Enelore’s tongue stuck out the side of her mouth, hands lightly touching around her Jilvani-reed pen. Her eyes squinted as the pen stood upright on its point, jostling uncomfortably in its vertical position. Alas, it stopped wavering, suspended on its tip. Enelore smirked in victory.
“Enelore!” her Mentor exclaimed.
She jumped at the sudden voice yelling her name. Her papers and pen were thrown to the air, their matrimony with the grass silent. There was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air. Only the occasional bird chirp filled the void.
“Ye–yes? Sorry! I’ll just—” Enelore scrambled to pick up her things. Her other four classmates gave her mortified looks, cringing.
She picked up the last of her fallen items, sat back down, and gave an awkward smile to her Mentor. A bored frustration was written on his face as he moved to grab his waterskin.
“If I’d had known this would await me today,” he began, swallowing his drink, “I would’ve put an inebriating tonic in this. Please, Enelore, pay attention. As your Mentor for the next several years and someone who has gone through this, I can assure you Arcane Basics will set the foundation for whether you succeed during your studies—or fail.”
Confusion overwrote her humiliation. She had been told there was no passing or failing at Elemdusk. At least, not in the traditional sense. Other students told her that they could be booted from the university if a board deemed them having insufficient arcane potential.
She did, however, overhear that many of the Mentors did not take kindly to their students underperformance in their benchmarks. Some of the novices even said that Mentors had the authority to kick out underperforming students. Naturally, “underperforming” was defined uniquely by every Mentor.
She nodded her head rapidly. “Yes sir, Mentor Herylyn. I’m very sorry, I swear it won’t happen again!”
The rest of the class proceeded as usual, Enelore’s disruptions nowhere to be seen. It was only the second week of her instruction from Mentor Herylyn, and she would be learning from him for the next several years. Ruining their relationship this early was not in her best interest.
Despite only being at Elemdusk for a few weeks now, she heard of the wildly varying scales of Mentor strictness. The student had to play nice because, if they didn’t, they’d have to face the wrath of a disrespected Mentor. She found the entire dynamic to be quite unfair to the student. Maybe one day when she made the most prestigious and famous arcane university in the lands she would make things right.
Mentor Herylyn cleared his throat. “There will be no seminar for three days, as I will be performing research. Please take what we discussed today and practice on your own time, or with your fellow students if you so wish. Just… don’t direct your practice towards your partner or partners. We’re practicing absolute fundamentals here, not dueling.”
Enelore stood up and packed her things into her bag, plucking blades of grass and leaves from her pants. She questioned her Mentors decision to host lectures outside rather than in any of the many lecture buildings scattered about the forested grounds.
A sarcasm-laced voice interrupted her self-grooming. “That was quite the display.”
It was the voice of Gisselda. She was an Ushvar woman with skin of light gray and powdery purple hair that went down to her shoulder blades. Like most Ushvar, her form was lanky, around seven feet tall but no more than two feet wide at the stomach. Four eyes populated her head, and an extra set of arms emerged from her upper torso. Admittedly, she was beautiful, even if she was a snarky blue-blood.
Enelore sighed, “Yeah, well, ya know, we can’t all be perfect I suppose.” She didn’t have any care to entertain whatever Gisselda may be up to. To be honest, all she wanted to do was get back to her lodging and begin practicing.
“What’s your story? How did you get accepted here?” Gisselda let each word hang in the air, proverbial daggers attempting to pierce Enelore’s psyche.
“Well, to be honest, I’m not quite sure myself. But I passed the Entry Benchmark, so…” Enelore wouldn’t let the demeaning undertones get to her. Instead, she’d pretend to be aloof, hoping that it would save her from lack of real engagement. She refused to meet Gisselda’s gaze.
“Really? Wow, I’m surprised, truly. Some of the other students under Mentor Lilyntha said that you were trying to perform the most basic arcane spell and were, how do I say… not successful.” Gisselda dragged out the words towards the end, raising the pitch of her voice in a mocking manner. “It would be a real shame for one of Mentor Herylyn’s first students to be ejected from the university. How embarrassing it would be for our Mentor just starting their career, don’t you think?”
