Manifest Fantasy

Henry cracked an eye open, feeling surprisingly well-rested. For once, his body wasn’t screaming at him to go back to sleep. He reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, took a long swig, then checked his watch. 0900. Sheesh.

Sleeping in till 9 was a luxury he rarely indulged in, but after that clusterfuck at GB-2 and the so-called ‘downtime’ filled with Sera’s prep and endless reports, Harding had finally cut them some slack. The General wanted them to actually decompress during this academy stint, as long as they took the studying and training seriously. Fair enough.

Rolling out of bed, Henry grabbed the tablet they’d set up last night. No alerts, no movement, nothing out of the ordinary on their makeshift security system. Most importantly, no invisible assholes trying to sneak in while they slept. Good start to the day. Factor in the feeling that the bed might as well have been one of those pure-opulence Duxianas, and it was a damn good start to the day.

Somehow, he still felt a bit full from the night before. After Elwes’ orientation, they’d checked out the Carfley Refectory downstairs. Fancy name for a dining hall, but it sure did live up to the hype. The place was a mix of high-end buffet and à la carte service that would put a lot of five-star restaurants to shame. And this was just one of the dining halls on campus. Extravagance befitting the nobility, Henry supposed.

Henry held up the meal token next to his coin pouch. It was an interesting concept: a magic credit card that drained mana instead of dollars. Apparently, it was sealed tight against any student shenanigans – no mana in, only mana out. Made sense, not that it’d apply to them. Though, still a neat feature that the doc would probably love to tack on to his cultural analysis of the Sonarans.

Henry set it back down, heading to the restroom to take a piss and brush his teeth. It was just as lavish as it was the night they arrived. They’d spent most of the evening exploring the place, settling into an apartment that was more of a penthouse than any normal college apartment. It was a luxury that a guy like him would never have otherwise experienced – individual rooms for each of them, private bathrooms, and a common area that seemed fit for a palace. Might as well have been a place at a Ritz-Carlton hotel, just with some Merlin treatment. The amenities – lighting, temperature control runes, restroom – were all like those at the Duke’s guest house. Thankfully, they’d all learned how to operate the toilet back then.

Henry spat out the Starshade-flavored toothpaste – half-bubblegum, half-mint – and rinsed. As he wiped his mouth, he caught the sound of a soft rumble of water from the other side, then metal on metal from the kitchen. Guess it was time for everyone to wake up. Come to think of it, none of them had actually checked out the kitchen last night. Too busy gawking at the rooms or being knocked out from the long day, maybe. Might as well check out what the kitchen had to offer.

He padded into the kitchen, following the clinking sounds. He found Ron with his head practically inside a large closet, just gawking at the contents within like a dude having the craziest acid trip of his life. “Yoooo…” the man muttered.

Henry walked up. “What, found Narnia in there?”

Ron just shook his head, still staring. “Nah, bruh. This is the fridge. Just take a look at this shit.”

So that closet-looking thing was a fridge? Oh, this was gonna be good. Henry leaned in for a closer look, and holy shit. The first thing that caught his eye was the aesthetic of it all – a far cry from the stainless steel behemoths he’d find at Home Depot or Best Buy. It was more like… an ornate wooden cabinet, straight out of a renaissance fair and probably made of mahogany or whatever fancy equivalent they had around here.

Inside, a network of blue runes crisscrossed the walls, connecting to a compartment that probably housed mana crystals, if what the magitech they’d seen at the Baranthurian ruins was anything to go off. The whole setup resembled a circuit board - another rune system, rudimentary compared to the Baranthurian ones, but functional nonetheless. Looked like this was their magical answer to Freon and CFCs. Well, no need for compressors, condensers, or refrigerants when they could just carve some cooling runes and power them with crystals. Talk about cheating the tech tree.

The second thing that caught his eye – probably the first for Ron – was the stuff the fridge actually held. At first glance, it seemed pretty normal – at least for the setting. On the top shelf sat a makeshift carton of eggs made out of a wooden tray and straw. Then there were slabs of meat wrapped in butcher paper or some type of cloth, a large glass bottle of milk, a small container with freshly churned butter, and so on. But on closer inspection, everything was just a bit… off.

