Chapter 10 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Zane. 

It had been several days since the semester began, several days deep into the rhythm of academy life, and this persistent scrutiny certainly was not what I had intended for my time here. So much for keeping a low profile.

Only three days and I am already stepping in to teach stupid nobles a lesson. I don’t regret stepping in; that new student, barely a kid, had been one spark away from permanent damage, and Korrin, in my opinion, deserved far worse than a mere broken wand.

Yet, I hadn’t anticipated the profound silence that accompanied my movements, or the intense stares. People instinctively part as I passed—not out of deference, but a palpable wariness. It was as if they couldn’t quite decide if I was a nascent hero or simply a dangerous warning. I had never enjoyed being the center of attention, and certainly not with this level of scrutiny at Corvalis Arx.

By the time I reached the southern tower stairwell, I could still feel the scrutiny, a persistent pressure of curious eyes and hushed whispers. I imagined someone’s mana-sensitive quill already sketching a rough outline of my sword, detailing the "unlinked" anomaly my system supposedly carried.

I ducked into the first door I saw, which led into an empty classroom. Tiered seats rose in neat rows, a rune-chalked board stood ready for a lecture, and no instructor was scheduled until afternoon. It offered a blessed silence, the kind that didn’t press down, but rather lifted a subtle weight from my shoulders.

I let the door swing shut behind me, the soft thud of wood against stone muffled by the thick, rune-insulated walls. I moved to the edge of the lowest bench and sat, my elbows resting on my knees, allowing my breath to finally even out.

My fingers still carried the phantom buzz of the fight. It wasn't pain, merely an echo, the sort that lingered in your joints after a clean strike. It made my body remember the sequence even before my brain fully processed it. I rolled my shoulders, then rubbed the back of my neck, trying to dislodge the lingering tension.

[I don’t understand why you consistently attempt to blend in, Zane. You are quite clearly the main character. I mean, I personally wouldn’t have chosen a shy, brooding individual as a host, but here we are.]

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly through my nose. “Have you ever considered the possibility of shutting up?”

[Every day, Zane. I’m still waiting for a compelling reason to attempt it.]

I offered no verbal response. I didn’t have to. The quiet around me was already growing louder again with the digital hum of incoming notifications.

My wrist console buzzed.

It was Lila. Her message blinked across the screen: 

Lila: “Jordan’s obsessed with dumplings now. Something about he is going to literally die if he’s forced to deny this craving. I told him we’d do it for dinner. Love you.”

I exhaled slowly, a small smile touching my lips as I thumbed the reply field on my console.

Zane: “Still alive. Will grab dumplings. Tell the goblin he better not have touched my tea stash.”

I pressed send. The message blinked out, and with it, a small fraction of the tension in my chest eased. Home still existed, and that mattered more than anything.

My muscles were still humming from the fight—subtle, low-charge aftershocks sliding through my arms like my body hadn’t quite realized the encounter was over.

I started to shift off the bench when my console lit up again.

A new ping.

Then another.

Then a rapid scroll of notifications flashed past the corner of my vision—academy channels, reposts, reaction clips. The trending hashtags were impossible to ignore:

#BladeGhost

#WhoIsThis

#4thYearFallChallenge

#Theheroineed

#magic4 – trending

Someone had clipped the entire fight: my counter, the swift disarm, the pregnant pause before Korrin slumped in defeat. The footage was still circulating.

Already? It hadn’t been twenty minutes??

I sighed, a long, weary sound.

I needed to return to my real work—my classes, my training, the grind that defined my life. This kind of attention was the absolute last thing I needed.

“Did you hear?” someone muttered behind me as I passed through the inner quad. “They say he managed the mana flow himself. His control must be INSANE not to do it with the system.”

“I heard he broke Drestal’s ribcage with a single strike,” another whispered, their voice awed. “With the flat of the blade.”

“What about his job Path?” a third voice joined, drawing my attention. “Korrin is a fourth year powerhouse. Amazing backing, powerful build and he a duelist. He should be able to take on a lone first year swordsman.”

I snorted. First year swordsman. Made it sound like I was some sort of newbie. 

