My eyes narrow, following her as she stands.
“If you were listening, truly listening, then you heard the word I wove into my instruction.” Her fingers glide across my codex and it sparks angrily at her touch. “Look around the room, Haide,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
I study the gifted in the farthest corner, slowly moving from one student to the next, and with each I pass, my frown deepens.
Everyone’s frustrated and annoyed. Some even slumped in their seats like they’re just waiting for this to end.
I replay Astra’s words.
I straighten in my seat.Attempt.That’s the word I missed.
Attempt.
My feet fall from the tabletop. A slow smile curves across my lips as I sit up. She doesn’t expect anyone to actually succeed. It’s an assignment beyond the capabilities of anyone in this room.
Finally, I understand school. Today, the gifted in this room are my fucking equals.
I laugh quietly and reach out for one of Professor Astra’s threads. This time, it’s light that settles in my palm.
I draw a slow breath through my nose and let my shouldersloosen. I picture the light in my palm, not as a bright full moon over the island, but as something waiting for direction. I feed it a sliver of irritation—at this school, these rumors, the way they attacked me in a group like cowards—and it brightens, intimately pleased.
Intention.
Fuck.
What do I want it to do?
Killing them all is probably not what Astra meant by harmless.
I picture a small blade of light narrowed to a single point. Pale and blinding at its core so it’s sharp enough to sting, but not enough to break skin. It appears in my mind as clearly as a knife in my hand. I wrap the intention around the thread, let my anger thread through it like wire.
Heat rolls up my arm, settling in my chest. It pushes against bone as if it wants out, and my heart beats like a wild animal beneath my ribs.
“Come on, Professor Astra,” a student begs, “give us something we can actually accomplish. Creative Magic is for fourth years. We haven’t even studied ancient symbols. How are we supposed to create our own without learning those first?”
My focus falls and the thread in my palms with it.
Professor Astra smirks at the boy. “Glad someone caught on to the missing piece.” She makes her way back to the front of the class. “That was just an example to show you the amount of work needed here at Rathe U. That is, if you wish to get to the point in your journey where magic will answer to your call.” She snaps her fingers and the room grows brighter. “Open your codex. Today is day one of ancient symbols.”
The sounds of bending leather and turning paper fill the space as the class obeys. A slow grin curls across my face.
So, none of us should be able to create new magic.
Pretty fucking sure I almost did.
“Professor?” I ask.
Her eyes lift to mine, hand freezing mid-write. “Yes?”
“If emotion is the current and intention is the shape,” I say slowly, “what happens if the only thing you intend is to make someone or something stop existing?”
Every head in the room snaps toward me. Fair enough. The question is sort of general, a workaround really for any and all “intents.”
Professor Astra goes very, very still. “We have moved on, Haide. Your codex.”
“Come on,” I coax, a bit mockingly. “We don’t get to learn this for four whole ass years.” I hold her gaze. “Humor me.”
“That,” she says finally, voice softer but no less sharp, “is not a spell you are ready to design.”
