Kylis poked her head in, swiveling her head around. "The stories about Valis Academy of Sorcery were not an exaggeration in the slightest. Witnessing a vanishing door is a first for me."

  "That's because you live in the mountains," Igneal said, strolling in first. Igneal plopped down on a nearby seat, kicking his feet up as he leaned back. "I admit, the equipment and innovation here are impressive, but this is nothing back at Lockhart territory. The Lockhart Estate is practically a pseudo-artifact in its own right."

  Tyrus narrowed his eyes, walking in as well. It was a small room serving as an antechamber to another area that was right behind a glass wall—or, at least, he thought it was glass. Beyond that wall was an empty space of white stone with runic lines that pulsed, like veins carrying life through the room itself.

  The surface of the wall shimmered faintly, as if it wasn’t glass at all, but some enchanted barrier designed to allow observation while protecting those on the outside. The stone floor stretched out in a wide, perfect square, and the runes etched into the surface wove a complex lattice that seemed to shift and flow.

  Kylis stepped closer to the barrier, poking at the wall. Her finger phased through effortlessly. “Oh? That is quite interesting. This isn’t ordinary craftsmanship. The precision of these runes… It’s almost as if they’re alive, reacting to something.”

  Igneal snorted, reclining further. “You’d think the academy was the center of the world with the way they flaunt all this. Still, not bad for an academy.”

  "But why is it empty?" Tyrus said. "What purpose does a room like this serve if there’s nothing in it?"

  Kylis withdrew her finger from the barrier, watching the ripple it left behind. “Maybe it is meant to be empty. A blank slate for sorcerers to project their will onto. It would make sense if it is meant for testing or practice. What about that device over there? It looks like the one used to receive meals back in the hall."

  To the left of the room lay that same strange device with a glass face, embedded within the wall and already active. Tyrus and Kylis walked over, staring at the machine as it beeped softly. It seemed to be the same thing, but the options available were much different.

  Instead of the food options they were used to seeing in the dining hall, this device displayed a list of configurations for the room beyond the barrier. The glowing interface was sleek and filled with symbols and sliders, each labeled with cryptic terms that hinted at its function. Tyrus leaned closer, his eyes scanning the options.

  “Environmental conditions,” Kylis read aloud, pointing to one section. “You can change the terrain in the room—ice, sand, even a forest.”

  Tyrus tapped another section, revealing a menu for spell resistance. “There's also an option to summon targets and dummies for training. It looks like you can adjust the strength of the targets and how much mana they absorb."

  Kylis tilted her head, intrigued. "A fully customizable training environment. You could immitate almost any kind of scenario in here. That explains why it’s empty—it’s meant to adapt to the sorcerer’s needs."

  “There’s a mana cost tracker too. It’ll measure how much energy you’re using for each spell. That could be useful for optimization.”

  Tyrus nodded, his lips turned into a smile. But after some thought, he frowned. "How come none of this stuff is implemented in the duel towers? I would imagine this would be useful for competitive training, too. Tracking mana usage and customizing conditions would give students a better understanding of their limits and strategies.”

  "Because this is an incentive," Igneal said, his head cocked back as he stared at the ceiling. "This place is reserved for silver pins; students who excel in academics or combat in their year. It’s a reward for standing out, not something they’re going to hand over to just anyone. They want the rest of the students to work for it. Competition breeds quality, and quality is what this academy pops out."

  Tyrus couldn’t deny the logic in Igneal's arguments. The academy wasn’t exactly perfect, but it had reasons for its restrictions. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that limiting access to this kind of equipment suppressed the potential of students who might not shine in the traditional sense.

  “Well,” Tyrus said, turning his focus back to the console, “whether it’s an incentive or a restriction, I’m going to make the most of it.”

  He adjusted the settings, brows furrowed as he slowly went to work. Tyrus had to reread the functions of what some sliders controlled multiple times. He summoned a set of three humanoid dummies at varying distances and a few flying targets at different speeds. While it wasn't needed, he added to change the scenery of the bland stone to something more natural. He'd be lying if he wasn't curious about how this place would manage something like that.

  After he was done, he confirmed the structure, and the device emitted a soft chime. The room responded instantly, the hum of mana growing louder as the changes took effect. The stone floor shimmered, its dull gray surface shifting and morphing.

  Grass sprouted within the space, lush and vibrant, while trees materialized around the room. The air felt fresher, cooler, as if the environment itself had come to life. A soft breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the faint scent of earth and greenery. More objects appeared, a bright light that formed from the bottom to the top.

  The humanoid targets came to full form in the middle, unmoving, while round, different sized targets with translucent wings at the sides materialized in midair. Translucent-winged targets zipped through the simulated forest, their wings beating softly as they changed speeds and altitudes. The humanoid dummies stood in formation, their glowing bodies pulsing faintly as they awaited commands.

  Tyrus jaw dropped at the spectacle as he entered the room. His body tingled slightly when he traveled through the barrier—a faint, static hum that seemed to buzz through his skin.