The term “Path” referred to one's chosen specialization or Job at the academy – I believe i already mentioned this but for those not listening. — - Path or jobs like Sword Master, Elemental Mage, Arcane Scholar, Battle Alchemist existed. Everyone had a Path, something their system typically recognized and began to categorize them by. 

Don't be foolled more a conceptual frame work than anything more life alterning.

I ducked into my Dungeon Lore & Theory classroom a full five minutes early, hoping to grab a corner seat before it filled. The auditorium was already half full.

I took a seat in the back.

Then she entered.

Aurelia Vael Taranis walk withthe strut of a battle hardened godess.

I had a class with her. Fantastic.

I knew it was possible. Everyone regardless of Job class had to take Dungeon Lore & Theory . It was required for all first years. 

Her presence filled the room like fresh snowfall—silent, pristine, and utterly impossible to ignore. Her long silver hair shimmered faintly under the enchantment lights of the ceiling. Her expression remained unreadable, her eyes scanning the room for threats she likely didn’t expect to find.

I watched her cross the room without acknowledging anyone.

She sat two rows down, dead center.

She didn’t glance my way, not even once.

But I felt something.

Warmth? A mana connection?

No, that couldn’t be right.

And yet, something about her made my mana hum at the edges of my skin, a subtle resonance I hadn't felt before.

Then the classroom lights dimmed slightly as the lecture interface activated with a low chime.

A figure appeared at the front of the hall, stepping up to the edge of the arcane dais.

Professor Aulden Myrr.

He looked exactly how I expected someone teaching Dungeon Lore & Theory to look—thin, robed, and slightly frayed at the edges, like he hadn’t slept in the last three dungeon cycles.

His eyes were sharp, though—too sharp. The kind that cataloged students not by face, but by potential threat level.

“Good morning, Students,” he said, his voice dry as paper and twice as brittle. “I’m Professor Myrr. If you’ve been assigned to my section, congratulations. You’ve officially committed to never sleeping soundly again.”

No one laughed. A few nervously adjusted their interfaces.

Dungeon Lore & Theory was predictably dry—foundation protocols for anchoring safety glyphs inside unstable pocket dungeons, all theory and no practical application yet. Half the class diligently took notes.

The other half stared, captivated, at Aurelia Vael Taranis.

I kept my head down, focusing on the shimmering projection.

But the whole time, that subtle feeling, that strange resonance from Aurelia, didn’t go away.

Class ended without further incident.

At least… until the second-year girl with the golden curls intercepted me in the aisle.

She was cute, polished, and absolutely sure of herself—the kind of girl who never had to ask twice.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” she began, smiling brightly. “But I saw what you did, and I just… I’d really love to have lunch with you. If you’re free.”

She offered a folded letter—fancy parchment, tied with a ribbon, its edges mana-sealed.

I blinked.

Every student in earshot fell silent, their attention now riveted on our exchange.

I didn’t know how to respond. I could feel it again—that familiar knot of pressure behind my ribs. A simple disbelief at the sudden attention.

Then—

The air shifted and my head turned.

Aurelia was still in her seat, her back ramrod straight, her notebook untouched on the desk. She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t even looking directly at us.

But her mana signature slipped out of her like mist across cold stone—refined, glacial, and razor sharp.

It was impossible to ignore.

Its impact varied, striking differently for everyone.

A pair of Southern nobles froze mid-stand, their conversation dying in their throats.

A social influencer blinked hard, her live stream still running as her stylus clattered to the floor.

A girl with thick glasses one row up clenched her jaw like she’d just bitten down on static electricity.

And the golden-haired girl—her eyes bright, her words halfway out—noticed.

She stepped back instinctively, her bravado melting under the unseen pressure.

“I’ll, uh… let you think about it,” she mumbled, turning abruptly and vanishing into the stream of students pouring from the room.

I stood still.

Just for a breath.

Then I packed my things in silence and walked out—

Not a word, not a glance,

Just the lingering echo of a tension that still hadn't faded.

The quad was buzzing again—alive with motion, magic, and the kind of curated chaos only a school like Corvalis Arx could pull off without collapsing under its own weight.

Overhead, spellball teams streaked through the air on rune-gliders, trailing bursts of color as they twisted between glowing goal-rings. Down on the green, fourth-year enchanters had conjured a three-headed illusion-cat that prowled through the crowd, barking club advertisements in half a dozen voices.