The eggs were easily twice the size of chicken eggs, speckled with what looked like gold flakes. The meat? Unwrapping one of the slabs revealed a cav ribeye – at least that was something familiar. As for the other slabs and cuts and sausages, he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of animals they must’ve come from, but they sure as hell weren’t cows or pigs or chickens.

The milk – or at least, the jug of creamy liquid he assumed to be milk – had a faint golden sheen to it that was definitely not FDA-approved. Or pasteurized. Would the Sonarans have even discovered pasteurization if they already had fridges to extend shelf lives? Maybe the Doc would know if this stuff was safe to drink.

“Well, ain’t that something,” Henry muttered.

Ron finally turned around, probably interested in his reaction. “Yeah?” He smiled. “Crazy shit, huh?”

Henry couldn’t help but agree. “Yeah.”

Somehow, that only seemed to spur on the man. “If you think all this is crazy, just wait ‘til you see this shit.” Ron pulled open the produce drawer.

All it took was one glance for his mind to process the fact that he couldn’t quite pin a single item there. It all looked like stuff from one of those early AI art generators – pure nonsense. If the rest of the fridge contents were slightly alien, the vegetables and fruits were just straight-up bizarre. Blue spiral… carrots? There was also something that might have been lettuce, except it was shaped more like a fern and had the color of a mana crystal. Raw manafern?

Henry glanced at the other items. At least the fruits retained their normal color palette of warmer yellows, oranges, and reds. Though, aside from the one thing that looked like an apple, everything else seemed like they’d either be found in the unexplored Amazon or in a niche Asian supermarket.

“Think any of this stuff’ll kill us?” Ron asked, poking at a cluster of yellow berries that seemed to be pulsating.

Henry shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He glanced at the pantry, which looked normal enough with its assortment of breads and jars. “Eggs, sausages, bread, we could probably make some pancakes, too. Got butter and some syruppy thing.”

“Pancakes, you say?” Dr. Anderson said, joining in. He peered into the fridge and took a long pause. “Well then,” he finally said, hiding his shock well. “Sounds good, but I’d murder for a cuppa to go with that. Found any tea?”

Ron snorted. “Tea? Doc, we’ll be lucky if we can figure out what half this shit is.” He waved his hand across the open fridge.

Dr. Anderson sighed, somehow looking concerned, frustrated, and intrigued all at once. “Bit dramatic there, Owens. C’mon now. It’s simply tea we’re after, not deciphering the Voynich manuscript.” He peered into the pantry, then started opening cabinets after finding no joy. “Surely it can’t be that difficult to find some dried bloody leaves…”

Henry smirked. “Y’know, Doc, for all we know, those berries down there might be their version of tea. Maybe you uh, crush ‘em up or something.” He tapped the produce drawer as he took out the milk and butter.

Dr. Anderson paused, glancing back at the fridge before closing it. “Let’s… not get too desperate just yet. I’d rather not hallucinate my way through our first day at Hogwarts.”

Ryan then joined in, hair still wet from a shower. “Mornin’.”

Henry and the others returned the greeting.

“Any coffee ‘round here?” Ryan asked.

“‘Fraid not, man,” Henry replied. “You can join the Doc in tearing open the cabinets and drawers if you’d like. Or try your hand at the uh, the juice in the fridge.”

Ryan pulled out a glass of some unknown bluish liquid from the fridge. Looked like something a bartender would cook up, with all the shimmer and whatnot. “Ah, fuck it,” he said, swishing it around the glass to test the viscosity. “Looks drinkable enough. What y’all cookin’?”

“Eggs, sausages – prolly fenwyrm or rillifane – bread, stuff for pancakes. Classic Denny’s Grand Slam.” Henry said, stomach already growling from the thought. “Except the bacon, I guess. And the lack of ketchup.”

Ron, it seemed, had no trouble at all getting the stove to start up. Guest token at the square rune on the counter, a little twist of a knob here, and voilà, a magically conjured flame ready for cooking. Leave it to the resident weeb to figure it out.

