Tyrus wandered through the academy’s stone corridors, lost in thought. The murmurs of passing students and the occasional clang of a distant bell faded into the background as his mind churned over the day's lesson. The concept of silent casting he already understood thanks to Selena, and now his thoughts turned to the broader framework of sorcery—the spell rankings, the history of incantations, and the rigid system that bound them.

  He mulled over the spell rankings first. The way spells were classified into tiers—low, medium, high, and beyond—was supposed to reflect their complexity, mana consumption, and potential for destruction. But the system felt restrictive. Each tier came with its own rules, its own incantations, and its own limitations.

  A Firebolt would always be a Firebolt, no matter how much mana you channeled into it or how skilled you were. It was an unchangeable truth by the way the instructor described it as. Silent casting had hinted at a way to shatter those boundaries, to unlock a spell’s full potential by bypassing the rigid framework altogether. That much he already knew.

  Then there was the history of spellcasting itself. Alveria’s lecture had painted a vivid picture of an era when sorcery was unrefined and dangerous, a time when spells were born not from incantations but from sheer willpower and raw mana. Back then, magic wasn’t confined to neat categories or recited phrases; it was a chaotic force that bent to the caster’s imagination and determination. That era had come at a cost—countless lives lost to miscasts and probably mana deficiency—but it had also been a time of unparalleled innovation and discovery thanks to trial and error.

  Then a passing thought occurred to him: What about Dual Shot? It was an incantation, yes, and the first time he witnessed it was from Fiona, who summoned two motes of fire. However, when he used Dual Shot, he was able to summon two orbs of lightning instead. A single incantation used two different elements, contradicting the strict rules. If incantations were truly immutable, then how had he achieved that?

  Tyrus furrowed his brow as he delved deeper into the implications. Was Dual Shot an exception to the rule, or was it proof that the system wasn’t as rigid as instructors claimed? Could the true potential of an incantation depend not solely on the spell itself, but on the caster’s affinity and intent?

  Tyrus stopped in his tracks. "I need to check something."

  Without waiting for Igneal and Kylis' reply, Tyrus swung on his heels and entered a corridor to the left leading directly to the training grounds. Once he stepped out of the main building and strolled along the pathway, shifting through the clusters of students scattered across the premises.

  The afternoon sun bathed the area in a warm light, illuminating the many flowers spread out across the academy grounds. Here and there, he caught snippets of shouted encouragement from sorcerers receiving swordsmanship lessons and the occasional clack from clashing practice weapons.

  Down the column of towers, trees twice as tall as a man offered shade from the harsh sun, leaves of blue and white rustling softly from a slight breeze. Looking at the color display, Tyrus was reminded of winter. This was Tyrus' first time traveling further down the training grounds since most of his classes were in the main academy building while the sorcerer combat and augmentation mastery buildings were up ahead. As far as he knew, leaves weren’t supposed to come in such unnatural hues. That job was reserved for the flowers.

  Still walking, he snapped out of his trance as a dome-shaped building almost as large as the commons came into view on the far end. If he had to guess, walking at his normal pace would take him about four minutes to reach it. If he was remembering right from what the map of the academy described, the training grounds were organized in a rectangular shape that stretched on, taking a normal person twenty minutes to wrap around the place.

  At the front held the core and supplementary classes such as sorcerer combat, swordsmanship, archery, and more, while the middle possessed the duel towers. In the end, however, was a facility that held private rooms for a sorcerer or a group to use for training purposes, taking advantage of state-of-the-art technology crafted by skilled Conjuration Sorcerers, Vivian Falleon included.

  Since you needed to set an appointment to use the dueling towers, which was an entire process that took days because they were frequently used by hundreds of students each day, many students opted for the private training rooms instead. However, there was one requirement needed to enter: only those with silver-pins were permitted. Luckily for Tyrus, one of those pins was currently in his possession.

  "So, are you finally going to reveal where you're heading, or will you persist in remaining silent?" inquired Igneal.

