The first thing Sylas noticed about "Introduction to Basic Channeling and Applied Theory"—besides the way-too-long title—was that the classroom looked like a magical greenhouse built inside a cathedral.
Light streamed in through stained glass windows, casting prismatic colors over shelves of crystals, arcane runes, and one particularly suspicious fern that seemed to breathe.
The second thing he noticed was the student beside him.
Caelan.
His favorite chaos magnet.
"Try not to explode anything this time," Caelan muttered without looking at him, scribbling something into a notebook filled with disturbingly neat diagrams.
"Me?" Sylas whispered back, mock-offended. "I've literally never exploded a single thing in my life."
"Last week, you turned an entire practice orb into molten tar."
"That orb had attitude," Sylas deadpanned.
Before Caelan could retaliate with logic, the classroom door opened and in walked a woman who looked like she could shatter your soul just by raising an eyebrow.
Professor Elowen Draumir.
Tall, composed, wrapped in robes of muted violet, her silver hair pinned back like a weapon, and her voice—
"Take your seats," she said, and it echoed across the walls like magic itself obeyed.
Everyone immediately complied. Even Sylas straightened, spine snapping upright like a soldier under inspection.
"Welcome to Channeling," she said. "Today, you will learn the basic principles of magical flow. Or you will weep under the weight of your own incompetence. Either outcome is acceptable."
Sylas blinked. He was beginning to like her.
The lesson began with the basics—how mana flowed from core to limb, how to direct intent, how not to set your hand on fire unless that was the spell.
Then came practice.
Each student received a wooden focus ring and a simple activation glyph etched onto parchment. The goal: send enough mana through the ring to light the glyph.
Simple. In theory.
Sylas stared at his ring like it had personally offended him.
"So," he murmured, "I just... think mana thoughts at it?"
"You focus and push," Caelan said, already halfway through his activation.
His glyph flickered, then glowed steadily. Like a pro.
Eren, on Sylas's other side, muttered a chant under his breath. His glyph flared instantly.
Sylas gave it a shot.
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
He closed his eyes, tried again.
Still nothing.
He tried whispering aggressively at the ring.
The glyph hissed. And died.
"I think mine's defective," he said too loudly. "Or cursed. Or both."
Professor Draumir passed by just in time to hear him.
"Mr. Vermund," she said icily. "Would you like a shovel to dig your grave deeper?"
"Only if it's magically enhanced," Sylas replied before he could stop himself.
Caelan audibly choked beside him.
Draumir didn't smile. But her eyebrow twitched. "Again."
Sylas exhaled. Okay. One more try. Calm. Focused. Channel your inner... whatever.
He pressed his fingers to the ring, summoned every ounce of concentration, and—
Fwoosh.
The parchment burst into blue flames.
Students shrieked. Someone threw a water spell. Another ducked under the table. The suspicious fern screamed.
When the smoke cleared, Sylas's desk was half-charred, his ring was glowing like it was possessed, and he was still sitting there, blinking soot from his lashes.
Draumir stared at him in silence.
"I consider that partial success," he said.
Caelan muttered, "You're gonna get us banned from every department."
Draumir finally moved. She plucked the smoldering ring from Sylas's desk, examined it, then looked him dead in the eyes.
"You channeled raw mana without filtering," she said. "Which is both idiotic and dangerously unstable. But somehow effective. Are you always this reckless?"
Sylas gave her a crooked smile. "Only when I'm awake."
She stared for another long second.
Then—shockingly—she handed him a fresh ring and a second parchment.
"Again."
He blinked. "Seriously?"
Draumir nodded once. "I want to see if it was a fluke or suicidal talent."
Sylas glanced at Caelan. "That sounds like a compliment."
"It's definitely not," Caelan replied.
The second attempt went better.
The glyph lit up. Only slightly singed.
Progress.
By the end of class, Sylas had:
Set two parchments on fire,
Made Caelan snort-laugh during a spell recitation,
Earned a strange look of curiosity from Draumir.
And as they walked out of the classroom, he felt... something.
It wasn't pride. Or confidence.
It was survival.
"I didn't die today," he said out loud.
Eren raised a brow. "Was that a real concern?"
"You have no idea."
As they exited the class, Sylas spotted a familiar figure leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, waiting.
Vivienne.
She looked at him with narrowed eyes and said,
"We need to talk. Now."
Caelan winced.
"You're so dead."
Sylas sighed.
"Why can't I just have one normal day?"