It was an interesting sight – one that almost distracted Henry from his mission of mixing pancake batter in the bowl he’d scrounged up. “Y’know, I’d really hate to think how different these will taste.”

Ron chuckled. “Would be fucked up going in thinking you’re eating a pancake, and them bam! Mouth full of something salty.”

“Oddly… specific…” A new voice popped up behind them – Isaac.

Henry turned around. “Ah, Yen! Glad you could join us. I’m sure Owens here has a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, talkin’ bout some ‘mouth full of something salty.’ Pause.”

“Hey, hey,” Ron held a hand up, the other still holding onto the pan. “Just a product of a very creative imagination, nothing else at all. Ya feel me?”

“No, sir, I do not feel you. Sounds a bit… sus, I’d say,” Isaac laughed.

A devious smirk grew on Ron’s face. “Aw, c’mon guys. Even if it was a bit salty, I ain’t gonna knock it ‘til I try it.”

“Ayo!” Henry burst as everyone else devolved into laughter. He set the readied pancakes on a plate, still chuckling.

The table was ready: golden pancakes, normal-looking scrambled eggs with a hint of gold specks, and sausages that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and sage. Despite how crazy everything looked, it somehow felt… normal. Here they were, far away from planet Earth and about to chow down on not-so-alien breakfast in what amounted to a magical frat house.

“Well,” Henry said, raising his glass of wannabe blue Gatorade, “here’s to our first homemade breakfast in another world. May it not kill us or turn us into rabbits.”

With a clink of his glass, Henry dug in. The pancakes tasted high-quality, like they came out of a fancy cafe – several tiers above the standard Kroger pancake mix. The butter and syrup still tasted like butter and syrup, just… with varying differences in sweetness and a unique flavor that could’ve been umami. The eggs were richer, almost buttery, and the sausage…

“Mmm, fuck,” Ron mumbled around a mouthful, damn near moaning in ecstasy, “Not gonna lie, this shit fire.”

Henry had to agree. It was nothing he’d ever tasted before – savory and sweet at the same time. No, it wasn’t rillifane, fenwyrm, or anything else they’d had so far. It didn’t taste gamey either; could it be another type of livestock?

“Mm, yeap. So, Party Leader, what’s up for today?” Ryan asked, his plate almost as clean as it was when it was first set on the table.

Henry swallowed his bite of sausage, reaching for the course listings and map Elwes had given them. He spread them out on the table, careful not to get any syrup on the papers. “Right, so… Arran mentioned the Battlemage Training Complex yesterday. Thoughts?”

“I’m down,” Ron said. “Tryna see what they got.”

“Seconded,” Dr. Anderson agreed. He looked about as intrigued as Ron, though probably not because he wanted to enjoy a genuine isekai experience. “I must admit, I’m rather curious to see what differentiates it from the Arena. Seems a bit redundant, having two such complexes for magic combat. Wonder what I’m missing?”

Nods across the table confirmed their next destination. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Battlemages it is for our first stop today, then. After that, hmm… Central Refectory for lunch? Heard they’ve got different selections from Carfley downstairs.”

“Hmm, sure, why the hell not. Humin’ says it’s a step up from Carfley, so I’m fixin’ to find out.” Ryan hardly minced his words. Really, ‘fixin’ to find out,’ even after devouring that breakfast? Just what kind of stomach did the guy have?

Isaac, on the other hand, barely even noticed. Probably normal to him by now. “Humin, huh? What, you overheard the two kids at the table across from us last night?”

Ryan gave the smuggest smile Henry had ever seen. “Damn right I did. Best intel I’ve heard to date.”

“Bruh, you haven’t even been there yet,” Ron pointed out. “What if it turns out–”

Ryan’s hand shot up. “Ah, ah, ah, ain’t even gonna hear it, Owens. Don’t go jinxin’ our lunch.”

“Should be fine either way. Probably not much difference between two ultra-fancy ‘refectories’ initially designed to cater to spoiled nobles. Anyway,” Henry said, looking through the afternoon course list. “There’s not much to do after lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are pretty slow, I guess. So, I’m thinking we use that time to split up, explore a bit more. I’ll leave it up to you guys.”

