Chapter 4 #2
“Before we begin, I want to address something,” she continued, moving around to the front of her desk and perching on the edge.
The casual pose was so different from what I’d expected that I found myself actually paying attention.
“Some of you may have heard stories about my... previous approaches to teaching students from different magical backgrounds.”
A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The guy next to me actually snorted under his breath.
“Those stories are likely true,” Professor Blackwood said simply. “I spent many years believing that magical purity was more important than magical potential. I was wrong.”
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the crystal windows humming with contained energy. A quick glance at some of the other witches in the class told me they suddenly didn’t think much of Professor Blackwood anymore.
“I won’t ask you to forgive past mistakes, but I will ask you to judge me based on my actions moving forward.
” Her gaze swept the room, lingering on each of the non-witch students.
“Magic is magic, regardless of its source. And in this classroom, we’re going to explore what each of you is capable of, without prejudice. ”
I wanted to believe her. The sincerity in her voice seemed real, but I’d been burned before by witches who said one thing and meant another.
Still, something about the way she carried herself was different from the stories Atlas had told me.
Less rigid. More... human, somehow. Maybe she really had changed.
“Now,” she said, clapping her hands together, “let’s start with something simple. I want each of you to place your hands flat on your desk and tell me what you feel.”
Around the room, students complied. I hesitated for a moment before pressing my palms against the smooth wooden surface. At first, I felt nothing but the cool wood grain. But then, slowly, something else crept in. A warmth that seemed to pulse beneath my hands, like a heartbeat made of energy.
“Interesting,” Professor Blackwood murmured, and I realized she was suddenly standing right beside my desk. “Mr. Laurent, what do you feel?”
I looked up at her, trying to ignore the curious stares from the other students. “It’s... warm,” I said slowly. “Like there’s something alive in the wood.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful rather than surprised.
“The desks in this room are made from heartwood of ancient oaks that grew within the academy’s magical wards for over two centuries.
They’ve absorbed ambient magical energy all that time.
” She moved to address the class again. “What Mr. Laurent is feeling is the echo of centuries of magical practice.”
The witch next to me, the blond one who’d scooted away, raised his hand. “But Professor, Beastkin aren’t supposed to be able to sense magical resonance. That’s a witch ability.”
Professor Blackwood’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Mr. Whitmore, I think you’ll find that many of our assumptions about magical abilities have been... limited by prejudice rather than actual observation.”
Whitmore’s face flushed red, but he didn’t respond. I felt a small surge of satisfaction at seeing him put in his place.
“Now,” Professor Blackwood continued, “I want everyone to close their eyes and extend your magical senses. Don’t try to cast anything, just feel what’s around you.”
I closed my eyes reluctantly, not sure what I was supposed to be sensing.
The warmth from the desk was still there, but as I focused, other things began to filter in.
The girl with blue skin radiated something cool and flowing, like a gentle stream.
The fire elemental felt like standing too close to a campfire.
And the witch students... they all had this crackling energy, like electricity waiting to discharge.
But there was something else. Something deeper and more primal that seemed to resonate from within my own chest. It felt wild and untamed, nothing like the controlled magical signatures around me.
Then there was another, a bright burning energy that nearly bowled me over. My fingers gripped the desk, claws scratching the surface. It felt like looking directly into the sun, feeling all its heat and power at the same time. It was coming from the other side of the room.
“Excellent,” Professor Blackwood said softly. “You can open your eyes now.”
I opened them to find her watching me intently. “Mr. Laurent, would you mind staying after class? I’d like to discuss your... observations.”
My stomach dropped. Being singled out by a professor on my first day back was the last thing I wanted. Especially this professor, reformed or not. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Quite the opposite,” she said with what looked like a genuine smile. “But we’ll discuss it after class.”
As soon as she headed back down to her podium, I scanned the class, trying to find the source of the heat.
But I found nothing. Only a sea of witch faces looked back at me, their expressions somewhere between bewilderment and disgust. I turned my gaze back to the professor, sinking down in my chair a bit.
The energy must’ve been a fluke. But staying after class…
well that was real, and it could only mean one thing.
The thing I hated more than anything else.
More homework.