  Tyrus slowed his brisk pace, glancing back at Igneal and Kylis, who were both trailing a few steps behind him. Igneal looked mildly annoyed, brushing a strand of his fiery red hair out of his face as he caught up. Kylis followed at a more measured pace, her sharp eyes fixed on Tyrus with curiosity.

  “I wasn’t keeping quiet,” Tyrus said, still walking. “I just didn’t think you’d care about where I was headed.”

  Igneal snorted. “I care when you drag me halfway across the training grounds without a word of explanation. What’s so important that you’re marching off like someone lit a fire under you?”

  “I need to test something. The private rooms are the best place as of now. Reserving a spot for the duel towers would take too long. What I need to find out... it's an itch I need to scratch."

  Tyrus knew he was being vague, but he didn't want to get into a debate or go over the specifics with them. What he suspected, even he was unaware, if it was possible or just a product of overthinking. Trying to explain it now would only invite skepticism, and he didn’t have the patience for that. He needed to see it for himself, to prove—or disprove—his theory.

  Kylis narrowed her eyes as she kept pace beside him. “An itch you need to scratch, huh? Sounds like something you haven’t fully thought through yet.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “I’ve thought it through enough,” Tyrus replied curtly, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.

  Igneal scoffed, falling into step on his other side. “You’re always so cryptic. If it’s something you’re planning to blow up, just say so. I’ll make sure I’m standing far enough away when it happens.”

  “It’s about incantations,” he said, the building growing bigger with each step. “What Instructor Alveria said today got me thinking—about whether the framework we’ve been taught is as rigid as they claim. I’ve seen things—used a spell that doesn't follow the rules—or least, I think its a rule."

  Tyrus turned to Kylis. "You're smart, and you won't give a sarcastic answer, unlike Igneal. Haven't you noticed that most spells Elemental Sorcerers use usually have a name that resonates with the element being used?"

  “A name that resonates with the element?" she repeated. "Are you talking about how spells like Fireball or Whisper Gust are tied directly to their elemental nature? Yes, it is common, and there is a reason for that."

  "The incantation acts as a bridge between the sorcerers' will and the energy they’re drawing upon: mana. The name itself carries a certain resonance that helps attune the mana to the specific element. Mana is a form of energy, and an Elemental Sorcerer converts that energy into a form that aligns with their will. The incantations are used to aid in that process, serving as a means for the sorcerer to draw on the natural power of the element."

  Tyrus nodded, already having suspected as much. Every spell he had used, Thunder Stun, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Snare, each one had a name that directly tied to his lightning affinity, reinforcing the connection between the incantation, his intent, and the elemental energy he commanded. The spells were precise, predictable, and efficient—hallmarks of the structured system of magic he had been taught. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more Dual Shot stood out as an anomaly.

  Never had he questioned Dual Shot. Why would he? It was a spell that even with its high mana cost—which wasn't that much a problem anymore—it saved his life many times, and that was all it mattered. Now, going by what he knew now, Dual Shot as a spell made no sense.

  Asking Instructor Alveria came to mind, but he'd rather figure it out on his own, at least for now. He had to explore this for himself, to see if he could break past the boundaries of what he thought he knew about magic. That was one of the fun aspects of magic, the thrill of exploring, of pushing his limits. It was like the rush he'd felt when he first cast the Lightning Bolt spell, or any spell for that matter. If he were being honest, it was almost addictive to him. Only after experimenting would he ask the instructor about it.

  Tyrus approached the double doors after climbing up a few steps. The doors were massive, their dark wood inlaid with patterns that resembled vines twisting around the surface. He didn't bother knocking, swinging the door open and walking in, stepping into a circular room with a wide open space in the center. It was surprisingly barren of any decor, with only a few pieces of furniture such as tables and seats on the opposite walls.