“Well then, I am rather interested in visiting the libraries…” Dr. Anderson trailed off, eyes hopeful. Henry had to bite back a smirk, knowing what was coming next.

“Ah, not you, Doc. You’re coming with me.” The doc’s face fell faster than an anvil. Henry grinned. “We’re gonna see Professor Elwes about the Baranthurian stuff.”

And just like that, the Doc perked right back up. Just one mention of the Baranthurians and the guy was ready to write a whole damn dissertation on the spot. Hell, the chances were high enough of him working on a paper with Elwes.

With breakfast done, they blitzed through the dishwashing fairly quickly, stymied slightly since they didn't know which liquid on the counter was supposed to be the soap. Letting Isaac handle the rest, Henry returned to his room to get changed. Reaching into his Holding Bag, he pulled on a soft, cream-colored linen shirt and a dark blue doublet that felt more like a fitted jacket. The trousers were a matching blue, made of some material that breathed better than any cotton he'd worn before. It was a good thing Cole spared no expense with the Sonaran gear.

Henry adjusted the custom leather holster strapped to his chest, making sure his M18 sat snug against his ribs, hidden by the doublet. He slipped a few extra mags into the inner pockets sewn into the trousers. One glance at the mirror was all it took to realize he definitely wouldn't be pulling any girls with this. Made him glad Sera wasn't here to see it. But hey, at least it was comfortable, and it'd be covered by the robe.

Grabbing his coin pouch and meal token, Henry headed back out. Everyone else was there, ready to go. “Sola statue in the Central Courtyard. Arran said he’d be there at 1030.”

The journey from the Carfley area to the Central area felt about as long as any other walk on a large state university’s campus, probably since they didn’t have magic to make the trek any easier. Finally, they reached the massive Central Courtyard, spotting Arran.

He brought them straight to the Battlemage Training Complex, which looked like someone had plucked a Great War bunker and plopped it down in the middle of fantasy-land. It did still have a few aesthetic touches – banners, window styling, and the like – that reminded Henry that the building was indeed Sonaran, but completely alien otherwise. Well, not so alien. If he had to guess, the Sonarans probably tried copying the style of a Baranthurian bunker.

It stood several stories tall, likely with an underground section as well. Above the structure, a flock of birds veered sharply upward as they approached the complex, like trying to avoid an invisible wall. Weird. He was gonna point it out when a stray shard of ice zipped out of a high window, slamming into… nothing. Or so it seemed, until a translucent blue shimmer of hexagons rippled out from the impact point, fading as quickly as they’d appeared.

Arran guided them through a throng of students passing in and out of the entrance, leading them to the front desk. Two knights in full plate sat behind a stone counter, looking about as thrilled as DMV employees on a Monday morning. Their swords leaned against the counter, within easy reach.

Well, at least there was a sense of familiarity here. If not for the setup, Henry probably would’ve expected them to yell ‘None shall pass!’ or something along the lines. Instead, one of them barely glanced up from what looked like a chess game and grunted, “Tokens.”

Henry followed Arran’s movements as he fished out his token. The knight simply grunted and tilted his head to the doorway past him, returning to the game against his coworker.

As soon as they stepped in, Henry felt a subtle tingling – kinda like what happens before a thunderstorm. It was about the same as the sensation that enveloped Armstrong, the Grenden Plains, and the ruins they’d visited. Without an EMF meter, it’d be hard to tell, but this place definitely had heightened magic – somewhere in the region of a couple thousand milligauss, maybe.

What stood before him was a complete training area, basically this world’s version of gyms. The main training floor resembled what they’d seen in the Adventurer’s Guild, including multiple spaces for sparring, racks of wooden training weapons, and ranges for those practicing marksmanship for their spells or arrows. Scattered throughout were various ‘stations’, not unlike the diverse set of machines one would find in a gym, but of unknown purpose and functionality.

The first thing that caught Henry’s eye was a group of students off to the side, levitating a series of increasingly heavy rocks, ranging from small stones all the way up to a refrigerator-sized boulder. Looked heavy as hell, even for a guy using magic to lift it.

“Weight training,” Arran explained, “to expand your mana pool and refine control.”