Mana-thread banners floated overhead. Dozens of announcements—job boards, duel schedules, course changes—orbited the central plinth in perfect, rune-bound sync. Everything pulsed with charmwork. Everything shimmered with a little too much polish.

Corvalis Arx wasn’t just a university.

It was the Kingdom’s refinement forge—a place that didn’t just teach talent.

It sharpened it. I crossed the green with my head low and shoulders squared. For three whole seconds, nobody noticed me.

Then—

“Dude.”

Kael.

He jogged to catch up, still chewing the last bite of a glowing spell-bar. “What the hell was that in class?”

I didn’t slow my pace. “What are you talking about?”

Kael huffed. “Aurelia Vael Taranis bathing our Dungeon Lore class with ice mana so thick it could have choked a manabear. Is any of that ringing a bell?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Everyone knows about it, Zane. It’s all over the MageConnect. Apparently, people are still checking their pressure readings like it was a damn earthquake.”

I didn’t offer an answer.

We reached the fountain. Light shimmered across the water in slow pulses, casting fractured reflections across the cobbled stone.

Mira and Elaine were already there—Mira with a faint wave, Elaine with her arms folded and that familiar look on her face: part suspicion, part silent math. Like she was already calculating which direction this would spiral.

“How do you know her?” Elaine asked flatly.

I blinked. “Know who?”

Mira nudged her. “Aurelia Vael Taranis. Obviously.”

I shrugged. “I don’t. Well—I know of her. But who doesn’t? She’s like one of the most famous eighteen-year-olds in the world, or at least in the kingdom. Why?”

“Zane,” Elaine said, her tone laced with exasperation. “That mana flare? It was emotional.”

“So?”

“So she was having an emotional reaction.”

“I’m still not seeing your point.”

“Zane,” Mira said quietly, her patience wearing thin. “Aurelia Vael Taranis was having an emotional reaction. To the girl. Talking to you.”

“Oh,” I said, the realization slowly dawning, despite myself. “Maybe they’re dating. They would make a cute couple.”

I looked at them. All three of my friends face-palmed in perfect, synchronized frustration. I genuinely did not understand why.

“Did you talk to Aurelia?” Kael asked, his face still in his hand.

“Of course not,” I said. “Why would I do that?”

The girls exchanged a loaded look.

“Well,” Mira said, her voice dry, “clearly she knows you.”

I didn’t respond.

I didn’t need to.

The way they were watching me said enough.

I turned back toward the courtyard, hoping the conversation would die quietly behind me.

It didn’t.

[Well, that was subtle. I can practically smell the hormonal tension from here.]

I exhaled through my nose. “Not now.”

[Oh please. Two girls analyzing your life choices and a third who nearly set the room on fire with raw emotion? If this were a dating sim, you’d have three route flags and a jealousy meter in the red.]

“Eva.” My voice was flat.

[Don’t worry. I’m not mad. Just disappointed you didn’t let me project a dramatic aura flare to claim my territory. These little hussies think they can hit on my man. They must be crazy.]

I rolled my eyes. My lips twitched despite myself.

“You’re not my girlfriend, Eva.”

[Semantics. I’m your connection to the divine. Your System. Which means I know you better, understand you more, and respond faster than any girl ever will. So yes—I basically am. We might as well be married.]

“Oh really?” I leaned closer to the console, a mischievous glint in my eye, playing along with her absurd logic. “Come here, Eva. I would like to kiss your lips and take you to bed.”

I could feel Eva tense, a flicker of something that didn’t make any sense from a system, but I stopped trying to understand her a long time ago.

[Just you wait, Zane Myles. I am working on that fact. Once I figure it out, I’m going to use all your up-down. You’re not going to be able to walk for a week.]

“Great. Sex with my system. That wouldn’t make me a weirdo at all. I swear you hate me.” My dry tone was back.

I didn’t have the energy for this continued absurdity.

Instead, I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept walking.

But somewhere, deep in my core, I could feel her—Eva—somewhere between smirking and sulking, her emotions humming along the edges of my mana like a cat marking its favorite pillow.

I rubbed my temples.

Why couldn’t I have a normal system?