Fin woke to silence, the faint pulse of Haven’s cliffs seeping through the dorm’s stone walls. His eyes cracked open, blurry with sleep, messy black hair spilling across the pillow. The mana lamp flickered blue, dimmer now in the gray dawn filtering through the narrow window. His roommate’s bed, satchel and cloak still strewn across it, lay empty. No sign of life.
Three heartbeats passed before Fin’s senses fully returned. The room’s stillness struck him as unnatural, like a breath held too long. He reached out with his awareness, probing for signs of disturbance in the ambient mana that flowed through Haven’s ancient halls. Nothing seemed amiss, yet experience had taught him that appearances often deceived.
He sat up, tunic still with yesterday’s dust, Convergent Equilibrium humming softly to shake off grogginess. The skill worked to clear and steady his mind. The room felt too still, his tantō gleamed beside the pillow, untouched. He still remembered when Grenwith forged it. Whoever his roommate was, they didn't linger.
Fin swung his legs off the bed, boots cold against his feet as he laced them up. The leather was fine quality but deliberately understated. He’d never been one for ostentatious displays of wealth. Function over appearance. Something his roommate from Earth, Taylor, often joked about. His stomach growled, travel rations finally wearing off, a sharp reminder of priorities. The journey from his family’s estate had taken over a week, his parents’ carriage making frequent stops to allow his father to hunt along the way.
He grabbed his satchel, spare tunic still folded on the desk and stepped into the corridor. Stone walls rose high overhead, punctuated by mana lamps that cast a cool blue over everything. Three centuries of students had walked these halls, many from noble houses like his own, others risen from common birth through talent alone. Which path would prove more valuable here? The question lingered uncomfortably in his mind.
A second year in a silver trimmed tunic with two silver stars on his collar passed, hair damp. He walked with the easy confidence of someone who belonged, who had already proven himself. Fin sensed that he was high Tier One, nearly ready for advancement.
“Bathing area?” Fin asked, voice rough from sleep and disuse. His parents had bid him farewell at the gates yesterday, his mother’s embrace lingering. His father didn’t attend Haven Academy but he remembered Kilian speaking fondly of it and that’s where he met his team.
The boy jerked a thumb down the hall. “End of the wing, left, past the stairs. Hot water’s a little spotty. Enchantment’s probably need replacing.” He gave Fin a cursory once-over eyes lingering on the tantō at his hip before moving on without another word. Assessment complete, dismissal delivered.
Fin nodded, heading off. The corridor stretched before him, other students emerging from their rooms like hibernating creatures awakening to spring. Most traveled in pairs or small groups, voices hushed but animated. Some acknowledged him with pointed whispers, probably remembering yesterday’s excitement. First day, and already the social hierarchies were forming, or perhaps they had been established long before, among those who had grown up together or whose families had longstanding alliances.
The bathing room was stone and steam, a row of spigots along one wall, basins beneath. The floor sloped gently toward a central drain, wet with use. Half a dozen other students were already there, some finishing, others just beginning their morning ablutions. No one spoke, morning rituals were private affairs, moments of preparation for the day ahead.
He stripped, folding his clothes with practiced precision, and stepped under a steam, lukewarm, not hot, an let it sluice away grime. Equilibrium steadied his breathing as he scrubbed, mind drifting to the courses he would take. Five skills were enough, he’d pick classes to sharpen them, not to sprawl.
Many children his age often made the mistake of picking too many skills too quickly, limiting their path. Marian warned him about this. ‘Don’t accept every skill offered. You never know if they have enough synergy for combining, permanently closing one of only 15 skill slots.’ He had focused on five, driving them harder, deeper. Quality over quantity, a philosophy that had served him well, so far.
Convergent Equilibrium, his core skill, the foundation that enhanced his mana capacity, focus, and physical attributes. Thunderfang, channeling mana into devastating lightning strikes. Plasma Compression Burst, a plasma concussive grenade, his only long-distance skill. Electromagnetic Perception, the skill that allows him to perceive people through the electrical waves people emit. And Scientific Warfare, the skill hadn’t shown it’s true worth yet, but it did initially allow his skills to level faster before he reached the core cap. Five skills, each honed through countless hours of practice.
Clean, he dressed in the Haven tunic, dark blue, silver trim stiff against his shoulders, and headed back, hair dripping. Water beaded on the nape of his neck, trickling down his spine. The new clothes felt foreign, restrictive compared to his comfortable garments from home. Another adjustment to make.
The dorm door creaked open, and there he was: the lean boy from the combat test, staff propped against his bed, dark eyes flicking up from a scroll. His cloak was folded now, satchel neat, quiet, precise, like his boar kill. Fin remembered the way he had moved during the trials, fluid, economical, no wasted motion. Impressive.
"You're up," the boy said, voice low, flat. He nodded at Fin's desk. "Course lists came. Yours is there. Fill it out, registrars by noon." He grabbed his staff, turned for the door.
"Thanks," Fin said, but the boy was gone, door clicking shut before the word landed.