Further down, another group stood in isolated rooms, sealed within walls of a dark-colored material. From a window, Henry saw them casting basic spells. Perhaps it was for more volatile students who didn’t yet know how to control their magic?

Arran noticed his interest. “Ah, the Aether chambers,” he smiled. “Clever things, truly. They’re pumped with mana from crystals, sealed with voidstone plating to trap the mana within. They make casting easier – both for novices and the more learned. Though, the more learned use these to practice drawing ambient mana, rather than depleting their own stores.”

From the looks of things, magic users like Kelmithus could probably cast basic spells indefinitely. Depending on how intensive invisibility magic was, that just meant they had yet another thing to worry about. They’d estimated that accessories could enable cloaking for up to 3 hours, but that was just an educated guess. With high ambient mana, how long could a highly trained Nobian assassin hold out for? Hell, how would they even be able to answer that without someone who could actually test it?

No use thinking too hard about it. On the other side of the room, opposite from the Aether chambers, he saw a different group of students practicing in a similar chamber. The only difference was they looked like shit, faces straining like pilots under high G-forces. They seemed to be struggling to cast their spells, tiny balls of water and small puffs of flame barely appearing before ultimately fizzling out.

“What’s up with them?”

Arran brought them closer to the chambers. “Dead chambers; they function counter to the Aether chambers, see? Casting spells within is as fighting against a strong current. We use them to teach our novices to be sparing with their mana. They must learn to cast with less, lest they find themselves empty-handed when they need magic most.”

“Like tryna breathe through a straw while running a marathon,” Ron said.

Smart. Yeah, it looked like pure torture, but Henry could see the value nonetheless. Nothing builds efficiency quite like deprivation. Kinda like those runners who train at high altitudes. Train hard, bleed less. Better to go through this hell then get caught lacking out on the field.

They walked around the main training floor, circling back to the stairs near the front. “Shall we head up?” Arran asked.

Henry nodded.

The second floor was quieter than the open space downstairs, dominated by a single hallway that stretched out before them. Doors lined the sides, each one accompanied by a small window – perfect for peeking in without disturbing whatever was going on inside. Well, the ones not covered by drapes, at least.

“This level is dedicated to practice rooms,” Arran said. “The nearest are for fire magic.”

They walked up to the closest door. Through the window, he could see a large room with metal walls – all marred by scorch marks. A row of shooting booths lined one wall, facing a grid of metal poles stretching across the room. The poles held cups of varying sizes – larger ones closer to the firing line, shrinking to what was basically shot cups at the far end.

A student stood at one of the booths, eyeballing the targets and carefully aiming his wand like he was lining up a tricky shot. A tiny flame sparked to life in one of the smaller cups about twenty feet away. The kid shifted to another target, and another flame popped up, this time with less visible effort and in a medium-sized cup maybe ten feet to his left.

“The candle dance, as some may call it. Looks simple, yet many a prideful novice has found himself humbled by these fickle flames. To summon fire at a specific location, it’s child’s play until you attempt it for yourself. I’ve witnessed seasoned apprentices brought low by this very exercise, myself included.”

The kid sat back in a chair, taking a break as the fumes from the flames drifted upward into a vent. Interesting. Henry scanned the rest of the room, catching a couple more things that stood out: a set of hoops – probably for fireball guiding practice – and a set of water barrels in the corners, backed up by blue runes reminiscent of the ones gracing the campus libraries’ walls.

Ryan leaned in, squinting at the candles. “What’s the range on that spell, ya reckon?”

“Hmm, naught but a few paces, generally speaking,” Arran offered, creating a small wisp of fire about 5 meters from himself. “Though I’m fain to say, some mages of rare prowess can cast beyond that bound. Such mastery is rare, mind you. Why, even Professor ad Helis, skilled as he is, can scarcely cast past ten meters.”

Well, that was good news. Damn good news, in fact. At least some Nobian prick couldn’t spawn fireballs on their heads from a mile away. One less shit to worry about.

They entered the next room, which wasn’t quite what he expected. If anything, it looked more like a science lab. The room was littered with containers, all filled with water – glasses, buckets, and larger tubs. Unlike the individual rooms for fire magic, this one encompassed a singular, open space. Students were scattered around, each locked in their own little world of spellcasting.

