On the way to the classroom, the two of them gave Ethan a quick rundown of the school's three major factions.
House Adamant focused on defense and discipline. They were the foundation of the academy—most of its members were Psionics with average abilities.
House Zephyr prioritized the flow and transformation of Soulforce. They accepted the "specialists"—students gifted in a single area. The house was known for its relaxed, free-spirited vibe.
House Cinder was where the real monsters dwelled. They only accepted high-level Psionics with broad, well-rounded talent.
Although students were sorted into different houses, their core classes were mixed. Students from all three houses were thrown together into the same classroom. Their first lesson of the morning was Incantations, taught by a man known as the "Half-Faced Asura"—Elias Graves.
His appearance alone was enough to give any new student nightmares. The left side of his body was completely paralyzed. His left face was withered like a dried corpse, the skin sunken and gray, while the right side was so full of life it was almost unsettling. The dividing line ran straight down the bridge of his nose—life and death, carved into a single face.
"Soulforce isn't everything. Understanding is what determines whether you live or die." Graves' voice was gravelly, like sandpaper scraping against rotted wood. "I only teach methods. Whether you actually learn anything—that's up to you."
He displayed the incantation on the digital screen.The task for this session was to cast a simple fire spell.
Nyx sat next to Ethan. To avoid drawing attention, she kept her voice low as she quickly summarized the key points from the previous lessons. Behind them, Leo leaned back in his seat, staring blankly out the window. His gaze was distant, uninterested.
Ethan's mind was racing. He absorbed the unfamiliar information like a sponge, desperately trying to piece together the underlying logic of how spells actually worked.
Casting a spell required three core components:
Incantations—specific sequences of words that enhanced a spell's effect. A complete incantation allowed for faster casting, almost like pressing a shortcut key.
Focus Items—vessels for channeling Soulforce. The most common were talismans or wands made from the World Tree, though expensive ores and certain types of soil were also used.
Soulforce—the user's own spiritual energy, the very essence of their soul.
At its core, spellcasting was about converting abstract Soulforce into physical elements in the natural world, then maintaining that form with sustained energy. Focus items and incantations helped boost power and sharpen control. Experienced Psionics could rely entirely on their own ability to precisely shape an element's form, combine it with others, and control its range—all while using incantations to cast faster, like a system shortcut burned into muscle memory.
Not far away, Brad was showing exactly what that looked like. With practiced ease, he compressed the surrounding air into razor-thin "wind blades" and hurled them at a target with surgical precision. Each blade whistled through the air, barely visible, deadly.
Elias, meanwhile, took things a step further. With nothing but his ordinary wooden cane, he conjured a massive serpent made entirely of roaring flames. The dragon coiled through the air, its fiery body radiating waves of heat that made the students instinctively lean back.
To cast quickly in combat, most Psionics carved the full incantations of their go-to spells directly into their focus items. Ethan, on the other hand, was one of the few who could shape fire purely through the curse sealed inside him—no incantation, no focus item, just raw, untamed instinct. But that power was locked away, buried beneath layers of suppression he didn't fully understand.
The form of a focus item also determined casting efficiency and, to some extent, social class. Brad wore several rings embedded with expensive gemstones. At the center of each ring was a precision slot where a pre-made micro-incantation slip could be inserted, allowing him to activate spells almost instantly. These ores were extremely costly, offered the fastest casting speed, and were the standard equipment for kids from wealthy families.
In Saint's Domain, most ordinary students still relied on talismans or wands made from the World Tree. They were primitive compared to Brad's rings, but they were the most stable, cost-effective option available. A wand wouldn't make you look rich, but it would save your life when it counted.
Ethan tried to follow along. He wrote the fire incantation on a piece of paper, just like everyone else. He held the paper between his fingers and pushed, desperately willing the energy inside him to move.
But the Soul-Locking Nail was still doing its job.
The power inside him felt like a valve welded shut. No matter how hard he tried—his face turning red from the strain—the paper between his fingers only produced a wisp of black, foul-smelling smoke. No flame. No spark. Just a pathetic, burnt offering.
Graves slowly walked past, his crippled leg dragging slightly with each step. He glanced down at the scorched paper in Ethan's hand. For a moment, something flickered in his clouded eyes—disappointment, perhaps.
