referred to her as the ‘Miracle Mage’—a worrying moniker whose truth Kor suspected he would discover sooner or later. Her expression was serene as always, as if she merely waited for events to unfold in her favour.

  Kor found himself amidst his own circle – Talen, Viree, and Willem. Marcus, thankfully, had scraped into the top 20. He stood with them, his usual confident posture not entirely convincing, a hint of stiffness in his shoulders betraying his inner turmoil. He flashed them a grin, but only Kor noticed the tightness around his eyes, the slight wavering at the corner of his mouth.

  “Perhaps Aeolian would have been a better match for you,” Kor mused to Lentus, his gaze drifting to the aforementioned student. Aeolian hovered a few inches off the ground, reclining in mid-air as if lounging on an invisible hammock. “He seems almost as fond of doing nothing as you are.”

  A ripple of dark amusement suffused their bond, though his companion’s eyes remained closed. “Perhaps.”

  Scattered throughout the top 20 were other, smaller groups and solitary figures like Serris and her boyfriend, holding no allegiance to the major factions of the Mystrians or Solarians. The rivalries were plain to see, etched in the spaces between them, the set of their shoulders, the subtle glares that darted across the field.

  As Kelleth’s name was called, his and Kor’s eyes met. Gone was the condescending arrogance, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a rival. Kor felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His vision narrowed, the edges tinged with red, and for a moment, the cacophony of the field faded, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of his own heart. He inhaled slowly, a deliberate attempt to regain control. Stabbing him in the back was one thing, but what they’d done to Marcus was unforgivable. There would be a reckoning, but not here, not yet.

  Dean Velleth’s voice continued, addressing the remaining students, rearranging their groups. Master Terrak stepped forward, Oak and Moraine flanking him. Kor forced himself to relax, unclenching his fists, the red haze receding from his vision. He focused on his friends, on the task ahead, pushing the simmering anger down, burying it deep. For now.

  With that, Master Terrak led them away from the field, the Dean’s voice still booming behind them, organising the mass of students. Once they were out of earshot, Terrak spoke, his voice low but carrying.

  “First, we’ll get your new badges fixed, then we’ll head to Spire Alpha. Only there are rooms designed to handle the kind of output you lot are capable of. Your training sessions from now on are only to be held in the presence of at least one professor. None of you are permitted to duel without permission. Am I understood?”

  A chorus of “Yes, Professor” echoed around the group, along with a singular, defiant “No.”

  Terrak spun around, his gaze settling on Serris. Here we go again, Kor thought, a sigh escaping his lips.

  “That wasn’t a question.” Terrak’s mana swelled, a tangible pressure that pushed down on them all. It was less intimidating than it might once have been; Kor’s own magic fought back instinctively, his Hunger technique activating, a greedy, instinctual bite that consumed a chunk of the oppressive force. His eyes widened in alarm.

  “Lentus!” He pleaded, as a wave of entropy rippled out from his companion, dispersing the technique’s resurgence before it could fully manifest.

  Terrak wheeled again, his steel-grey eyes narrowed in suspicion as they landed on Kor.

  “How are we meant to improve if we can’t practice?” Serris demanded, stomping her foot. Her own mana flared, a vibrant aura clashing against Terrak’s oppressive presence.

  Everyone else, including the professors, watched with a mixture of apprehension and amusement, some even backing away slightly. Terrak’s eyes lingered on Kor for a heartbeat longer before his full attention snapped back to Serris. An intense wave of power crashed down on her, a physical force that seemed to bend the very air. Serris raised a barrier, her face contorted in a grimace, eyes blazing with defiance.

  Incensed, the pressure from Terrak burgeoned once more, a veritable tsunami of force that slammed into Serris. A muffled cry escaped her lips as she fell to her hands and knees, her body trembling under the strain. The pressure bypassed her barrier, pushing her down, down, until her face was pressed into the dirt.

  “You’re still a decade too young to challenge me, girl.” Even more powerful, the pressure pushed her to complete collapse.

  “I will not... be BOUND!” She cried out, as another source of power welled up, erupting from within her.

  For a brief moment, something cast aside Terrak’s power. Something that even now coalesced in the air beside Serris. A radiant phoenix, no bigger than a songbird, took form. Its iridescent plumage shimmered with every colour imaginable, a miniature sun blazing with otherworldly light.

  “Hah, way to go, Serris! Perhaps now you’ll be able to keep up,” Aeolian shouted, his voice breaking through the astonished silence.

  Serris let loose a low growl, and the creature beside her, her companion, turned to the Solarian with eyes that flashed with light.

  Astonished mutters rippled through the group. Kor shared a look with Talen and Viree, their eyes wide with surprise. Even Lentus roused himself, his lightless gaze fixed on the new arrival.

  “Another companion?” Kor murmured.

  “Yes,“ Lentus replied, his voice a low thrum in Kor’s mind. He didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic. Perhaps the two of them don’t get along?

  Terrak’s force surged again, slamming both companion and Serris back to the ground before he shook his head, grunting and releasing his hold.

  “Stars and suns, girl. Just bloody listen for once.”

  Serris stirred as her boyfriend, Ted, moved to help her up. The boy seemed to have a preternatural sense of when to get out of the way.

  “We aren’t banning you all from training. We need you to grow strong,” Terrak’s voice carried to them all, his tone slightly softer now. Her phoenix, ruffled and indignant, shot Terrak a glare to match Serris’ own before flapping gracefully up to her shoulder.

  “As Serris just showed, each of you is too damned powerful. We’ve only got a few training rooms that can contain you. Other than that, it has to be the Crux Arena, or outside of the Conflux entirely, which introduces yet more problems.”

