Chapter 22: First Lessons

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*

Morning bells rang out across the Ivory Gate Academy, solemn and heavy as church gongs. Aris followed the crowd of first-years through the sprawling stone corridors, the air thick with incense and dust. His stomach fluttered with nerves. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of acceptance, threats from the High Priestess.Introductions in the dorm were uneasy. Now the true shape of the Academy would begin to reveal itself.

The students were split into groups, twenty-five to a class. Of Aris's new roommates, only Orric and Kaelen were scattered into his group. The others were sent to different wings.

"Figures," Orric muttered as they were herded into a rectangular hall with high windows. "Throw us all in different places. Break bonds before they form."

Aris nodded but said nothing.

The classroom looked nothing like he expected. There were no chalkboards, no shelves of books, no teacher's desk. Just rows of benches, twenty-five in all, each with a desk bolted firmly to the floor. The faint hum of wards tingled at the edges of his skin. Something about the room felt more like a training pit than a place for lessons.

The door slammed.

Every head turned.

A man strode inside, tall as a doorframe, shoulders broad as a bear's. His dark hair was cropped short, a pale scar ran from ear to jaw, and though he wore no armor, a longsword hung heavy at his hip. His boots struck the stone like war drums as he came to the front.

"I am Templar Rathvoss," he announced, his voice like iron scraping. "You will not call me 'sir,' nor 'master,' nor any other insult. I am Templar. Address me as such or remain silent."

Several students flinched.

Rathvoss's gaze swept the room like a blade, daring anyone to meet it. "Your assigned teacher, Priest Maezana Silvermeadow, has been called to service. In her absence, I will deliver your first lesson. And since today marks your initiation, you will learn the most fundamental skill any Ivory Gate aspirant must master, healing."

A murmur spread among the class. Healing? Many expected fire spells, shield drills, or elemental basics.

"Silence," Rathvoss barked, and the voices died instantly. He stepped to the nearest desk and kicked it. A sharp crack rang out as a small stone slid from a hidden slot beneath. He picked it up and tossed it in the air. "Under each of your desks, you will find one of these. A sharp stone. Your tool for today."

Uneasy looks flashed between students.

"You will bruise yourselves with it," Rathvoss continued calmly, "and you will heal one another with the proper form. Ivory Gates are not raised on comfort. You learn by blood, pain, and the will to mend what is broken."

A boy near the back raised a trembling hand. "But... sir... I don't know how to heal."

The class tensed. Rathvoss's eyes fixed on the boy like spears.

"First of all," Rathvoss growled, "not sir. I am Templar. Second, healing comes from within. You will strike yourselves until you find it. Anyone unwilling may leave now and return to their parents with shame tattooed on their soul."

No one moved.

"Good," he said. "Begin."

The room filled with the sound of hesitation then the first smack of stone against flesh. Students winced, muttered curses, gasped. Bruises blossomed on pale arms, shoulders, thighs.

Aris gripped his stone, stomach sinking. This is the Chalice's best academy? He swallowed, then pressed the sharp edge against his forearm and struck. Pain shot up his arm. He hissed through his teeth.

Around him, others struggled. Some pressed their hands uselessly against wounds, waiting for light that never came. Others mumbled broken incantations. One boy struck himself too hard and drew blood, crying out before slamming his palm desperately against the cut. Nothing.

Orric at least managed a faint glow, enough to close a bruise to half its swelling. Kaelen, predictably, didn't try at all he struck himself once, winced, and folded his arms. "Scars are lessons," he muttered under his breath.

Aris's assigned partner was a halfling girl of maybe sixteen years, round-faced, her braid tied with a simple ribbon. Her stone sat untouched in her lap.

"I can't," she whispered. "My father only taught me ice magic. I don't know healing at all."

Aris gave her an encouraging smile.

"What is your name?"

"I am Nevyre."

"Okay, Nevyre. It's not about what your father taught. It's about... reaching for something already inside. Imagine warmth, not cold. Imagine mending, not freezing. Focus here—" He touched his chest. "It's like pulling breath out and shaping it with your will."

She tried. She struck her arm gently, leaving a faint purple welt. Aris showed her his healing and asked her to heal his hand. She pressed her hand against it, eyes closed, muttering. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing.

"Don't stop," Aris urged. "It'll come."

But tears welled in her eyes. "It's not working. I don't feel anything."