Enelore’s fingers flexed rapidly as she pursed her lips. Without another utterance, she pivoted away in the opposite direction, rolling her eyes.
“Bye-bye Enelore. See you next seminar!” Gisselda waved with both her right hands as Enelore strolled away, a mischievous grin painted across her face.
Soon enough, Enelore found herself in one of the practice rooms. They were simple in design, yet highly functional. The training room was a hexagonal arena, with triangular ceiling frames that met at the center to create a pointed roof. The entire place was made of a rugged, metal-plated Elumian wood. Of course, the wood itself was also enhanced by arcane means. It wasn’t indestructible, but it would need quite a blast to do any damage.
Several primitive tools were scattered about the area. Beams of assorted thickness that one could use to practice any magic that enhanced agility. Multilayered wooden “shields” that protruded from the walls for testing strength based enhancements. Light and heavy objects for telekinetic arts, along with a target for precise arcane endeavors.
Trying to fill the room with enough tools to please the infinite list of spells and Ambivyr specialties was a fools errand, and the university knew it. Because of that, students were encouraged to bring their own items or even request certain features in the practice rooms.
Enelore did not have to worry about that theoretical list of spells. She was still desperately trying to get a handle on how spellcasting from the Ambivyr even worked. She had no clue how she passed the Entrance Benchmark. She failed every task, had dozens of negative marks on her written sections, and, at the end when she was given one last chance to showcase her skills, botched it by having the one spell she knew how to cast fizzle.
She remembered numerous peoples within the vicinity beginning to murmur and turn their attention to her. Other students taking their final spellcasting test stopped to look at her. Even the proctors governing her final spellcasting test scrambled from their seats. A group of Mentors wearing modish clothing approached the proctors and whispered something in their ear and—a handful of shocked faces later—Enelore received a recommendation to join the university.
The bizarre nature of her admittance did not help her here, in the practice room. Time and time again she tried to put into action the words of her professor. Every attempt she made failed, ending with her fizzling on even the most basic form of spell, an arcane blast.
Arcane blast’s were hardly even considered a spell. It entailed wildly flinging out processed arcana from the arcane engine without care for connecting nodes to make a spell. It had no direction, no elegance, no scholarly aspect to it. It was, in all regards, the most fundamental spell one could cast—second only to the directed arcane blast, of course.
Enelore continued to practice over the next few hours. Casting spells was exhausting. She felt as if she’d ran miles, completed a strength training session, and then fell ill with a debilitating sickness.
Being Ambivyr Exhausted was a state that no arcanist wanted to find themselves in. While most peoples bodies prevent them from pushing themselves past that limit, Enelore knew from her beginner readings that it is possible for some. It’s the reason why Mentor Herylyn warned them from pushing themselves too hard.
Frustrated, she closed her eyes, remembering the first words her Mentor said in their Arcane Basics class.
”At the most basic level, spellcasting happens in three steps. Firstly, you need to feel the latent arcana in the air. In some places, it is abundant, in others, there is nearly none.”
The practice rooms were built with beginner arcanists in mind. With some clever arcane engineering, they were bound to have at least a decent supply of latent arcana flowing through them.
She took a deep breath, letting the latent arcana flow through her being. It hurt a little, as if there were dozens of tiny zaps in her chest. She imagined her body a vessel. Just as a cup will fill up with water if dunked under, so will her body fill up with latent arcana when focused on letting it in. Opening up the dam of latent arcana that surrounded her was a skill in of itself. It required a surprising amount of vulnerability.
“Secondly, it needs to be processed. This is where the Ambivyr comes in. Its primary goal is to transition latent arcana into processed arcana through it, in order to be used to cast any spell you know.”
Enelore concentrated, allowing the latent arcana that sat inside her to process through her arcane engine. It was a hard task, as the Ambivyr was not something physically present in the body. Tensing it was similar to a muscle, though, and Enelore used that comparison to flex her Ambivyr, squeezing the latent arcana into processed arcana like juice from a fruit.
