The Beginning of Everything

Magus Fundamentals.

The cornerstone subject of every mage’s education. It was the wellspring of all magical knowledge—its origins, its mechanics, its laws. How to weave spells, how to unravel them, how to defend and how to destroy.

Serenya sat quietly at her desk, her gaze fixed on Professor Althien as his voice carried through the lecture hall.

“The birth of magus,” he began, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he paced before the students, “came at a time when the world drowned in darkness. Evil roamed unchallenged, led by the Demon Lord Morzael—though many of you know him better by his true name, the Fallen Elysian Hero, Zerath Morzael.”

A hush fell over the room as his words sank in.

“He is remembered as the Traitor of Men—a hero who turned his blade not against evil, but against the will of the Goddess Aeon herself. When charged with upholding her divine decree to protect the good, he chose instead to ally with the devil Azrakul… and in doing so, butchered his own Elysian brethren.”

A few students—immoral, loud-mouthed, or simply desperate to stand out—snickered and made crude jokes about the massacre. Their whispers slithered through the hall, but others grimaced at their callousness. Professor Althien, however, paid them no mind. His voice pressed on, and continued.

“And because the weak could not defend themselves against the tide of evil, the Goddess herself made the ultimate sacrifice. She surrendered half of her immortal lifeline to forge a new order for the world. From that sacrifice, the Lumen Tree was born.”

A hand rose timidly from among the rows. “Professor… how did our ancestors fight evil when they were already on the brink of annihilation?”

Althien’s expression softened. “An excellent question.”

He raised his hand, palm open to the air. “The answer lies in what we call Lumos—a simple, delicate-looking mote of light. Yet do not let its appearance deceive you. These motes carried within them the salvation of all that is good, and with them, all evil was held at bay.”

With a flick of his fingers, light shimmered at his command. A tiny orb—no larger than a pearl—sparkled into being above his palm, glowing faintly yet undeniably alive. The class collectively leaned forward, breaths caught.

“Lumos,” he continued, “is the essence that flows from the Lumen Tree’s core, coursing through its roots and seeping into the souls of the worthy. It is this bond that granted humanity the power to conjure magus—the magic we wield to this day.”

“Where is the Lumen Tree located?” a young man asked, voice brimming with curiosity.

“It rests under the protection of the Azalian people,” Professor Althien replied, his eyes alight with satisfaction at the growing interest in the room.

Another hand shot up. “Azalia? Isn’t that the land of beasts? Doesn’t it seem dangerous that they alone can monopolize the Lumen Tree?”

Althien clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly. “A fair concern… but highly unlikely. And do you know why? Because the Lumen Tree is not a treasure to be hoarded. It is a sacred pillar. Its essence is rooted deep within the earth itself. Through those roots, its magus flows faster than light, carrying Lumos to every corner of our world. No kingdom—no people—can claim it as their own.”

A noble girl, draped in silks, raised her chin with a smirk. “Then why not relocate it? Bring it closer to us, perhaps? Surely that would be wiser.”

A scoff cut through the lecture hall. “Relocate it? Are you daft? The Lumen Tree is the size of a mountain—you can’t just uproot it like a garden shrub!” another student sneered, earning a ripple of laughter.

Professor Althien raised a hand for silence, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Believe it or not, my dear students, rulers and scholars alike have debated that very question. Even in my youth at this university, my colleagues would argue the same. But as one of my closest friends—an esteemed magus ecologist—once proved, disturbing the roots of the Lumen Tree could unravel the balance of the world itself. Its roots are tied not only to the soil, but to the flow of magus and the breath of life of living magical beings. To tamper with it would risk catastrophe.”

✦

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Books snapped shut, chairs scraped against the floor, and the chatter of students quickly filled the room. Some hurried out the door while others lingered, still debating the lecture.

At the front, Professor Althien stood by his desk, carefully stacking his notes and tucking away a handful of chalk sticks. Serenya rose from her seat and made her way toward him.

“It was a magnificent lecture, as always, Professor,” she said, voice tinged with genuine admiration.

Althien squinted as though trying to place her face, then his eyes widened in recognition. “Lady Arclight!” he exclaimed, delight warming his tone. “I was under the impression you wouldn’t be attending today. Word reached me that you were unwell.” His brows knit with concern. “It gladdens me to see you, but I would never wish for one of my students to push themselves beyond their limits.”

Serenya shook her head lightly. “I’ve recovered. Just a lingering headache, nothing serious. It's just that I couldn’t bear to miss this class—Magus Fundamentals has always been one of my favorite subjects.”

“Oh-ho, you make this old man blush,” Althien chuckled, his laugh echoing across the nearly empty room. Then, lowering his voice slightly, he added, “By the way, I was present with the Headmaster Lucius on the day of your practical exam. I must admit, what we have witnessed was… fascinating.”

“You were with my grandfather?” Her eyes widened. She hadn’t imagined the old man cared enough to watch her stumble through what should have been her humiliation.

“I was,” the professor confirmed, his tone softening with memory. “And I assure you, we were both rather… shocked, to say the least.”

Serenya hesitated, then leaned in a fraction, her curiosity surfacing. “Why? Do you have any idea what my magic truly is, Professor?”

Professor Althien’s expression shifted—hesitation clouding his eyes, as though he were weighing whether to speak at all. Finally, in a low voice meant for her alone, he whispered, “I shouldn’t be meddling in this… but Lady Arclight, don’t let the other Houses see you wield that magic.”

“Why?” She pressed.

“They don’t like it.”

“My magic?”

“Yes.” His gaze flickered, wary, as if the walls themselves might be listening. “They call it dangerous.”

“But why? Who’s they? Do you know what it is?”

Althien swallowed hard, his tone tightening. “Void Magic. That is what you wield. And yes… I know of it.” The words spilled faster, as though he feared silence would strangle his courage. “I didn’t just spend years—I spent my entire career chasing that magic. Every scrap of record, every whisper, every fragment of evidence. I was close. So close.” His voice cracked as he lifted his hand, thumb and forefinger pinched together to show the sliver of distance. “…And then, they shut me down. Forced me to burn it all. Decades of research—erased, as though it had never existed.”

The weight of it seemed to hollow him out in an instant. His shoulders slumped, face drained, eyes vacant—as though the very marrow of his purpose had been carved away long ago.

Serenya leaned back, mind churning. So Althien had once studied the truth about Void Magic before one of the great Houses silenced him. But which House? And why bury it so desperately?

“Anyway, I must go.” Althien straightened, his composure snapping back into place as though the last few minutes had never happened. He gathered his things and turned for the door.

“Professor, wait—” Serenya’s voice caught, pleading. “I need to know more.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes darted, restless, never quite meeting hers. “I… Lady Arclight,” he muttered sharply, “it isn’t safe to speak of this here. Not now. When the time is right I’ll tell you what I can.”

Without another word, he hurried out as the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the corridor.

Serenya let out a long defeated breath. She hadn’t truly expected Professor Althien to recognize Void Magic, yet he had, and that revelation alone unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Their exchange had been brief but it was enough to confirm that she might have a few enemies circling around.

If Althien would not give her the truth now, then she would have to seek it elsewhere. Perhaps it was time to set her sights on Colderia—her last, fragile thread of hope.