Schoolhouse Days

Old and nearing decrepit, that’s the life Mr. Holm was leading these days. Or at least that’s what the children liked to whisper whenever they thought he was out of earshot. He didn’t mind, though. If anything, he found it comforting. Age suited him. Slow mornings suited him. Even the gentle routine of teaching Bronze-rank magic to small, energetic hands suited him.

The classroom was warm, sunlight stretching across the wooden floorboards and catching on the whiteboard filled with runes and runic literacy lessons. Outside, birds chirped over the quiet hum of a small fountain. Everything about this place moved at the pace of a yawn.

“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat and tapping the closed marker against the board. “Today we’re reviewing basic rune shapes. Pretend you’re drawing with a feather, not trying to carve the rune into existence.”

A chorus of “Yes, Mr. Holm,” rose from the children followed immediately by the sound of someone carving far too hard anyway.

He walked along the row of desks, leaning slightly on the edge of each student's desk while observing them. Little Mira squinted at her slate, tongue poking out in fierce concentration as she attempted the simplest glyph in the beginner set: one meant to channel mana.

“Good effort,” Mr. Holm said gently, patting Mira’s shoulder. “But your curves are more like corners. Try relaxing your wrist.”

She nodded, took a breath, and tried again. This time, it looked like a slightly better squiggle of lines.

Mr. Holm nodded approvingly. “Progress is progress. Runes don’t need to be perfect on the first try, they just need to be shaped correctly on paper first so you can build good habits early.”

He straightened slowly, stretching his back until it gave a tired little pop. “Everything else comes later. You’ll get there when you’re older.”

Most of the children only heard the last part, and that was fine. Patience was a grown-up virtue, not one they could reasonably be expected to master this young. They should be living their lives and playing with their friends first and foremost.

He drifted down the next row, the worn wood of the classroom floorboards creaking cheerfully under each step. Wooden desks sat in neat lines, each paired with a little chair that had likely witnessed more fidgeting than quiet over the years. Mr. Holm had been this town's teacher for over two decades already, so he would definitely know.

At the far left, a trio of boys huddled over their boards, arguing in low whispers.

“No, no, the hook goes this way,” one insisted, jabbing the air with his marker.

“It does not,” his friend countered. “Weren't you paying attention to the lesson at all, you idiot?"

“Yeah, you idiot.” The third one spoke, adding that little jab like a parrot.

Mr. Holm stepped behind them, arms folded gently. “Boys,” he said, sending a shiver up their spines. "Let's be a little more kind, shall we?"

All three boys stiffened, their shoulders rising like they were caught doing something mildly criminal. The one holding the marker lowered it immediately, suddenly very interested in the grain pattern on his desk.

“Yes, Mr. Holm,” they chorused, though it came out more like a nervous mumble.

“Good,” he said, and his smile softened any lingering shame. “Arguments are fine, learning is full of them, but names and elbows don't need to be thrown around so freely."

A small ripple of laughter came from the students who overheard. The trio relaxed, exchanging embarrassed glances before returning to their boards with renewed focus.

He moved onward, passing a girl tapping her chin thoughtfully with the back of her marker, her board full of half-finished crescents. Another student was faring far better, though she was only half done. Speed was also an important skill for the best of mages, something that Mr. Holm was an expert at.

He paused beside Mira’s desk again. She had started a new rune design from the beginning, trying to copy what was on the board.

“That’s steadier,” he said quietly over her shoulder.

Mira looked up, unsure at first whether it was praise or just an observation. When his eyes softened, hers lit up to match.

“Really? I tried to copy it just like yours on the board." She said excitedly.

Mr. Holm smiled, the kind that carried only fondness. “You did. And more importantly, you copied it with excellent precision. Mages need to have runes memorized to near perfection when they cast using their mana, so learning how to write effectively is an important step."

Mira stared at her board again, tilting her head as if the rune might shift into something clearer under a different angle of scrutiny. “It still looks a little wiggly.”

“Wiggly? Maybe a little, but it's not bad." He echoed, chuckling a bit. Mira was wholly embarrassed.