Small spheres of black and purple gathered around Enelore, a loud hum beginning to reverberate throughout the room, both positive signs of the Ambivyr spooling.
”Lastly, you must take the processed arcana and imagine the spell you want to cast. It’s not just a matter of imagination, though. Spells are like predefined routes in a network of ever-interconnected nodes. You must break them down to their correct pieces in order to cast what you want. Some are better than others at finding these paths intuitively.”
For an arcane blast, that meant ignoring any potential connections between the floating spheres that orbited her and simply expending all the processed arcana she had inside her.
Enelore’s engine was whirring with an ever increased pitch now, and the tiny spheres blipped into existence in droves.
With an ear ringing bang, a circle of green and yellow expanded outward from Enelore, travelling to and up the walls as it made its way to the roof and out the grates. It moved as if a roiling fire, but it was made of something different entirely. A unique material that’s only created via the expulsion of processed arcana.
Enelore breathed exhausted, rapid breaths, the whole ordeal enervating her down to her core. But she did it. She was actually able to recreate the arcane blast that she tried to perform at the Entry Benchmark! Granted, it was significantly weaker than the first few time she tried it, but she did it nonetheless.
Enelore took one last deep breath through her nose and looked upward at the remnants of the blast, her mouth arcing upwards ever so slightly in fatigued accomplishment.
She left the practice room, it’s walls sporting a new, toasted green-yellow tinge and a smell of spent arcana that resembled something close to meat that was nearly burning. Normally, she would feel bad leaving a room in such a state. In this case, though, a prestigious academy like Elemdusk University had cleaners that upkept the place with immaculate thoroughness.
She exited the practice room, the Skyfires dimming to signal another day coming to a close. Fog glided above the ground, creating a mystical atmosphere.
Enelore’s neck snapped to the side. By the Faith she thought she saw something—or someone—walking away from her. Most the structures that belonged to the university were disconnected and standalone, existing as sort of liminal spaces built with care and grace but abruptly transitioning to forest and stream. Typically, it was charming and serene. Now, a shiver ran down her spine as she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. The fog that hovered over the ground didn’t do any favors, either.
Enelore quickened her pace back to her room, unsure of what lie in the unfamiliar Fairview.
She wasn’t able to practice much over the next few days. The blowback that she got from the rigorous training session left her sore and hardly able to hobble to her feet. Each morning she begrudgingly got out of bed for morning meal. If they had let her take food back to her room, she absolutely would. Enelore rarely interacted with her four other classmates, and they returned the favor, so the social aspect of the communal meal wouldn’t have been missed.
The days of rest left Enelore time to ruminate on the circumstances of her admittance to the university.
There were many kinds of people that got accepted into Elemdusk University, but it really boiled down to a few select groups. For one, there were the nobles whose parents or relative helped pay to keep the university running. Although the university was officially under the jurisdiction of Elemdusk, it ran almost completely independently of the governing body of the land.
Another kind that got auto-accepted to the university were those with a well known lineage of magic. These include anyone who has had a family member as a Mentor at the university, or anyone with catalogued “Grand Feats” of magic. Which, in fact, was not defined at all by the university.
The last group were the people who had to fight over the last few remaining spots. People like her, who had to demonstrate some kind of arcane affinity enough to impress the—old and allegedly wizened—proctors who oversaw the Entrance Benchmark.
The lattermost group had the same chances of getting in as someone surviving being dropped into the middle of the Cruciux. With most slots already filled, that meant that the university picked only the cream of the crop from those that had to take the Entrance Benchmark. In return, those that won their way in through sheer skill—and a smidgen of luck—were rewarded with a free place to sleep and food.
This pondering confused Enelore more, as she still couldn’t quite figure out what made her seem capable enough to get accepted. Perhaps there was some sort of mix-up, or she had some wild stroke of good fortune. Either way, she sent prayers to the God of Faith for her acceptance every night. She wasn’t a particularly devout Sect of Faith follower, but her parents had taught her to be kind to the gods. Who knows, maybe this was their way of smiling back at me.
