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Professor Galahad clapped his hands together sharply, the sound echoing through the vast classroom like a bell. The glowing letters of his name in the air shimmered for a few seconds more before fading into dust-like motes of light.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, his deep voice carrying easily through the hall. "Alright, it is time for us to begin our mage journey class."

The air shifted. Quills lifted, parchment slid into place, and the gentle scraping of chairs softened as every student leaned forward, their attention caught. A hush fell, broken only by the faint crackle of magical energy in the air, the walls humming faintly with enchanted lamp light and crystals that illuminated the chamber.

Professor Galahad clasped his hands behind his back and paced across the polished stone floor, his long robe trailing just slightly. His eyes swept over the eager faces before him. "Now then… do you know of the legendary Archane Wand—sometimes called the Archane Staff?"

Murmurs rippled instantly through the room. Students exchanged puzzled looks, scratching their heads or whispering questions under their breaths.

"The Archane Wand?" one muttered.

"Never heard of it…" whispered another.

Professor Galahad smiled knowingly, the corner of his lips curling upward, and he lifted a single finger as if unveiling a secret. "For many generations, this staff has been spoken of in both awe and reverence. Created as a divine weapon, forged by the goddess Luminous herself, its power… was unmatched."

The class leaned forward in unison, their young noble faces glowing with wonder under the soft golden lights.

"The Archane Wand or staff is said to be capable of delivering raw, devastating power," Galahad continued, his voice dropping into a low rhythm, almost like he was telling a story meant to haunt their dreams. "With a single command from its wielder… a mountain could be erased from existence."

Gasps filled the room, some students pressing their hands to their mouths, others sitting straighter, enchanted by the grandeur of his words.

"And," Galahad added with a faint chuckle, lifting his brows, "it required almost no mana to wield, soo little. Its strength was drawn from something greater… something beyond mortal limits."

A chorus of awe followed. "Woooow…" "Really, Professor?"

The older man chuckled warmly at their astonishment, the wrinkles near his eyes deepening. He clearly enjoyed the energy of the young minds before him.

Meanwhile, Dila sat stiffly at her desk in the very back. Her face was composed, but her body felt tight, rigid, as if bound by invisible ropes. Only her eyes shifted nervously, darting side to side as she listened, her thoughts swirling faster than the murmurs around her.

A boy from the second row raised his hand suddenly, his voice curious but bold. "Professor! Do you know what the staff looks like? What is its form?"

Professor Galahad tilted his head slightly, then gave a knowing laugh. "Ahhh… now that… is the mystery. The Archane Wand is said to shift its shape, molding itself to the compatibility of the wielder… their personality, their strength, their very soul. No two wielders would ever hold the same form."

The entire class let out another collective ohhhh, wonder sparking in their eyes. Some whispered excitedly, imagining the shape of their own staff or wand.

Dila's lips pressed into a thin line as she listened, still unmoving. A soft sigh escaped in her lip.

The classroom around her buzzed with excitement, their voices layering over each other like a low chorus, while Dila remained still… her silver-blue eyes lost in thought.

Dila's fingers brushed against the small weight inside her back pocket. Her shift slowed, her eyes narrowing faintly as her mind began to wander. Wait... all this time... my Archane staff... it was moldable?

The thought struck her like a sudden crack of lightning. Her breath grew shallow as she pulled the memory closer. That long staff of white metal with its orbiting shards... the proud tool she had relied on... now nothing but a jelly-like lump hidden away. A deformed remnant, soft and powerless. She held it once with pride, and now... it was unrecognizable.

Her lips parted slightly, the cold air catching on her breath. So that explains why it melted its form... why it no longer looks like the staff I knew. But... does that mean it is choosing a new wielder?

The idea made her chest tighten. A faint tremor ran through her fingers, though she clenched them quickly before anyone could notice. She continued thinking.

(If the Archane staff had truly begun to reject me, to seek another holder... wouldn't it have become unbearably heavy by now? That was the teaching of Nari... the relic would anchor itself until no hand but the chosen one could lift it?)

Yet hers... hers was light. Too light. She could carry it in her pocket like nothing at all.

