The Basic Aura Theory classroom smelled like old chalk and disappointment. Thirty students crammed into a space meant for twenty, morning sun slanting through grimy windows that probably hadn't been cleaned since the Empire's founding. The desks were scarred with generations of bored students carving their initials, crude drawings, and occasionally what looked like legitimate seal arrays.

Avian had gotten his schedule from the floor prefect that morning—a nervous third-year who'd handed it over like it might explode. Now he claimed a seat in the middle row—not eager front, not slacker back. Strategic positioning for someone who wanted to pass tests without attracting unnecessary attention. Except attention was exactly what he needed if he wanted to graduate in two years instead of four.

Kai lounged in the seat beside him, already looking bored. "Ten silver says the professor's one of those 'back in my day' types."

"No bet."

The door slammed open hard enough to crack the frame. Professor Harwick entered like violence given teaching credentials—scarred face, missing left eye, and the kind of limp that suggested something had taken a bite out of his leg and he'd killed it anyway.

"I am Professor Harwick," he announced, voice like gravel in a cement mixer. "I've killed more men than you've had hot meals. I've survived three wars, two coups, and one extremely unfortunate wedding. I'm here because the Academy pays well and I'm too old to die gloriously in battle."

Nobody laughed. Nobody was sure if they were supposed to.

"Let's start with fundamentals." He grabbed chalk and started drawing on the board with aggressive strokes. "Who can explain the difference between aura manifestation and aura projection?"

Hands shot up—mostly nobles eager to show off their expensive education. Garrett Blackstone practically vibrated with enthusiasm.

"Lord Blackstone. Enlighten us."

Garrett stood, chest puffed out. "Aura manifestation is the internalization of life force to enhance physical capabilities, while projection is the externalization of that same energy for ranged attacks or area effects. The key distinction lies in the directional flow through the body's spiritual channels—"

"Textbook perfect," Harwick interrupted. "And completely fucking useless."

Garrett's mouth hung open.

"You think a demon's going to wait while you recite definitions? You think proper terminology matters when someone's trying to separate your head from your shoulders?" Harwick turned to the class. "Real question: Your aura channels are damaged mid-fight. Half your spiritual network is screaming in agony. How do you maintain enhancement without passing out?"

Silence. The nobles looked confused—their training assumed perfect conditions, proper form, intact channels. The few commoners who might know from experience weren't about to volunteer.

"Nobody? Thirty supposed warriors and not one—"

"You don't maintain it." Avian didn't raise his hand, didn't stand. Just spoke from his seat like stating the obvious. "You switch to micro-pulses through secondary channels. Hurts like hell, about thirty percent efficiency, but keeps you moving."

Harwick's good eye fixed on him. "Explain."

"Primary channels are obvious—run along major muscle groups, easy to damage. Secondary channels follow blood vessels, smaller but more numerous. You can't maintain full enhancement through them, but you can pulse power in bursts. Three seconds on, one second off. Enough to stay alive."

"Where exactly did you learn that particular technique?"

"Practice."

The word hung in the air. Practice meant real combat. Practice meant someone had actually damaged his channels and he'd had to adapt or die.

"Interesting." Harwick studied him for a long moment. "Your name?"

"Avian Veritas."

A ripple went through the class. The Veritas heir. The youngest to ever reach such power. The one whose father could kill them all without moving.

"Ah." Harwick's scarred face twisted into what might have been a smile. "I've heard about you. Let's see if the rumors are accurate. Everyone, demonstrate your aura level. I want to know what I'm working with."

Students stood one by one, releasing their aura in controlled bursts. Most of the nobles were Expert rank—competent but unremarkable. A few pushed into Master territory. The commoners were more varied—some barely Novice, but that lightning girl Vera was solid Master rank when she finally revealed it.

"Veritas. Your turn."

Avian didn't stand. Didn't gesture. Didn't even change his expression. He just released his aura from where he sat, controlled and dense as a mountain's weight.

The temperature dropped. The air itself seemed to crystalize, heavy with pressure that made breathing an effort. Spider web cracks spread across the floor from his desk, racing toward the walls. The windows rattled in their frames. Someone's ink pot shattered.

Grandmaster rank. Not the flashy, look-at-me release most students did, but the bone-deep density of someone who'd compressed their power until it hurt.

"That's enough," Harwick said quietly.

Avian reined it in, and the room collectively remembered how to breathe.

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you been at Grandmaster rank?"

"A while."

Harwick laughed—a sound like grinding gears. "A while. At fifteen. Most knights don't hit Grandmaster until their thirties, if ever."

"I had good teachers."

"I bet you did." Harwick turned to the board, adding notes. "Alright, change of plans. We're splitting the class. Anyone below Master rank, left side of the room. Master and above, right side. Veritas, stay after class. You might want to consider advanced placement testing."

