The professors who reigned here—known collectively as the “Mycenaean Masters” or “Mycenaean Professors”—were said to be the pinnacle of magical scholarship. Each one possessed centuries of accumulated expertise in fields ranging from planar history to advanced elemental manipulation, from runic engineering to astral summoning. Their leadership shaped generations of spellcasters, many of whom went on to become archmages or legendary adventurers.
Ventania’s eyes lit up at the mention of these venerable teachers. She had read references to them in old books, especially one or two volumes that Ferlin kept in his private chest. And here I am, about to learn from them firsthand.
Her dorm assignment led her to a modest yet comfortable room in a tower overshadowed by grander halls. Still, it boasted a wide window framing distant mountains. She spent that first day unpacking her sparse belongings: a few changes of clothes, the rune circlet from Alore’s ruins, her battered staff, and a handful of notes from her earlier training. With quiet resolve, she pinned a small keepsake—a faded scrap of cloth from her parents’ herd in Brocéliande—above the bed, a silent reminder of her mission.
Ventania’s first official tour ended at the Grand Library, a colossal structure of arched windows and ornate pillars that soared three stories high. The facade alone hinted at the wealth of knowledge within, featuring carved reliefs of mages conjuring storms, forging runes, and conversing with ethereal entities. Streams of students trickled in and out, carrying tomes or returning borrowed scrolls.
The moment she stepped inside, Ventania felt a hush descend—a mixture of reverence and quiet excitement. Thousands upon thousands of books stretched along rows of meticulously polished wooden shelves. Spiraling staircases led to upper tiers, where ancient manuscripts and rare codices lay locked behind glass. The faint smell of parchment and aged leather hung in the air, sending goosebumps along her arms.
A cluster of novices marveled at a suspended illusion near the center, an ever-shifting mosaic depicting magical breakthroughs from the academy’s history. Ventania drifted closer, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of knowledge stored here. So many spells… so many secrets…
“New here, I see?” came a gentle voice.
Ventania turned to find a tall, graceful elf woman in flowing robes of soft lavender. Long, silky white hair cascaded down her back, and her luminous green eyes radiated warmth. The nametag on her chest read Kendall—Librarian.
“Yes,” Ventania replied, bowing slightly. “I’m Ventania, a first-year student. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Kendall’s smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Few have. We house centuries of recorded lore. Spell theory, planar travel, runic alchemy… anything you can imagine. But remember: knowledge is a double-edged sword. It can empower you or consume you, especially if you venture into the darker arts without caution.”
Ventania bit her lip, recalling the locked glass cases on the upper tiers. “There are restricted sections, right?”
Kendall nodded, expression turning serious. “Indeed. Those tomes hold advanced or dangerous secrets—necromantic rites, mind-altering enchantments, demon-binding rituals. Some are too potent for novices to handle responsibly.” She paused, then placed a gentle hand on Ventania’s shoulder. “I sense your eagerness. Let that drive you, but heed the warnings. If your curiosity outruns your caution, you may find nightmares rather than truth.”
The weight of her words settled on Ventania. She bowed again in gratitude. “Thank you, Ms. Kendall. I understand.”
For the next hour, Kendall personally guided Ventania through the main floors, pointing out recommended reading for first-years: Fundamentals of Spellcraft, Introduction to Elemental Control, Rune-Crafting 101. Ventania’s chest swelled with excitement. By the time she left, arms heavy with books, her mind was already racing with the spells she’d soon master.
The following week thrust Ventania into a rigorous schedule. Each morning began at dawn with Magical Theory in a wide amphitheater, taught by a calm dwarven professor who used illusions to illustrate arcane formulae. Afternoon sessions covered Elemental Control, a field Ventania felt somewhat at ease with, but discovered how broad it actually was in an academic setting—there were subcategories like pyroclastics, aquamancy, aeromantic resonance, and geoconversion.