(Or... perhaps I am wrong. Maybe it can still be lifted, but only because it has no power left. An empty shell of what it once was...?)

The thought pulled her deeper, her gaze dimming as the questions pressed in. Was it her fault? Had she lost its trust, or was this only the nature of the Archane itself... a relic bound by laws she still could not understand?

Her chest felt hollow. She turned her head slightly, staring off into the distance, her thoughts circling in silence. Why... why now? Why me?

As The lecture hall was quiet, save for the faint scratching of quills and the steady echo of Professor Galahad's voice. The Sunlight still pouring in through the tall arched windows, painting soft golden lines across the stone floor. Students sat in neat rows, their uniforms catching the glow, some leaning forward with focus, others barely stifling yawns.

Dila, however, wasn't there at all. Her body was seated, but her mind was adrift.... lost in the quiet storm of her own thoughts. Her fingers brushed her pocket unconsciously, where the shapeless jelly-like form of her Archane staff rested. Why... why is it like this... she whispered in her head again. The questions gnawed at her. Was it abandoning her? Or was it already too late?

"Princess Dila..."

Her name echoed through the chamber. She didn't hear it.

"Ahem... Princess Dila, are you listening?"

The sudden sharpness of the professor's voice made her startle violently. She shot upright so fast that her chair nearly scraped back, her hands clutching the wooden desk in front of her. "Y-Yes!" she blurted, her voice carrying across the hall louder than she intended.

A ripple of chuckles spread among the students. Some hid their grins behind their hands, others exchanged small glances, enjoying the sight of the usually quiet, composed elf caught so off guard.

Professor Galahad tilted his head slightly, his stern features hiding a faint amusement. "I asked you a question twice now, Princess," he said slowly, his voice deliberate. Then, with a playful gleam in his eye, he leaned against his desk and teased, "Or were you perhaps... planning who you would date instead?"

The chuckles grew louder, though carefully restrained, as though the class feared crossing the line with their laughter. The air shimmered with amusement, yet it all centered on Dila.

Her cheeks flared with warmth, a blush spilling across her pale face. She looked down quickly, pressing her lips together before forcing out, "N-No, professor... I was just... deep in thought. About how to use my magical power..."

Her voice wavered, but it held just enough firmness to seem believable.

Professor Galahad's smirk curved faintly, though his eyes sharpened with something else.... curiosity. He let the silence linger a little too long before replying, "Is that so? Just a reason, perhaps?"

The words hung heavy.

Dila's breath caught, and she bit the inside of her lip, unable to meet his gaze. For that brief moment, his eyes flickered over her.... searching. And what he saw made his smirk fade ever so slightly. No invisible glow surrounded her. No faint trace of mana pulsed from her body. She sat back there as if born magicless, an elf stripped of the very gift her race was known for.

Even Galahad, who had witnessed countless students' strengths and weaknesses, felt the weight of it. He did not speak of what he saw, nor did he press further. He simply adjusted the papers in his hand and said in his calm, even tone, "Alright then. Let us continue."

The class quieted, though the air still held the ghost of laughter. Dila sank back into her chair, her heart thudding, her ears burning. The questions in her mind now tangled with the sting of embarrassment.... and the fear that maybe she truly was losing everything.

Professor Galahad adjusted his stance, His sharp eyes swept across the rows of students, pausing briefly on Dila.

"Well then," he said, voice firm yet edged with a teasing undertone. "Since I asked a question to Princess Dila, and she did not respond... I believe I should ask someone else instead."

A wave of excitement rippled through the class. Students straightened in their seats, some leaning forward eagerly, eyes bright with the hope of being chosen. The atmosphere shifted from quiet amusement to competitive anticipation. Hands twitched, a few even half-raised as if to silently beg for the professor's attention.

Dila, however, sank lower in her seat, her hands folded tightly together on her lap. The heat of embarrassment still clung to her cheeks, and now it grew heavier, turning into a silent weight in her chest. She forced her eyes down on the polished wood of her desk, trying to hide the storm stirring inside.