  It was breathtaking. Everything felt real: the grass beneath his feet rustled from his steps. The air, fresh as if carried from a distant forest; even the gentle sway of the trees seemed to follow the rhythm of an unseen breeze. Tyrus crouched briefly, running his fingers through the lush greenery.

  “This... doesn’t feel fake,” he murmured, plucking a blade of grass and smelling it. "It's like a miniature forest."

  Kylis walked up from behind. “It’s incredible. I’ve seen illusions before, but this? It’s like the room itself believes it’s a forest. There is even a sun hanging in the sky,” she said, pointing upward.

  Tyrus followed her gaze, squinting. Sure enough, a faint golden light filtered through the treetops, casting dappled shadows on the ground. He couldn’t see the source directly—it was obscured by the canopy—but the light felt warm against his skin.

  “It’s not just light,” Kylis continued, stepping beside him and tilting her head. “It’s radiating heat, like an actual sun. This room is incredible. The amount of precision in these enchantments is—”

  “Extravagant?” Igneal interrupted, strolling up behind them. He kicked a patch of grass, his boots scuffing the dirt beneath it. “We get it. It’s fancy. But none of this matters if you’re just going to stand around gawking as if you've never seen a forest before. Need I remind you we don't have all day? How about you show us what you've been wanting to test out?"

  Rolling his eyes, Tyrus turned his attention to the center of the room, where the targets stood ready. The humanoid dummies remained motionless, one in front of him, while the others flanked his sides at least ten paces away. Above them, the flying targets darted and weaved between the trees. One glided as slow as a drifting leave, and another dashed through the air with the speed of a startled bird, twisting and diving unpredictably. A third target hovered at an intermediate pace, circling lazily in a wide arc.

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  "I'll start with the front dummy," Tyrus said, getting into position.

  He took a deep breath, feeling the mana inside him stir in preparation. Raising his arm in a sort of pushing motion, he shouted "Dual Shot". Two orbs of crackling lightning developed above his outstretched hand, their energy sharp and vibrant. They hovered for only half a second before zipping forward with a sharp crack, leaving faint trails of lightning in their wake. The first bolt struck the center of the humanoid dummy’s glowing core, causing it to flare briefly as it absorbed the impact. The second bolt veered slightly to the left but adjusted mid-flight, hitting the same dummy on its shoulder.

  "Every time I use Dual Shot, it's only been for my primary affinity: lightning. But as you can see, there is nothing in the spell that shows it's for... well, lightning. Now, what I want to test out is this."

  Tyrus raised his arm again, but this time, his mind wandered to a different element. He envisioned his Sorcerer Plane; the elements churning within the ethereal space of his mind. He visualized fire—the threads of mana that made up his Sorcerer Plane seemed to hesitate, resisting the change, but Tyrus pressed on, forcing his will into the spell.

  He pictured the flames taking the place of the crackling lightning, their heat radiating from the orbs that would form. The framework of Dual Shot remained the same, but the element was different—a deliberate alteration that defied the rigid structures he’d been taught.

  “Dual Shot!”

  Two fiery orbs materialized, their flickering flames casting erratic shadows underneath the canopy. The heat was immediate, prickling his skin. They hovered for a split second before streaking forward, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The first orb struck the dummy dead center, the flames bursting outward briefly before dissipating. The second orb followed, hitting the dummy in the chest and leaving a faint scorch mark on its surface.

  Tyrus let out a slow breath, lowering his arm. "How is it that the Dual Shot incantation allows me to channel different elements? Instructor Alveria’s lesson said that incantations are rigid—bridges between a sorcerer’s will and a specific elemental force. But if that’s true, why does Dual Shot seem to bypass that rule entirely?"

  When Tyrus turned, he noticed Igneal looked at him with a weird expression while Kylis' lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes looking elsewhere.

  After a minute of silence, Igneal spoke. "Are you stupid or something?"

  "Huh? What do you mean?"

  Igneal let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms as though the question itself was offensive. "No, you’re just ignorant. Spells and incantations aren’t the same thing for a very specific reason. A spell is the effect—the magic produced. An incantation is the framework—the spoken words that shape the spell and make it possible to cast."

  Tyrus opened his mouth to respond, but Igneal barreled on. "Take Dual Shot, for example. It’s an incantation, not a spell in itself. When you say it, you’re activating a framework—like a mold—that channels your mana into a specific form. In this case, two projectiles. What those projectiles are made of—lightning, fire, or whatever—that’s up to your affinity and how you visualize them. The incantation doesn’t care about the element. It just creates the structure."

  Tyrus tilted his head, trying to absorb the explanation. "So you’re saying the incantation isn’t bound to an element, but to its effects?"

  "Correct. Dual Shot is what we call a Fluid Incantation—a blank mold. What you pour into it is up to you. From what Father’s taught me, Fluid Incantations are distinct from Fixed Incantations, like Fireball. Fixed Incantations are tied to a specific element—there’s no flexibility. Fluid and Fixed Incantations are advanced topics, taught in the later masteries. Clearly, you’re not there yet."