Come evening, she’d report to the Runic Lab for practical drills, carefully etching runes on wooden plaques under a stern watchful eye. Error meant runes might misfire, leading to comedic or disastrous results. Ventania avoided mishaps by drawing on her synergy with wind and earth to stabilize the energies, yet she saw how many classmates struggled. Even simple runic sparks could backfire if drawn incorrectly.
During downtime, she delved into the Grand Library, often choosing a cozy window seat with a tower of books. While novice spells no longer intimidated her, she was confronted by entire fields of advanced theory that dwarfed anything she’d encountered. She remembered Kendall’s caution: knowledge was a hungry flame; fueling it carelessly could burn everything in its path.
And so, despite feeling that tug to peek into the restricted tomes on shadow magic and forbidden curses, Ventania redirected her focus toward mastering the official curriculum. I’ll prove my worth the right way, she told herself, and avoid the mistakes of those corrupted by power.
Though her mind soared in these studies, Ventania soon noticed the subtle distances forming between her and other students. Word spread quickly that she was a child prodigy—a newly enrolled “little girl” from nowhere, rumored to have bested a drake single-handedly. Her advanced classes (courtesy of Ferlin’s references) and rapid skill progression in synergy soon raised eyebrows. At first, she was too wrapped up in books and lectures to sense the undercurrent of resentment.
But the signs emerged: hushed whispers trailing her in corridors, classmates averting their eyes or murmuring behind cupped hands. In the cafeteria, she’d pick a table only to see others scoot away. In group projects, she’d offer suggestions on elemental shaping—some older students would stiffen, as if insulted that a novice gave them direction.
She overheard snide remarks:
- “She thinks she’s so special, coming in with fancy references…”
- “Must have bribed someone to get advanced placement.”
- “No way she’s that strong. Probably a teacher’s pet.”
Ventania tried ignoring it. Yet every whisper stung like tiny needles. It felt oddly similar to the time she traversed human lands with Ferlin, seeing how some adventurers dismissed her. Here, though, the hostility came from peers. She told herself I’m not here to make them like me; I’m here to learn. But a quiet ache settled in her chest.
If her aloof classmates threatened to isolate her, the real test came in the form of Ms. Elimona. Ventania first encountered the tall, hawk-eyed instructor in a course titled “Intermediate Mana Control & Spell Execution.” Well into her second week, Ventania showed up with a cluster of other advanced-placed students, only to find Ms. Elimona pacing at the front.
Dressed in flowing robes trimmed with gold thread, Ms. Elimona exuded an air of refined authority. Her hair, pinned high, revealed angular features that seldom softened. The moment Ventania stepped in, the instructor’s gaze honed in on her with unsettling intensity.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“This class will push your limits,” she announced, voice echoing in the arched room. “If you falter, you’ll endanger yourself and your peers. Make no mistake—I have no patience for mediocrity.”
Ventania swallowed, taking a seat toward the middle. She noticed Ms. Elimona scanning each face as if assessing a puzzle. That gaze flicked over Ventania’s staff, paused a fraction too long, then moved on. An inexplicable knot twisted in Ventania’s gut.
Over the next lectures, Ms. Elimona hammered the students with complex spell diagrams, advanced incantation structures, and blistering speed drills. Many found themselves fumbling for breath after repeated attempts to conjure layered illusions or manipulate fire streams in perfect synergy. Mistakes led to Ms. Elimona’s biting critiques, sometimes delivered with a sardonic arch of the eyebrow.
The tension between teacher and pupil came to a head two classes later, when Ms. Elimona singled Ventania out to demonstrate a multi-element binding—a technique that required weaving earth, wind, and water into a stable form around a target.
Ventania’s palms turned sweaty. She had done something similar before under Ferlin’s guidance, but never in front of a full classroom with a hawk-like instructor breathing down her neck. I have to get this right.
At first, it went smoothly. She summoned a swirl of wind around an inanimate training dummy, then drew upon water from a conjured basin to form a fluid membrane. Next, she anchored the structure with earth energy in the floor. All eyes watched in fascination.