Aris glanced at Rathvoss, who stalked between the rows like a wolf among sheep. The Templar's gaze fell on them.

"Failing already?" Rathvoss sneered. "Perhaps you should stick to freezing puddles, girl."

Her shoulders sank. Aris clenched his fists but said nothing. To speak back would bring wrath.

So he healed his bruise for her, secretly, his palm brushing her arm under the desk. The purple mark vanished. Her eyes widened, then softened into gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"But you need to learn."

The class dragged on like torture. Students struck themselves, failed to heal, struck again. Rathvoss corrected form with harsh words, sometimes seizing a hand and forcing it against a wound. By the end, the chamber reeked of sweat and fear.

Only three students had managed to truly manifest the Healing Touch: Aris, Orric with his crude half-glow, and one other a tall, noble-born fae girl with golden hair named Sliver, who healed as if it were second nature.

The rest sat slumped in pain, clutching bruises, hiding tears.

Rathvoss stood at the front, arms crossed. "Pathetic," he said flatly. "Out of twenty-five, only three show potential. The rest of you will suffer until you learn. The Chalice does not need the weak."

Silence hung heavy.

Aris stared down at his hands, light still lingering faintly at his fingertips. This is what passes for teaching here? Break them until they yield? His stomach churned, but he knew better than to speak aloud.

Rathvoss's gaze swept the class one final time. "Dismissed. Return tomorrow prepared to bleed again."

The students seated like nailed wood.

Aris looked beside his halfling partner. She kept her eyes on the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For failing. For being weak."

"You're not weak," Aris said. "This place just... wants to make you believe you are."

She gave him a faint smile, though her eyes were still wet.

Ahead, Orric caught Aris's glance and gave him a nod of recognition. Kaelen strode alone, his bruises untouched, chin high.

And in Aris's heart, unease grew like a shadow.

This was only day one. Who designed this? Aris thought. Either the game creator didn't bother for more than ten minutes, or this is the scrambling of someone crazy creating their own curriculum.

After class, a few circled around Aris and asked him about how he did it. And asked him to show them. While showing them and explaining - for him it doesn't always work, but when showing he gets [Bzzzt! ] - an interference passes by his eyes. He ignores it, not making a deal out of it in front of classmates.

While showing them and correcting their forms, he realizes his healing touch charges down to five. After an hour-long tutoring session, three out of five managed to create small healing unlike Aris's. Once they learned, they weren't in need of charging like Aris, but none of them ever produced the intensity of healing aura as Aris.

Aris wondered was it about the luck title, or did players have a different system now that theirs was closed down?

With that in mind, he walked to the library as Lyra mentioned she would enter the academy as library assistant. But everywhere Aris looked, he never saw her. He picked out some books to read and study. What was the history of the Academy, and what were the solo dungeon trials everyone was talking about?

While studying, Fox entered the library. A fae woman barked, "Familiars aren't allowed in the library unless correct permissions are taken." Aris went to the entry and talked to the fae librarian. "My familiar is quite tempered and would not harm any of the books or furniture," he said, but Fox was sniffing, and the sniffing increased until finally:

"That's no librarian that's Lyra," Fox said. The fae woman laughed. "Hehe, got you."

Aris rolled his eyes. "I was here studying two hours. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I tested you. Also tested my disguise. Why come here on the first day? Go mingle, make friends."

"Are we here to make friends?"

"Aris, you're stuck in this world. How are you gonna survive without making friends?"

"I don't know. But I think I had another title in class."

"So soon. First titles are easy to get, but first class is impressive."

"First class was healing, and I get this bzzt when I was helping other kids. I think I leveled it up."

"Okay, you study at the corner. When everyone's left, we can take a look."

Aris studied until midnight, but every other detail about Ivory Gate Academy was generic history and mentions about how deadly the trials were and how necessary they were for creating devout Chaliceans for the order.

By midnight, when no one was left, they entered a small chamber with reading booths for scribes, and Lyra plugged into Aris. A screen popped up in the middle of their faces.

The interface revealed his progress - he had indeed gained the "Adept Healer" title, progressing from his basic healing abilities. But the most intriguing discovery was his teaching experience had earned him something new.

"Adept healer. I progressed through healer and gained new bonuses. But I still have slots open to learn from that title."

"You should read spell books rather than nerd out on history and religion," Fox said.

"He is right. Study low-level magics when you are available," Lyra agreed.