  Oak stepped forward, his voice gruff but not unkind. “We aren’t just giving you second-year badges, but third-year ones. These are of the same calibre that many professors wear. Better even than regular soldiers in the military receive. Hopefully, it will be enough until we can get you lot under control.” He sounded a bit exasperated, a hint of weariness in his tone.

  Moraine finished, her voice a soothing balm after the tension. “We’ll ensure you get plenty of training, dears, have some faith in us.”

  Something in the way she spoke... As if her words were laced with a subtle magic. A wave of calm washed over Kor, easing the tension in his muscles. He noticed the others relaxing too, the anxiety draining from their faces.

  Talen leaned in, keeping his voice low. “This is going to be fun.”

  “Fun?” Kor asked, half incredulous, before catching himself. If he was going to be the best, this was the place for it. To prove himself against the best of the best. “Hah, you might be right.”

  The entire group shared a quiet chuckle.

  The professors led them off to receive their new badges, getting them bound and ready. At first glance, the new crystal badges seemed no different, perhaps a shade darker? It was only as Kor drew close that his breath hitched.

  Like a lodestone of power, they were dense beyond compare. He hadn’t really thought about it, but his fractal barrier had long since surpassed the first-year badge in terms of effectiveness. However, the third-year badge… He turned the rough crystal over in his palm, marvelling at its design. It sang out to his fractal sense on a completely different level, as if this type of crystal were closer to perfection. The very structure of it was aligned and powerful. Perhaps not against physical force, but something about the composition radiated magical power.

  A mad grin broke out on his face. He couldn’t wait to dive into an examination of its structure. No doubt much of the enchantment work was beyond his abilities, but perhaps with his knowledge of fractals, he could glean some insight into his own magical potential.

  “Do not lose these,” Oak warned them all. “They’re each worth more than a small town.”

  At least now they wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally killing each other. He wondered how it would hold up against his fully powered galaxy fractal. He rubbed his hands together, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine.

  “Now, as for your practical combat class…” Terrak’s voice cut through his thoughts, a hint of something that almost sounded like anticipation in his tone.

  Hours later, Kor stood in one of the specialised training rooms in Spire Alpha, the air thick with anticipation. Master Terrak watched him, his arms crossed, a critical glint in his steel-grey eyes.

  Terra had been right about the changes being beneficial, Kor thought, as he unleashed a moderate strength galaxy spiral. The swirling vortex of fractal energy slammed into the raised barrier, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. Barely a moment passed, and the barrier shattered, the galaxy spiral crashing into the far wall of the training room. Darkened crystals embedded in the walls flared to life, greedily sucking the ambient mana from his conjuration. Seconds later, the swirling vortex evaporated, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air.

  “That’s a pass,” Terrak muttered, his gaze fixed on the now-inert crystals.

  “Next, your barrier.”

  Kor nodded, raising his hand. A snowflake fractal, intricate and shimmering, bloomed into existence before him, growing rapidly as he poured mana into it. It would take a few moments to reach its full strength, but even now, it radiated power.

  “That’s more than enough,” Terrak grumbled, conjuring a sphere of highly concentrated mana. The man squinted in focus, the ball fluctuating slightly as he meticulously adjusted its density. Kor watched, a sudden realisation dawning on him. Terrak was filling the sphere with a precise degree of mana, just as he himself had done when charging magical crystals for Terra.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sphere slammed into his barrier, a potent force that caused a brief crack to appear, but it healed over almost instantly, even as the sphere exploded harmlessly against it. The force barely rocked Kor’s body.

  “Another pass.”

  Kor nodded, lowering his barrier, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling over him.

  “Congratulations, you’ve passed practical combat.” Terrak’s voice was dry, almost grudging.

  “Really? That easy?” Terrak sighed, a long-suffering sound. “Easy? That test was meant to challenge a normal first-year graduate, and your barrier barely even felt it. Most students have to work at least moderately hard to accomplish that by the end of their first year. If it wasn’t for your monstrous peers, you would be considered a once-in-a-generation prodigy.” He shook his head, a hint of something that might have been respect in his eyes. “Should have spotted your potential sooner. Too bad Terra took you for one of her own.”

  Kor frowned. “She has made you her mentee by now, hasn’t she?”

  “Uh, no, sir?”

  “Hah!” he barked. “Tell her to do so, or else I’m taking you. She might not be a combat specialist, but she’s more capable than most, and a beast like you needs proper teaching.”

  Kor’s eyes widened. He hadn’t considered himself a “beast” before.

  “So how many credits…”

  “One hundred. Full pass. Testing you with anything else is just a waste of time.” Terrak’s tone shifted, taking on a more ominous note. “One last thing.”

  “Professor?”

  “What you did earlier…”

  Kor gulped, his throat suddenly dry.

  “That is not normal. The essence of your mana, it closely resembles the Voidlings…”

  “I, uh…”

  “You aren’t the first to utilise dangerous techniques,” Terrak cut him off, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Just keep it under control, or we’ll have problems.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Terrak gestured to the door. “Send in the next one.”

  “Thank you, Master Terrak!” Kor rushed to the door, his heart hammering in his chest.

  A sigh of relief, one he hadn’t even realised he was holding, escaped his lips. The knot of anxiety in his stomach loosened. 100 credits. That put him at 133 total now. Almost halfway to the 300 required to pass the year. His future, which had seemed so precarious just weeks ago, suddenly felt secure. Unless I run afoul of Velleth again…

  He shook the thought aside. Ether and he really needed to talk about the Hunger technique, and Terrak’s words held the promise of genuine mentorship from Professor Terra.

  Perhaps she’ll actually pay me now.