Chapter 6
Rynlee’s POV
The next afternoon, after another brutal run from Aiden, it was our Magical History course.
I slid into a seat near the middle of the lecture hall and ended up beside Sofia.
Her curly light brown hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, though a few soft strands had escaped and framed her face.
Fair skin, lightly dusted with freckles across the bridge of her nose, gave her a softness that felt out of place in a room full of bruises and tension.
She already had a book open on her desk, flipping through pages as if she’d been there for hours.
“Hey, Sofia,” I greeted her softly. She glanced up, her wide-framed glasses catching the sunlight spilling through the stained-glass windows.
Behind the lenses, her amber eyes, warmer than simple brown, met mine.
They held intelligence, yes, but also something gentler.
Thoughtful. Careful. She gave a small, polite smile.
“Hi, Rynlee,” she greeted, her voice gentle, almost cautious.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m good, though still sore from all the sparring,” she replied, as she rolled her shoulders back. I nodded in agreement.
"Tell me about it.” I leaned over slightly to glance at the open book on her desk.
“What are you reading, by the way?” She turned the cover toward me.
The Elemental Ability of Earth. The title was written in gold across a deep green background, vines and leaves embossed in swirling designs.
“Nice,” I said, nodding. “Hoping to get an elemental gift?”
“Yeah. Earth magic sort of runs in my family,” she replied, smiling down at the pages.
“And this book is really informative. I want to understand how the bonding works, if I’m chosen.
” Before I could respond, the door creaked open and Professor Quinell walked in.
He was short and stocky, built more like a stubborn oak stump than a towering general.
Age had settled into him without softening him.
His scalp was mostly bald now, thin wisps of gray clinging stubbornly above his ears, and his weathered skin looked drawn tight over a face carved by years of scrutiny rather than sunlight.
But it was his eyes that held you. Light silver.
Too pale. Too bright. They caught the light unnaturally, reflecting it back with an unsettling gleam, like polished steel instead of flesh.
If you kept his gaze too long, you got the distinct impression he could peel away your thoughts one careful layer at a time.
He didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention. The room quieted, anyway.
“Good afternoon, class,” he greeted briskly, pulling down a large, illustrated scroll that unraveled across the front wall. It revealed a triangle with four distinct layers marked inside.
“Today, we’ll be covering the four tiers of Magic, the very powers you might be gifted during the Fourfold Rite…
if Arcane Mountain sees you fit.” He grabbed a long, knotted stick to use as a pointer and tapped the top of the triangle.
“The first tier: Body Augmentation. This includes enhancements to strength, speed, agility, and in rare cases, things like passing through solid objects or temporary invisibility.” He gazed out at the room.
“Any questions?” Of course, Ryan raised his hand.
“Yes, cadet Bozzelli?” Ryan leaned forward, grinning.
“Can body augmentation include, you know… enlarging any specific part of the body?” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. A wave of groans and stifled laughter rippled across the classroom. I shot him a lifted brow, and he just shrugged with an unapologetic grin.
“No, Mr. Bozzelli,” Professor Quinell replied flatly. “This is Arcanna, not an adolescent daydream. Besides, no amount of magic could help you with that issue.” A few more chuckles escaped, and Ryan’s grin faded for a moment before he barked out a laugh and then gave Quinell a mock salute.
“Well played, Professor,” Ryan stated, a small smirk twitching on Quinell’s lips before he was back to business.
“Next is Elemental Magic: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind.
Each gift is as unique as the individual.
Two students could both be given fire but wield it in entirely different ways.
Control, manipulation, scale—it all depends on the strength of your soul.
” His tone grew slightly reverent at that last part.
“Any questions?” he asked, glancing around.
A girl seated in the back raised her hand, and just as the professor turned to her, something hit my backside.
Looking back over my shoulder, I caught Ryan trying and failing to look innocent.
He pointed at a wadded-up piece of parchment on the floor, biting down a grin.
Curious, I bent and picked it up, unfolding it under the desk.
My eyes widened, then narrowed in amusement.
It was a truly awful drawing. The stick figure version of Professor Quinnell had exaggerated baldness, angry eyebrows, and, unmistakably, a twig drawn straight up his butt.