  Tyrus stared blankly at the sky, the weight of this new information pressing down on him. Fluid Incantations? Fixed Incantations? He’d never heard of these terms before. Sorcery was already complex, with its myriad rules and exceptions, and now he was learning that it went even deeper. If Fluid Incantations existed, what about silent casting? Did that fall under the same category?

  No, he realized. Silent casting wasn’t tied to incantations at all. It was a technique—a method to bypass the framework entirely and rely solely on willpower and mana. They might share some creativity, but silent casting and Fluid Incantations were clearly not the same thing.

  His head throbbed. This was too much to process all at once. He couldn't even imagine what kind of knowledge awaited further down the line. Sticking to silent casting would be much simpler—at least using that technique, he understood it and was more versatile than a rigid incantation system.

  Nevertheless, he could only effectively use that technique on lightning and dark. Fire was still a work in progress, while light was impossible. An incantation was necessary for the elements he had a lesser affinity for, yet the opposite was a different story. There was no need to worry about Fluid and Fixed Incantations for now, as he should stick to what he knew already.

  Tyrus sighed, eyes drifting toward the slow-moving target aimlessly drifting behind the trees. Out of boredom, he raised his arm and shot forth a Lightning Bolt. The mote of energy streaked forward and struck the outer edge of the target, causing it to wobble slightly before resuming its lazy path.

  “Almost missed it,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

  As the room returned to silence, Kylis spoke up. “Tyrus, how about you use Dual Shot for two different elements at the same time?”

  Tyrus blinked, turning to her with a raised eyebrow. “Two elements? At the same time?”

  “You’ve already proven you can change the element of the projectiles. What’s stopping you from using two different ones together? One orb of lightning and the other, fire, for example. It is a Fluid Incantation, correct? It should allow for it.”

  Tyrus opened his mouth to dismiss the idea, but paused. “I’ve never tried. The closest I’ve come is channeling lightning and fire separately—one in each hand. But combining them into the same cast? You really think it’s possible?"

  She didn’t blink. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked. Though whether you can do it remains to be seen.”

  Tyrus thought to himself that it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. He closed his eyes and directed his focus inward, picturing his Sorcerer Plane. Lightning and fire stood together, their flames swirling under his control as they crackled and raced. Within the familiar structure of Dual Shot, he intertwined the threads, commanding one orb to be pure lightning while the other took the form of whirling fire.

  His heart and head pounded in unison as he forced the elements to coexist within the framework. The process was delicate—lightning’s sharp, erratic energy clashed against fire’s wild, consuming nature. Tyrus gritted his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he wove the threads tighter, balancing their differences.

  “Dual Shot,” he whispered, releasing the spell.

  Two motes materialized above his palm—one crackling with vibrant lightning, the other trembling with dancing flames. They hovered for a moment, unstable but holding their form. Tyrus took a shaky breath, focusing on keeping them balanced as they pulsed with energy.

  With a sharp motion, he released the motes. The lightning orb streaked toward the leftmost dummy, striking it with a crackling burst. The fire orb followed, slamming into the same target with a fiery explosion.

  "It... It worked!"

  Igneal whistled. "Not bad, I guess, but I cannot see the advantages of using two elements in this particular way, especially when one isn't your primary affinity. All it does is decrease the power of Dual Shot and increase the chance of error."

  "That's why we're experimenting," Tyrus grumbled, wiping his face. "I want to try one final thing before I leave."

  "Be cautious," Kylis warned. "Your face is pale."

  “I’ll be careful,” he said, though he couldn’t quite keep the excitement from his voice. “I need to know if this will work.”

  Tyrus closed his eyes, centering himself as he delved into his Sorcerer Plane. The familiar crackle of lightning surged forward immediately, its sharp energy eager to be unleashed. He turned his focus to light, the radiant threads glowing faintly at the edges of his consciousness.

  The contrast was stark. Lightning surged and snapped with chaotic force, while light was steady. Tyrus pulled on both, weaving their threads together within the framework of Dual Shot. The process was agonizingly difficult, the energies clashing violently as he tried to force them into coexistence. It was like trying to force water and oil to mix—they resisted at every turn, pushing back against his will. His heart beat as fast as a drum, and his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.

  His hands trembled, his breathing growing heavier by the second. A dull pain throbbed in his temples, but he fought through it, pushing on. The threads of lightning lashed out wildly, destabilizing the framework, while light’s precision faltered, its energy flickering erratically. Tyrus felt the familiar hum of mana vibrating through his body, but this time it wasn’t a steady flow—it was turbulent, on the verge of collapse. Something or someone was telling him to stop, but it was nothing more than an echo.

  “Dual Shot,” he whispered, forcing the incantation through clenched teeth.

  Two motes appeared above his palm—one crackling with jagged arcs of lightning, the other glowing with a soft, radiant brilliance. For a brief, shining moment, they hovered in the air, unstable but holding their form. Yet as another second passed, the spell disappeared.

  A searing pain tore through his body, like molten fire coursing through his veins. Tyrus cried out, collapsing to his knees. He gagged and sputtered, back arching from the fit. With a shaky hand, he looked; warm crimson smeared across his palm.