Three weeks had passed since Elective Day.
A full month since Clayton had been dropped into this strange, spellbound world of arcane duels, whispering cards, and floating towers
And he was still getting used to it.
Every morning felt like a silent negotiation with reality. He'd wake up in his dorm, the ceiling unfamiliar, his thoughts half-stuck between two lives. Earth still felt close—like it was just behind a door he couldn't find anymore.
But there were anchors now. Small things.
His morning routine. Lily's sarcastic commentary. Cynthia's dry smirk during training. The ache in his arms after each sparring session reminded him he was getting stronger, whether he liked it or not.
He'd even found a strange sort of rhythm with his electives. Tactical Adaptation kept his instincts sharp. Mental Fortification helped him breathe through the chaos. Deck Analysis... well, that one still made his head hurt, but it was growing on him.
Today, though, was different.
For once, he wasn't rushing to a standard elective. Instead, he'd signed up for an optional class hosted in a small, forgotten-looking building tucked near the base of the north tower. The topic?
Runes and their Uses in Arcane Systems.
The room was half empty when he arrived, which honestly made him like it more. Less noise. Less pressure.
The instructor was a thin, gray-robed man with ink-stained fingers and a voice like old parchment. He didn't bother with introductions—just launched straight into it.
"Runes are not spells. They are not cards. They are intentions frozen in shape. Language with weight."
He sketched something into the air—an angular symbol that glowed faintly yellow, then vanished.
"Unlike cards, which burn and vanish once their purpose is fulfilled, runes are persistent. They can be carved, embedded, or layered. They last. And they resonate."
Clayton leaned forward, genuinely curious for the first time in days.
Runes, as it turned out, could enhance cards, fortify structures, and even anchor unstable spells. They weren't commonly taught to Novices because the complexity often led to dangerous backlash if misdrawn. But for those who learned the principles, they offered incredible versatility.
Clayton as it turned out, knew a lot about runes; before soul merging his dream was to study runes
"Think of them as arcane punctuation," the instructor said. "Used properly, a rune can turn a whisper into a shout. A spark into a blaze."
They practiced drawing basic stability glyphs on small copper tiles—carefully tracing each curve while channeling a trickle of arcane energy. Clayton's first attempt fizzled. His second sparked and hissed. But the third… it held. A faint blue glow hovered just above the metal.
The instructor nodded without looking. "Good enough to not explode. You're ahead of the average."
Not exactly comforting, but Clayton would take it.
They ended with a demonstration. A plain wooden plank, no thicker than a cutting board, had three runes burned into its surface: Anchor, Reflect, and Bind. The instructor fired a burst of raw energy at it. Instead of breaking apart, the plank shimmered, absorbed the spell, and held firm.
"Runes can't replace cards," he said. "But they can augment. Protect. Delay. If you want to survive long enough to play your hand, learn them."
Clayton left the class with the tile in his pocket and his head full of possibilities.
He liked this kind of magic. Quiet. Clever. Layered.
Not everything had to explode to matter.
Later that afternoon, he headed to his Pioneer Tower elective. The mental fortification class had become something of a grounding space. A place to reset. It didn't ask him to fight or impress. Just… focus.
The students sat in a wide circle, working on recursive pattern breathing and glyph harmonization. Clayton had gotten better at it—keeping his arcane flow steady, his thoughts less like white noise.
But his eyes, almost by instinct now, always drifted to the same place.
Asher Augustus.
Third prince of the Lunar Kingdom. Model student. Born prodigy.
He sat two spots to Clayton's left, drawing elegant, curling sigils with calm fingers and that ever-present soft smile. He was friendly without being approachable. Gentle without ever letting anyone close.
And that smile—Clayton couldn't explain it. It wasn't smug. It wasn't fake. It just… unsettled him.
Because it felt like Asher already knew how everything would play out.
Fan clubs followed Asher like shadows, though none dared speak to him directly in class. Outside? That was different. He was swarmed in courtyards. Whispered about in dorm halls. A golden boy wrapped in myth.
But here, in the quiet of this room, he was just… watching.
Clayton sometimes caught him glancing over. Not in a malicious way. Just observing.
Like he was taking notes.
And when their eyes met he gave Clayton that smile again
Creepy bastard, what the hell do you want?
It made the back of Clayton's neck itch.
Today, though, something felt different.
As class wrapped up and students filed out, Clayton lingered by the far windows, running through his breathing pattern one last time. The quiet felt good.
But then… he heard footsteps behind him.
Light. Measured.
He turned just as Asher approached.
The prince still wore that calm expression, like they were both about to discuss the weather instead of—whatever this was.
And for the first time since he arrived at this academy, Clayton felt the atmosphere shift.
He panicked a bit, then his mind started racing, thinking of how to handle a protagonist
He wasn't being watched anymore.
He was being approached.