Maika ducked as her spell rebounded off the training ward and exploded into a puff of glittery green smoke above her head.
"Oh, come on! I flicked the wand just the way it was described."
The other students in the Spellcraft Hall politely turned away, but she saw the tiny grins. Her wand sizzled with static, as her hands were singed from the backfire.
It was her fourth failed attempt today.
Professor Genia's feedback had been clear the week before: "You have perfect rune syntax, Miss Bell. But your gestures are too... uncertain. Magic obeys certainty."
Yeah right. Easier said than done when your wrist kept twitching like a startled squirrel every time you channeled mana.
Maika stared at the cracked floor tile where her projection spell had ricocheted and muttered,
"I should've taken Gardening Magic."
"Need help?" asked Erius, one of the sharper duelists, wand twirling in his fingers.
"No thanks," she said through clenched teeth. She didn't want to come out as rude but she was cranky.
She was smart and hardworking. The top of the class in Mana Theory and Arcane History. But when it came to actual spellwork, Maika was a walking contradiction. Her notes were perfect. Her intentions are clear. But her results?
They were a complete disaster.
She'd once conjured a protective ward which ended up hitting her instead of the opposing spell.
Even now, her fingers trembled. Not from fear, just from the buildup of too much trying and stress.
She wiped sweat from her forehead, slumped into a bench, and whispered, "What's the point of knowing everything if I can't do anything?"
By the time she limped to the Will Interaction Class, her wand was sparking randomly and her spirits were fried.
The room was dim, circular, and sacredly quiet with walls glowing faintly with silver constellations. There were no benches or books. Just space, and the low hum of expectation.
Standing at the center was Professor Aerun.
Tall, quiet, and imposing. The man looked like he belonged in a classical opera. His deep blue robes bore arcane threading that shimmered only when you weren't looking directly at them.
He gestured to the students with a palm. "Sit. Breathe. Let your magic remember itself."
One by one, students entered the crystal-lit center of the circle and let their Wills come forth.
Some summoned beasts. Others, ancient masks or shapes of fire and shadow. One girl fell into hysterical laughter and said her Will was a ghost named Arlo who liked to steal socks.
"Sounds pretty weak, does he not?" she said.
Aerun said, "I too gazed at your will and I must say Arlo is strong, but just not in the unique sense. So don't lose hope."
Maika barely listened. Her stomach twisted with a nauseating truth:
'What if Circe never showed up?'
When Professor Aerun finally called her name, she stood up on shaky legs.
He gave her a nod. "No thoughts. Leave the control of your mind to your will. Just let them reach you."
Maika stepped into the light of the crystal. It was warm and strange. Like a pulse beneath her skin.
She closed her eyes
At first, there was nothing.
As usual. Her heart dropped.
No whispers. No shapes. Just that dull hum of magical inertia that had haunted every failed spell in Spellcraft.
But then… a scent.
Salt.
Lavender.
She saw the image of a pigsty. Then it vanished.
Maika's eyes snapped open, and the classroom was gone.
She stood on an island cliff, the sea roaring beneath her, wind curling around her shoulders like a cloak. The sky was vast and strangely faulty with a blend of starlight and sun existing together.
Before her stood a woman.
Tall and barefoot. With hair like dark fire, unbound and crowned with flickering runes. Her gaze was not soft, but ancient. All-knowing. Patient in a way that made Maika's throat tighten.
She wore a jade cloak made from stitched constellations, and when she moved, the sky seemed to move with her.
"You're… Circe," Maika whispered, breath catching.
The woman didn't answer. She didn't need to.
At that moment, Maika knew—this was her Will.
Not a beast, not a flame.
A sorceress. A woman banished and divine. Who made mistakes.
Maika opened her mouth to apologize. For being clumsy. For getting it wrong. For wanting to be more.
But Circe stepped forward and placed her hand on Maika's shoulder.
And then—
A vision.
Maika saw herself, older, sitting in a Spellcraft class. Her mana did not flicker. She was doing everything perfectly in order with extreme control.
Circe did not not say anything then either.
Then came other images.
Circe was kneeling in moonlight, failing at spell after spell. Transforming enemies into beasts too soon. Breaking chains she meant to bind. Singing incantations too loud, too soft, too raw.
She had failed as well, again and again.
Until she didn't.
Until her spells grew wild, precise, full of will and pain and beauty. Until the world feared her power because it had been earned, not gifted.
Circe looked at her again. And in her eyes, Maika saw the message:
'Magic isn't about doing it right. It's about daring to keep doing it, even when you don't.'
Maika reached forward, but Circe was already fading. Melting back into mist and sky and memory.
She stood alone on the cliff for a heartbeat longer until the classroom returned.
She blinked awake on the ground, heart hammering, cheeks damp.
Professor Aerun crouched beside her, unreadable.
"She really came," Maika said with a grin.
Aerun gave a small nod. "I knew that she would. You are a hardworking girl, Maika."
"She didn't fix anything. She didn't say anything…"
"No," he said, smiling faintly. "She showed you. She showed you what you needed the most, confidence."
Maika looked at her hands.
They were still trembling and burned by the backfire. But now they were a bit steadier.
A bit more sure.
Because maybe she didn't need to be perfect in Spellcraft right now.
Maybe she just needed to keep standing up. Until she reached where she needed to.