Enelore opened her eyes, gummy and groggy from a night of restless sleep. Today was their first seminar with Mentor Herylyn in four days, and Enelore was still feeling the effects of the work she had put in the days prior. Her entire being begged her to stay in her cocoon of blanket. Alas, seminar days were much too important. She couldn’t skip any meals lest she only able to think about how hungry she was.
With a groan, Enelore sat up and placed herself on the edge of her bed. After freshening up, Enelore decided on what to wear for the day. There were no rules saying that an Elemdusk student had to dress to the level of a Miocratian politician. Though, one glance at the campus grounds during a busy day indicated that students and Mentors alike carried themselves with elevated decorum.
Enelore decided to wear a dress that her grandmother had given to her, a popular choice among those from the Ilyst. It consisted of a robe like top with loose sleeves and a long, flowing skirt that went down to her feet. It was made of a thin fiber, breathable and see-through at the sleeves and bottom of the skirt. Admittedly, it was perfect for the moderate temperatures of the Fairview, and the light shades of green of the top went beautifully with the dark green of the skirt. After tying the numerous sashes for her top, she departed her room.
She arrived at the morning meal early. There were hardly any people present—the dome shaped room that held the students and Mentors for mealtime nearly empty. She made it a point to arrive early. This way, she could admire the architectural splendor of the meal room without any distractions. The room was made out of classic Elumian wood, inlaid with copious engravings and ornamental runes. It was like a mural carved out of wood, the entire circumference of the room decorated end-to-end. Leaves, trees, and pseudo-arcane glyphs were chiseled out of the surface, clearly the efforts of a group of people dedicated to their craft.
Enelore got her food from the cooking station, an array of unfamiliar foods populating her plate. She was completely unaccustomed to the food served, but was equally excited to try new things… or at least she had to convince herself to be excited. Many things were new to her here. If she didn’t embrace the unfamiliarity, she would be swept away in a tide of missed opportunities.
With the meal room being so empty, the vast majority of tables were absent of anyone. However, Enelore did spot an occupied one near the corner. Not only was it populated, but sitting at it was one person; Nalenth, a classmate under Mentor Herylyn. Typically, she’d avoid her classmates, but he was the only classmate whom, like her, got into the university on grounds of the Entry Benchmark.
Nalenth was a Fultin, his feline pelt a deep orange color with white spots. Long, fluffy ears stuck out from his head, and his nose and mouth were stretched into a short snout. He nervously glanced towards Enelore with deep brown eyes.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” Enelore inquired, pointing to the empty seats around him. She could tell he was skittish, his eyes darting back and forth between her and his plate as he answered.
“Oh, sure. Yeah. Yeah—that’s fine.” Nalenth let out a fretful laugh, looking down as Enelore took her seat across from him.
“So…” Enelore began, “what do you think about Mentor Herylyn? Do you think he’s as tough as some of the other Mentors?” She propped her head on her left hand, poking around her plate.
Nalenth looked confused, as if she asked a question that had an obvious answer. “I think we’re screwed. Don’t you know, Herylyn is the youngest Mentor in Elemdusk University history.”
Now that he mentions it, I do remember Mentor Herylyn as being exceptionally young—for a Mentor. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than I.
“What does that mean?” Enelore asked, the dynamics of Elumian academia were fuzzy to her.
Nalenth leaned in before answering, looking around as if he were about to speak an unspeakable thing. “Some people are calling him the Paragon Among Prodigies.”
Enelore’s nose scrunched a little, trying to make sense of the words that were just said to her. “A ‘Paragon Among Prodigies?’ What does that even mean?”
“It means he is the most talented arcanist that Ostiver has seen in the past two millennia!”
Enelore’s eyed widened as she leaned in, “Seriously? Are you kidding?”
He shook his head with fervor. “No–no I’m not!”