The professor's gaze settled just beside her. He lifted his finger and pointed. "You there. The young man next to Princess Dila. Answer me this."

The boy startled slightly but quickly composed himself, sitting upright. His face was long and sharp, the kind that seemed almost older than his years. He cleared his throat, the silence of the room resting on his shoulders.

"Why is it important for a mage to have natural magic?" Galahad asked, his voice carrying clearly to every corner of the hall.

The boy inhaled deeply and spoke with confidence, "Because natural magic allows us to train and sharpen it. Without it, we cannot truly grow. It gives us versatility, professor... the ability to adapt our spells and abilities as we need."

The professor listened, nodding slowly. Then, with a crisp clap of his hands, he said, "Correct." His lips curved in approval, and a murmur of admiration swept through the students.

Meanwhile, Dila sat frozen, her throat tightening as she swallowed hard. Versatility... natural magic... The words pierced deeper than they should have. Her fingers clenched tighter, nails pressing into her palms.

Because she knew.

She had none.

No spark, no glow, no natural current flowing through her veins like the others. She had only what the system gave her.... Nari's voice, Nari's guidance, the unnatural stream of borrowed power. Without it, she was nothing more than a hollow elf in a world that demanded magic.

Her stomach twisted as she forced herself to stay still, not daring to let the panic on her face show. She told herself quietly, Don't let them see... don't let them know...

But deep inside, as the professor praised another student, Dila felt her secret pressing against her ribs like a locked chest ready to burst.

Professor Galahad stepped back toward the center of the platform, his robes brushing softly against the polished floor. His voice rang out, firm yet gentle, carrying a trace of warmth beneath its authority.

"Now then... are you excited to learn the basics of magic casting?" he asked, a smile curling on his lips. His tone was bright, encouraging.... but deep inside, behind those watchful eyes, there was a flicker of worry. For though his words carried enthusiasm, he already knew the painful truth... that among the eager faces, one girl sat with no magic of her own to command.

The room instantly stirred with energy. Students shifted in their seats, their eyes shining like lanterns lit with hope. A chorus of voices rose all at once.

"Yehey!" one boy shouted, throwing his fist in the air.

"Finally, I'll learn how to use my magic properly!" another said, almost bouncing from his chair.

"Me too! This is what I've been waiting years for!" cried a girl, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

The air grew lively with chatter, like the crackle of a fire that had just caught flame. Their voices overlapped in a tide of joy and relief, filling the classroom with a youthful buzz of ambition.

Professor Galahad chuckled softly at their eagerness, raising one hand as if to calm a flock of birds. "Easy, easy now... I can see your spirits are high." His laugh was rich, but his eyes... for the briefest second, they slid toward the back row where Dila sat.

Her face was still, her lips pressed in a faint, strained smile. She lowered her gaze quickly to the wooden surface of her desk, trying not to show the heaviness weighing down inside her. Around her, her classmates glowed with anticipation, their voices bright like bells, their laughter sharp like sparks... yet none of that warmth reached her chest.

Because in that sea of joy, she felt only distance.

The professor let his gaze linger for a heartbeat longer on her silver hair gleaming faintly under the lantern light, then turned back to the crowd, clapping his hands once more to anchor their excitement.

"All right then," he said, his tone steady again. "Let us begin."

The chatter faded, but the buzzing energy of the students still clung to the air like static.

Professor Galahad raised his hand before anyone could flip open their notebooks or focus on their desks. His voice, calm yet playful, echoed across the high-vaulted room.

"Umm... before we begin..." he paused, letting his words hang, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "There is someone I need to bless first."

The students froze, eyes darting curiously toward one another, a ripple of whispers passing like wind through tall grass. He chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that teased at a secret. "Because she is... my favorite."

A collective gasp of curiosity burst from the rows.

"Who is it, professor?" one boy called, leaning over his desk.

"Tell us!" a girl chimed in, her hands gripping her chair.

The professor's gaze slid slowly across the classroom until it landed at the very back. He raised his hand and pointed with calm precision. "None other than... Princess Dila Eldoria."

The room filled with murmurs of awe and envy, though the tone was light, not cruel.

