The gates of Virelith Arcana Academy loomed like the mouth of some ancient beast—massive, jagged, and far too clean to be welcoming. A blend of white marble and blacksteel pillars formed the arched entry, guarded by automatons that buzzed with low mana hums. Arcane runes flickered along the outer walls, repelling birds, insects, and anything else unworthy of magical education.
Kael Ardyn stood at the threshold, cloak soaked from the morning mist, his travel bag slung lazily over one shoulder. He stared at the gates with the expression of a man entering a prison rather than a prestigious school.
"Ten years ago, they'd have marched me in here in chains," he thought. "Now they hand me chalk and a title."
The gates creaked open at his approach, triggered by his academy-issued sigil—a bronze badge etched with a phoenix and a single crimson line beneath it. The line meant "provisional staff." The lowest of the low.
He stepped inside.
The campus was beautiful—too beautiful, really. Grand towers spired into the clouds, glass domes sparkled with refracted sunlight, and fountains sang with water imbued by elemental spirits. Students in pristine robes walked in groups, their laughter echoing off polished stone. Professors drifted by in sweeping cloaks, their mana auras shimmering like halos.
Kael stuck out like a beer stain on a spell scroll.
Most of them ignored him. A few whispered. One younger instructor stared outright, then quickly looked away when Kael met his gaze.
He was used to it.
A woman approached from the eastern stairway. Mid-forties, hair in a tight silver bun, sharp eyes like icicles. She wore a high-collared instructor's uniform with a brooch that marked her as an administrator.
"You must be Kael Ardyn," she said with crisp authority. "I'm Professor Lenira Voss, Dean of Instruction."
Kael gave her a lazy salute. "The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure."
She didn't smile. "Follow me."
They walked in silence down a corridor flanked by stained-glass portraits of the school's founders. The halls were too clean. Too orderly. Kael could feel the spells humming beneath the floor like a thousand coiled snakes. Security wards. Anti-teleportation grids. Mind-seals.
Paranoia wrapped in tradition. Nothing had changed.
"I'll be brief," Voss said. "Class D is located in the South Annex. We moved them there after the last incident."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"
"One student reversed gravity in the main lecture hall. Forty-seven injuries. The professor is still recovering... somewhere near the ceiling."
Kael chuckled.
Voss did not.
"The students you'll be handling are... special cases. Expelled from other classes, shielded by noble bloodlines, or simply too unstable to place elsewhere. You are not expected to teach them conventional curriculum. Just keep them contained, alive, and preferably out of the infirmary."
Kael nodded slowly. "Sounds like my kind of people."
They stopped in front of a thick oak door reinforced with runes and—he noted with mild amusement—a physical lock.
"Try not to make things worse, Professor Ardyn," Voss said, turning to leave.
"No promises," he muttered.
He pushed open the door.
Class D
Chaos.
A small whirlwind spun lazily in the corner of the classroom, papers fluttering like dying birds. One student sat upside-down in midair, humming tunelessly. Another was asleep on a desk, snoring loudly while their arm sparked with tiny bolts of lightning. A third girl stood on a chair screaming at a floating teacup to "STOP JUDGING ME."
Twelve students. Twelve disasters. Kael had seen active battlefields with less tension.
He shut the door behind him and walked to the front of the room.
No one noticed.
He cleared his throat.
No one reacted.
He lit a flame in his palm—small, precise, but unnaturally dark. Black fire, coiling like a serpent.
That got their attention.
"Alright," Kael said, voice calm but carrying weight. "Welcome to Class D. Congratulations. You've officially hit rock bottom."
A few students snickered. Most just stared.
"I'm your new instructor. My name is Kael Ardyn. You can call me 'Professor,' 'Sir,' or 'The Last Thing Standing Between You and Expulsion.' I don't care which."
One boy near the back raised a hand. His eyes glowed faintly violet.
"Didn't you, like… blow up a Council Tower during the Rift War?"
Kael grinned. "Technically, it imploded. And it wasn't my fault."
A few students laughed. Even the floating one cracked a smile.
He continued. "Here's the deal. I'm not here to lecture you about rune theory or elemental harmonics. I'm here to make sure you don't kill yourselves or each other before the semester ends."
A girl in the front row, quiet with ink-stained fingers, raised her hand timidly. "What if… we want to learn? Properly?"
Kael tilted his head. "Then we'll learn. But we do it my way. Real magic. No sugar-coating. No illusions. And no whining."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep the room. "This class doesn't follow the academy's rules. It follows mine."
"Which are?" someone asked.
He held up a single finger. "Rule one: Survive."
"Is there a rule two?" another student joked.
Kael smiled faintly. "Don't make me write one."
As the bell rang and the students filtered out, some more reluctantly than others, Kael sat at the teacher's desk.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small crystal—a surveillance charm. It was faintly pulsing. Someone was watching.
He crushed it between his fingers.
Then he leaned back, eyes scanning the ceiling of the worn-out classroom.
"Let's see what you're hiding, Virelith."