"It seems you're not as special as they said," Graves muttered, his voice flat and cold.
Laughter erupted in the classroom. Brad Thone, sitting in the back, nearly fell out of his seat laughing. With a casual flick of his wrist, his ring glowed, and a two-foot-tall flame roared to life above his fingers.
"Looks like our 'genius' here is only good for lighting cigarettes!" Brad's voice dripped with mockery.
Leo's fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. But deep down, he knew the truth—when it came to raw spellcasting in this class, he was no match for Brad. So he sat there, staring daggers at the corner of his desk, grinding his teeth in silence.
The moment the bell rang, Brad was already on his feet. He blocked the back door with his lackeys—Caleb Flood and Piper Vale flanking him like shadows.
"Well, well. Look at this little pack of strays," Brad sneered, his eyes sweeping over the three of them with obvious contempt. "A defective lighter, a muscle-head who can't cast a single spell, and a snake girl who spends all her time kissing venomous reptiles."
The word "snake girl" hit Skylar like a slap to the face. Her face drained of color in an instant.
She specialized in venom curses—spells that borrowed power from poisonous insects. The whispers in the hallways were one thing. She could endure those. But this—being humiliated in public, in front of everyone—cut like a blade.
"You want another taste of my boot?" Leo stepped forward, dropping into a fighting stance. His muscles were coiled, ready to spring.
Ethan saw the situation escalating. He reached out and grabbed Leo's arm, pulling him back. He didn't want to become the center of attention. More than that, he didn't want his friends to get punished because of him.
But Brad wasn't about to let this opportunity slip away. His grudge from the bar still burned fresh. He shot Caleb a look—a silent signal.
Caleb might have looked like a simple, thick-headed brute, but he was a master of illusion magic. It was a unique ability passed down through his family. He began muttering under his breath, his lips moving rapidly.
A blue magic circle flickered to life beneath Ethan's feet.
The world warped.
Light and shadow twisted, and suddenly Ethan wasn't in the classroom anymore. Three machines stood before him—cold, gleaming metal drenched in blood. They roared as they charged forward.
The machines that had killed his aunt Linda.
"No…"The word escaped his lips like a whisper, but inside, something was shattering.
PTSD tore through his mind like a wildfire, shredding every ounce of reason he had left. Despair. Regret. Rage. They all converged into one boiling torrent that surged from his core and shot upward, unstoppable.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!!!"Ethan's scream tore through the hallway.
Dark red markings erupted across his right arm, crawling up his skin like living vines. Then came the flame—a torrent of crimson fire that exploded from his palm, carrying a distinctly destructive aura. This wasn't ordinary fire. It was a psychic overload, raw willpower and rage given form, mixed with something ancient and sealed.
The blaze devoured the illusion in an instant, shredding it like paper. The shockwave hurled Caleb backward. Flames licked at his shoulder as he hit the ground, his scream echoing down the corridor.
"STOP!"
Graves had felt the surge of Soulforce from halfway across the building. He came limping back as fast as his crippled leg would carry him, his cane striking the floor with each urgent step. He slammed the tip of his cane against the ground, and a magic circle expanded beneath his feet.
Flames poured out of Ethan and Caleb alike, sucked into the array like water draining from a sink. The fire vanished. The dark red markings on Ethan's arm receded, leaving only his trembling, sweat-soaked form behind.
"A ticking time bomb," Graves spat, looking at Ethan with undisguised disgust. His voice was ice. "Nothing but a danger to everyone around you."
He barked orders at the stunned students, sending them to take Caleb to the infirmary. Then he grabbed Ethan by the arm and dragged him down the hall. There was only one place for a problem like this.
The headmaster's office.Inside, the atmosphere was heavy.
Ethan stood outside like a child waiting for punishment, listening to the muffled sound of Graves' voice through the thick wooden door. The professor was agitated, his words sharp and urgent.
A moment later, the door swung open with a gust of air. Graves limped out, his face still tight with frustration. He didn't even look at Ethan as he passed.
"Come in, Ethan."
The voice from inside was calm. Steady. Cassian Valerius, the headmaster, sounded almost amused.
Ethan stepped into the office. Cassian was seated behind his desk, a familiar half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. But his gaze wasn't fixed on Ethan. It was directed downward, at the other side of the desk.
"You two can stop hiding now."