The rest of the class passed in a blur of technical exercises. Harwick was brutal but effective, making students spar with weighted bands that restricted their aura flow, forcing them to adapt. He corrected form with his cane, which somehow hurt more than it should have.

When the bell finally rang—a resonant tone that seemed to come from the stones themselves—students fled like they were escaping a natural disaster.

"Veritas." Harwick pulled a form from his desk. "Advanced placement testing. Next week. Pass the written and practical for first and second year, you can jump straight to third year courses."

"What about third and fourth year?"

"One step at a time. Though..." He studied Avian with that single eye. "You're not here for the education, are you? You're here for the credentials. The piece of paper that lets you go wherever you're really trying to go."

Avian said nothing.

"Well, whatever you're after, you'll get there faster with that attitude. The Academy rewards exceptional. Stay exceptional." He handed over the form. "Get out of here. Don't want to be late for your next class."

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The Deviant Magic Theory classroom was everything the previous one wasn't—clean, modern, and absolutely covered in containment seals. The walls shimmered with protective arrays. The ceiling had what looked like emergency venting systems. The floor was some kind of reactive material that absorbed excess energy.

Only seven students sat in the expansive space, scattered like islands in an empty sea.

Professor Crane practically bounced when Avian entered. She looked maybe twenty-five, with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she'd never been in real danger in her life.

"Another gravity user! Oh, this is wonderful! Three in one year—it's unprecedented!"

Avian took a seat near the window, noting the other students. Two gravity users besides himself—a nervous-looking girl who kept making her desk wobble and a pompous noble who'd probably awakened it through expensive stimulants. Two spatial mages sat together, twins by the look of them, occasionally switching places without moving. One other student sat alone, constantly checking a pocket watch with unusual focus—probably the time mage.

And in the corner, trying very hard to look like he belonged...

"Leontis, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"The protagonist's sound magic qualifies as deviant!" Leontis declared, then withered under Crane's stare. "I... may have convinced the registrar that sound magic was theoretical enough to count."

"Sound magic is a myth," the pompous gravity noble said.

Leontis grinned and hummed a single note. The noble's next words came out backwards, syllables reversed into gibberish.

"Kcuf eht tahw?"

"Myth status: vigorously disputed!"

Professor Crane actually clapped. "Oh, this is wonderful! Sound magic! I've only read about it in pre-Empire texts! You have to tell me everything! How did you discover it? What's your range? Can you—"

"Perhaps," Avian interrupted, "we could start with actual instruction?"

"Oh! Yes, of course!" She practically skipped to the board. "Deviant magic! Magic that breaks conventional rules! Magic that shouldn't exist but does anyway! You seven are impossibilities made manifest!"

She drew frantically on the board—diagrams that hurt to look at directly.

"Gravity magic bends space-time! Spatial magic ignores distance! Time magic laughs at causality! And sound magic—if it really exists—treats reality as a symphony to be conducted!"

"What about the other types?" the nervous gravity girl asked.

"Theoretical mostly. Void magic—the manipulation of nothingness. Concept magic—making ideas physical. Soul magic—which the Church has very strong opinions about. And supposedly, power magic itself, though that hasn't been seen since..." She trailed off, looking at Avian strangely.

"Since when?"

"Since legends. Moving on! Mr. Veritas, would you demonstrate your gravity manipulation?"

Avian lifted his desk with one finger, balancing it on the tip like it weighed nothing.

"Fascinating! Most gravity users can only increase weight, but you're doing true gravitational manipulation! Can you affect multiple objects?"

Without standing, Avian made everyone's quills float simultaneously, then returned them to normal.

"He's showing off," the pompous noble muttered.

"I'm answering the question," Avian corrected. "There's a difference."

"Can you create gravitational fields?" Crane asked eagerly.

"Yes."

"Show us!"

Avian sighed and created a localized field around the pompous noble's desk. Everything on it—books, quills, inkpot—suddenly orbited around an invisible center point like a tiny solar system.

"Siht pots!" the noble demanded, still speaking backwards from Leontis's earlier demonstration.

"Oh my goodness!" Crane was actually taking notes. "True gravitational manipulation! Do you realize how rare this is? Most gravity users are really just weight manipulators, but you're affecting the fundamental force itself!"

"Can we move on?" Avian asked, already tired of the attention.

"Yes, yes of course! Now, the important thing about deviant magic is that it doesn't follow normal rules. Mana consumption is irregular. Effects can cascade unpredictably. And most importantly, there's no established teaching method because each practitioner is unique."

She assigned them reading—texts with titles like "Impossibility Theory" and "When Physics Surrenders"—and spent the rest of class having each student demonstrate their abilities while she took enthusiastic notes.