But Ms. Elimona intervened—“Faster,” she snapped. “If you linger, the synergy collapses. Do it again, in half the time.”
Caught off-guard, Ventania hastened. In her rush, the swirling winds lost coherence. The watery membrane sagged, losing shape. She tried stabilizing with extra earth but misjudged the energy flow. With a flash of sputtering mana, the entire construct exploded in a harmless but humiliating splash, drenching Ventania and spattering half the class with muddy droplets.
A ripple of laughter and snickers broke the hush. Ms. Elimona’s eyes narrowed. “Such sloppy synergy. I expected more from the so-called advanced placement student.” Her voice carried scorn that made Ventania’s cheeks burn.
Still dripping, she felt stung by embarrassment. Yet she clenched her fists. I can do better. Ferlin taught me better than this. Summoning a calm breath, Ventania invoked the synergy once more—slower, more deliberate, and with a keen sense of timing that she’d honed in the forest. This time, the multi-element binding formed neatly around the dummy, stable enough to hold for nearly a minute.
No one laughed. Still, Ms. Elimona sniffed, unimpressed. “At least you can correct your own mistakes,” she said curtly, dismissing the class. The entire episode left Ventania trembling with frustration.
Later that evening, Ventania huddled on her dorm bed, hair still damp from a hurried wash after that fiasco in class. She replayed Ms. Elimona’s scathing remarks. Why was the instructor so intent on belittling her?
Replaying Ferlin’s voice in her head helped: “Not all lessons come from books. Some come from the trials others put before you.” Perhaps Ms. Elimona’s relentless critique was another forge in which she would shape her resolve. If I can endure her, maybe I’ll grow stronger than I ever imagined.
She exhaled, letting her anger subside. The best way to answer Ms. Elimona’s challenge was through progress, not sulking. Her parents—still at the mercy of unknown hunters—needed her to rise above petty humiliations. You didn’t break fighting that drake for days, she reminded herself. You won’t break now.
Days blended into weeks. Ms. Elimona’s classes remained a crucible: she singled Ventania out frequently, forcing her to attempt spells at breakneck speed or conjure illusions without any warning. Sometimes Ventania succeeded, but other times, she fumbled and faced the teacher’s withering scorn. Whispers among classmates grew—some pitying Ventania, others reveling in her struggles. Many simply found it more reason to keep distance, fueling rumors that Ms. Elimona had singled her out for personal vendettas.
Outside of class, Ventania redoubled her self-training. By night, she crept to a deserted practice courtyard, running through spells until her mana reserves threatened to run dry. Each time she faltered, she forced herself to think, Elimona might be waiting to humiliate me tomorrow. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
Amid the adversity, Ventania found a degree of comfort in the Grand Library, where Ms. Kendall’s gentle presence never waned. The kind elf greeted her each visit, occasionally recommending volumes on advanced synergy or resilience-building mindsets. She never pried into Ventania’s difficulties but offered an encouraging nod whenever the young mage scuttled away with heavy books. Indeed, knowledge remained Ventania’s haven; if she could master more spells and refine her synergy, perhaps Ms. Elimona’s barbs would lose their sting.
Still, Ventania sometimes felt the lure of those locked shelves on the upper floors, where tomes rumored to contain dark or forbidden spells beckoned with silent promises of quick power. What if something in there could teach me a secret that’d impress even Ms. Elimona? But each time, Kendall’s warning echoed in her memory: Knowledge can consume. The fleeting thought of harnessing taboo magic for a shortcut gave her chills. She resolved never to tread that path—at least not without dire necessity.
The turning point came during another intense session in Ms. Elimona’s class. The assignment: conjure illusions of mythical beasts and maintain them while weaving a separate defensive shield. Ventania’s illusions soared—a regal phoenix, shimmering in reds and golds. She then layered a watery shield around herself, struggling to sustain both spells. She could almost feel Ms. Elimona’s gaze drilling into her, awaiting a misstep.
