The air in the infirmary was thick with the scent of antiseptic and dried herbs. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
I sat in a stiff wooden chair beside a bed, my hands clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers I had picked from the courtyard. They were slightly wilted, their petals bruised from my nervous grip, but they were the best I could find.
Kaelen lay in the bed, his massive frame making the standard-sized mattress look small. His chest was bandaged, his arms covered in ointment and gauze, and his face was a canvas of bruises and cuts. He was asleep, his breathing deep and steady.
I stared at his sleeping face, a heavy weight settling in my chest. I felt guilty. If I hadn't been so weak, if I hadn't needed saving, he wouldn't be lying here.
"You act like he has passed away," a voice drawled from the doorway. "You worry too much."
I turned my head, my expression hardening instantly. Zarethis Darkroot stood there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She wore her usual dark attire, her silver hair cascading down her back.
My face darkened. "What do you want?"
She walked into the room, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. To my surprise, she held a small, elegant vase of black roses: rare and striking.
She set the vase down on the bedside table next to my wilting bouquet, the contrast stark.
"I'm here to see the sleeping beast," she said, her eyes drifting to Kaelen's face. "Just like you."
I ignored her, turning my attention back to Kaelen, though I kept my ears tuned to her.
"You know," Zarethis began, her voice taking on a nostalgic tone, "when we were younger, Kaelen and I used to brawl each other. Almost every day."
I pretended not to listen, but I leaned in slightly.
"He preferred using weapons infused with mana," she continued, tracing the edge of the bedside table with a finger. "A heavy blade, a shield, something physical. While I relied on pure magic. We were a perfect clash, but we never became the rivals I hoped he'd be."
She paused, her gaze intensifying as she looked at his sleeping face. "However, he seems to have surpassed me. Unknown to me."
I couldn't stay silent any longer. I turned to her, my eyes sharp.
"Yeah," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because you're a coward who can't even help the people who are close to you."
Zarethis raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
I stood up, my small frame trembling with anger. "You claim to have known him in your younger days, but did you even feel hurt when he got hit? Yesterday, when he was being beaten, you were grinning. You were enjoying the show."
I stepped closer, looking up at her towering height. "All you seem to have talked about so far is getting jealous that he's stronger than you. However, from the little I know about your life so far, it seems he was always stronger than you. You just failed to realize it!"
Zarethis's veins popped on her forehead, her composure cracking. She looked down at me, her dark eyes flashing with dangerous energy.
"Say that again," she hissed.
I stood my ground, refusing to look away. "You heard me. You—"
"Could you both shut up?"
The voice was rough, raspy, but it cut through the tension like a knife.
We both froze and turned our heads toward the bed.
Kaelen's eyes were open. He was looking at us with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.
"Kaelen!" I gasped, my anger vanishing instantly.
A smile bloomed on my face, but I remembered his injuries. I moved carefully, leaning over the bed and wrapping my arms around his neck in a light, gentle hug. I buried my face in his shoulder, careful not to squeeze his bandaged ribs.
"I'm so glad you're awake," I whispered.
Zarethis straightened up, the anger in her eyes fading into surprise. She stepped closer to the bed.
"So," she said, a smirk returning to her lips. "How did it feel?"
Kaelen looked at her, and a slow, tired smile spread across his face. "It felt wonderful~."
My head snapped up. "Wonderful?"
I pulled back, my hands on my hips. "Wonderful? Kaelen, you were beaten, burned, and thrown through a window! You're covered in bandages, and you call that wonderful?"
Kaelen's smile didn't falter. He just looked at me, his eyes softening.
I berated him, my voice rising. "You can't treat this like a game! You could have been killed! Do you have any idea how worried I was? How scared I was?"
He let me speak, his smile remaining, accepting my scolding with a strange sense of contentment.
The door opened, and the nurse walked in, looking stern. "That's enough. He needs rest."
She shooed Zarethis and me toward the door.
"Get better," I whispered to Kaelen.
Zarethis nodded at him. "Rest up. Let's have a rematch when you're healed."
We stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind us. The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't as hostile as before.
Zarethis let out a sigh, running a hand through her silver hair. "I do care about him, you know."
I looked at her, surprised by the admission.
She didn't meet my eyes, looking down the corridor. "Our way of talking has always been with our fists, not words. It's how we communicate. It's how we show respect."
I stared at her for a moment, then a mischievous thought crossed my mind. I pulled out my tongue. "Nyeh."
Zarethis froze. Her eye twitched. "What did you just do?"
I smirked, feeling a surge of confidence.
"Hey, for a nobody, you seem to be getting a lot of confidence. Do you want me to drill it in you?" she spoke, her voice low and threatening.
I wasn't scared. Not anymore.