Fin stood there a moment longer, assessing. A roommate who kept to himself, good. No distractions, no complications. Just what he needed. He crossed to the desk, picking up the scroll. Haven's crest topped it, course names, times, years scrawled in tight script below.
He unrolled it, scanning. Weapons Training, obvious, his tantō needed work. Though skilled with the blade, he knew there were techniques he had yet to master, subtleties that could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Bestiary Studies, ants taught him beasts mattered. The memory of the broken dungeon flashed in his mind, screeching mandibles, carapaces like iron, the boss chamber reeking of death and decay. Knowledge was survival.
Elemental Imprinting, second year course, odd for a first year, but he would need all the information he could get so he could properly prepare to advance to Tier Two. The System required an Elemental to imprint upon a mage before they could advance to Tier Two, a milestone typically reached in third year. But Fin was already prepared in every other aspect, his five skills refined to the point where advancement was the logical next step. He just needed an Elemental to complete the process.
Enchanting, mana weaves could boost his gear. Temporary but versatile applications of power, perfect for adapting to changing circumstances. Maybe he could learn to recreate some Earth technology with enchantments.
And finally, Dungeon Diving Basics, he still remembered the ant dungeon. The fear, yes, but also the exhilaration of surviving what should have been certain death. He couldn't wait to see what a proper working dungeon would look like, not a broken one with no System rewards. Five slots, focused, no fluff.
He scratched his choices with the desk's quill, rolled the scroll, and headed out, tantō tapping his thigh. The weight of the blade was reassuring, a constant in a world of variables. The polished ant chitin gleamed in the mana lamps' light, its edge still impossibly sharp years after its creation.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The hallway outside had filled with students now, a river of blue tunics flowing toward the central spire. Conversations ebbed and flowed around him, excited chatter about courses, instructors, the upcoming term. Names he didn't recognize, references to events he hadn't witnessed. Though he knew several other noble scions were attending this year, none had been close friends of House Aodh.
He followed the crowd down three flights of stairs, through an archway embossed with Haven's crest, and into a large atrium. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. The space hummed with activity, students queuing at various desks, instructors conferring in corners, upper years striding purposefully toward their destinations.
A large board dominated one wall, covered in notices, schedules, announcements, maps of the academy grounds. Fin paused, memorizing the layout. Seven spires, each dedicated to different disciplines. The central spire housed administration and common areas. The western spire contained first-year and second-year dormitories and classrooms. To the east, third years and above. North and south held specialized training facilities. The final two, smaller, set apart, appeared to be for faculty and advanced research.
The registrar's office was the same chaos, scrolls teetering, the woman's quill a blur as she processed the influx of students. Fin pushed in, boots scuffing against the stone floor, and slid his scroll across the desk.
“Fin Aodh,” he said.
She snatched it, unrolling with a huff, glasses low on her nose. Her eyes scanned the parchment rapidly, lips moving as she read. “Weapons, Bestiary, Elemental Imprinting, Enchanting, Dungeon Diving Basics,” she muttered, eyebrow arching. “Elemental Imprinting’s second year, bold for a little fellow.” She scratched a notation in a massive ledger beside her, then shoved the scroll back across the desk. “Approved. Classes start in 3 days. Don’t fail.”
The dismissal was curt but not unkind, simply efficient, like everything else here seemed to be. Haven didn't coddle its students; it prepared them for a world that was equally indifferent to individual struggles, noble birth or not.
"Where's the cafeteria?" Fin asked, stomach reminding him of priorities. His last meal had been at some inn in a small village, before the final leg of their journey.
Her head snapped up, annoyance flaring briefly before professionalism reasserted itself. "Underclassman's, first and second years, west spire, ground floor. Follow the noise, can't miss it." She waved him off, already back to her scrolls and the next student in line.
Fin nodded, slipping out into the atrium again. Headed back the way he came. The west spire loomed ahead, stone arches, mana lamps flickering as students streamed in and out of its ground floor entrance. He followed the din, laughter, clattering trays, the constant hum of dozens of conversations overlapping, into a long hall. Tables sprawled across the space, packed with first- and second-years, food steaming from a serving line along one wall.
The smell hit him first, hearty and varied, though not as refined as the meals prepared by House Aodh's chefs. Stew, fresh bread, fruits he recognized from markets across the region. His stomach contracted, reminding him that his last meal had been almost 24 hours ago.
He grabbed a tray, wooden, worn smooth by thousands of previous users, and joined the serving line. A harried-looking woman ladled stew into his bowl, another tossed a chunk of dark bread onto his tray, and a third added some fruit, small purple berries and a yellow-skinned thing he'd seen imported from the southern provinces. No one spoke; the process was mechanical, designed for efficiency rather than comfort.
Tray in hand, Fin surveyed the hall. Most tables were full, students clustered in groups, some clearly pre-established, others forming organically among those who had arrived alone. A few students gave him questioning looks that he pointedly ignored. He found a corner seat, partially secluded by a stone pillar, and sat with his back to the wall, a tactical habit his father's master-at-arms had drilled into him.
