My arms feel like they’ve been replaced with overcooked spaghetti. Matilda worked us for what felt like an eternity, running us through basic sword forms until my muscles screamed in protest. Brooke, of course, took to it like a fish to water, her athletic background making the transition to swordplay almost natural. Me? I’m pretty sure I looked like a baby giraffe learning to walk.
“Come on, Chris,” Brooke says, toweling off her hair as we step out of our private bath. “We can’t be late for magic class.”
I groan, pulling on a fresh tunic. “I think my arms are going to fall off.”
“You’ll be fine,” she laughs, helping me with the laces. “Besides, magic can’t be as physically demanding as sword training, right?”
“Don’t jinx us,” I mutter, following her out into the hallway where a servant waits to guide us.
The castle corridors twist and turn like a medieval maze, but eventually we’re led to a heavy wooden door. The servant knocks once, then opens it, bowing as we enter.
The room is smaller than I expected, with bookshelves lining every wall, packed with ancient-looking tomes. Three desks are arranged in a simple classroom setup—one large one at the front facing two smaller ones. Behind it, a chalkboard stretches across the wall, covered in arcane symbols that make my head spin just looking at them.
Morgana sits behind the large desk, her dark robes pooling around her like spilled ink. She looks up as we enter, those vivid purple eyes immediately finding mine.
“Come in, come in,” she says, gesturing us forward with a graceful wave of her hand. “Please take a seat.”
Brooke moves to the desk closest to the door, and I slide into the one beside her. The wooden chair creaks under my weight, and I shift uncomfortably, still sore from our morning training session.
Morgana rises from her seat, her tall figure commanding the room’s attention. She moves to the front of her desk, leaning against it with casual authority.
“Well, welcome to magic class,” she announces, her voice carrying that dark velvet quality that makes my skin prickle. “You two are quite literally the luckiest students in the world to be under my tutelage.”
I exchange a glance with Brooke, who raises an eyebrow at Morgana’s bold statement.
Morgana’s purple eyes lock onto us, her expression unreadable as she waits for our response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long.
“What?” she finally asks, her voice sharp. “Nothing to say?”
I shift in my seat, wincing as my sore muscles protest. “I’m just worn out from training with Matilda,” I admit, rubbing my shoulder. “Those sword forms are way harder than they look.”
Morgana’s expression softens dramatically. She stands up, her robes flowing around her like dark water as she moves toward a bookshelf. “Aww, I’m so sorry,” she coos, her voice dripping with sympathy. “Do you want to take the day off?”
Before I can answer, she grabs two massive tomes from the shelf and whirls around. She slams one down on my desk with such force that I jump in my seat, the impact sending a small cloud of dust into the air.
“JUST KIDDING!” she barks, her purple eyes flashing with sudden intensity. “Listen, do you want to live up to your potential or die getting raped by some shit-tier goblin?”
I blink at her abrupt change in tone, then can’t help but chuckle. “I want to live,” I say, meeting her intense gaze.
“Good!” Morgana’s expression softens just slightly. “We don’t have much time. We need you both working harder than either of you ever have before in your lives. So I don’t want to hear whining about being tired. You need to learn this if you want to survive.”
I smile, feeling a strange mix of intimidation and admiration for her passion. “Of course. I understand.”
“Magnificent.” She nods approvingly, then hands Brooke the other massive book. “This is ‘Fundamentals of Mana Manipulation.’ This is likely going to be the hardest part of learning magic for both of you.”
Brooke accepts the book with a determined nod, already flipping through the pages. I stare down at the tome in front of me, its leather cover embossed with symbols I can’t begin to decipher.
Morgana strides to the chalkboard. She grabs a piece of chalk and taps it against the board with a sharp click.
“Let’s start with the basics,” she says, her voice shifting into that commanding teacher tone. “Magic is actually pretty simple when you break it down. It really only requires two things.” She writes the words in flowing script:
1. Mana Manipulation
2. Imagination
Brooke leans foreward. “That’s it? Just those two things?”
Morgana nods, her purple eyes gleaming with excitement. “That’s it. But don’t let that simplicity fool you. Both elements require intense practice and natural talent.” She turns back to the board, drawing three large circles.
“Now, there are three schools of magic, each requiring different mana bases.” She writes in the center of each circle:
“White Magic”
“Grey Magic”
“Black Magic”
“So what’s the difference between these three? Is one better than the others?” I ask.
Morgana’s eyes light up. “Excellent question, Christopher. White magic uses holy mana exclusively. What we sometimes call ‘white mana.’ It’s the most common type among healers and paladins.”
She taps the second circle. “Black magic, despite its name, isn’t evil. It just uses mana that’s devoid of holy energy.” Her voice takes on a defensive edge. “Many people misunderstand this.”
“And grey magic?” Brooke asks.
“That requires the combination of both,” Morgana explains, drawing lines connecting all three circles. “It’s the most difficult to master.”
I stare at the board, feeling overwhelmed. “So we have to learn all three?”
“Yes. Heroes have such immense mana pools that it would be a waste not to. You both need to master all three schools to reach your full potential.”