"Yeah," I said, crossing my arms. "Like you could ever do that. Before you try, you should take a shower. You smell like sweat."
I held my nose theatrically and turned to walk away.
"Hey!" Zarethis shouted.
I glanced back over my shoulder. "What?"
She stood there, frozen, looking genuinely confused. She lifted her arm and sniffed her armpit, her face scrunching up.
"I just showered before coming here..." she muttered, bewildered.
I suppressed a giggle and hurried down the hallway, leaving her standing there, questioning her own hygiene.
I made my way through the stone corridors of the Magic Tower, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor. My mind was racing, replaying the events of the previous day.
I felt useless.
Kaelen had fought with everything he had, taking on dozens of upperclassmen, while I had stood by, watching, screaming, and needing protection. Even Elara had shielded me.
I needed to change that.
I reached the heavy oak door of the clubroom and pushed it open. Elara was there, sitting at her desk, a thick tome open in front of her. She looked up as I entered, her grey eyes softening.
"Bell," she said. "How is he?"
"He's awake," I replied, walking over to the table. "He's still incapacitated, but he's alive."
Elara let out a breath of relief. "Good. That fight was... brutal."
I sat down opposite her, my hands resting on the wooden surface. I looked at them: small, soft, uncalloused. Hands that were good for cooking and writing, but not for fighting.
"Elara," I said, my voice firm. "I need your help."
She looked at me, sensing the shift in my tone. "What is it?"
"I felt useless yesterday," I admitted, the words tasting bitter. "I couldn't do anything. I just stood there while Kaelen and you protected me. I need to get stronger. Not just a little stronger, I need to be able to hold my own. I need to reach a level where I'm not a burden."
Elara studied my face for a long moment. She closed the book in front of her and leaned back, her fingers steepled.
"There is a way," she said slowly. "But it's difficult. It's dangerous."
"I don't care," I said immediately. "Tell me."
"Elemental magic," Elara explained, "is the foundation. Hybrid magic is combining elements. But there is another path, one that few can walk."
She stood up and walked to the massive bookshelves that lined the wall of the clubroom.
"It's called Singular Magic."
I tilted my head. "Singular Magic?"
Elara nodded, pulling a heavy, dust-covered volume from a high shelf. She placed it on the table with a heavy thud.
"Most mages use standard elemental spells: fireballs, water jets, wind blades. Even hybrid mages combine existing elements to create new effects. But Singular Magic is distinct and special. It is a magic route created for an individual, forming their own path."
She opened the book, revealing intricate diagrams and glowing runes.
"In fact," she continued, "one of the requirements to become a Grandmaster is to create your own Singular Magic. It is the ultimate expression of a mage's soul."
I stared at the pages, mesmerized. "Can I make one?"
Elara shook her head. "Not yet. I'm not suggesting you create an entirely new path. With our current knowledge, that would be like going from crawling to being one of the fastest in the world. It's impossible."
She flipped through the pages, her fingers tracing lines of text.
"Instead, we can use the Singular Magic paths created by previous Archmages. We can see which one fits your mana signature. There is a good chance none of them are fit for you, but if we do find one, you can gain a massive asset, especially for your level."
She looked at me, her eyes gleaming. "And besides, if you master a Singular Magic, it would make you unrivaled throughout our year. Well, except Valerius, of course."
I felt a spark of hope ignite in my chest. "Let's find it."
Elara smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."
She went to another shelf and pulled down a second, then a third book. Soon, a stack of five thick, leather-bound tomes sat on the table.
"These are the Singular Magic books I have access to," she said. "They only teach the basics of each path and don't go into too much depth, but that will be enough to know if you specialize in it."
I nodded, rolling up my sleeves. "Let's get started."
For the next few hours, the clubroom was silent except for the rustling of pages and the scratching of quills.
Elara guided me through the basics, explaining the theory behind Singular Magic. It wasn't just about casting spells; it was about understanding the essence of mana and how it resonated with the soul.
We started with the first book, The Path of the Void. I placed my hand on the page, channeling a small amount of mana. The runes glowed faintly, then dimmed.
"No resonance," Elara noted. "The Void rejects you."
We moved to the next book, The Path of the Sun. I repeated the process. The runes flared brightly, almost blinding us, before flickering out.
"Too much affinity," Elara said, shielding her eyes. "Your mana is too dense for this path. It would burn you out."
We continued through the books, testing each path one by one.
The Path of the Storm—rejected.
The Path of the Crystal—rejected.
The Path of the Dream—rejected.
My hope began to wane. The sun was setting, casting the room in shades of orange and purple.
"We're running out of options," I said, my voice tired.
Elara frowned, flipping through the last book. "Wait. There's one more. It's a lesser-known path, created by an Archmage who specialized in using servitude."