“Is that—Is that good for us? Should I… we be worried?”
Nalenth sat back with a smug expression, throwing his hands up in the air next to his head. “Well, I see it like this. On one hand,” he raised his right hand further in the air, “we’re learning from one of the best in Ostiver. On the other,” he raised his left hand, “he probably has such grotesque standards that only one of us will be left under his mentorship in the coming years.”
Enelore’s horrified expression clashed with Nalenth’s calculated and unfeeling words.
She leaned back, slouching. “I’m doomed.”
The rest of her morning meal was uneventful. She spoke with her classmate for a few moments longer, tested out the plethora of foreign foods on her plate, and cleaned up her area before leaving.
She should be excited. Most anyone else who cares about the arcane in any meaningful capacity would be ecstatic that they were learning it from some prodigy. However, Enelore’s feelings on the matter were not the norm, as the revelation of their Mentors gravitas felt like an unimaginably heavy weight put on her shoulders. By Light, there is no way that I can keep up with the expections of a prodigy and related thoughts played on repeat in her head. It was great—the fact that their Mentor seemed so talented—but it didn’t bode well for her long term survival at the university.
Life blossomed through the forested grounds of the university as people awakened to get ready for the day. As Enelore left the meal room, droves of students were heading inside to start their day. She caught glance of the other three students under her Mentor, but she decided to not engage. Not because of any resentment or bitterness; it likely just wasn’t worth it. They were born from a totally different world than her, and she didn’t have the knowledge to engage them on their level. Besides, the only thing she wanted to talk about was the gossip shared with her at morning meal, and those three were more than prepared than she could ever dream to be.
Enelore surveyed the campus grounds, her view filled with a wondrous palette of color. Bright and unashamed purples, oranges, and blues filled the area. The hues of the trees in the Fairview Forest were so different than anything she’d seen. That in of itself didn’t say much, since she came from a small town far, far from here. Even still, she doubted that anything in all of Ostiver could rival the ethereal nature of the campus grounds.
It was as if an iridescent Skyfire were snatched from the sky and placed into the wood and leaves of the area. The visuals of the university grounds were maintained with gusto, foliage nowhere to be seen, and most certainly no garbage either.
In order to appeal to their high class clientele, the area needed to play to the part. She was sure that—while the rest of the Fairview was undeniably pretty—Elemdusk University made it a point to remove any potential eyesores. It was an image that the university maintained for hundreds of years.
Mentor Herylyn arrived to the lecture area under the same, seemingly random tree, minutes after Enelore arrived. She had not been early for her first four seminars, but since hearing the news, she wanted to ensure she gave herself the best chance of success as possible. She even sent a prayer to the Nine, pleading the God of Faith bestow her with the belief in herself to get through Arcane Basics without being excommunicated from the university.
Her Mentor began to set up various teaching items for seminar before casting a quick glance to Enelore.
“Enelore, I see you’ve made it early.” Mentor Herylyn’s golden eyes seemed to stare straight through her as he awaited a response. He had a smooth voice, juxtaposed significantly from the typical aristocratic Elemdusk accent.
Before coming here, Enelore had never seen a Lylyn before. Their appearance reminded her of a combination between Kresh and Human. Their form was slender like a humans, but their skin appeared hard; as if made of marble itself. Mentor Herylyn’s, in particular, was a light, almost pastel blue that was exceptionally smooth in appearance. Gold veins coursed through it, carrying vital life essence throughout his body. Large wings lie tucked behind his back, their form appearing to be made of blue light that emitted no luminance.
Lylyn were shunned and revered by many. Despite being human in composition, the rarity in their births caused them to be frequent subjects of undue scrutiny and praise. Enelore wasn’t sure what to make of it all. She had always been taught, being from a place with major Human population, that the Lylyn were just like them. But what was standing before her now seemed anything but. It seemed more… otherworldly.
Enelore blushed as she tried to scramble for a response, the memories from the mornings conversation flooding back to her. “Well I figure that—especially after last seminars incident—I should start taking things more seriously.”