The caption underneath read: tier five: Stick Conjuration.
I shook my head at Ryan’s antics, barely stifling a laugh, though I couldn’t help but smile.
Idiot. The professor cleared his throat, snapping my attention to the front of the room.
“The third tier,” he continued, “is Manipulation and Conjuring.” He tapped his pointer against the third level of the triangle.
“This magic allows the wielder to conjure weapons, creatures, even temporary allies. The manipulation branch enables you to create illusions, fog, or mental disturbances, anything to confuse or disorient the enemy.” A murmur of interest ran through the space.
Then Quinell’s tone dropped a little, becoming weightier.
“And finally… the fourth tier.” He let the words settle before continuing.
“This is the rarest gift you can obtain, and the most dangerous. Only four people in the world are known to bear it today. One of them is Professor Firebeard, who possesses the mark of the God of War.” Whispers passed between students.
The fourth tier wasn’t just rare, it was mythic.
“Some of you may attempt to cross into that power during the Rite,” the professor said, pacing slowly across the front of the classroom, “but only one, if any, might survive it. Those who do… carry great power. But at a great cost.” I raised my hand. “Yes, cadet Yarrows?”
“How do the gods, or goddesses, select someone?” I asked. “And how much of their power do they actually give?” The question drew a few curious glances, but Quinnell only nodded, as if he’d been waiting for it.
“Excellent,” he said. “The truth is, we don’t know exactly how or why the gods choose.
Their motives remain… elusive.” He paused.
“What we do know is this: those chosen are rare, and the power they receive is only a fraction of a god’s true strength.
” He turned and crossed to the back of the room, activating the projector.
Light flared to life behind him. “A dangerous, potent fraction.” The image shifted, revealing an arm etched with glowing markings.
“Each Godmarked bears runes burned directly into their flesh, most often along the arms. Each rune represents a specific aspect of the power they carry.” He flicked his wrist, and the image changed again.
“Take Professor Firebeard,” Quinnell said.
“He can stir rage and courage in equal measure, ignite fearless, frenzied energy in the hearts of men.” The projection zoomed in on a symbol shaped like a heart, scorched into a palm.
Another flick. A new picture appeared: “This mark allows him to rally warriors, to forge unity where none existed before.”
The next symbol looked like a Roman soldier burned into Firebeard’s wrist. “He also creates magical structures for training,” Quinnell continued, “such as the Trifecta, and can conjure weaponry fit for war.” The final projection shifted to a rune etched in ancient script, Greek symbols translating to structures.
The room had gone completely silent. No shuffling.
No whispers. Everyone was watching. “But,” Quinnell added, his voice sharpening just slightly, “do not mistake power for ease. Professor Firebeard trains constantly. He struggles every day to master what he’s been given.
Even now, after decades, that force still pushes back. ”
“Wow,” I murmured under my breath. Firebeard was a total badass.
“Who are the other three?” Sofia asked from beside me.
“General Varek in the Eastern Encampment, she bears the mark of Athena,” the professor said, ticking names off on his fingers. “Our own Apollo unit leader, Dagon, holds the power of the Moon God. And the last… is the leader of the Blood Assassins.” He looked at us meaningfully.
“Keiran,” someone whispered.
“I’m sure you can all imagine what God bestowed his gift to him,” Quinnell comments.
Sofia raised her hand again. “Hades?”
Quinell nodded solemnly. “Correct. The Blood Assassins draw from darker gods, and Keiran was marked by the god of the underworld himself. He’s unique in that his magic isn’t just his own.
Through some unknown method, he passes fragments of it to his followers, strengthening them. ” That made my spine stiffen.
“Sir,” I blurted without thinking, “has that ever been heard of before? Someone channeling their God-given power into others?” Quinell looked at me for a long moment.
“No,” he said gravely. “It hasn’t. And it’s deeply concerning.
Whatever Keiran is doing, it is unnatural.
And extremely dangerous.” I swallowed hard.
Something told me this wasn’t just about power.
Something was shifting beneath the surface.
Bigger than resistance. Greater than war.
“Hopefully,” the professor continued, voice quieter now, “none of you will bear the Godmark. It is…a brutal magic to wield.”