Chapter 25: Lessons in Division

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

Aris took his place in the applied class. The first week had passed in a haze of blood and sweat. All the things the Academy was trying were dreadful and awful, beyond what naive students expected. But now all naivety and friendship amongst ignorant students started to fade away, as some teachers started to tutor only based on their race.

Halflings, humans, fae, and other minorities started to form their own groups in and outside class, regardless of their future alignment. The classroom that had once buzzed with nervous but hopeful chatter now felt divided by invisible walls. Students clustered by species, casting suspicious glances across the racial divides.

Lyra had explained it the night before, her disguised fae features twisted with disgust. "It is intentional. They don't want united friendship amongst anything other than their stupid made-up religion."

Aris took his place again where Nevyre would sit, but she had started sitting with the halflings. Her round face avoided his gaze when he looked her way, though he caught her stealing glances filled with what looked like regret. Only one who didn't bother with the grouping was Orric. The wolfkin sat wherever he wanted, his amber eyes holding a defiant gleam that dared anyone to challenge him. Kaelen had already established himself as the humans' leader in the class, his scarred face wearing an expression of cold superiority as he held court among his followers.

The classroom door opened with a sharp crack, and instead of their usual Templar teacher Rathvoss, a halfling woman entered. She was middle-aged, with graying brown hair pulled back in a practical bun and wearing deep green robes that seemed to shimmer with subtle enchantments. Her eyes were kind but tired, as if she'd seen too much of what this place could do to young minds.

"Hello, class. I am Maezana Silvermeadow," she announced, her voice carrying a warmth that felt foreign after Rathvoss's harsh bark. "I am supposed to be your teacher for this year in applied magic. I had complications at the beginning of the semester. I heard from my colleague that he used some unconventional methods. However, his father used him to teach healing." She chuckled with despair, shaking her head. "That's not how you teach magic. Templars only know how to apply force, you know."

The students shifted uncomfortably, many still bearing faint bruises from Rathvoss's "teaching methods."

"Anyway, before we get to class, I have an announcement. Your first dungeon trial will be held next week. In fact, I was occupied with that preparation. So you better master healing touch now, as it will be crucial for the first solo trial."

A ripple of fear passed through the classroom. Solo trial. The words hung heavy, especially rumors of upperclassmen' divindling numbers on dungeon runs.

Maezana began an actual lecture on how they should manipulate and form thoughts for creating magic, showing correct techniques and wordings. Her hands moved in precise patterns, light flowing between her fingers like liquid starlight. Aris tried to understand if this new teacher actually knew the technology behind the scenes. Some of her gestures and explanations seemed meta, as if she understood the underlying code that made this world function. But even after all the theories, only two others managed to manifest healing touch a nervous human boy and one of the fae students.

Maezana went desk by desk, correcting their forms and giving advice. When she arrived at Kaelen, he was arguing about learning healing. His blue eyes blazed with indignation as he crossed his scarred arms.

"Templars don't need healing magic," he said coldly. "Pain teaches. Scars remind."

But after Maezana threatened him with sending him to the Headmaster, he started to try, his movements grudging and clumsy.

When her lecture ended, Aris hadn't learned anything beyond what was in the books - he already knew healing touch. As the class was dismissing, he went to her and asked how he could progress alone with instructions from the books. He asked her to teach him cure disease and light missile.

"We encourage students to move forward alone, and it's good you try. Don't think your classmates are as far behind as they appear in healing." She began to manifest cure disease, her hands glowing with a soft green light that seemed to cleanse the very air around it. Then came light missile a crackling bolt of pure energy that struck the practice target with precision. Aris got [Bzzzt! ] interference in both demonstrations, the familiar sensation of knowledge flowing into his mind.

His theory of progress was forming a shape. Progress and learning were all tied to titles for the new order of players. And unlike locals, they either had to witness the manifestation from a master or work really, really hard, he thought. He had never managed to attain anything other than titles by working hard.

Aris thanked her and left the classroom alone, his mind buzzing with new possibilities.

When walking in the hall toward the library, eager to test his newly acquired spells, he saw them.

In Academy student clothes, young people were walking in despair bruises, cuts, and worse marking their bodies. These were upperclassmen returning from what appeared to be a dungeon run, their faces hollow with exhaustion and trauma. Blood stained their robes, some limped heavily, others clutched bandaged arms to their chests. Their eyes held the thousand-yard stare of those who had seen too much death.

One of the fae students couldn't walk anymore and fell to the floor, her gossamer wings torn and bloody. Her silver hair was matted with dirt and something darker. Templar Rathvoss saw the line had broken and barked, "Hasten! This is not how you become leaders of the Chalice Theocracy!"

Aris knew none of the students had any intention of helping. The racial divisions ran too deep now, and fear of association with weakness was stronger than compassion. He rushed over to her and applied his Healing Touch. A big green healing aura started to mend her open wounds and close the gashes across her arms and face.

The fae upperclassman looked up at him with eyes like broken glass. "Thank you. I am so beaten I can't even heal myself."

"I am Aris. Are you returning from a dungeon trial?"

"I am Loriel Frostblossom." She whispered, glancing around nervously. "Aris, if you have anywhere to go, run from this place."

Aris acted like he couldn't hear clearly. "Sorry?"

"Never mind." Her voice was barely audible. "Yes, we were on a dungeon run. We lost another twenty-nine friends this time. We're down to sixty or sixty-one students in a year."

The number hit Aris like a physical blow. Forty students dead in one year. "Are they that hard?"

"You have no idea. Demons, I tell you - these teachers are demons, and that woman is the Devil." She was weeping now, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks.

Rathvoss saw the interaction, fell back, and caught her arm, raising her to her feet with rough hands. "Walk, girl. You all have to give reports to the headmaster."

Aris left the upperclassman parade and finally saw his classmates watching with shocked eyes. The racial divisions seemed momentarily forgotten in the face of such obvious suffering.

Kaelen said "Weak" as he passed by. Aris squeezed his fists, anger flaring hot in his chest, but saw Fox nodding no from the shadows. He calmed himself and, with Fox, walked to the library.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Fox asked once they were alone.

"What do you mean?"

"This school is full of priests, and if they wanted to help those kids, they would have done it already. They're clearly trying to teach something or eliminate them."

"But—"

"No buts. You always keep rushing to help anyone. Isn't that what Lyra said? Keep your head down, do your assignment."

Aris wanted to answer, but everything Fox was saying was true. The school, this world, wasn't normal. And he couldn't act like a normal person from outside. Aris wouldn't want to admit it, but he had to change. And not for the better.

The weight of that realization settled on his shoulders like a lead cloak. In trying to survive this place, he was becoming someone he didn't recognize. Someone who calculated the cost of compassion and found it too high to pay.

But as he walked toward the library, passing portraits of Academy graduates who had gone on to positions of power throughout the Theocracy, Aris began to understand the true horror of this place. It wasn't just that it killed students - it was that it turned the survivors into the kind of people who would let others die.

And despite everything, he was still here. Still learning their magic. Still playing their game.

The Academy was working exactly as intended.