Holm tapped the corner of her small whiteboard with one finger. “When you’re writing runes and eventually magic circles, think of it like teaching someone how to speak. The shapes don’t have to be beautiful, they just have to make sense in that language."

Then he added. "Though it does help if it’s near perfect. If you don't create it right, the spell could backfire and do all sorts of wild things."

“So it’s like handwriting?” she asked.

“Exactly.” He replied.

She nodded with a seriousness that made him chuckle. Mira always took things as though the whole world balanced on her understanding of the concepts.

He moved on, weaving through desks like he had done thousands of times, catching glimpses of rune strokes in every shape imaginable on the way back to his desk. Some were precise. Some were abysmal. Some were… creative, to say the least.

Yep, this was the life. It wasn't the future he imagined for himself all those years ago, but Mr. Holm was sure glad it turned out this way. Adventuring was a lucrative career, but it carried the inherent risk that any day could be your last. By all strokes of fate, he was truly lucky to be here.

Lucky to be surrounded by children who argued about hooks on runes with the same intensity frontliners argued about sword stances or the best ways to garner the enemy's attention. He didn’t miss that in the slightest.

He reached his desk and set his marker down, taking a moment to rest both hands on the worn wood. The grain had smoothed over the years the way only truly lived-in furniture did. He traced one fingertip along a faint groove where a student many years ago had carved their initials during a particularly boring day. Holm had to say, it did add character.

One thing he always had in his classroom was a great cup of tea.

Mr. Holm reached for the ceramic mug sitting at the corner of his desk, hidden behind a stack of worksheets and obscuring it from his students. A faint trail of steam curled upward, lazily drifting into the rays of light peeking through the windows.

The mug was a gift from a former student's mother, one that she made herself apparently.

It held warmth the way good memories did, and it reminded him of the quiet generosity this town seemed endlessly capable of.

He cupped it with both hands, savoring the heat that seeped into his fingers. The steam carried a harshly bitter tone of mint and something floral, a combination he’d initially hated with every fiber of his being, but had grown to adore from constant exposure.

Holm took a small sip and exhaled through his nose. Perfect.

He let the mug sit in his hands another moment before setting it down. The ceramic gave a soft clink against the desk, settling into its usual spot as though it, too, had grown comfortable with routine.

Holm’s eyes drifted over the room again.

He straightened slowly. “Alright, everyone,” he said, tone gentle but firm. “Let’s take a moment to review the rune you’re practicing. Hold your boards up so I can see.”

A wave of small hands lifted whiteboards into the air in a flurry. Some were upside down, though he could read it quite well after years of practice.

He made a slow circuit through the aisles, hands clasped behind his back.

Lisa’s rune was crisp and perfectly balanced, the kind that looked copied straight from a textbook. She didn’t brag about it, either, just waited, composed and steady.

“Very nice, Lisa,” Holm said. “Good job.”

She smiled modestly and set her board down.

Two desks over, Noren held his whiteboard with a grin that suggested he thought he’d created a masterpiece. Holm paused. Whatever was drawn there had the skeleton of a rune, but certainly not the body of one.

“And what do we call this?” Holm asked gently.

“A Rune,” Noren said proudly.

Holm tapped the board lightly, amused. “You're starting to get the hang of it, just keep working on the basics.”

Noren nodded enthusiastically.

A few steps later, he reached Talia, whose board was angled so aggressively to the side that Holm felt a sympathetic lean in his own posture.

“Talia,” he said softly, “tilt it upright, please. My head can only angle so far in my age.”

She giggled and corrected her posture.

He continued through the classroom, offering guidance here, a raised brow there, and a few encouraging pats on shoulders that showed frustration. Even the most chaotic attempts held a certain charm of children trying terribly hard to write a language older than their great-grandparents. Heck, probably even older than their great-grandparents' great grandparents.

Finally, he reached Mira.

Her board trembled slightly in her hands, not from fear, but from waiting so terribly long. The rune she’d drawn was cleaner now, as though she finally took Mr. Holm's advice and relaxed a bit.

Holm bent slightly to see it better.

“Well done,” he said. “Your curves are much smoother and your spacing is even.”

Mira brightened, shoulders lifting.

