Professor Thalor walked briskly down the curved stone corridor, his robes barely swaying despite the pace. Torchlight flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that danced behind him like whispers trying to catch up. He paused at the tall, engraved oak doors of the teacher's meeting hall.
A deep breath.
He pushed them open.
Inside, the long circular chamber buzzed with quiet tension. Professors, department heads, and key staff were already seated, scattered among the tiered benches. The center was open, lit from above by a skylight that cut through the gloom like a divine spotlight.
All eyes turned to him.
Professor Elden sat stiffly, his normally composed face drawn with sleeplessness. Beside him, Vice Principal Oswald fidgeted, tapping a pen against a stack of untouched parchment. Their expressions shifted the moment Thalor entered—not with suspicion, but something close to hope.
"Well?" Oswald asked, rising half an inch from his seat. "Did they agree?"
Thalor stepped into the center of the room. His voice was calm, but every word carried like a bell.
"They did."
The room exhaled. Audibly.
Elden leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Thank the stars..."
"I still don't understand how," one of the alchemy professors muttered. "We haven't been able to trace the principal's aura for weeks. And now, suddenly—"
"He's not back," Oswald interrupted quickly. "But someone has agreed to act in his stead. For the academy's stability, until we learn more."
A few murmurs rose. Uncertainty. But not resistance.
"And you trust him?" someone asked.
"I've seen enough to believe he can hold the illusion," Thalor replied carefully. "And more importantly—none of the students or staff have sensed a discrepancy. Not even the rising sun empire."
At that, even the most skeptical faces turned thoughtful.
"That alone makes him dangerous," Elden muttered under his breath.
Oswald nodded slowly. "Or useful."
The room fell quiet again.
"We'll proceed with caution," Thalor continued. "But for now, we present him as the principal. Publicly. We delay questions. We maintain order."
Someone asked, "Does he know what really happened to the principal?"
A pause.
"Most likely. But he hasn't said it out loud. Not yet." Thalor said. "And we're going to wait for him to help us find out more."
---
Kaelan sat at the desk, surrounded by open books and scattered notes. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of a few more mana orbs he had found tucked away behind a hidden panel.
Only three books. That was all he'd managed to find that weren't locked or too fragile to touch.
But none of them were beginner-friendly.
Every page was filled with advanced diagrams, strange symbols, and complex ideas he didn't understand. They talked about things like "mana flow synchronization" and "tier-based resistance," but Kaelan didn't even know how to control basic mana yet.
He leaned back in the chair and sighed. "It's like trying to learn swordplay from a war manual."
The Jester card rested in his chest pocket, warm against his skin. It was always warm now. Like it was alive. Like it was waiting.
He looked at the two glowing orbs next to him, their light steady and soft. He picked one up and held it carefully. His other hand pressed lightly over the card in his pocket, feeling the steady pulse beneath.
Okay. Let's try again.
He focused. Not on casting. Not on creating anything. Just on the feel of the energy moving.
Slowly, he felt the mana shift—first from the orb into his hand, then through him, and finally toward the card.
It was like a thread, barely there. But he felt it this time.
The cube nearby flickered—just a little—as if it was responding too.
Kaelan opened his eyes. Nothing had exploded. No blade of light. No rush of heat.
But the flow… it was smoother now. More natural.
The Jester card didn't glow, but he could feel it humming faintly, like it had taken just a little more from him.
A small start.
But a start, nonetheless.
Perfect, here's how we can transition and build that scene smoothly with a scene break and everything:
---
___
The bell marking the end of break echoed across the courtyard.
Adrian slid his wooden sword back into the loop at his belt, sweat beading along his forehead. Around him, the other students gathered their things—some grumbling, some laughing. A few exchanged quiet nods of rivalry, their training sparring matches cut short.
"Back to class already?" one boy muttered.
Adrian gave a breathless chuckle. "At least we didn't have to sit through theory today."
They joined the stream of students heading down the marble steps, chatter filling the hallways again. The group slowly dissolved into separate paths—back to their classrooms, to instructors waiting with chalk and questions.
___
Far beneath those same halls, hidden from the academy's daily rhythm, Kaelan sat alone.
Absolutely. Here's the next part, starting directly from where we left off in the secret chamber—Kaelan still seated at the desk, books open, orb in hand, attempting to control the mana:
---
Kaelan let out a slow breath and closed his eyes.
Concentrate. Pull it in. Shape it.
He let the warmth rise again—that strange, alien current he could only reach with the card touching him. It coiled inside him like a spark in dry wood, waiting for his will.
This time, he raised his right hand—palm up—and tried to gather everything into it. All the mana. All the energy.
It started slow. A shimmer beneath his skin. A glow threading through his fingers.
Then it surged.
Too fast.
Too much.
Kaelan's eyes flew open just as the pressure burst outward.
A wave of mana exploded from his palm—wild and unshaped. The books rattled, pages flapping. One of the orbs cracked. A shelf groaned above him, dust spilling from its edge.
He staggered backward, hand smoking faintly from the overload. The mana vanished in seconds, but the echo of it clung to the room like static.
He stood still, breathing hard, chest rising.
The Jester card pulsed once against his ribs.
Almost... amused.
Kaelan swallowed hard, blinking through the fading glow.
"I need control," he muttered to himself. "Not just power."
He glanced down at the dimmed orb in his hand, then over at the cube.
For a second, he wondered: What happens if I combine all three? The orb, the card... and the cube?
But not yet.
He wasn't ready.
Not until he understood how to hold the current—not drown in it.