Three hours into the forest, a strange realization struck me.
"Wait… aren't we supposed to be in our other classes right now?" I asked aloud, glancing over at the others. "This trial is going to last three days… what about the rest of our schedule?"
Mark Verayne's eyes widened, concern blooming on his face. "Oh no… what if the school gets angry? What if we get expelled? My parents would never forgive me—I'd be a disgrace to the Verayne family."
Bruce Drelvane frowned thoughtfully, kicking at a root on the ground as he walked. He wasn't the sharpest in the group, not by a long shot—but he had a big heart. In moments like this, I could always tell when he was retreating inward, wondering if he truly belonged at Umbra Arcanum. The Drelvane name carried weight—an old, respected bloodline of sorcerers. But Bruce had never seen himself as someone born with real talent. Just being here was a quiet act of defiance against everything he doubted in himself.
Isaiah Vexmoor, ever the strategist, was walking ahead slightly, deep in thought. His brow furrowed just a bit, his eyes scanning the trail and shadows around us. "I doubt we're the first class to be sent into the forest like this," he said finally. "Professor Dreamscape probably does this kind of fieldwork with each class in waves. It's… unconventional, sure. But I think it's sanctioned."
I hoped he was right. Because if he wasn't, then this little 'trial' was going to be the least of our problems.
As we trudged through the fog-thick forest, the silence between us was broken only by the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot and the rustle of unseen things far beyond the mist. The further we walked, the more I noticed Bruce lagging just a step behind—shoulders low, eyes distant.
I slowed my pace, stepping beside him, and placed my right hand gently on his left shoulder. Despite being the same age, the weight on his back sometimes made him look years older.
"Hey," I said, voice quiet but firm, "you've got us, Bruce. You're not alone in this—so don't get trapped in your own head these next three days, alright?"
He looked at me, eyes wide for a moment, like someone who'd forgotten how to speak and was suddenly reminded of language. Then he smiled—small, sheepish, but real. "Thanks," he murmured, and then after a breath, "All three of you... you know, after I got my acceptance letter, my family was ecstatic. I think they were prouder of me in that moment than they've ever been."
His voice faltered. The shadows of the forest danced along his features, flickering like old regrets.
"I came here to prove that their pride wasn't misplaced. That it wasn't some fluke. I want to be someone worthy of the Drelvane name. I want to be a sorcerer they'll never doubt again."
None of us spoke for a moment.
Mark Verayne's usual confidence faded into a contemplative stillness. Isaiah's eyes lowered slightly, as if calculating not outcomes, but emotions. And me—I just looked at Bruce, really looked at him. There was something raw there. Honest. Like a page in a journal that wasn't meant to be read, but had been offered anyway.
We didn't say anything back. We didn't need to. In the quiet, our silence was its own promise.
And then, without a word, we kept walking—four shadows threading through a forest where the trees whispered secrets and the fog never fully cleared.
About an hour later, we stopped to catch our breath beneath the twisted canopy. Shadows stretched long around us, the gray fog slinking between trees like it was listening in. Mark was sketching something on the dirt with a stick, Isaiah pacing in thought, and Bruce… well, Bruce was trying to pet Ghost without getting nipped.
We started tossing around strategies again, wondering aloud how the hell we were supposed to find one of the cardinal points. That's when a spark—no, a revelation—crackled through my mind.
"Wait a second…" I muttered. "Professor Dreamscape said we're supposed to find cardinal points. When four of them are brought together, they create a Thauma Compass."
Isaiah tilted his head, intrigued. "Right. So… do we just pick a direction and start walking?"
"Exactly," I said, excitement bubbling up. "But more than that. Think about a real compass—how it works. A compass doesn't search for north. It already knows. Because of magnetic lines, right? Now—Eclipsara might not be Earth, but we know it has a magnetic field, or something similar. Radios, telegrams, thaumagraphic transmissions—they work. There's something holding those together."
"You're saying the cardinal points are like magnetic fields?" Mark asked, eyes narrowing in thought.
I nodded. "Yes—but Thauma-based. If we treat them like fields of Thauma resonance, then maybe… just maybe… we don't look for the cardinal points. We let ourselves be drawn to them."
