---
Chapter five Faculty of the Fractured
Elara had barely survived her first day not to talk about the next day were she was screamed at by scrolls, chased by mirrors, betrayed by soup — and now, apparently, it was time to meet the faculty.
"You mean there are actual teachers in this madhouse?" Elara asked as she followed Caelin down a hallway that seemed to shift every time she blinked.
"Oh, there are," Caelin said. "Whether or not they're sane is a different issue."
The hallway ended in a spiral staircase that unfurled from the ceiling like a ribbon, made entirely of glass. Elara clutched the railing with a death grip.
"This feels very unsafe."
"Welcome to Nymeria," Caelin said cheerfully. "Death is part of the curriculum."
They emerged into a massive circular hall — half cathedral, half storm cloud. Lightning forked lazily across the domed ceiling. Students gathered in uneven clusters, some levitating, others accidentally catching fire. A few were arguing with enchanted quills that refused to write their names.
At the center stood five figures, clearly the staff.
"First," Caelin whispered, pointing at the woman in white armor with thunderclouds swirling in her eyes, "is Professor Zephyra. Teaches Weathercraft and Storm Binding. Try not to sneeze near her — she once summoned a blizzard because someone had hay fever."
Professor Zephyra clapped her hands once, and the air trembled.
"Attention, stormlings," she called out. "Weather is not just rain and thunder. It is power made wild. A tool and a weapon. You will learn to speak to the sky, to command the wind, to become the storm — or you will be swept away."
Lightning cracked behind her, dramatically on cue.
Elara blinked. "So...storm goddess in charge of weather. Cool, cool, totally fine, nothing terrifying about that."
Caelin grinned. "Wait till you meet the one with a tail."
The next teacher was cloaked entirely in shadows, their face hidden beneath a hood. When they stepped forward, the temperature dropped.
"Professor Umbros," Caelin whispered. "Shadow weaving, mirror lore, stealth magic. Basically, if something vanishes mysteriously or whispers from the dark...it's them."
"I'm sure that's not concerning at all," Elara muttered.
Umbros didn't speak. Instead, they raised a hand, and the light around them folded inward like crumpled paper. The students' shadows twisted, reshaping into wild, snarling versions of themselves before snapping back to normal.
"You will learn the language of darkness," Umbros said in a voice that sounded like a hundred whispers. "Because light is not always your friend."
Elara shivered. Her own shadow had winked at her.
The third teacher was already arguing with a floating chalkboard.
"I told you, invert the runes before igniting! Unless you want your eyebrows on fire—oh, forget it."
"Professor Bramble," Caelin said. "Potions, hexes, practical chaos. Likes explosions a bit too much."
Professor Bramble turned, their hair singed, their robe smeared with glittering potion stains.
"You lot," Bramble said, pointing to the crowd. "If you're here to make perfume, leave. Magic is messy, unpredictable, and smells like regret. You'll brew potions that fizz, pop, sing, and yes, sometimes bite. But if you survive my class, you might just walk out stronger. Or slightly mutated. We've lowered the mutation rate, promise."
A loud pop came from their bag. They didn't flinch.
Elara took a step back. "Why does everything here sound like a health hazard?"
"Because it is," Caelin replied brightly. "But it builds character."
Next was a tall, graceful woman with vine tattoos crawling up her arms and flowers blooming from her shoulders.
"Professor Thistle," Caelin said. "Elemental control and flora magic. You'll want to be on her good side — or the plants will eat you."
Thistle smiled warmly, then flicked her wrist. A tangle of vines shot up from the floor, curled into the shape of a chair, and sat politely.
"Nature listens, children," she said gently. "If you ask, she answers. If you demand, she devours. Earth, fire, water, wind — all are threads you will learn to weave. But remember: the world is older than you. And much, much smarter."
Elara nodded. That one she liked.
"Last," Caelin said, "we have Headmaster Draziel. He's...complicated."
The headmaster stood apart from the others. Tall, pale, and wrapped in a coat that flickered between colors like an oil slick, his eyes shimmered like opals.
He stepped forward.
"No one is born knowing who they are," he said, voice calm and echoing with quiet power. "Magic reveals. Tests. Breaks, sometimes. But those of you who stay — who fight — will not leave unchanged. Nymeria is not safe. It is not kind. But it is...necessary."
His gaze swept the room, and for a moment, Elara swore he was looking right at her.
"Your powers," he continued, "will manifest in time. For some, it will be immediate. For others, delayed. But they will come. Weather. Shadows. Flame. Memory. Even rarities — like dream-walking or time-glimpsing. You may not yet know what you are capable of."
Elara's heart skipped.
Caelin elbowed her gently. "Don't panic if nothing's happening yet. You might be like me."
"What's your affinity?" Elara asked.
"I talk to ghosts."
Elara stared. "Seriously?"
Caelin grinned. "Only the dramatic ones. They like to gossip."
---
After the meeting, students were led in smaller groups to their first training session — a course called Awakening Magic.
Elara sat in a circle on the floor, heart pounding. Each student was handed a tiny crystal orb.
"Focus your intent," the assistant instructor said. "Let your magic respond."
The girl next to Elara made her orb explode into blue flames. The boy on her other side made his hover while humming an eerie lullaby.
Elara's just...sat there.
She squinted. Focused. Whispered. Begged.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
The frustration buzzed under her skin. Was it broken? Was she broken?
But then — the tiniest spark of frost laced across the glass. Barely there, like breath on a window.
The instructor raised a brow. "Interesting..."
Elara blinked. "It's not much."
"It's something," the instructor said. "And ice magic is rare here."
Caelin smiled at her. "Told you. It'll come. Probably when you least expect it — and during a crisis."
"Oh good," Elara muttered. "Can't wait to almost die just to cast Snowflake Level One."
But secretly…she felt something bloom inside her.
A chill.
A thread of power, waiting.