At first, a few weak sparks sputtered from the wand's tip. Then, with a deafening rumble that shook the ground, the sky seemed to tear open. Countless jagged bolts of pure lightning descended in an unerring storm, striking the wooden puppet with relentless, high-voltage fury. The puppet didn't just splinter; it was instantly incinerated, leaving behind nothing but a scorch mark on the grass.
In Silas's hand, the practice wand glowed white-hot for a second before silently disintegrating into a puff of fine dust.
A stunned silence fell over the battleground. Every student stared, their faces a mixture of awe and horror. Even Kael's signature grin had vanished, replaced by a look of sheer shock. The intensity of the attack was far beyond what any first-year should be capable of. His experienced eyes quickly assessed the lingering energy, and a thought struck him. He immediately checked Silas's status. Level 10. Now it all made sense.
He let out a long sigh and walked over to Silas, who was looking down at his empty hand with an embarrassed expression. "Silas," Kael asked, his voice steady despite his shock, "when did you reach Level 10?"
Silas scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Just yesterday."
Kael nodded slowly, then turned to address the other dumbfounded students. "See!" he announced, his voice booming across the field again. "This is what happens when you don't rest on your laurels! Silas doesn't slack off just because he has a Divine-grade affinity. He works for it. He learned the same spell you all did today, and he perfected it instantly."
He gestured toward the pile of dust that was once a wand. "As for that, it's simple. Those practice wands are only built to endure mana up to Level 5. My student here is already at Level 10. The wand simply couldn't handle the output and evaporated."
The explanation did little to quell the intense reactions. A wave of reverence washed over some of the students. In others, a bitter jealousy took root, and a few glared at Silas with pure, undisguised hatred. But through it all, Jacob watched his friend, his face shining with nothing but absolute pride and happiness.
The rest of the practical class passed uneventfully. The other students tried their best to cast their first spells, with varying degrees of success. When it was Jacob's turn, Silas watched closely. As expected, Jacob only used his water affinity, creating a simple jet of water to knock over the puppet. Silas understood perfectly now. Just like him, Jacob didn't want to reveal his trump cards to the world.
After the class ended, Silas, Rhys, and Jacob headed back to their dorm room together.
Meanwhile, in a private apartment within the Argent Spire, a handsome young man was tearing his room apart. Theron searched frantically for something he hadn't laid eyes on in years. He had purposefully hidden the small gift box deep inside a closet, burying it under old clothes and forgotten trinkets, afraid that opening it would mean losing his friendship with Jacob for good.
But Jacob's words in the canteen echoed in his mind. 'Open it. Then you'll know.' After returning to his room, Theron had searched relentlessly until, finally, as evening light filtered through his window, his fingers brushed against the small, dusty box.
With trembling hands, he opened it. Inside was a beautifully crafted space pouch, far nicer than anything a village boy doing odd jobs should have been able to afford. Tucked inside the pouch was a neatly folded note.
[Theron,
I can't give you an expensive gift, although I wanted to give you something you could use all the time. I tried to save everything I earned from doing odd jobs after paying for necessities. Please don't return it. Just accept this as a last gift from me.
For me, you were never just a friend, Theron.
I don't know when it started, but I always felt something inside me that wanted you as more than a friend. I like you, Theron.
And I know you're straight. You had girlfriends before, and you'll have more of them in the future. I don't want you to hate me, and that's why I'm leaving. Leaving from your life.
Your stupid friend,
Jacob.]
Theron's hands shook violently as he finished reading. This was an outcome he had never, ever imagined. He had always seen Jacob as his one and only friend, his constant companion. He never considered anything more. Or rather, he had actively ignored the feelings he sensed from Jacob. He had seen the sadness in Jacob's eyes over the years and had asked about it many times, but he never took it seriously, never pushed for the real answer. Now he knew. He finally understood how much he had hurt Jacob, how much pain his friend must have felt all those years, loving someone he could never have.
He slumped heavily into a nearby chair, covering his face with one hand, the letter still clutched tightly in the other. His mind reeled, tumbling back through a flood of forgotten memories.
He remembered teasing Jacob when they were just kids, thoughtlessly promising he'd marry him one day so they'd never have to be apart. He remembered the time he saw Jacob playing with another boy and was consumed by a white-hot jealousy, beating the boy for an hour straight. If Jacob hadn't come and pulled him off, he might have continued. He had always been possessive, but he'd just called it friendship. Now, he saw it all in a new, devastating light.
