"Does anyone have any questions?" Lance asked. Not one student raised their hand. They either didn't know where to begin or were too busy jotting down Lance's every word. The Head Mage had correctly predicted the nobles' reaction. The entire first-year curriculum had been accelerated no, thrust into compound magic, obliterating Lance's finely tuned lessons. The poor students barely knew the basics. How were they supposed to handle something even more complex than that?

"Do your best," the Head Mage had said to every single instructor in an emergency meeting. "I've done all I can to buy us time."

"A month isn't good enough," Lance had argued, and for once, the other instructors took his side. "We instructors know our students. It is impossible to expect them to grasp such a complex topic in such a miniscule amount of time. You think the medical wing is busy now. What about when students try to make spells they don't understand? Then the nobles want a demonstration in the Capital? Are we just circus acts to them?"

"I understand your concerns as well as anyone here," the Head Mage snapped. "But the nobles are already eager to put my head on the chopping block, especially the Von Trike faction. It's like the nobles are going to war before everyone else. They're trying to lay claim to every institution in the kingdom. Now they're coming for us, to replace me. If they succeed then, by the goddess of good, I promise you the pain you see now will be nothing compared to what happens next."

Lance winced at the memory. He scanned his despondent class. To make matters worse, morale had hit an all time low. The thundering Watchman constantly clanked through the hallways through night and day, students insisted for guards to be posted by their quarters, the medical wing was full of injured students, and the worst, by far, was the empty seat at the back of Lance's classroom.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Lance repeated. He glanced at Cerlius's desk by force of habit. A week had passed since the attack. It felt like longer. Dust had replaced his stacks of paper. The healer stated that he and the other six victims needed three more weeks of rest. A student missing class was nothing new, but Cerlius was not just a student.

Only now did the class understand the vital niche Cerlius filled. They had thought of him as an outsider, a mere fly on the wall. They never realized how he would ask all the right questions, and better their understanding. "I know you all have questions." Lance insisted for a third time. "Speak up." The students either looked at Cerlius's empty seat or avoided eye-contact like guilty pets. Lance got the urge to yell and scream, but he knew they were as frustrated as he was. Maybe more so.

Finally a hand was raised. Lance called upon him, not expecting much. He was the second smartest student, a chubby, bowl-cut boy by the name of Ronlo. "Instructor, this may be a stupid question."

"There are no stupid questions." Lance reassured him, but it came out as more like a reminder to the class. "Only stupid nobles." He chuckled in hopes to ease the tension but the class only groaned at him.

"Can you repeat what we just went over?" Ronlo asked with a shrug that said: "I'm trying but I don't know what to do."

"Gladly," Lance responded with a smile. "Compound spells use two elements in a single magic circle in order to make a new type of magic. For example, one can, using wind and water, make a rainstorm or a dense fog."

'Restating the same concept in different words won't cut it,' Lance thought. 'This topic is too advanced for them. I need to break it down step by step but without any good questions, I can't tell which parts they're struggling with. It's the equivalent of talking to a wall.

At this rate, these kids are going to get slaughtered at the end of the month when they're pitted against one another. Just how fearful is the public if the nobles forced us into making a show of power? One break-in is all it took. I hear Enforcers are swarming the entire Capital and the Underground for terrorists but I never believed they'd take such drastic measures until now.'

The bell tolled a sad song, signalling the beginning of lunch. Lance and the students groaned. "Can we skip the Reach after lunch finishes?" Ronlo complained.

Lance shook his head. "Line up. We will follow protocol." Everyone was slow. Most limped on bruised limbs and or scratched at old bandages. The healers had to fall back on non-magical treatment in order to save their mana for the more severe injuries.

"Make sure to eat." Lance had reminded his students every day, although it was more to himself. He made his way over to a table of baggy-eyed instructors, and plopped down. Of all his years at the academy, this day was the quietest the mess hall had ever been.

The fish was bland, tasteless. The bell tolled. No rest. The first-years slogged up to the dreaded Reach. Then it began, the chaotic battlefield of half-baked spells. Elements flew every which way, tearing through the ground and air. Some fared better than others, but stagnated. Some got hurt.

"Can't we skip the Reach?" Lance remembered Ronlo's question. He had been right. They should have skipped the Reach, but Lance trusted the Head Mage and the rules. There had to be something, some benefit that emerged from so much preventable harm.

A student's fire spell combusted right in front of him, and the blast flung him off the roof. Lance had been ready with a wind spell, and pulled him to solid ground. Events like those used to be uncommon, but not anymore. "Thank you," the student bowed and turned to continue practice, but Lance grabbed him. "Is there something wrong?"

Lance narrowed his eyes at the darkened side of the student's burnt face. It was still smoking. "Go to the healer," he said. "You are too hurt to continue."

"But Instructor Lance, I can't," the student insisted. "As long as a student can walk, the healer won't treat us."