Two weeks had passed since the exams, culminating in yesterday’s ceremony, a gaudy affair where fresh-faced students mingled awkwardly with their seniors and recent graduates. Parents from across the three kingdoms dabbed at tears of pride, at least those who could afford the journey. Prince Aleamme strutted across the stage to receive his diploma. His gold-threaded cape billowed behind him as he flashed that infuriating smirk. Good riddance. A few students who excelled in their class gave a speech. Then Chancellor Morhier droned on about “tradition” and "greatness" until even the most attentive eyes glazed over.

  My Academy uniform, a pair of ivory pants, and a lilac tunic with gold trim and the school’s emblem embroidered close to my heart, hung loose on my frame. I’d sized up, anticipating the growth spurt that was inevitable due to my wolfkin nature. Normally, the uniform includes long boots, but none suited my clawed feet. For ceremonial and formal events, special shin covers are required, but thankfully not for everyday wear. That would be a disaster during training.

  The first knight’s class tested our endurance on a winding dirt path. It hugged the Academy Town’s stone walls and passed through an ancient gate tower. The marathon trail continued into the forest, where dappled sunlight filtered through emerald leaves. My paws, far better suited to this terrain than human feet, barely disturbed the soft earth. Luciana’s determined panting grew fainter behind me. Her human lungs worked overtime, though she kept pace better than I expected.

  I crossed the finish line at just under three hours. My legs trembled, but my spirit soared. In my past life, I’d never broken four and a half hours. The difference was stark. Months of combat drills had hardened my muscles. My wolfkin lungs processed oxygen with preternatural efficiency. This world’s slightly reduced gravitational field must have helped. All this contributed to this insanely good result.

  The knight from the exam approached, sunlight glinting off the silver insignia on his leather breastplate. It seemed today he opted for a lighter armor set, less flashy and more practical for dwelling deep in the forest. His scarred face creased into a smile.

  “Thar, correct?” he asked, his lisp whistling slightly through the gap in his front teeth as he marked my time on his parchment. “Imprethive time. You are Florenth’s kid, yeth? He’th a mathterly tracker. He’th training our thcout divithion thith year.”

  “Scouts, huh? Makes sense,” I said, my chest still heaving as I gulped the pine-scented air. “You should’ve seen him dispatching bandits in the Sleeping Valley that one time, the way he moved through shadows like he was made of them, and he doesn’t even leave any scent behind him. Still have no idea how he does that. I learned more in that one night than in a month of drills.”

  “Tho you’ve tathed real combat already.” His eyes, sharp and assessing despite their amber warmth, studied me with renewed interest. “I may call on that experienth, if you’re amenable. Profethor Gath,” he added, extending a calloused hand. Our handshake was firm, his grip strong but not challenging.

  Since I finished earlier, I had time to wash up and explore the library a little. The massive oak doors creaked open to reveal three-story-high shelves of leather-bound tomes and scrolls arranged in circles around a central hearth where blue flames danced without smoke. Robed Academy scholars moved silently between the shelves, some levitating to reach higher volumes without disturbing the spiral staircases.

  Obviously, paper was expensive, and no printing press yet existed in this world, so the collection was smaller than a real library back on Earth. Still, tens of thousands of handwritten manuscripts illuminated with gold leaf and vibrant pigments left me breathless. I lost myself between the stacks, claws clicking softly against the stone floor. I traced reverent fingers along embossed spines and read as much as I could. Eventually, the hollow feeling in my stomach reminded me to eat my lunch on the way to my next lesson.

  As I stepped inside the theology class, a sudden slap hit me in the muzzle. A blur of iridescent wings and glittering dust materialized into a fairy no bigger than my palm. She had flown at me at full speed and hugged my face, her tiny arms barely spanning the circumference of my snout. Her voice, high-pitched like the chiming of silver bells, screeched against my sensitive ears, “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “Mmh u rrrhh mmm…” My words came out muffled, my sensitive nostrils filled with the scent of honeysuckle and morning dew.

  “What did you say?” She fluttered backward, wings creating miniature whirlwinds that ruffled the fur between my ears. Tiny hands rested on even tinier hips as she hovered at eye level, mere centimeters from my face.

  “I said, ‘Can you release me, please?’” I gently massaged my muzzle, where her impact had left a slight tingling sensation lingering on my fur. “I couldn’t open my jaw to speak properly, but didn’t want to grab you, given how tiny you are.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t worry about that.” She performed a quick aerial somersault, leaving a trail of sparkling dust that dissipated in the air. “We fairies are surprisingly tough. In fact, our warriors use their own bodies as flying arrowheads to pierce our enemies through and through. It is absolutely disgusting, but very effective.”

  My vivid imagination conjured images of tiny, glowing bodies drilling through flesh and bone. I shuddered, my tail tucking slightly between my legs before I straightened up and continued. “I bet. So, what are you thanking me for?”

  “Yes, it was you, wasn’t it?” she chirped.

  I flicked an ear, confused. “What was ‘me’?”

  “You did something to reset the theology exam!” Her tiny hands clasped together beneath her chin. “When I first touched the divine instrument, it was so cold… like holding a sliver of winter. I felt it: contained mana was inside, pulsing like a trapped heartbeat. But I was too afraid to speak up.” Her wings drooped briefly. “Divine instruments should only contain divine mana! I was so stupid to just accept it. But you stood your ground! The way you challenged that Priestess, you are an inspiration!”

