Chapter 29: Imagination

The wind was different up here.

Cooler, sharper, carrying the faint hum of mana that kept the floating island aloft. The Spell Theory classroom was an open-air arena carved into the rock, its floor marked with concentric circles for duels and demonstrations. Beyond the edge, nothing but endless sky.

Professor Wynnshade stood in the center, her robes rippling in the breeze, violet eyes sweeping over us like she was already judging our worth.

“Magic,” she began, “is not just what you memorize. It’s what you create. The difference between a mage and a sorcerer is the same as the difference between a child reciting poetry and a poet writing their own. Today, I want you all to be poets.”

A murmur ran through the students. I noticed Marza crossing her arms, her jaw tightening.

Wynnshade continued. “Those of you with multiple elements—” her gaze flicked toward me and a few others “—will use an element you have neglected or find challenging. Those with a single element must craft something new with it. No imitations. No recreations of existing spells. Something that is entirely yours.”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “If you fail to be creative, you fail the lesson. Begin.”

She stepped back, letting us scatter to our practice zones.

I glanced at Marza. She was glaring at the ground like it had personally offended her. “You look thrilled,” I said.

“Copying something I’ve seen? Easy.” She rubbed her temples. “Making something from scratch? Not so much.”

“You mean you can mimic anything, but building from nothing’s the problem?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “I’ve spent my life studying other mages’ spells, perfecting them, improving them. But I’ve never made something that was… mine.”

I thought about it for a second, then looked at Sköll, who was sprawled nearby like he owned the island. “What about making something shaped like him?”

Her head snapped up. “Sköll?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re good with fire, right? Picture him. The way he moves, the way his fur catches the light. Make a wolf out of fire. You don’t need to copy anyone for that—it’s your image, your creation.”

She glanced at Sköll, who tilted his head at her like he understood. “That’s… actually not bad.”

“See? Easy. You’ve got a model right here.”

Her mouth curved into the faintest of smiles. “Alright, prince. Let’s see if I can make your mutt look impressive.”

Sköll let out a low growl—not hostile, more like a warning. I smirked. “Careful. He’s got high standards.”

Marza took a deep breath and stepped into her circle. Mana shimmered faintly around her as she began shaping the spell. Her hands moved in precise arcs, pulling the fire together into a rough outline.

At first, it wasn’t bad—the flames twisted into something vaguely canine. But then the proportions went wrong. The legs were too short, the head too wide, the tail… well, I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to be. It flickered in the wind, sputtering unevenly before settling into a glowing, lopsided lump.

She frowned at it. “…It’s a wolf,” she muttered defensively.

Beside me, Sköll tilted his head. His ears went back. Then—without a sound—he opened his mouth in an exaggerated yawn, teeth flashing in the sun, before lying back down with a long, dramatic sigh.

I snorted. “I think that’s his way of saying it’s an insult to wolves everywhere.”

Marza shot me a glare. “It’s a first attempt.”

Sköll lifted his head again, looked at the flaming creature… and let out a short huff through his nose. Almost like a laugh.

“Did he just laugh at me?” she asked, pointing an accusing finger at him.

I grinned. “Oh yeah. He’s got opinions.”

She set her jaw. “Fine. If the mutt wants to mock me, I’ll give him something worth respecting.”

Her hands flared with mana again, more controlled this time, her focus sharpening. The fire-wolf shuddered, reshaping itself. The head narrowed, the body elongated, flames licking along the spine like fur bristling. This time, its eyes burned bright and fierce.

When she finished, the fiery Sköll stalked in a slow circle around her, each step leaving a trail of fading embers.

The real Sköll got up, studied it with narrowed eyes, then gave a single, approving chuff.

Marza smirked. “That’s right. Respect your queen.”

I shook my head. “Don’t push it.”

I leaned against a rock near the edge of the floating island, watching Marza hunch over her latest attempt. The outline of Sköll shimmered in the air for all of three seconds before it fizzled into a vague, smoldering blob that looked more like a melted rabbit than a dire wolf.

She groaned, planting her hands on her knees. “I’m terrible at this.”

“You’re not terrible,” I said. “You’re just—”

“—not creative,” she finished for me with a flat look.

I raised a brow. “I was going to say impatient.”

Her gaze drifted out over the cloud sea below, her usual confident smirk slipping away. “You know why I’m here, right? At this academy?”

I shrugged. “Same as everyone else. To get stronger.”

“It’s more than that.” She straightened and crossed her arms. “My father’s a general in the Dival military. People expect me to follow in his footsteps. Surpass him, even. And if I can’t… then I’m just the general’s daughter who couldn’t keep up.”

I stayed quiet, letting her talk. It wasn’t often Marza dropped the sharp-edged attitude.

“When I saw the spell you used…” Her eyes locked on mine. “I’ve never seen power like that outside of war stories. And you’re just a student. If you can do that, then maybe—” She cut herself off, looking almost embarrassed. “Maybe I can figure out how to go beyond what my father could ever imagine.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “You know that power wasn’t free, Marza. If I hadn’t been lucky, I’d be dead. Maybe worse.”

She tilted her head. “And yet you’d still do it again, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t answer. The silence was enough.