"Wow... lucky girl."

"I wish he picked me..."

"She gets attention everything... Princess of Eldor and now this?"

But the jealousy was playful, edged with admiration, as though they themselves were swept up in the honor of her presence.

Dila froze where she sat. Her body stiffened, her chest tightening until her breath came shallow and uneasy. Her name... spoken so clearly... it was as though the floor beneath her tilted.

Professor Galahad's voice softened, steady as stone. "Young girl... please come here."

She swallowed hard, her lips pressing together as she pushed back her chair. The scrape of wood against polished marble seemed louder than anything in the room. Slowly, carefully, she stood.... every step toward the center felt heavier than the last.

Her silver-white hair swayed lightly at her shoulders, catching the lantern light with every hesitant step. Her hands clenched at her gown, trying to hide the tremble in her fingers. Her mind screamed with worry.... What if he sees? What if everyone sees? The truth she carried like a curse: that she had no magic of her own.

Yet, when she dared to glance at Professor Galahad's face, she did not find judgment. His expression was calm... kind, even. His eyes did not pierce her with scrutiny but rather held a strange, steady understanding, as though he already knew her fear and had chosen not to expose it.

Around them, the students leaned forward eagerly, whispering and sighing with wonder. The air was thick with anticipation, with envy, with awe.

And Dila... she kept walking, stiff and awkward, her heart thundering in her chest, until she finally stood at the center... beneath every eye in the room.

Professor Galahad adjusted his stance, his robe shifting gently against the polished marble floor as the morning light filtered in from the crystal-paned windows. The air in the classroom was heavy with silence, every student's gaze fixed on the two at the center.

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that carried both reassurance and authority. Slowly, he raised his right hand and rested it gently on Dila's shoulder. His touch was light, yet steady, carrying a weight of certainty that pressed against her trembling nerves.

"Little girl..." His voice was calm and firm, but laced with warmth. "I will give you the blessing of luck."

As the words left his lips, his palm began to glow with a soft, golden light. The glow wasn't blinding but radiant, like sunlight breaking through a morning mist. Dila felt it immediately... a warmth spreading from her shoulder down through her chest, filling her core like ripples in a still pond.

Her breath caught. For the first time, she felt something stir within her... something flowing, subtle yet undeniable. A small power, faint but real, circulated inside her body... as though a hidden spark had been lit in the cold chamber of her soul.

Her blue eyes widened slightly, a flicker of disbelief rushing through her mind. Is this... magic? My own now?

Professor Galahad leaned closer, his eyes glinting knowingly. He winked. "Princess... I have given you luck. Good luck."

But Dila could feel it. Beneath his playful words, she knew the truth.... he had given her more than luck. He had slipped into her a fraction of magic itself, enough to carry her through in every lessons without shame. A secret kindness wrapped in a smile.

The classroom erupted with awe.

"Woah..."

"Wow... incredible!"

"I'm so envious!"

Some of the noble boys muttered under their breath, half mocking each other, half jealous.

"Hmph... dream on, he'd never bless you."

"Not in a thousand years."

The nobles chuckled amongst themselves, some with bitterness, others with playful jabs at each other's pride. But all eyes, whether envious or admiring, were locked on Dila.

Her cheeks flushed as she lowered her head politely. "Thank you..." she said softly to the professor, her voice carrying both sincerity and relief.

She turned on her heel, her silver hair swaying lightly behind her as she walked back toward her seat. Each step felt strangely lighter, her body no longer stiff with dread but softened by the warmth now pulsing faintly inside her. She sat down quietly, eyes lowered, but the corners of her lips betrayed her... curling into a small, hidden smile.

Behind her, Professor Galahad's voice rang once more, calm yet proud.

"You are welcome, High Princess. It was an honor."

The murmurs in the room swelled again, but Dila hardly heard them. Her thoughts hummed with something she had not felt in a long time.... opportunity. A chance. A possibility that she could compete, that she wasn't powerless after all.

She pressed her hand gently to her chest where the warmth lingered, her smile tucked away like a secret. Maybe... I can belong here.