Ray stood by the tall window of his study, staring out at the grounds outside his suite. The Spire of Sages was quiet, his suite a silent, gilded fortress. A full week had passed since his disastrous ‘first lesson’ with Master Caleb Zipkin, the lazy, straw-hatted professor had not returned .
Ray wasn't personally offended, but his internal committee was in a state of strategic panic .
Scholar: "A critical miscalculation. We performed weakness so perfectly that our target has deemed us a waste of his time."
Conman: "A whole week?! He's not coming back! This is bad, bad, bad!"
Courtier: "He's right. This is a disaster. If Caleb Zipkin doesn't teach us, Headmaster Andrade will have no plausible narrative for our improvement at the Promotion Trials. She'll assume we've been lying all along . We need him to be our alibi."
Ray understood the problem perfectly. He had to force the laziest man in the academy to do his job, and he had to do it without revealing his own hand. He moved to his desk, making a calculated move .
He took a sheet of the academy's finest parchment, dipped a quill in fresh ink, and began to write. His handwriting was the careful, slightly-too-perfect script of a diligent, gifted child.
It was a formal, respectful, and slightly concerned message addressed directly to Headmaster Andrade. In it, he humbly informed her that his assigned tutor, Master Zipkin, had unfortunately failed to appear for any lessons for the past seven days. He respectfully inquired if a replacement tutor should be expected, so as not to fall behind in his critical foundational studies .
It was a perfect political maneuver. It proved to Andrade that he was the eager student she wanted him to be, while simultaneously forcing her to deal with her own lazy appointee. He sealed the letter, a cold, satisfied look in his eyes. The first move in his new, two-front war had been made.
With the ‘Caleb Problem’ temporarily shelved, Ray pivoted his full attention to the preparation for the Promotion Trials. Using his generous stipend from the Headmaster, he rented a private, warded training hall in a disused section of the College of Statecraft, far from prying eyes.
Sergeant Svane guarding outside the training. This became their new temporary headquarters.
He met Eliza and Cassian there the next day. As their official sponsor , Cassian had fully embraced his role as mentor, a 4th-Circle Mage tasked with whipping two prodigies into shape.
“No, Eliza, your somatic actions are a little sloppy,”
Cassian critiqued, his voice sharp. He was no longer the bumbling, excited academic. Here, in his element, he was a master.
“You’re 'requesting' the Mana, not 'commanding' it. Be precise. Again.”
Eliza, her face set in a mask of pure concentration, huffed in frustration but obeyed. She cast her Arcane Bolt again. This time, it was sharper, faster.
“Better,”
Cassian grunted.
“Now, Ray. Your turn.”
Ray stepped forward. This was a different kind of performance. He couldn't lie to Eliza's Lie Detection skill, but he couldn't show his true, primordial mana affinity. He had to perform the ‘curated truth’ of his fire affinity.
Weaver: "Ugh, orange? How dreadfully common. And you're holding back! That form is... adequate. I suppose. But it has no flair!"
Courtier: "The performance is perfect. 'Rapidly improving rookie.' It's exactly what they expect to see. It's believable."
Ray focused, drew on the ambient Mana, and cast a stable, effective, and perfectly orange Fire Bolt that slammed into a practice dummy.
Cassian watched, his eyes wide.
“Your improvement is... frankly, terrifying, Ray. Your control is already better than most 1st-Circle Novice Mage.”
Then he frowned.
“But your approach is all brute force! You’re just... shoving the fire out. There's no elegance, no finesse. Against a real proctor, that's a good way to get yourself countered and embarrassed.”
Ray had to stop himself from smiling. This was exactly what he wanted Cassian to think. He now had a perfect justification for his ‘remedial’ lessons with Master Zipkin.
Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“This isn't working. Individual drills are one thing. The 'Scenario' is about teamwork . We need to see how you two function under real pressure. How you handle a superior, high-circle opponent.”
He rolled his shoulders, a competitive, almost manic, grin spreading across his face.
“Alright,”
Cassian declared.
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“A 2 vs 1 spar . You two... against me. Don't hold back.”
The spar began. Eliza, acting as the primary ‘offense,’ immediately tested Cassian’s defenses. She didn't launch a projectile. Instead, she raised her hand and made a sharp, clutching motion in the air.
"Gelu!"
She hissed.
Cassian just snorted. He felt a supernatural cold try to latch onto his arm, but as a 4th-Circle Mage, his innate magical resistance was formidable. He simply willed his internal energy to the surface, and the spider-web of white frost that had begun to form on his sleeve instantly cracked and flaked away.
"A Frostbite cantrip, Eliza?"
Cassian said, his voice dripping with bored superiority.
"Testing my will? Against me? You'll have to do better than that! My turn!”
Cassian moved, shifting his weight to his back foot, his hand glowing as he prepared a 1st-Circle Burning Hands spell. He brought his hands together, thumbs touching with fingers splayed, and began the sibilant chant:
"Incendia...!"
Ray saw it. The shift in weight. The planting of the back foot. He didn't just see a stance, he saw an opportunity. Ray, already using The Fulcrum Principle, sees a shimmering trajectory line, visible only to him, mapped the path from his hand to the exact spot Cassian's boot would land .
From a small pouch hidden in his sleeve, his fingers deftly retrieved a small, uncorked vial of alchemical grease, the ‘low-viscosity lubricant’ his Eccentric Scholar had suggested before. Using the Stoic Assassin’s ‘Marksmanship’ skill, with a sharp, practiced flick of his wrist, he sent the vial spinning across the floor.
The glass vial shattered silently on the stone exactly where Cassian was planting his foot for the stance for the. Cassian's boot hit the invisible, slick patch. His footing, which had been the anchor for his spell, instantly vanished. He didn't fall, but he skidded wildly, his arms flailing for balance. His entire body lurched, and his complex, half-formed spell fizzled into nothing .
This surprise interruption broke Cassian's concentration. Eliza, surprised but instinctively opportunistic, immediately capitalized.
"Ha! Got you!"
she yelled, but this time she changed her spell. She stabbed her index finger forward.