Morning — Spellcraft Hall
When I walked in, every conversation stopped.
Not the dramatic, echoing silence of legends—more like a sudden collective brain freeze, followed by a tidal wave of whispers.
"Is that…?"
"No way."
"That's Elfes's insignia!"
"Did he bribe someone?!"
"When did this happen?"
At first, I thought maybe I'd forgotten pants or something. But no—the real attention-grabber was the gleaming silver badge pinned neatly on my uniform. A circular rune etched with elven script and the symbol of the Eye of Infinity.
Instructor Elfes's personal insignia.
"Hey, uh…" Cyan leaned over as I sat. "Are you dying?"
"No."
"Cursed?"
"No."
"…genius?"
"Please stop."
Even Krell looked impressed—and his default setting was unbothered gremlin. "Where did you buy that thing? I advised you not to wear it. Or—did you seriously become his apprentice? I thought he ate people who asked."
I shrugged noncommittally.
Truth was, I didn't ask. Elfes offered. And now I was wearing a badge that apparently came with magical GPS, attention magnetism, and a side of death stares.
Elfes strolled in shortly after, as composed as ever. He paused when he saw me. His golden eye glimmered just a bit.
"Le," he said mildly. "Did you polish the badge?"
"Looked dusty."
He smiled thinly. "Good initiative."
The class was still buzzing as he turned to the blackboard and launched into the lesson.
"Today: Magic Theory. Also known as: Why You All Suck at Magic, Part Two."
He flicked a piece of chalk into the air—it hovered and began scribbling diagrams as he paced.
"Mana is not infinite. Your core is a container. Your root, the pipe. Your spell, the faucet. Spill too much, and you explode. Spill too little, and you light your pants on fire."
Cyan raised a hand immediately. "Is this why I keep exploding?"
"Yes," Elfes replied. "You are a leaky faucet."
Krell whispered, "You're a faucet, bro."
"Majestic faucet," Cyan whispered back.
But even as the jokes continued, I felt the stares. Glances flicked toward me—some curious, others skeptical, a few… resentful.
The badge pulsed faintly against my chest, like it was aware.
And for the first time…
I felt like I wasn't invisible anymore.
I wasn't sure that was a good thing.
Late Morning — Disciplinary Division Chambers
Just as class ended and everyone began to file out, the door creaked open.
A tall figure stepped inside, cloaked in the navy blue robes of the Disciplinary Division. Hair tied back, boots polished, and posture straight enough to slice bread.
"Student Le," she said, voice flat. "You're being summoned."
A wave of oooohs rolled across the classroom.
"For what?" I asked, blinking.
The woman didn't answer.
She just turned on her heel and walked off.
Cyan leaned in. "If you die, can I have your cloak?"
"Absolutely not."
The Division's chambers were a far cry from Spellcraft Hall.
Cold stone. Magic-sealed doors. A long obsidian table carved with arcane wards.
And three people who looked like they ate rule-breakers for breakfast.
Mistress Veira — head of the division. Tall, sharp-cheeked, with glacier-blue eyes that could freeze time.
Arlen Drosk — the "silent enforcer." Built like a golem, arms crossed over runic gauntlets. He once suplexed a wyvern. Allegedly.
Cale Dymm — the youngest. Bookish, twitchy, and blinking behind spectacles, like he hadn't slept in three days. Probably hadn't.
Veira wasted no time. Her gaze cut through me.
"That," she said, pointing at my badge, "is the problem."
Arlen leaned forward. "Elfes doesn't take apprentices."
Dymm squinted at the badge. "Could be a forgery. Very realistic, though. Pretty silver glow. Five out of five craftsmanship."
"It's real," came a voice from behind.
Everyone turned.
Elfes was sitting in a chaiythere, casually sipping tea as if he'd just dropped by for a friendly chat.
"I gave him the badge. He's under my direct protection."
Veira's brow twitched. "Why?"
"He asked nicely."
(He did not.)
Arlen grunted. "You haven't taken an apprentice in over a century. Why this boy?"
Elfes took another slow sip.
"Because he's interesting," he said. Then added with a faint smile, "And frankly, I don't think the Disciplinary Division should be lecturing me on my choices."
His golden eye flared—not brightly, but enough. Enough to remind everyone in the room why he didn't take apprentices. And what he could do if you annoyed him.
That seemed to be enough.
Mostly.
As I stepped out, I couldn't help feeling that the air had gotten colder.
And I had just officially painted a bullseye on my back.
Afternoon — Club Recruitment Festival (a.k.a. Magical Circus)
Welcome to Madness.
There were fire-breathing cats. A levitating chicken. Someone got accidentally teleported into a tree.
And me—dodging club pamphlets like they were hostile spells.
Elfes had insisted I join a club. "For cover," he said. "Normalcy."
Nothing screams normal like wearing the private badge of a centuries-old elven professor no one understands.
Cyan and Krell were already being lured into the Sword Club by a girl who seemed convinced they were prodigies.
I wandered.
And that's when I saw it.
Arcane Application & Research Society (Not a Cult)
The most suspiciously named club in the building.
No flash. No flyers. Just a table. A flickering lamp. And what looked like a chalk-drawn ritual circle that may or may not have been used last night.
Seliane stood behind it.
Moonlight hair. Forest-green eyes. Stiff posture. Expression carved from ice.
She looked up.
Saw the badge.
Her pupils narrowed—almost imperceptibly. But I caught it.
"You're the new apprentice," she said flatly.
"…That obvious?"
She stepped aside silently. "Come in."
Inside the booth, I saw one guy sleeping upside-down on a couch. Another levitating a spoon with his mind. No introductions. No welcome.
Seliane didn't smile.
Didn't fake interest. Didn't mask the quiet bitterness in her eyes.
"Elfes recommended you," she said bluntly. "But we don't take people blindly. That guy snoring? Shapeshifter. One of us exists as a voice in the walls. This isn't a club—it's a magical asylum with a sign-in sheet."
I blinked. "Charming."
"If you want in," she said, folding her arms, "prove you have something."
For a moment, I considered flaring all six elements at once just to make a point.
But I don't want attention much .
And I wasn't planning on being a weirdo .
I simply said, "You'll see."
Her lips twitched—something between a scoff and a silent dare.
He gave him the badge," she murmured, as if tasting something sour. "All that effort... and not even a glance."
Not me. Not even by name.
Why him? Just him.
So yeah.
Totally normal club.
Evening — Dorm Rooftop
The pendants shimmered in a circle, each spirit lightly glowing.
Fire stretched with a yawn of embers. Water danced into a spiral, humming softly. Sand shifted in lazy loops, dry and whispering.
Wind whistled.
Thunder gave off a sharp pop, crackling in the air.
Dark didn't move. It simply was—hovering like an echo of something forgotten.
They floated lazily around me as I leaned back, watching the stars started to bloom in.
"Well," I muttered. "We've made friends. Enemies. Possibly a rival. And joined a club that might actually be a weird cult."
Thunder zapped a moth out of existence.
Wind giggled.
Dark hovered near my ear, whispering again—words I didn't recognize, but understood in the bones.
I smiled.
This was getting fun.
Dangerous, sure. But fun.
And if I was right—just the beginning of fun .