“Really?” she asked, eyes shining.

“Really,” Holm confirmed. “You’re beginning to really get the hang of it now.”

She tightened her grip on the board, beaming so wide her cheeks rounded.

Holm straightened with a soft grunt and returned to the front of the room, rubbing his hands lightly together, feeling the dryness of his skin grate against each other.

“Good work, all of you,” he said. “You’re getting the hang of it faster than you think.”

He took in the room once more, watching the children settle back into their seats.

Then a voice piped up from the back:

“Mr. Holm… what does the rune do when it’s used for real?”

A hush followed.

Mr. Holm pondered for a moment, really playing into theatrics that the kids couldn't even realize was happening.

He pressed a hand to his chin and tilted his head, squinting at the ceiling. A long "hmm" was all that came from him.

"Well,” he said, “That depends on the rune… and the intention I suppose."

Holm glanced around, noting how several children had unconsciously leaned so far in their seats that they were practically laying on their desks.

He let the silence stretch another moment — not for dramatics, he told himself, but because it was rather amusing how easy it was to captivate a room of eight-year-olds.

“Well,” he began, “that depends entirely on the runes you put together. One rune probably won’t do anything by itself, it’s only when you place them in the right order with many other ones that spells can occur."

“Magic circles,” Holm continued, “are what force your mana to behave. Think of them like giving instructions to a friend by writing it on a piece of paper. The runes are the words and the circle is the sentence.”

Noren raised his hand, board already forgotten. “So when you finish the sentence… that’s when you say the spell?”

Holm nodded. “Exactly. The spell’s title is the final piece. The confirmation of incanting. Without it, the mana has no command. You could pour all of your mana into it and nothing would happen.”

A few children murmured “oooh” under their breath as though they’d just learned a secret.

Then, from the very back a voice rang out. “Mr. Holm! Can you show us how it works?”

Holm arched an eyebrow, like it was a foreign topic to him. “You want me to demonstrate?”

The reaction was immediate. Many yes's and nodding heads rang out.

“I coouuuld show you,” he said slowly, folding his arms as though weighing a very serious moral dilemma, “if it helps you understand how runes fit together.”

Noren’s chair scraped loudly as he straightened in anticipation. Even Lisa was brimming with curiosity.

Holm sighed the sigh of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. “I suppose, but only a small one."

The class reacted as if he’d announced free candy for the rest of the week.

Holm raised both hands for order. “Calmly, please. No one faint from excitement.”

A few giggles rippled through the room.

He walked back to the front desk, sliding a stack of papers aside to clear space. He popped out a screen from thin air, his system screen that is, and began looking at his inventory. From it, he pulled out his staff, one so bizarre for a mage that it didn't even look like it belonged in the same category as one.

Mages in storybooks wielded elegant rods carved from enchanted woods and were adorned with gems, crystals, ribbons, and dramatic flashy additions. Even traveling mages who passed through town had staffs that glowed or housed giant elemental crystals.

Holm’s staff looked like a metal pipe.

Ok, maybe not a metal pipe, but it sure was close enough.

Long, straight, and forged from a muted silvery black alloy, it had the sturdy weight of a proper bo-staff and none of the grace typically associated with spellcasting tools, the thing people called a mage's livelihood.

But the top was what really threw people.

The staff ended in a curved, half-crescent tip holding a very small, pitch-black ore.

The children squinted at it like they were trying to figure out what they were looking at.

Mira leaned sideways in her chair. “Mr. Holm… is that ore broken? It’s not shiny. And it’s kinda tiny.”

“It’s not supposed to be shiny,” Holm replied.

Noren frowned. “Then what does it do?”

“It stabilizes mana flow, among other purposes,” Holm said, tapping the ore lightly with his thumb. “This one is called an Abyss Core."

The children stared at it as though he’d just announced it was a new kind of vegetable.

Lisa narrowed her eyes. “If it doesn’t shine, how do you know it works?”

Holm lifted the staff gently so the crescent tip caught the light. The Abyss Core sat nestled in its bracket like a perfectly round piece of black glass "From experience, I suppose."