“Oh?” he responded, voice full of what she perceived as genuine surprise. “I don’t typically hear of students shifting their whole academic paradigm from a singular time they got caught with their attention drifting.” He gave a shrug, “Still though, I’m glad to see you’re taking things seriously. Many of the Mentors on the Proctorate informed me that you have considerable potential. I’ll be expecting much from you.”
Somehow, being told by an alleged prodigy among prodigies that she had considerable potential deflated Enelore more than it heightened her. She opened her mouth in response, but as she did the other students arrived to the seminar and took their places in a semi-circle around Mentor Herylyn, who began his tutalage.
“Great to see everyone here. With the first week of seminars down, I hope everyone had time to practice some core fundamentals that we talked about. Your first year will likely be entirely dedicated to them. To be forthright I, like you all, found the basics boring when I was a student here. However, the understanding of the foundation allows advanced arcanists to manipulate the arcane in an infinite amount of ways.”
Enelore fervently wrote down notes, attempting to ingest the wealth of information through her ears as she was writing it onto paper.
An elbow poked into her side. Nalenth, the Fultin student she talked to earlier, was the culprit.
“Hey,” he said in a hushed tone, “do you think Mentor Herylyn had to go through these basics courses? Someone like him probably went straight to the expert level teachings I think. I can’t imagine he actually wasted time in such pitiful classes like this. By the time he got inducted here, he probably already—”
“No offense Nalenth,” her voice was almost a hiss, “but like the Mentor said, I’m really trying to keep up with the notes here.”
A small frown warped Nalenth’s face, his attention returning to his own paper.
Mentor Herylyn occasionally gave them brief respite from his hail of words. With a huff, everyone set down their pens and put away their inkwells, trying their best to memorize the information given to them in addition to copying the lecture.
Enelore learned to write only a few years ago from a wizened old scribe who had retired years prior. Her apprenticeship in the skill of writing was abundantly apparent when, upon examining her paper, the scribbles that she thought would pass for legible writing in fact didn’t.
With an exasperated sigh, she struggled to rotate in her seated crisscross position toward Nalenth.
“Nalenth, would you mind if I—maybe, I don’t know—got some of your notes later for me to copy down.”
His mouth turned into a thin line as he stared disappointedly at her. “I thought you said you’d be focusing a bunch now! And besides, weren’t you just writing the entire thing?”
Enelore nervously chuckled and scratched the back of her head. “Yeah well, I wanted to cross-reference yours with mine, just to make sure I got everything proper!”
Nalenth accepted the answer begrudgingly. “Fine, I’ll hand you them after the seminar is over.”
She clasped her hands, “Thank you Nalenth, I won’t forget this!”
Mentor Herylyn’s voice interrupted their exchange.
“Now then, for the first time in your Elemdusk University career, we shall do a live demonstration of your abilities. I am of the belief that practice is just as—if not more—important than the droll lecturing I’m told to give you. Lecture and theory have their places, but a great arcanist is made by practicing over, and over, and over again. Please demonstrate to me a basic—directional—arcane blast.”
Enelore’s heart started to race, small beads of sweat dropping down from her temples and running along the ridge of her eye. Li—live demonstration? Seriously? Her mind was just as panicked as her body as she scrambled to find an out. Before she could think, Mentor Herylyn’s voice boomed again in her ears.
“Gisselda. You’re first. I’ve set up a target down range for you to aim at. While I’m not expecting you to hit it, please just aim in the general direction. I’ve set up a wall behind the target, do not worry for the trees.”
Gisselda strolled casually in line with the target. Everyone crowded behind Gisselda, maintaining sufficient distance in case anything went awry.
The target itself was about a hundred feet away. An impossible distance for Enelore to hit with an arrow, never mind a controlled and directed arcane blast.
Tiny spheres appeared around Gisselda as her Ambivyr slowly whirred to life. The circles and connections between them were alternating red and blue; bold and elegant colors. Gisselda moved all four of her arms inward and outward, as if she were simulating the waves. Unnecessary, but most arcanists enjoy matching a motion to the process of casting.