The time mage made a flower bloom and wither in seconds—apparently his affinity let him accelerate or slow time in small areas. The spatial twins switched not just places but momentum, turning a gentle toss into a fastball pitch. The nervous gravity girl managed to make water flow upward.

When class ended, Crane caught Avian at the door.

"Your control is remarkable for someone so young. How long have you been practicing?"

"Long enough."

"I could arrange special training sessions. Advanced theory, practical applications—"

"I'll consider it."

He left before she could persist, finding Kai waiting in the hallway.

"How bad was it?"

"The aura professor wants me to test out. The deviant magic professor wants to study me like a specimen."

"So, normal day for you."

They walked toward the dining hall, passing clusters of students who went quiet as Avian passed. Word had already spread about the demonstration in Harwick's class. A few students wearing club badges tried to approach—the Theoretical Magic Society, the Dueling Club, even something called the Ancient History Preservation Group—but one look at Avian's expression sent them scurrying.

"At least you're making progress," Kai said, watching the rejected recruiters flee. "Advanced placement testing next week. Pass that, you skip two years."

"Still leaves two more."

"You'll find a way to skip those too."

They entered the dining hall—a massive space with vaulted ceilings and long tables segregated by invisible social boundaries. Nobles on one side, commoners on the other, scholarship students huddled in defensive clusters.

"Lord Veritas!"

Mira, the scholarship girl from his floor, waved nervously from a corner table. She was sitting with Edgar and Thomas, all three looking like they expected to be evicted at any moment.

"The furniture was delivered to our room," she said quietly when he passed. "Three beds, three desks. The delivery person said it was a 'mistake' but left it anyway."

"Convenient mistake."

"Yes, very." She smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"For what? I don't control furniture deliveries."

"Of course not."

Avian grabbed food—the dining hall operated on a point system, nobles getting more elaborate meals while commoners got basics. He had enough points for a feast but took simple fare anyway. No point in advertising wealth he didn't care about.

"Your reputation's solidifying," Kai noted, watching various groups around the hall. "The impossible prodigy who doesn't care about anyone or anything except graduating."

"Good. Maybe they'll leave me alone."

"Once rankings start next week, you'll shoot straight to the top," Kai added. "Combat trials are in six days too. Another chance to prove you deserve advancement."

"Perfect. The more evidence of competence, the faster they'll let me test out."

"Or they'll see you as a challenge."

"Then they'll learn better."

Lux stirred in her ring form, sending a small spark up his finger—her way of agreeing. The spirit wolf had spent the morning exploring the Academy grounds in spiritual form, mapping territories and investigating interesting scents.

The afternoon brought more classes—Political History where the professor droned about trade agreements, Basic Alchemy where Avian already knew more than the instructor, and Tactical Theory where he had to bite his tongue to keep from correcting obvious errors in the lesson plan.

By evening, word had spread through the Academy like wildfire. Avian Veritas was testing out of first year. Avian Veritas had made Professor Harwick smile. Avian Veritas had made a noble speak backwards. Avian Veritas was going to graduate in two years.

"The rumors get more elaborate each time," Elira noted when she brought tea to his room that evening. She'd established herself in the servant's quarters but checked on him regularly. "I heard one claiming you're actually three students sharing one body."

"That's new."

"Also that you're secretly forty years old but cursed to look young."

"Closer to the truth than they know."

She set down the tea tray, arranging everything with her usual precision. "The advanced placement forms need your signature. Also, the Dean's office sent a note—he wants to see you tomorrow afternoon."

"About?"

"The note didn't specify. Though I imagine making Grandmaster rank public on your first day of classes has drawn administrative attention."

Avian signed the forms without reading them—Elira would have already checked everything twice. "Any word from home?"

"Your father sends his regards. And a reminder that representing House Veritas requires both excellence and restraint."

"I showed restraint. Nobody died."

"I believe that's why he only sent 'regards' instead of a lecture."

After she left, Avian stood at his window, looking out at the Academy grounds. Lights flickered in other dormitory windows—students studying, practicing, living their normal academic lives.

Two years. Maybe less if he could test out of more classes. The mountains of Calfont weren't getting any closer while he sat through lectures on things he'd learned five centuries ago.

Tomorrow he'd meet with the Dean. Take more tests. Demonstrate more power. Each step calculated to speed his path through this bureaucratic maze.

The Academy wanted exceptional? Fine. He'd be so exceptional they'd graduate him just to stop him from making everyone else look incompetent.

From somewhere in the Academy, a bell tolled—marking the hour, marking time passing, marking another day between him and answers.

Seven hundred and twenty-nine days maximum.

He'd make it less.

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