The classroom buzzed with mana and motion. Students were spread across the rune-marked floor, some paired up, others in small triangles, all cycling through the elemental defensive drills as instructed.
Darius stayed toward the edge of the formation, watching as groups worked through water shielding, earth bracing, fire deflection. Few managed clean executions, and even the successes came with flinches and flares of unstable energy. No one expected perfection. Just effort.
Professor Ignatius moved among them like a storm contained—sharp eyes tracking every twitch, every stance misalignment, every moment a student's magic faltered. He didn't scold. He adjusted. A quick tap to the shoulder, a nod toward their feet, a single muttered correction—"Sink lower into the stance," or "You're holding the weave too tight." When he spoke, students listened. Even the most prideful ones straightened their posture without complaint.