Near the entrance, a gangly teen hunched over a simple setup: a glass of water, a melting ice cube on a dish, and an open book with an accurate but simplified water cycle diagram. The kid glanced down at the book for a good moment, then returned to the glass and started muttering.

“As winter’s breath chills the lake, so too shall this water harden. Ice Freeze!”

Nothing happened. The kids stared at the glass for a moment, then sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. He took another deep breath and gripped the ice, as if trying to internalize the cold. Then, he repeated the incantation while holding it. The water in the glass shivered slightly, then turned to slush.

“Ha! Yes!” The kid clenched his fist in triumph, but it was short-lived. “Ah, well…”

Arran smiled. “Novices,” he said, keeping his voice low. “They oft expect swift results. Alas, magic demands understanding, not simply will.”

A few stations over, Henry spotted someone who actually looked like they knew what they were doing. A girl stood before a large basin, poring over an open textbook. A chapter heading caught his eye: ‘Advanced Water State Transitions.’ A small boiler with glowing red runes sat to her left, producing a steady stream of vapor.

The girl’s head flicked between her textbook and the setup in front of her. She started with what Henry assumed to be the basics – turning vapor from the boiler into water droplets, then freezing those into tiny crystals. With each repetition, she sped up the process. Finally, she took a deep breath and went for it. The vapor condensed and froze instantly, forming a shard of ice in mid-air.

Henry stared at the exercise. Hopefully the girl wouldn’t mind an audience. She formed more of the shards, completely skipping the liquid state as she converted the vapor straight into solid ice.

“Deposition… fascinating,” Dr. Anderson observed. “I take it this is the precursor to casting spells like Icicle Lance, then?”

“Aye,” Arran said. “No time to tarry with turning vapor to water, then water to ice. Ere the spell’s done, a man finds himself skewered, stabbed, impaled, mauled, or worse.”

Ryan crossed his arms. “Lord have mercy, worse than impaled? What, are the monsters gonna stick ya on a kabob or somethin’?”

“Yes,” Arran said. Henry couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking.

Ryan shook his head. “Yeah, y’know what? Forget I even asked.”

Henry chuckled. Arran’s deadbeat response had caught them all off guard, and now Ryan was just throwing his hands up in mock surrender. Ron, on the other hand, wasn’t deterred even the slightest.

“So what happens if she uh, lets it go?” Ron asked.

Isaac caught on quickly. “Ha, ha. Well, I guess it wouldn’t bother her anyway?”

Ron smiled, but held up a hand in protest. “Nah, nah. Serious question.”

It wasn’t long before the girl followed up with a response. She formed another shard, bigger this time, and sent it flying. The ice whistled past the station, slamming into a target set up against the far wall. Left a decent-sized dent on the metal, too.

“Sheesh,” Henry muttered. Guess that answered that question.

Arran nodded. “Once it’s made, gravity takes over. It’s naught but a chunk of ice, after all.”

“So… how do you throw it?” Isaac asked.

“Ah, well, the motion is more ‘guiding’ than ‘throwing’,” Arran said. “For once the ice is formed, pure mana is used to direct its course. The more mana one applies, the greater the force. Yet, in aiming, a mage must be careful, lest his focus on the target be lost, and with it, his mastery over the ice. Or fireball, or stone, or what one may use as a projectile. Greater propulsive force warrants foresight with your spell’s trajectory, as it would be harder to control during flight. I do think the sensation is not unlike that of exerting one’s will upon an object, as if to stir it with the mind alone.”

Henry glanced at his team. That sounded a lot like telekinesis. Frightening, but at least it seemed to be capped by mana – no lifting bridges or bringing down starships.

Arran continued, “The workings of it? We’re not wholly certain, to be sure. Some scholars think it an imposition of a mage’s will upon the Aether surrounding the ice. Others think it a direct sympathy ‘twixt mana and projectile. In practice, however, you merely… will it to move, and lo, it does. With enough practice, it becomes as natural as casting a stone with your hand.”