He tapped the staff’s metal end gently on the desk, producing a low, resonant tone that hummed through the staff. “Now then. This tool will help you see the spell clearly.”

He lowered the crescent tip, mana inside his body beginning to stir.

A thin trail of gentle blue light spilled from the Abyss Core as Holm slowly started forming runes in the magic circle, one by one. His mana was being used like a marker, drawing as elegantly as the ones he did by hand.

The first rune appeared, clean and intricate in the air like a floating drawing.

“This,” Holm said as he completed it mentally, “is the Rune of Containment.”

The students leaned in.

“And this is the Rune of Gathering.” Holm continued with the patience of someone who had cast this exact spell thousands of times.

“These next runes,” he murmured, “form the element desired."

He produced another symbol.

Then another.

A third rune snapped into place, this time a tiny droplet-shaped one.

Then another looping one that controlled density.

Each rune manifested from the air itself, clean and precise. A true demonstration of what an experienced mage must know how to do. Academic mages were experts in spell design, a perk of paying for scholarly education.

He gave the staff a subtle tilt, the Abyss Core humming quietly as it kept the mana steady.

A dozen runes now hovered in a perfect ring, the spell circle finally looking complete.

Holm nodded to himself. “Good. This is the final part of the spell."

None of the children breathed.

"[Conjure Water]," He recited.

Instantly, the magic circle dissipated, being replaced by the product of Mr. Holm's hard work.

A tiny bead of water formed, small as a marble and perfectly clear. Then, as the surface tension broke, it began pouring in a never-ending stream. He was wise enough to hold his half-finished mug of tea underneath it to keep the mess to a minimum.

He nodded once in approval as the mug reached a comfortable fill level. Then, with a tiny flick of his wrist, he cut off the flow. More theatrics, of course, as it was an internal skill.

“See?” he said, taking a small sip of the now-watered-down tea. “Basic conjuration. Useful for practical things. Mostly rescuing tea from running out."

A wave of muffled giggles rolled through the room.

Mira raised her hand without waiting to be called on. “Can it make juice?”

Holm paused mid-sip.

“No,” he said gently. “That would be an advanced spell."

That seemed to catch on quick, the sharp young kids they were. “Advanced” was a mythical word to them. Something exciting. Something they absolutely had to see at all costs.

A wall of voices crashed over Holm all at once:

“Can you show us?!”

“Do it!”

“Do the advanced one!”

“Just one time!”

“PLEASE, MR. HOLM!”

“Just a peek!”

“ONE DROP!”

“We won’t tell anyone, so please?!”

Holm blinked, momentarily pinned in place by nine sparkling pairs of expectant, if not borderline feral, eyes.

He tried raising a hand for order.

It did nothing, of course.

Holm sighed deeply, though in truth he wanted to show them a cool spell more than they wanted to see it.

“Alright, just once.” he murmured, voice soft and resigned, “BUT, you must be quiet and watch closely.”

Someone mouthed “shhh” even though no one else was talking.

Nine tiny statues sat before him all waiting for the juice spell.

“Good. This will be super fast, so don't blink.” He said with a small grin on his face.

He lifted his staff just like last time. The Abyss Core caught the light and swallowed it, allowing nothing to pass through or around. With his other hand, he angled his mug once more under the trajectory of the spell he would create.

As if watching lightning strike, a rune circle appeared in a flash, fully complete and far more complex than the water spell was; dozens of additional symbols fitted into a two-layer design. This was, of course, only realized by Mr. Holm since it dissipated as fast as it appeared.

“[Conjure Juice],” He incanted.

A single droplet of faint tan liquid gathered instantly at the tip of his staff, it too becoming a stream of liquid falling. Filling the last bits of his mug, he ended the spell by cutting off the mana flow to it, this time without the theatrics or moves.

He lifted the mug, giving it a small swirl.

“See?” he said, tone calm and utterly casual. “Just enough.”

The children stared at him in total disbelief.

They knew how much work drawing a rune was and making it good enough to eventually form only a small part of a magic circle, so to see a spell fire off that fast was incomprehensible to their minds.

This was a wakeup call to how much they still needed to learn, on top of many other things as well.

Mira mouthed, “Woah.”