It wasn't just that one time. He remembered countless instances of becoming consumed with a dark, possessive jealousy whenever he saw Jacob laughing or talking with someone else, often ending with Theron finding a reason to beat the other boy up later.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Even today, at the breakfast table, when Kael had mentioned his boyfriend, Theron's first, panicked thought had been a desperate prayer, 'Please, don't let it be Jacob. Anyone but Jacob.'
He thought about the string of girlfriends Jacob had mentioned in the letter. It was true. He'd never been in a relationship that lasted more than seven months. The moment things started to get serious, a heavy, suffocating feeling would settle in his heart, and he'd end it. He'd earned a reputation as a playboy in the academy, handsome and charming but ultimately non-committal. People fell for him, but he had never truly fallen for anyone.
Until now.
He pictured Jacob's teary, mesmerizing eyes looking at him with such difficulty in the empty canteen. His heart began to pound against his ribs like a war drum. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic, undeniable rhythm. It was a feeling he'd never had for any of his past girlfriends.
With newfound clarity, he tucked the precious letter into his pocket. He unclasped his old space pouch and replaced it with the one Jacob had given him four years ago, securing it firmly at his waist. Without a second's hesitation, he rushed out of his apartment and ran toward the dormitories for new students.
Back in the dorm room, Jacob had just finished pouring his heart out to Silas and Rhys. His eyes were glistening, on the verge of spilling fresh tears. Rhys immediately pulled him into a tight hug, patting his back comfortingly.
"There, there, Jacob," Rhys murmured. "I know it hurts. But you need to be strong. Everything will be okay."
Silas came over and clapped a hand on his other shoulder. "Yes! So what if he's an instructor? If he made my friend sad, I'll show him just how strong my fists are," he declared, making a fist and shaking it for emphasis.
Remembering the feel of Silas's "friendly" punches all too well, Rhys shuddered involuntarily.
A watery chuckle escaped Jacob. The earnest, slightly ridiculous attempts of his friends to comfort him were working.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
The three of them looked toward the door, confused. Who would be visiting them at this hour?
Silas stood up and went to open it. Standing on the other side was Theron. Before the instructor could say a word, Silas glanced back at Jacob's tear-streaked face, then fixed Theron with a hard stare.
"Instructor Theron," Silas said, his voice low and serious. "I don't know what you want to say to Jacob, but remember this. Jacob is our friend. Me and Rhys will do anything to make him happy. Even if we have to fight an instructor." He held up his fist as a clear warning.
A small, weary chuckle escaped Theron. He was strangely happy to see Jacob had found such loyal friends. "Don't worry, Silas," he said, shaking his head. "I just want to confess my own stupidity. I want to solve our misunderstanding."
Silas considered his words, then nodded slowly and stepped aside. Rhys gently guided Jacob to the door. As Jacob stepped out into the hallway with Theron, he looked back at his friends. They both gave him a nod of encouragement and held up their fists, a silent promise to beat Theron up if needed.
A real smile, the first one in hours, touched Jacob's lips. He chuckled softly and walked away with Theron.
Theron led Jacob away from the bustling dormitories and toward the quiet, moon-dappled forest that bordered the academy grounds. His instructor status allowed them to pass through the main gates just before they were shut for the night, enveloping them in the cool, silent darkness of the trees.
Jacob followed a few steps behind, his gaze fixed on the ground, his mind a whirlwind of anxiety. He didn't know where they were going or what Theron wanted to say, but every step felt heavier than the last.
Without warning, Theron stopped walking. Lost in his thoughts, Jacob walked right into his broad back with a soft thump.
Theron spun around instantly, his hands shooting out to grab Jacob's shoulders to steady him. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.
Jacob could only manage a numb nod in response. His gaze then fell to Theron's waist, and his breath caught in his throat. There, hanging where Theron's old, worn pouch used to be, was the one he had painstakingly saved up for all those years ago. He froze, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs with a frantic, painful rhythm. He knew. There was only one reason Theron would be wearing it now.
As if reading his mind, Theron's voice came out soft and heavy. "I read the letter, Jacob... the one you wrote me four years back."
All the air seemed to vanish from Jacob's lungs. It felt like his heart wasn't just trying to escape his rib cage; it felt like it was about to shatter completely.