“Perhaps you just run too hot for that thing to handle.” She gives the beaker a pointed look, then glances back at me with a smug little smirk—like she knows exactly what nerve she’s aiming for.
But Noa doesn’t flinch. He straightens slowly, eyes sparking like flint against steel as he turns to her. “Some things are meant to hold the heat. You just weren’t one of them.”
A flicker of something—shock, wounded pride—crosses Stella’s face before she recovers with a scoff and a toss of her hair. “Still burning bridges like you burn through beds, I see,” she hisses, before turning on her heel and stalking back to her table.
I pretend to focus on measuring out more powdered ironroot, but my pulse is thudding in my ears.
Finn lets out a low whistle. “And this is why I never date water-wielders… Too emotional. The lot of you.”
I aim an elbow at his ribs as he chuckles. I shoot him a glare, but I’m still watching Noa out of the corner of my eye.
He sets the beaker down like nothing happened, but his jaw is tight—and when he speaks, it’s just for me. “You know nothing she says matters, right?” He reaches out and brushes his thumb over the back of my wrist.
I nod. Even if my pulse is still recovering.
Because I’m not glass. I won’t shatter.
And I’m not afraid of fire.
I was made for it.
Professor Ching chooses that moment to inspect our tincture. He lifts the vial to the light, the amber substance catching a glint of flame. A raised brow. A pause. Then a nod. “I knew you’d be up to the task of this class, Miss Farris,” he says, a note of pride threading his voice. “Keep up the good work.” He offers a curt nod to Noa, Finn, and Mauve before moving on to the next table.
I glance across the room just in time to see Stella scowling down at her team’s curdled mess—thick, cloudy, and utterly wrong.
I don’t gloat. I don’t smile.
But inside, I am deeply, thoroughly satisfied.
CHAPTER 12
Some magick is so rare that it shapes the future more than the past or present.
—Theory of Elemental Magick, Vol. I
The first week of classes is fascinating—and challenging—upending many of my preconceptions about how the world of magick really works.
On Friday, we finally reach the third floor of the Logistics building for our Theory of Elemental Magick class. Rows of sturdy oak desks curve in a semi-circle around a central demonstration podium. Each desk still bears its now-vintage built-in inkwell and a slide-out drawer for notes.
In one corner, a low bookshelf groans under the weight of well-worn tomes—On the Philosophy of Fire,Waters of the Deep,Earth’s Patient Heart,The Breath of Air—their spines faded from decades of use. Above us, a mobile of carved wooden symbols—an air spiral, a flickering flame, a water droplet, an earthengemstone—turns ever so slightly, though no breeze stirs the room.
At the podium stands Professor Gideon Barrows. He is a tall man in his late forties or early fifties, with twinkling green eyes and a kindly smile framed by laugh-lined cheeks. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly cut but perpetually tousled, as if he just ran his fingers through it while working out a problem. He wears a tweed jacket with multicolored elbow patches, a crisp shirt, and well-worn khakis—comfortable and approachable, like the favorite uncle you’d trust to help you ride your first bike. Or give you your first beer.
He begins class by defining the fundamentals. “Every Magick here has the innate ability to manipulate their element—whether to move it, shape it, or redirect it. At your level, being a Whittaker student, you also all have the ability to project your element in directed forms: blasts, waves, spikes, whips… whatever your skill and creativity will allow.” He grins, leaning casually on the podium. “Just a friendly tip: if you’re planning to impress a date, maybe go with a gentle wave, not a full-power blast. Singed eyebrows rarely lead to second dates.”
Polite laughter moves across the classroom.
“You also possess elemental resistance. Fire-wielders burn less easily. Water-wielders can hold their breath longer, and resist cold, underwater. Earth-wielders shrug off blunt force with greater ease. Air-wielders can endure high speeds, crushing wind pressures, even thin oxygen. These resistances vary by individual, but they’re your first layer of defense.”
He clicks a lever on the podium, and a video of water freezing into solid ice flashes onto the screen behind him.
“State manipulation—heating or freezing your element at will—is a rare skill that takes years of advanced study to achieve. And almost unheard of is full-spectrum mastery: controlling the solid, liquid, and gaseous forms of your element interchangeably.”
The room is silent, every student carefully copying down notes.
“And rarer than that”—he lowers his voice conspiratorially—“iselemental fusion: merging your element with an object, a tool, or even another Magick to create something entirely new. Only a handful of Magicks in history have ever actually achieved it. It’s dangerous and even deadly if not done correctly. It is a lost art. But perhaps lost for a reason.”
Wait, what did he just say?