Her Ambivyr heightened in pitch and sped up its cadence until a deep dwish filled the air.
A small bead of processed arcana collected, coalescing around her chest before making its way towards the target. In the blink of an eye the beam was gone, the target still pristine.
“Hm!” Gisselda exclaimed with a snooty and indignant tone.
Each of her classmates had their turn. After Gisselda was Nalenth, who singed the very corner of the square target. His control seemed exceptional, and Enelore noted that his Ambivyr spooled up mysteriously fast.
Next was Veryn, a Quipella man whose skin appeared as bark and hair appeared as leaves. He did well, but had to stop himself a few times to make sure he could actually control the arcana that trickled into his arcane engine.
The last person before Enelore was Aluine, a small woman by Kresh standarads. They appeared as if they were made of a smooth, gray stone with an equally smooth, uncovered head. She performed just as well as Gisselda, with output relatively weak, but good transformation of the latent arcana to processed arcana.
Despite everyone under Mentor Herylyn being in their twenties, they were all still budding arcanists. Sure, some of them could manage small spells or even had the smallest inkling of a specialty, but here, at Elemdusk University, it’s not about the spells you know, it’s about how refined your fundamentals are. At least that’s what Mentor Herlyn told them repeatedly.
Mentor Herylyn gestured to Enelore. “Enelore, you’re up.”
He gave a small nod to her. Was there subliminal messaging in the subtle gesture?
I can’t do this, I really, really can’t do this. Enelore felt dizzy, the world around her rotating unnaturally as vertigo gripped her. She stumbled up to center stage, taking her spot on the same line as the target… in front of everyone.
Come on, just—think of what the Mentor said! Step—step one… Enelore tried to manage her chattering jaw as she let the latent arcana in. Miraculously, she was able to focus if not just for a moment. Enelore opened herself up to the arcane winds circulating around her, allowing them to enter the metaphysical space inside of her. There was a good amount in the area, and she surmised that there must be a swell today.
Enelore easily gathered enough latent arcana to move onto step two of her Mentors words.
But the arcana kept swirling into her Ambivyr in abundance. Like a faulty valve, the latent arcana poured into her being in terrifying volume. Too much, too much!
She imagined the cup filling with water, except this time, the cup was dunked into an ocean and was overfilling expeditiously. How could one pour out the water if it’s submerged in it?
The faces of the students morphed to fear as they went from standing to running away from her. But it was too late. Whatever fateful winds blessed the area inundated her with tremendous amounts of latent arcana.
Spheres popped into reality in an area bigger than a market square, each one seeming to produce a dozen more and bond together. She could feel the very fiber of her being coming undone at the seams, as if her organs were unwinding themselves from existence. It was brutally painful, a deeper sensation of pain than any she had experienced in her entire life.
All she could do was scream under her breath in panic as an undulating burning enveloped her.
“Everyone!” Mentor Herylyn shouted, “Get back”
Prismatic, forest green shapes erupted from Mentor Herylyn, intermingling with the spheres of Enelore’s spellcasting. She could feel the latent arcana being sucked from her, but it was still being replenished too quickly.
She thought she heard a grunt of frustration emanate from her Mentor as he moved in closer to her. So much latent arcana had gathered in the area that physical wind circulated around Enelore like she was some kind of eye of a storm. A small piece of her skin flaked off and floated into the wind, exposing bright, blue light.
“Enelore! You need to–”
His voice was muffled over the roaring in her ears. Any advice he intended to give was useless. Enelore felt a prod in her side, and slowly turned to see Mentor Herylyn begin to cast some esoteric spell. Supremely dense amounts of prisms filled the area around his finger before dissipating as soon as they were summoned.
Enelore sensed the latent arcana get forced through her Ambivyr, erupting in a detonation that went in all directions and far past the target in distance. The entire world ground to a halt as dizziness swept her off her feet and darkness rapidly approached the edge of her vision.