She turns back to the chalkboard, drawing a sword in the center. “Paladins usually use white magic to imbue their swords with holy mana directly while also healing themselves in battle. It’s a powerful combination.”
She adds flames to the sword’s edge. “Other types of imbuing exist, such as fire, ice, wind, and so on. But those are usually black magic applications.” The most skilled heroes were spellswords who could not only heal themselves but manipulate the battlefield with advanced magic. Some could even use gravity magic.”
“Gravity magic?” I ask, my eyes widening.
“It’s a really complicated form of black magic,” Morgana explains, her voice taking on that teacher tone again. “But theoretically possible with enough talent and practice.”
I glance at Brooke, who looks as excited as I feel. The idea of wielding magic that powerful makes my heart race.
“So if there are two different types of mana,” I say, turning back to Morgana, “what kind do we have inside of us?”
Morgana’s expression shifts, becoming more serious. “All mana starts out black. Turning it white is the hard part. Most peasants struggle with this conversion, and a lot of mana is sometimes burned in the process.”
She taps the chalk against the board thoughtfully. “This is why nobility and royalty typically have the best chance of learning white magic. They inherently have larger mana pools to work with.”
“But,” she continues, her voice softening slightly, “anyone with enough talent and determination can learn to channel holy mana.”
I nod, processing this information. “So it’s not impossible for us to learn white magic?”
“Not at all,” Morgana confirms. “In fact, with your mana reserves, you should find it easier than most.”
She pauses, her expression darkening slightly. “Well, there is one exception. Men who bear the mark of cheating are cut off from holy mana completely. We see it as a form of rejection from the goddesses.”
I swallow hard, thinking about what Morgana told us during our first night here. The cursed brand that appears on men who cheat. The thought of being cut off from magic because of that makes my stomach twist.
Brooke’s hand finds mine under the desk, her grip firm and reassuring. “Hey,” she says, her voice dropping to a serious tone. “I have a question about the brand thing.”
Morgana raises an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
“What exactly counts as cheating?” Brooke asks, her blue eyes intense. “Like, if Christopher were... raped, for instance. Would the goddesses see that as cheating?”
Morgana’s expression softens slightly. “Heavens, no. The goddesses aren’t that cruel.”
Brooke nods, but her brow remains furrowed. “What if he... finishes? During something like that?”
Morgana shakes her head. “No. Intent is factored in. The goddesses would know the difference between willing participation and... that.”
I feel my face heating up as they discuss this, but I appreciate Brooke looking out for me.
“Good,” Brooke says, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She turns to me, her expression softening. “No one’s going to rape you, Christopher. I promise.”
I give her an awkward smile. “Thanks, but honestly, I’m more worried about dying in battle than being raped.”
She smiles back. “That’s fair.”
I clear my throat, eager to change the subject. “I have another question about what you wrote on the board earlier. You said imagination and mana control dictate everything. How exactly do those two things work together?”
Morgana’s eyes light up, clearly pleased by my question.
“Mana control is like a faucet,” she explains, gesturing with her hands as if turning an invisible knob. “Mastering how much you push out of yourself is the single hardest thing for most mages. Too little, and your spells fizzle. Too much, and you can burn yourself out or hell, even kill yourself.”
She holds up two fingers. “The second thing, as we said, is imagination.” She closes her eyes briefly, and suddenly a flame appears in her palm, dancing and flickering with orange light. “To make a flame, you just have to think about a flame.”
I stare at the fire in her hand, mesmerized. “That’s incredible.”
“Spell words are just a technique to memorize a thought, a mana amount, and tie it to a word,” she continues, the flame still dancing in her palm. “They make things easier, but they’re not necessary.”
“How do you make a flame?” I ask. “What exactly are you thinking about?”
Morgana’s eyes meet mine. “Well, what is fire to you? It’s hot. Scorching. It’s living, it’s angry, it’s hungry for air.”
She closes her hand, and the flame vanishes. “Some people in our world struggle with the imagination part. But heroes historically haven’t.”
Brooke taps her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder if that’s because of movies and video games and stuff like that. We’re so used to seeing impossible things.”
Morgana’s eyebrows shoot up, her head tilting slightly. “Movies? Video games? What are those?”
I shift in my seat, trying to figure out how to explain this to someone who’s probably never even seen working electricity. “They’re, um, forms of entertainment? It’d be kind of hard to explain...”
“Do you have theater here?” Brooke asks, leaning forward. “Like plays?”
Morgana nods, her dark hair swaying with the movement. “Yes, of course. We have several theaters in the capital.”
“Our movies are like plays,” Brooke continues, gesturing with her hands, “but on a screen. Which is like a... thing that shows moving images, but really fast...”
She trails off, her hands dropping to her sides as she seems to realize how impossible it is to explain television to someone who’s never seen it. “Yeah, it’s complicated.”
Morgana stares at us for a moment, her purple eyes wide with confusion before she lets out a small laugh. “Aha... well... that’s very interesting.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps another time you can explain this ‘screen’ to me in more detail.”
She turns back to the chalkboard, her robes swirling dramatically. “Anyway, let’s start with chapter one in your books. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”