The students stood stiff before their targets. The air buzzed with tension. Faces flushed red. Fists clenched tight. Excitement, fear, and determination all stirred into a mix inside them.
Sylas was the first to step forward. He slapped his palms together. Energy rippled through his body. He wrenched his hands apart. Sparks flared, arcs of electricity snapping between his fingers like angry beasts. His muscles bulged as he pulled his arms back.
"Lightning Blast!"
His shout tore through the air. He slashed forward, releasing the energy. A bolt of lightning exploded outward, tearing through the field. Thunder cracked. Targets disintegrated. Wood vanished into smoke. Stone melted into steaming puddles. A crater smoldered where the targets had stood. Backlash heat whipped the students' faces. Even Alan, who spent weeks ridiculing Sylas's shaky dance, stood silent, staring at the destruction.
When it was Alan's turn, he sighed. A dry laugh slipped from his lips. Can't embarrass him too much now, can I? He flicked an invisible speck from his sleeve. His hand rose, index finger poised.
"Fireball."
A tiny flame, no bigger than a marble, shot from his fingertip. It zipped forward, trailing a ripple of heat. For a moment, it seemed small, almost laughable. Then it swelled.
KA-BOOM! CLATTER!
The explosion ripped through the field. The blast thundered. Targets vaporized. Stone shattered. The force collapsed not just in Alan's area but two others. Earth rained down, and chunks of debris landed near the school's walls. The ground cracked, deep fissures snaking out like black lightning.
When the smoke cleared, Sylas stood frozen. Ash smudged his face. His hands trembled—not in fear, but in frustration. "You…held back this whole time?" His voice was shaky, half-choked. Alan met his glare, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
Ms. Wellform's astonishment curdled into something sharper as the debris settled. Before she could dissect Alan's motives, Milla's voice sliced through the haze.
"Instructor! I'm going next." Milla's cheeks burned red, shoulders hunched like a bull ready to charge. She stomped forward, boots crunching gravel, and sank into a stance so low her knees nearly brushed the earth. Her knuckles popped as she flexed her fingers. Then, without warning, her leg snapped upward, heel pointed high. Alan blinked. Emma's eyebrows shot up.
"Large. Boulder. BALL!"
Her heel slammed into the ground. The earth groaned. A massive slab of bedrock tore free, towering over the field. Milla pivoted, muscles bunching as she threw a punch.
Her fist connected. The boulder shattered instantly, bursting into sharp fragments. The shards screamed through the air, obliterating targets on impact. One training dummy spun skyward, straw cascading like embers. When the last piece hit, her section of the field resembled a battlefield. Craters pocked the ground. Fissures crawled outward. A gaping pit sat at the center.
Milla straightened, dusting her hands. Her wide grin revealed bared teeth.
Silence.
Ms. Wellform scribbled something on her clipboard before clapping her hands to reset the field.
Ms. Wellform's gaze lingered on Emma when all the students had gone. Her lips pressed into a thin line of reluctant pity. The other students had clear successes—or apparent failures. But this? She hesitated, then spoke softly: "Emma…this test isn't designed for your magic. You're exempt."
Emma's fingers twitched. She glanced at Alan—not for permission, but solidarity. His hand was already outstretched, palm open. When her fingers met his, their mana snapped together. Warmth bloomed in Emma's chest, steadying her breath.
"I'm doing it," she said, lifting her chin.
Her palms rose to meet the targets. The air cooled around her. Tiny droplets formed—not from nothing but from the morning dew, sweat, and the remnants of earlier spells. The water thickened, swirling together into a glistening sphere.
"Water Ball!"
Whoosh.
The sphere shot forward with a quiet rush. It struck the arena's center and bloomed. Water unfurled in a perfect wave; it swallowed all ten targets in one motion. When the wave receded, a pristine pond shimmered where rubble and scorch marks had been. The submerged dummies gleamed beneath the clear water, untouched and spotless.
Silence. Plink.
Ms. Wellform stared, her pity looks replaced by astonishment. Her pen hovered above her clipboard, ink dripping from the tip. She studied Emma as though she were a rare specimen. "Fascinating," she murmured. "A parasitic curse that drains mana…and...produces water magic? Why not fire or wind?"
Alan stood still, eyes glazed into a poor imitation of being under control. Emma's ears turned red. "It—it just happens when we link," she stammered, nervously twisting a strand of hair. "Only with Alan."
"Only?" The word came out sharp, too sharp. Ms. Wellform spun toward Sylas, who had been shifting toward the edge of the field. "Come here, brat!"
Sylas flinched, stumbling further away. "No way! I'm not letting her hex me!" He clutched his shirt as if he were a damsel in distress. "I'll scream! I swear I'll scream—"
"Sylas!"
"MOMMY!"
Ms. Wellform pinched the bridge of her nose. "Useless," she hissed, then turned to the rest of the class.
"Seven failures. Seven expulsions. Effective immediately."
No gasps. No protests. Those named stood frozen—a girl with singed braids, a boy clutching a broken wand—until the distant sound of Milla's boulder collapsing broke the silence. One of the failed students vomited quietly into the grass.
Emma's grip tightened on Alan's hand. His smirk felt plastered on.
—
Ms. Wellform clapped her hands. The flat field vanished, replaced by jagged rocks and deep gullies. Rabbit-like creatures darted through the terrain. They moved in sharp bursts, leaving faint afterimages like sparks.
"Adaptation," she said. "Stationary targets are for children. These creatures sense mana fluctuations before they form. Hesitate, and they'll vanish. Ten kills. Three minutes. Or two more months of spell casting."
Sylas lunged forward even before she finished speaking. His hands clapped together—too loud, too rushed.
"Lightning Blast!"
The bolt scorched the ground. The creatures scattered, untouched.
"Impossible!" he snarled. One monster perched atop a boulder chittered, paw raised as if mocking him.
"Power without speed is wasted. They felt your mana the moment you began chanting."
Sylas kicked a charred rock, sending it skittering. "So we're just supposed to—what? Whisper spells at them?!" Behind him, a chorus of grumbles rose as others misfired: flames licked empty air, and water jets splashed against bare stones.
In the back, Alan watched, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Emma stood silent, her gaze fixed on a darting creature. Without a word, she raised her hand, fingers splayed.
Mana threads unraveled from her fingertips. They slithered forward, coiling around a leaping rabbit. It halted mid-hop, suspended like a puppet yanked tight. Its claws scrabbled at nothing. Its ribs heaved once. Then—
PLORP!
The monster burst—not exploded, but ruptured, as though squeezed by a giant's fist. Blood misted the rocks. Fragments of bone and fur patterned the ground.
The class recoiled. Milla gagged. Sylas turned pale. Alan stood still.
Emma turned to him, cheeks dimpling in a smile soft enough to cradle a songbird, her eyes wide as a newborn puppy's.
Alan gulped.