Bruce blinked. "But… how do we do that?"
That's when it clicked.
"Remember what Headmistress Aerila De'Noct taught us? About sensing the flow of Thauma? We're not just mages. We're conduits. Anchors. Instruments. If we close our eyes and focus—not on casting, not on fighting—but just listening, maybe we'll feel the pull. The lines. The flow."
Isaiah slowly nodded. "We become the compass."
Exactly.
We weren't lost. We just hadn't been listening.
We all closed our eyes—me, Mark, Isaiah, Bruce—and even our familiars followed suit, their tiny forms sitting still in quiet unity. No one spoke. No birds called. The forest, for once, held its breath.
We didn't listen for sound.
We didn't reach for scent or touch.
Instead, we reached inward—into the flow of Thauma itself.
It was subtle at first. Like the echo of wind over glass, soft and directionless. But as our breathing slowed, as our awareness sharpened, it began to stir—threads of Thauma drifting through us, not around. Flowing like currents of warm ink across the skin of our soul.
We weren't chasing power—we were aligning with it.
I felt it. A slight tug.
Not physical. Not emotional. Just… direction.
North.
"Vulpis," I said silently in my mind.
Yes, Orien, came the reply, soft as a whisper but clear as thunder within.
"You feel that?"
I do. It's calling us.
I opened my eyes—and found the others already staring at me. No one had to speak.
They felt it too.
Without a word, we nodded in sync and broke into a run, our footsteps light, our Thauma aligned. Northward.
Toward the unknown.
It was getting dark.
The forest's eerie glow faded into deep twilight, and we knew it was time to rest. We hadn't eaten since morning, and hunger clawed at our stomachs like beasts of its own. Thankfully, while trekking northward, we'd spotted a cave tucked beneath the roots of a massive, gnarled tree—a natural hollow that offered enough shelter from the creeping fog and whispering winds.
We gathered fallen branches, sparked a small fire, and formed a makeshift camp.
Bruce and I volunteered to hunt, accompanied by our familiars—Ghost, the shadowy pup with glowing eyes, and Vulpis, ever alert, sleek, and silent. Mark and Isaiah stayed behind with Selphie and Silver to keep the fire alive and guard the cave.
As we ventured deeper into the underbrush, I glanced over at Bruce. His usual clumsy gait was steadier now, more purposeful. He still seemed lost in thought, though—so I broke the silence.
"I've been meaning to ask," I said, pushing a low-hanging branch aside. "Your family name… Drelvane. It carries a weight in the sorcerer world. I don't know much about it, but I've heard stories. What makes your lineage so important?"
Bruce looked up at the moonlight spilling through the trees. Ghost padded beside him, ears flicking with every distant sound.
"Yeah," he said, quietly. "The Drelvane name goes back over 6,200 years. It all started with my ancestor—Yeshua Tsirhc."
I tilted my head. That name… it rang strangely familiar.
"Back then," Bruce continued, "Yeshua wasn't anyone special. Just a man trying to prove himself in a world that didn't see him. But he had three friends—brothers in all but blood. Together, they became what we now call The First Four. The founders of sorcery across Eclipsara."
He paused. "Not much is known about their lives, not really. Even when they lived, they were more myth than men. Some think they never existed at all. But their names… their deeds… they echo."
Bruce held up his hand, fingers outstretched.
"There was Yeshua Tsirhc—my ancestor—on the Magician Pathway. Then Yuhuda Kerioth, his right hand, who walked the Hanged Man Pathway. Pontius Pilate took the Judgment Pathway. And finally, Mary Magdalene… she walked the Lovers Pathway."
He lowered his hand, voice solemn now.
"They changed everything. And I guess… I just want to prove that I belong to that legacy."
I didn't speak right away. The flames of our bond crackled quietly in the dark. Then, I smiled faintly.
"You already do, Bruce."
He blinked, surprised.
"You've got Ghost, don't you? That familiar chose you. So maybe you've already started walking the path Yeshua once did."
Bruce chuckled softly, scratching behind Ghost's ears. "Thanks, Orien."
We continued forward, hunting not just for food—but for strength, for worth, for legacy.
We were more than just first years now.
We were walking history.