Moments later, her illusions flickered dangerously. She poured more mana into them to keep them stable. Ms. Elimona pounced. “Stop coddling yourself. Commit or fail.”
Ventania bit back a retort. Instead, she exhaled, channeling synergy with calmness. Wind breathed life into the phoenix’s flames; water cooled her defensive shield. Earth grounded the illusions’ form, giving them weight. She locked eyes with Ms. Elimona as if to say, Watch me do this. Her illusions stabilized, burning bright.
A hush descended. The other students watched in grudging awe. Ms. Elimona’s lips thinned, yet she nodded once. “Adequate,” she said, turning away. For Ms. Elimona, that was practically praise.
Ventania felt a surge of mixed relief and triumph. She had proven her skill yet again, even if her teacher insisted on appearing unimpressed. Maybe she sees potential in me, but wants me to push further. This notion, albeit faint, took root in Ventania’s heart. Instead of reeling from the teacher’s scorn, she started welcoming it as a sign that Ms. Elimona believed she could handle more. The thought made the next humiliations easier to bear.
Yet the isolation from her peers persisted, and Ms. Elimona’s tests never softened. Ventania recognized that her path was lonely—few empathized with a student who soared too quickly, and the teacher pushing her was also the one most likely to scorn her. Nonetheless, she recalled how ferocious training and adversity had molded her in Brocéliande and Alore. So she pressed on.
One evening, after an especially tough lecture where Ms. Elimona had demanded simultaneous illusions of multiple beasts, Ventania collapsed on a bench in the courtyard, panting. She gazed at the star-studded sky, letting the cool night air soothe her. I can handle this. The memory of Ferlin’s gentle smile bloomed in her mind, reminding her that adversity was part of growth. He had hammered that lesson into her bones on the road: The strongest steel is forged under intense heat.
The academy’s daily life churned onward, unwavering in its demands. Ventania occasionally glimpsed upperclassmen sporting silver or gold adventurer badges—tangible proof that they embarked on high-level missions. She found herself daydreaming about the day she’d claim such recognition for her own feats. I’ll make a name for Ventania here, she thought defiantly, and then I’ll rescue my parents. No matter how many Ms. Elimonas stand in my way.
For all her struggles, the Arcane Academy still glowed with promise. The library shelves brimmed with spells waiting to be discovered, the professors’ lectures kindled new sparks of possibility, and the campus grounds—though not always welcoming—hummed with myriad forms of magic. Ventania’s sense of purpose never dimmed. If anything, Ms. Elimona’s relentless critique stoked a fiercer determination.
Thus, Ventania marched through this part of her journey—one not marked by battles with monstrous drakes or cunning mercenaries, but by the day-in, day-out rigors of academic life. The Grand Library beckoned with new secrets, though she heeded Kendall’s warnings about forbidden texts. The Mycenaean Professors, luminaries of spellcraft, opened vistas of knowledge she had never dreamed existed. Yet each lesson cost her more energy than the last, as she strove to surpass the expectations set upon her name.
Social challenges further tested her resolve. Jealous gazes trailed her advanced learning curve; rumors of favoritism or unnatural power hounded her at mealtimes. Even so, Ventania clung to her vow—she would not hide her identity, nor her talents. She would learn to endure scorn as readily as she had faced the drake’s claws in Alore.
And overshadowing all was Ms. Elimona, a teacher whose methods seemed designed to break or forge those under her care. Ventania, determined to be the latter, chose not to resent the humiliation but to channel it into strength. Each ridiculing remark only fueled her silent promise: I will prove you wrong, or I will prove you right—whichever means surpassing your expectations.
Days turned into weeks, forging a routine that tested Ventania’s mental stamina and magical potential. She’d yet to find close companions in this new world, but she found enough to keep going: the memory of Ferlin’s guidance, Kendall’s supportive presence in the library, and the unwavering knowledge that her parents were out there, counting on her to stand tall. Step by step, she advanced, aware that the road ahead would only grow more complex as the academy revealed deeper mysteries and starker challenges.