Chapter 16—A Different Take to Magic

“Magic is neither virtue nor vice—only the reflection of the purpose behind it”  —House Arkantez

Raiden woke to silence broken only by the faint hum of magitech. His eyes opened to the dim blue glow of a crystal lantern perched on the wall, its light steady and unnatural, brighter than any candle flame yet cool to the touch. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming—until the air brushed across his skin, cool and even, though no window was open and no wind stirred.

He sat up. The room was spacious, paneled with polished wood inlaid with bronze, the ceiling carved with curling runes. Everywhere his eyes fell, strange contraptions blinked or pulsed with faint light. Some were familiar: a magistone lamp in a square frame of translucent glass, casting daylight without smoke or wick; a hearth that glowed faintly red, hot to the touch but without flame, designed to boil water or heat pans with precision no firewood could match.

Others were alien to him. A bronze box set against the far wall exhaled cold mist when touched, coils of frost clinging to its rim. Beside it, a tall cylinder of silver rune-etched steel dripped water endlessly into a basin, conjured fresh from a blue stone nestled inside. Another device stood like a great chest on carved legs, its lid rimmed in frost—the cold box, though Raiden didn’t yet know the name. And at the desk by the window, a sprawl of gears and cables twisted into a framework that hummed faintly with all four magistone colors—Ledios’ project, the so-called magic relay.

Raiden blinked. What… are these?

And then the dream returned to him.

A field of chaos. Soldiers rushing past, smoke choking the sky. He saw his own hands—older, steadier—lift to direct the ranks.

The sky split with thunder, though no storm raged. The sound came from the ground, from the weapons—devices in the shape of metal tubes, etched in glowing runes, their cores pulsing with magistones. On his unseen signal, they roared. Not fire and smoke, but jagged shards of stone wrapped in crackling arcs of lightning erupted from their mouths.

The projectiles tore through sturdy walls, fortifications built to withstand seasons of siege. They cracked and splintered as if they were nothing more than clay. Banners and splintered beams tumbled in the collapse, swallowed in dust and screams. Soldiers surged forward through the breach, their armor glinting in the strange light, their voices raised in a cheer that sounded too close to a howl.

Raiden’s breath caught. His hands—no, the hands he wore in this vision—moved with purpose, gesturing commands, directing the chaos. He felt the strain of authority, the weight of lives dancing to his signals. But he did not remember giving the orders. He had never wanted such power.

The crack of falling stone echoed inside him like a drumbeat of guilt. He staggered as if struck himself, watching the devastation unfold. Was this him? Was this what he was meant to be—one who broke walls, who commanded death as easily as breath?

When the dust cleared in the vision, all he saw was ruin, and the cheering felt wrong in his ears—victory not shared, but demanded. His chest tightened, an unease he could not name clawing its way up.

And then the vision ended.

Raiden’s pulse thundered in his ears even after the vision dissolved. The hearth-light of Arkantez lodging flickered back into being, but his hands still felt heavy, as if caked in dust and command. He flexed his fingers slowly, staring at them.

That wasn’t me… but it was my hands.

The unease lingered, gnawing at his ribs. Not fear of the walls collapsing, not fear of the soldiers roaring—but fear of himself, of what he had seen himself become.

The knock came. “Raiden? Awake?” Halia’s voice, bright as morning.

He shook himself and pulled on his tunic. By the time he emerged into the common room, Randall and Tadari were already there, seated stiffly on carved benches. Ledios stood near the hearth, speaking with easy grace. Halia was at the bronze box, tugging its door open. White vapor spilled across her arm.

Randall nearly leapt from his seat. “What in the world—why is it hissing?”

Tadari leaned forward, frowning hard. “Condensed vapor. Must be water magistone bound to earth runes. Perfectly normal.” His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed the curiosity he tried to hide.

Halia drew out a pitcher rimed in frost and poured its contents into glass cups, mist curling up in soft streams. She handed one to each of them with a little flourish.

Raiden took his, wide-eyed. He held it up, tilting it back and forth, marveling at the chill creeping through the glass. “How in the world is it cold? There’s no ice. No snow. Nothing.” He touched the rim, then yelped. “It stings!”

Randall sniffed his cup cautiously, then sipped—and jolted as though struck. He coughed, sputtering. “That’s not natural! Drinks aren’t supposed to bite back.”

Raiden downed half his cup in one gulp, shivered, and slammed it down. “By the gods—give me another!”

Tadari finally tasted his, keeping his composure, but his jaw twitched against the shock. “Efficient,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on the rising mist.

Ledios smirked at their reactions. “Cold box. Keeps food from spoiling, drinks sweet. Works for weeks on a single recharge. One of Arkantez’ newest inventions.”

Raiden craned his neck toward the misty bronze chest. “It’s like a cupboard that learned magic.”

Randall grimaced. “More like a cursed chest waiting to freeze your soul.”

Halia giggled, setting a second cup before Raiden before he could demand it. “Drink slowly, or your teeth will ache.”

For a moment, the tension of the past week faded. Three battered students sat marveling like children, their awe reflected in the polished glass of Arkantez innovation.

Then Ledios cleared his throat, and the air shifted.

“I made a decision last night,” he said, his gaze steady on Raiden. “Rudo, Halia, and I will be enrolling at the Academy.”

Randall blinked. “So suddenly?”

Ledios nodded. “Naia’s restrictions on your classes are moot if your kin are with you. If you are attacked again, you’ll have more than yourself to rely on.” His tone carried quiet iron, the matter already settled.

Raiden’s fingers tightened around the glass. “You… planned this for my sake?”

Ledios’ smile was faint but real. “Partly. But Halia insisted.”

The girl brightened, leaning forward. “If you stay in the dorms, you’ll be in danger. But if you stay with us, in the Arkantez lodge, no one will dare touch you. You’ll be safe. Isn’t that better?”

Raiden blinked at her earnestness. The words scraped oddly against the memory of his visions—of walls crumbling, of fire, of hands giving orders. Safe… but for how long?

Still, he inclined his head. “Thank you. Truly.”

Small talk followed—Randall asking about Altheria’s districts, Tadari probing about the Academy’s dueling grounds—but Raiden’s mind lingered on the dream, and the bronze box, and the warmth of kinship that felt at once alien and needed.

Beyond the lodge’s windows, Altheria stirred awake. Streets filled with voices, merchants hawking magistones and catalysts, rare feathers and scales from distant lands, scrolls bound in sea-leather. The river gleamed at the city’s base, its waters carrying ships from across the world. And above it all, the Academy towers loomed, runes glowing faintly in the dawn mist, the heart of Shanjinn’s magic.

But Raiden’s gaze did not rest on the towers. It lingered instead on the mist curling from the cold box, and the faint echo of cannons in his dream.

The future might be stranger than I know.