“Huh…” Henry could already see the unnerved frowns forming on his friends’ faces. Sure, those abilities seemed to be capped to a manageable extent, but the fact that it was almost second nature to Gaerrans was still a bit concerning.

“I must admit, though, I’m not the most learned when it comes to Aether Fundamentals. Now, wind magic – of that I can speak with more assurance. The practice rooms lie just ahead, in fact. They differ greatly from what we’ve seen ere now – for air, being unseen, demands a more nuanced understanding.”

Arran led them into the next room, which was smaller, dominated by a long, wooden contraption that seemed reminiscent of the craftsmanship behind the fridge, and similar to what Henry had seen during his own Academy days. Again and again, the Sonarans continued to tear down his perception of ‘medieval fantasy.’ This time, it was a rudimentary wind tunnel, about 15 feet long and propped up on brackets that left a lot of room underneath.

A female beastwoman stood by the device, eyeballing a small feather sitting smack in the middle of the tunnel. She brought her hand to the underside of the contraption, blue energy flowing from her palm and into what was probably a rune. A gentle breeze kicked up, lifting the feather a couple inches up, fluctuating as the girl played around with the rune and adjusted the airflow. The feather bobbed, but stayed suspended right down the center of the tunnel.

“Damn, these guys smart as hell, not gonna lie,” Ron said.

For the catgirl enthusiast to be more infatuated with the technology than the catgirl herself was quite a surprise. Or maybe not, considering that his entire expectations for an isekai medieval society was upended yet again.

The student shut off the rune and took a deep breath and a step back. This time, she held a wand towards the tunnel. The feather jumped before settling into a state of suspension akin to the one produced by the rune. She kept it there for maybe half a minute before lowering it back down.

“How long’s it take to get that good?” Ryan asked.

Arran shrugged. “The pace of progress varies, I find. Some take to it in a week, while others need several months. But this exercise is the foundation for all wind magic, as freezing a glass of water is for all ice magic.”

If there was one thing about this Henry could appreciate, it was how organized and practical the Sonarans were. “I’m guessing the next steps involve working with larger volumes of air and more complex stuff?”

Arran nodded. “Lifting heavier objects, lifting multiple objects in concurrence, and such. They’re tasks of no small difficulty, working with naught but unseen air.”

He brought them back to the hallway in front of a window with another contraption, this one built around a translucent 3D maze. Wait, how the hell did they even manage to make something like that? Was that even possible for the Sonarans? Henry was no historian, but judging from the look on Dr. Anderson’s face, the answer should’ve been a hard no.

Arran continued, pointing to the maze, “Being able to control multiple air currents is a skill of great import, for it leads to more advanced techniques: potent updrafts, whirlwinds, and the dispersal of mists. Why, it’s even the key to flight itself, and in combat, the propulsion and guidance of projectiles – shown through spells like Wind Snipe.”

Finishing his little lecture, Arran glanced over. Their guide seemed to read the Doc’s mind, though it admittedly wasn’t that hard of a task. “But, I suppose, our manner of construction has caught your eye?”

Arran smiled, not even waiting for confirmation. “Earth magic affords us rather creative means of shaping glass, as we need not physically touch it,” he answered their unspoken questions. “Perhaps a closer look at the other rooms might prove enlightening?”

He led them ahead, only to be disappointed by the sight.

“Spoke too soon, huh?” Isaac remarked.

The earth magic practice rooms were empty – devoid of both students and well, much of anything else. Most of the rooms had a simple setup: pits of dirt or piles of rocks. A few others were a bit more elaborate, with rock samples and shelves lined with textbooks. But… what for? Henry couldn’t really tell, but they were probably related to whatever prerequisite geology knowledge that served as this element’s counterpart for freezing a glass of water.

Ron peered into one of the empty rooms. “Well, that kinda sucks.”

“So it does,” Arran sighed. “It can’t be helped. The earth mages oft prefer the open air, where they’ve room to breathe and none to complain of the mess.”

Though a bit of a letdown, Dr. Anderson wasn’t too bothered by it. “Seems fair enough, I suppose. We’ve already had a glimpse of Kelmithus’ rather clever mud traps and insta-building, haven’t we?”