  A space like the Explorer Guild's reception area occupied one end of the room. Behind a long flat-topped fixture with a few potted plants and a communication tool embedded within the table, a young woman stood with a pleasant smile on her face, her brown hair pulled back into a neat braid.

  "Welcome to the private training rooms," she said, her fingers tapping away at the table's screen. "Before we can proceed, may I see your silver pins?"

  Tyrus approached the desk, handing his pin over. The young woman glanced at it, her smile unwavering, before picking it up and placing it under the communication tool. A brief flash of light scanned the pin, and after a moment, the device emitted a soft chime.

  “Verified,” she said, handing the pin back to him. Her gaze shifted to the others as she added, “And yours?”

  Igneal stepped forward, pulling his pin from the collar of his jacket and tossing it casually onto the desk. The woman raised an eyebrow but said nothing, scanning Igneal’s pin as well. The device chimed again, confirming his status. She returned the pin with the same polite efficiency, then turned to Kylis.

  Kylis handed her the pin with a small nod. The attendant scanned it; the process taking only seconds before she returned the pin.

  “All in order,” she said, her fingers tapping the screen again. "It appears this is your first time entering your building. Before we proceed, I am obligated to inform new students the rules of the building."

  “First, all damage caused during your sessions will be automatically repaired by the facility’s enchantments. However, tampering with the runes, safety mechanisms, or reinforcement systems is strictly prohibited. Violators will face immediate suspension of their access privileges, along with additional disciplinary measures. Additionally, each session is limited to two hours unless prior approval has been granted. Extensions beyond the allotted time will incur monetary fees of up to one hundred sil per every ten minutes."

  One hundred sil!? That's not a problem since I'll be out before then, but that's still a lot of money.

  "Second, you are expected to behave yourself," the receptionist continued. "The rules are posted in each room. Disruptions are strictly forbidden, and violators will be ejected from the room with a corresponding monetary fine. Lastly, for your safety, the rooms are equipped with mana stabilization runes. They will absorb excess energy from your spells to prevent dangerous mana buildups. However, if the system detects critical instability, it will activate a forced shutdown. Please avoid pushing your spells beyond reasonable thresholds. Is that understood?"

  When everyone nodded their heads, the woman tapped the screen again, and the runes on the floor pulsed, an arrow appearing and leading toward the assigned room on her right. Beside her were two hallways. “Very well. Room five is prepared. Follow the guiding runes and have a productive session.”

  The trio turned toward the glowing pathway and shuffled forward, their eyes inspecting the spotless silver hall. A line of doors evenly spaced out in the center, not made of the usual wood Tyrus was used to seeing, but a special kind of white stone that was smooth to the touch. Each door pulsed with warm mana, emanating from the elaborate engravings in the middle.

  No sound was heard in the hallways other than their echoing footsteps and soft breathing. Were these rooms made to block out all external noise? Tyrus wondered as his gaze lingered on one of the engraved doors they passed. The mana pulsing from the engravings gave off a faint hum, but even that seemed muted, as if the entire hallway was wrapped in an invisible barrier of silence.

  One, three, five—oh, here it is.

  The number five was marked overhead by one door the glowing arrow pointed to. Once they arrived, the arrow faded from the floor. Then, the runes on the door grew bright, bathing the room in a soft white glow. The door rumbled, and out of nowhere, it shimmered, turning invisible and sinking into the wall as if it were never been there.

  Tyrus waved through the now-open space where the door had been. There was no resistance, and no sensation at all—just the absence of the door. Tyrus had seen a lot of things in the academy, but this was new. To think that Conjuration Sorcerers could craft something so seamless—it was mind-blowing.

  Communications tools capable of talking with others in long distances, disappearing doors, and so much more were because of them. What other innovations were hidden within the halls of the academy? If something as simple as a door could be made to vanish seamlessly, what feats could the pinnacle of a Conjuration Sorcerer achieve? Could they create entire buildings that folded into nothingness, or weapons that shifted forms based on the wielder’s intent?

  Conjuration Sorcerers were truly something else...