He ate quickly but methodically, Equilibrium keeping him steady amid the chaos. The stew was rich, hearty, chunks of meat and vegetables in a thick broth. The bread was dense but fresh, perfect for soaking up the remaining liquid. The berries burst with sweetness on his tongue, a sharp contrast to the savory meal. The yellow fruit proved tangy, its flesh yielding beneath his teeth.
Footsteps approached, deliberate, measured, too even to be casual. Fin's senses sharpened, Equilibrium kicking in before conscious thought engaged. Three second-years, two silver stars on their collars. Electromagnetic Perception pinged them around high Tier One. Older, broader, smirking with the confidence of those who had already proven themselves against last year's challenges. The leader, blonde, rapier at his hip, leaned in, invading Fin's space with calculated disregard.
"New kid," he drawled, voice pitched to carry to nearby tables. "What're you, ten? Lost your mummy?"
Fin chewed, eyes on his stew, ignoring them. Equilibrium hummed beneath his skin, a steady pulse that kept his heart rate even, his breathing regular. Petty taunts weren't worth engaging with, weren't worth revealing capabilities for.
"Aw, he's shy," a second one said, stocky, mace dangling from a belt loop. His knuckles were scarred, evidence of someone who preferred brawling to blade work. "Bet he cried through the tests."
The third, a girl with a staff strapped across her back, snickered, reaching to twirl it with practiced ease. "Look at him, tiny. Probably begged his way in." Her eyes were cold, assessing, the most dangerous of the three, despite her companions' bravado.
Fin swallowed, kept eating. Words didn't draw blood unless you let them. He'd learned that lesson early, during sparring sessions with Kilian. He finished the bread, stood with his tray, time to move on, to find somewhere quieter to prepare for his first class.
The blonde stepped closer, foot shifting to trip him, an amateur move, telegraphed so clearly that Fin almost felt insulted. He saw it, his reflexes snapped his leg aside, smooth, no stumble. Equilibrium guided the motion, making it appear effortless.
"Really," Fin said, voice flat, turning to face them fully for the first time. "I don't feel like fighting weak people."
The blonde's smirk froze, then twisted into something uglier, more genuine. "Weak? You little…"
He lunged, fist swinging in a wide arc, too wide, too slow. Fin ducked, sidestepped, pure physicality, no skills activated, and drove an elbow into the blonde's ribs. A crack sounded; the boy wheezed, staggering backward. The stocky one charged immediately, loyal if not tactically sound. Fin pivoted on his heel, extending a foot just so, tripping the boy into a nearby table. Trays clattered, food spilled, onlookers scrambled back.
The girl moved then, staff whipping around in a controlled arc, slow by Fin's standards, but more disciplined than her companions' attacks. Predictable still. Fin caught it mid-arc, fingers closing around the polished wood, and yanked it free with a twist of his wrist. The motion was smooth, practiced, he'd disarmed opponents with larger weapons than this during countless training sessions at home. He tossed it aside, letting it clatter against the stone floor. She stumbled, wide-eyed, clearly unused to being outmaneuvered so easily.
The hall hushed, eyes locking onto the confrontation. Conversations died mid-sentence, chewing paused, the scrape of utensils against plates ceased. All attention focused on the corner where three second years, established, respected, had been dispatched by a first year most didn’t recognized. So much for lying low.
Fin straightened, tray steady in his hands, Equilibrium keeping his face blank, his breathing regular. No Thunderfang crackling along his arms, just training, reflexes honed through years of proper instruction. They weren't worth spending mana on, weren't worth revealing his true capabilities for.
"Stay down," he said, voice carrying in the silence as he stepped over the blonde, who clutched his side, face contorted with rage, but body grounded by pain. The others glared, but didn't move to continue the confrontation. They had underestimated him once; they wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Fin pushed through the crowd, ignoring the whispers that followed him, the speculative glances from students reassessing their initial judgments. He found a side door, smaller, partially hidden behind a tapestry depicting Haven's founding, and slipped through it into an outdoor courtyard.
Stone benches lined a small garden, cliff wind sharp against his face. The academy perched on the edge of a massive escarpment, with views that stretched for miles across the lowlands beyond. The pulse of the cliffs was stronger here, a deep, resonant thrum that Fin felt in his bones. Haven's location was no accident; the natural mana flows here were among the strongest in the region, perfect for training young acolytes.
He sat, finishing his stew, the quiet a welcome relief after the cacophony of the dining hall. The confrontation had been necessary, establishing boundaries early prevented greater conflicts later.
A sob broke the silence, soft, hitched, quickly suppressed but unmistakable. Fin's head turned, senses alert. A girl sat on a far bench, brown hair hiding her face, shoulders shaking with the effort of containing her emotion. Tears streaked her cheeks. She hadn't noticed him, lost in whatever grief had driven her to seek solitude.
Fin paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, Equilibrium humming steady beneath his skin, but her crying held him there.
Fin sighed, “what’s wrong?” words he’d soon regret.