“Very well then. The lecture halls await us above.”

Henry trudged up the stairs after Arran. The third floor stretched out before them, four identical doors lining the hallway. The first three they passed were dark and silent, but as they approached the last one, the muffled sound of a voice drifted out. Finally, some action.

Henry peered through the small window in the door. Inside, a group of students sat in rows, focused on the instructor at the front – a middle-aged woman with graying hair. She wore the same professorial robes as Elwes, giving some sort of demonstration.

Arran eased the door open, and they slipped inside. The instructor barely glanced their way, too busy setting up what was probably a chemistry experiment. A bunch of different materials sat on a stone table: some burning chunks of wood, a wet rag, and a chunk of iron.

A student raised his hand, addressing a question they probably just missed. “Set the heat upon a small place, till it make an ember, then give it air to feed the flame?”

“Aye,” the instructor nodded. She held out her hand, and a tiny spark appeared above a chunk of dry wood. It caught fire immediately.

She moved on to an oil-soaked cloth, then to the piece of iron. Each material responded differently to the flames – logical enough. The nature of things was consistent, magic or not.

“Now,” the instructor said, holding up the piece of iron, “some may wonder if metal can burn as wood or cloth does. Iron does not burn in a like manner, yet it responds to heat nonetheless.”

She focused a more intense flame on the iron, unbothered as it developed an orange glow. A thin layer of frost coated her hand, shimmering faintly in the heat. “To those curious, this is a plain use of water magic. The frost, as it meets the heat, begets a vapor that shields my skin, even as a drop of water plays upon a hot pan. Though a water mage’s art, every fire mage would do well to master this technique, for it teaches control over temperature.”

The iron’s glow grew brighter. “Behold, how the iron glows and bends when subjected to sufficient heat. Though it does not catch fire as any organic material, it can be shaped, softened, or melted, according to the heat applied. Thus, fire magic serves as well in the forge as on the battlefield.”

The iron took the form of an ingot before she cooled it down and set it aside. “Let us now consider how best to extinguish these flames. What is the simplest means?”

Most of the class raised their hands. The instructor pointed to a student seated at the back.

“Water magic,” the student answered confidently.

“Indeed. But is it always the wisest choice?” The instructor invited two students forward to put out the flames. The first guy easily doused the wood fire with a stream of water. The second kid tried the same trick and it went about as well as expected.

The instructor calmly suppressed the blaze. “So, what went awry?”

The room went quiet for a second before a girl in the middle row hesitantly raised her hand. “The water spread the oil about? And made the fire worse?”

“Well noted,” the professor said. “Where water has failed, what shall succeed? Would anyone like to try?”

Another student jumped up. “Leave it to me,” he said, striding to the front. The kid held out both hands, and suddenly the oil fire was engulfed in an even bigger flame.

Henry raised an eyebrow. Ballsy move, but he could see where this was going.

After a few seconds, the fire sputtered and died out. “Fire has need of air. So I made it burn faster than it could take in.”

The instructor’s hand reached to her pocket, probably where her wand was. Clearly, she hadn’t expected the kid to go full pyromaniac. Realizing what was going on, she relaxed her arm and cleared her throat. “I suppose that does suffice, in a manner of speaking,” she said. “However, let me demonstrate a more… efficient approach.”

She lit another oil fire, then stood back. A small gust swept through the lecture hall as a ball of air consolidated around the fire. The flames seemed to flatten, then winked out entirely.

“If only the airbenders stood on business,” Ron commented.

Henry nodded. Something like wind magic had a lot more potential than Wind Snipe and ‘Suffocate’, or whatever they called that spell. “Yeah, imagine?”

“By sequestering inhalates and heat from the flame, and replacing them with cold exhalates,” the instructor explained, “we may starve it, and thus extinguish it entirely without risk of spreading it further.”

She swept the ashes into a tray, then looked up at the class as she sorted the remaining materials into bins. “That shall suffice for today. Mark well that your essays on elemental interactions with fire are due by next week…”

“Looks like class boutta end,” Ron noticed. “Let’s go?”

Ryan had already gotten up. “Yeah, I’m starvin’.”