She sighed. “That’s why I want to learn from you. Not just the spells. The mindset. How to push myself past my limits—without killing myself in the process.”

“Then start here,” I said, gesturing to the still-smoking blob where her last Sköll attempt had failed. “If you can’t put your own spark into a simple spell, you’ll never make it through the kind of fight that needs… that.”

Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. “Fine. One more try.”

And with a deep breath, she went back to work.

Marza’s “one more try” began with a sharper inhale, like she was drawing the fire into her lungs before letting it loose. The mana flared hotter around her, the air rippling with heat, and for a moment it looked as if the wind itself bent to her will.

This time she didn’t just pull the flames together — she coaxed them, almost like she was sculpting molten glass instead of wrestling a wild element.

The outline took shape slowly. The torso first, lean and strong. Then the legs, long and proportionate, the joints bending at the right angles. She shaped the head with a narrower muzzle, sharp ears pricking forward. Each stroke of her hands seemed to comb invisible fur into place, the fire settling in rippling layers down the spine.

The flaming wolf blinked into being, its eyes two points of white-hot light. It lowered its head, shoulders rolling in a predator’s stalk, and took a slow step forward. Then another. The flames danced but didn’t break.

Sköll had been lying with his head on his paws, but now he was up, tail raised slightly, ears forward. The two wolves — one of flesh and fur, the other of fire and will — circled each other at a cautious distance.

The class had gone quiet.

Marza’s jaw was tight, her focus unshaken. With a flick of her wrist, the fire-wolf stepped sideways, mirroring the real Sköll’s movements. Its paws left behind faint bursts of embers that tumbled into the air before fading.

Then Sköll did something I didn’t expect — he stopped circling, straightened, and gave the fiery double a low, approving chuff.

Marza exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time, and with a snap of her fingers, the construct dissolved into drifting sparks.

“That,” came a voice behind us, “is much better.”

Professor Wynnshade had approached without a sound. Her violet eyes reflected a faint shimmer of mana as she looked at Marza. “You see? Creation is not force. It is vision. A spell built without vision is only a trick. A spell built with vision…” Her lips curved slightly. “That can become a signature.”

Marza straightened under the praise, though her cheeks flushed faintly.

Wynnshade’s gaze shifted to me, sharp as a blade. “And you, Arthur. What have you learned from watching her?”

I blinked. “That… creation isn’t about copying?”

Her smirk deepened. “Partly. But more importantly, creation comes from knowing exactly what you want before the first thread of mana leaves your core. Even in combat, hesitation breeds failure. Decide. Shape. Execute.”

She let the words hang before stepping back. “Continue.”

The rest of the class went back to their own circles, some inspired, others muttering under their breath.

I stayed near the edge, watching Marza summon another fire-wolf — smaller this time, quicker, darting between imaginary enemies. It still wasn’t perfect, but the movement was closer, sharper.

She caught me watching and raised a brow. “What?”

“Just thinking,” I said.

“About what?”

“That you’re stubborn enough to make this work.”

She smirked faintly. “Damn right I am.”

By the time Wynnshade called us back to the center, the sun was dipping low, streaking the clouds in shades of gold and crimson.

“Enough for today,” she said, her voice carrying across the island. “What you’ve made may not survive a single battle, but that is not the point. This lesson is not about survival. It is about expression. You have until next class to refine your creations. I expect progress.”

The students began filing out toward the roots turned bridges that led back to the main academy grounds.

Marza lingered, rolling her shoulders. “Well. At least he didn’t yawn at me this time.” She jerked her chin toward Sköll.

He gave her one slow blink — which, from him, was practically a handshake.

“You’re winning him over,” I said.

“Good. That means next time I can make him kneel.”

I shook my head. “You keep saying that and one day he’s going to take you seriously.”

She just smirked, already walking toward the bridge.

I hung back a moment longer, looking out over the endless sky. The hum of mana beneath my feet was steady, constant — the unseen heart of the island. I thought about what Wynnshade had said. Decide. Shape. Execute.

It wasn’t that different from a fight. The split second before you commit to a strike — you can’t doubt yourself. You move, or you die. But there was something more to it, something in the way Marza had pulled an image from her mind and given it form.

As I caught up to her, she glanced sideways. “You thinking about that spell again?”

I didn’t answer right away. “I’m thinking about how you almost gave up on the wolf after the first try.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sound like my father. He used to tell me failure was just training wearing a disguise.”

“Smart man.”

Her lips quirked. “You’d like him. He doesn’t waste words.”

We crossed the bridge in companionable silence, the academy’s towers rising ahead, lit by the warm glow of sunset.

When we reached the gates, she paused. “You know… I still want to figure out how you did it. That spell.”

I met her gaze. “And I told you — it’s not worth the risk unless you’re ready to pay for it.”

“I know.” Her voice was quieter now, more serious. “But one day, Arthur… I might be.”

I didn’t argue. Some things you couldn’t talk someone out of.

Sköll brushed against my side as we walked through the gates, his fur warm even in the cooling air. I glanced down at him.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, obviously — but I could’ve sworn the faint twitch of his ears meant something like, She’s not bad.

I snorted. “You’re both trouble.”

If he heard me, he didn’t disagree.