“Alright,” he said gently, “enough staring. Runes don’t learn themselves. Back to practice.”

The room responded in fragments of quiet groans as the children snapped out of their awestruck daze.

Holm returned to his desk with a soft sigh, lowering himself into the chair that had molded to his butt over the years. His joints complained and his bones felt noticeably weaker than the days he used to adventure; old age sure sucked in some regards.

He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back just a little, watching the nine of them work.

It was a peaceful sight.

Holm’s eyelids drooped for a moment, but he forced them back open. Falling asleep during class—even for a few seconds—would give the children the wrong idea. They’d either try to do something silly or decide naps were allowed, both outcomes he deemed as unacceptable.

He took another sip of his drink. Still too watery and a little fruity, but tolerable, nonetheless.

The minutes drifted by gently, the school day reaching an end.

“Alright, everyone. Time to wrap up, the days over.” He called out into the silent focus of practicing students.

Nine heads lifted at once.

Some blinked away that deep concentration, realizing that time flew past them like crazy. Others felt relieved that they could go home and play.

Markers were set down loudly and they broke out into a million different conversations it felt like. End-of-day chaos was a routine he’d made peace with long ago.

“Boards stacked neatly, please,” he reminded, voice soft but firm. Talking to a brick wall, that’s what he related this interaction to.

Backpacks were slung over shoulders. Scraps of paper were gathered. A marker lid was located under a chair and triumphantly returned to its marker.

Each student drifted toward the door, waving as they left.

“Bye, Mr. Holm!”

“See you tomorrow!”

He waved them off, amused glances hiding behind tired eyes.

When the last set of footsteps faded, the room settled into its familiar end-of-day quiet.

Almost.

Mira lingered at her desk, looking back at the room. Then she stepped toward the nearest mess and began straightening the scattered papers left behind by her classmates.

Holm watched her for a moment.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said.

“I know,” Mira replied, carefully aligning a crooked stack of worksheets. “But it’s messy and you already do a lot, so...”

He nodded once. “Thank you, Mira, I appreciate it.”

Mira smiled and moved on to the next little pile. She gathered abandoned eraser crumbs into her palm, set stray boards neatly onto the stack, and pushed chairs back into place one by one. Tidy was a quality she resonated with apparently.

This was the reality of the days after school, a routine that Mira and Mr. Holm had fallen into some time ago, one he couldn't quite pinpoint.

One day she stayed behind because her friends had run ahead without her. Another because she wanted to talk about a concept she didn’t understand. Then another because she saw Holm picking up papers alone.

Somewhere along the way, it became normal.

He finished wiping the whiteboard of his drawings. “Alright, that’s plenty. You’ve done more than enough today.”

Mira turned with a bright grin. “Okay!”

She tossed the last of a mess into the bin, brushed her hands off on her shirt, and went to grab her bag. The setting sun caught her hair as she stepped toward the door, casting a warm glow around her small frame.

“Bye, Mr. Holm!” she chirped.

“Good evening, Mira. Get home safe.” He replied.

She gave one final wave before running out into the fading light, her footsteps clattering down the wooden steps and onto the main road.

Holm stood there a moment longer, feeling the quiet settle around him like an old, familiar blanket. He looked over the now clean classroom and felt a small swell of gratitude for the simple rhythm his life had taken.

He gathered his staff, mug, and notes, dropping each into his inventory, then stepped outside, locking the door behind him. Evening air pressed cool against his skin, the night soon to approach. It was time to go home.

--------------------------------------

Far away, on the outskirts of town beyond the line of wind worn fence posts and past the tall grass, two figures stepped onto the dirt path leading toward the village. Their silhouettes stretched long in the sunset's light.

One was quite tall, the other noticeably shorter. For a moment, as they shifted their packs, the light caught on something at their chests. A charm, maybe. Or a necklace? It's hard to say exactly.

One flashed a deep blue.

The other flickered a vibrant green.

The glints lasted only a mere second before being swallowed by their attire once more.

Their footsteps continued at an easy pace, brushing through the tall grass on their way to some destination as they laughed about something mundane.

Whatever they were doing, it was clear they were not from here, at least.