  “Whoa, whoa.” I held up a paw, claws retracted. “Look, I’m glad it worked out for you. Seeing you crying was rough, I admit, but I did it for my own self-interest.” I leaned closer, my whiskers twitching with curiosity. “How exactly do you sense the difference between contained and divine mana? Could you teach me?”

  Her wings created a humming blur as she performed a small loop. “Absolutely!” she said. “They’ll probably cover it in this course, though.” She extended a hand no bigger than my smallest claw. “I’m Libby, by the way.”

  “Zar,” I replied, carefully touching her palm with the pad of my finger. “Are you taking the magic course as well?”

  “There is no point, really. Fairies, dragons, arboreals, and other primordial beings are so akin to magic that we don’t need to study it. For us, magic comes as naturally as breathing.” She demonstrated with a casual flick of her tiny fingers and conjured a miniature whirlwind that danced across my whiskers. “We might pick up a trick or two from watching other mages use it creatively. But I don’t need to take a whole course for that.”

  “Wait, did you just silent cast a spell?” I asked, tilting my head.

  Our conversation was cut short, however, as the instructor, whom I was pleasantly surprised to recognize as Elder Konsteus, swept into the room in his ever-so-weird multi-colored outfit that rustled against the stone floor. The classroom fell silent as he placed an ancient leather-bound tome on the lectern.

  “Good afternoon,” he announced, his voice resonating with the practiced authority of someone who had taught for decades. “Now settle down, students. A small announcement. This year’s theology curriculum will change somewhat due to reasons that will become clear later.” His weathered hands gestured broadly. “The faculty is almost done finalizing it. So for today, let’s start with a small chat. Does anyone have any questions about the divine that always made you curious?”

  A few hands raised up, and Elder Konsteus pointed to a middle-aged dwarf student I noticed back during the exam. “Yes, you.”

  The dwarf scratched his copper-colored beard. His thick fingers combed through the intricate braids, each adorned with tiny metal beads that clinked softly. “Hmm, I am sure it is a silly question,” he said, voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling. “But I always wondered why Mother Nature and the Goddess of Balance rule over different domains. Isn’t nature all about balance?”

  Elder Konsteus’s eyes lit up beneath his bushy, graying eyebrows. “No question is silly,” he replied, leaning forward on the ancient oak lectern that creaked under his weight. “By asking questions, we learn. Does anyone have some thoughts on the matter before I answer?”

  I raised my hand, my russet fur-covered arm standing out against the sea of students.

  “Yes, Zar,” he nodded toward me, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, “what do you think?”

  I cleared my throat, my tail swishing behind me as I gathered my thoughts. “Well, because nature is not balanced? Think about it this way. We beastkin know forests well, since it is our home.” I gestured with clawed hands, mimicking the shape of a canopy. “When ancient trees grow too large, their foliage shades all the ground, so no sun can reach it. Fallen leaves start to rot. Younger trees cannot grow in their place, and eventually, the entire forest might wither away. This is why beastkin practice something called forest thinning. We cut older trees to let new ones grow, sometimes kindle controlled forest fires, to prevent the whole ecosystem from collapsing.”

  Elder Konsteus nodded, his weathered fingers stroking his chin. “You are correct, Mother Nature doesn’t know restraint. She grows uncontrollably, sending roots to crack stone and vines to strangle towers, gorgeous and terrible in her wild abundance, right until the very moment she can’t sustain herself. There is beauty in it, but also inherent danger. God of Order understands this and helps her manage without hurting herself too much, just as their daughter, Goddess of Balance, attempts to do. It doesn’t always work, though,” he said, grinning with a smidge of pride in his eyes. True follower of hers, no doubt.

  “Huh,” someone muttered from the back, a young human boy with ink-stained fingers. “I never knew beastkin did that. So their presence in the Sleeping Valley is actually good for the forests…”

  Elder Konsteus’s gaze swept across the room. “Any more questions?” His finger pointed to a slender student in the third row.

  “Is it true that a fourth deity was born to the world?” the student’s voice cut through the air like glass.

  The scratch of quills ceased. A student’s water flask froze halfway to their lips. Even the dust motes hanging in the sunbeams seemed to stop their dance.

  Elder Konsteus’s bushy eyebrows drew together, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening into canyons. “Child,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the room, "you probably come from a long line of those in service to the Temple, based on your attire, this is how you know of this. But there are reasons we haven’t made that announcement yet. You should learn a little restraint.” After a cough that shook his shoulders, he nodded once. “But yes. It is true.”

  The silence was shattered. A dwarf pounded his fist on his desk. Two human girls near the window clutched each other’s sleeves. From the back row came a cry that rose above the growing din: “How was it discovered?”

  “Do you think the new God or Goddess is that of Time? Makes most sense to me.”

  “Is the new faith already forming? Who is going to lead it?”

  “Settle down. It was discovered only two weeks ago, so we don’t know anything about the new deity just yet. We shall explore ancient history this year, specifically the period when the Goddess of Balance was born, in an attempt to learn from that time, hopefully also to avoid repeating the same mistakes.”

  A tall elven student rose from his seat. “But what proof do we have that there is a new divine?” His voice carried the musical lilt characteristic of the southern kingdom.

  Elder Konsteus’s gaze found mine across the room, his mismatched eyes glinting with an unspoken question. I gave a slight nod. Might as well be done with it. If we handle more divine instruments later, it will be revealed anyway.

  “Because Zar over here,” the Elder announced, gesturing toward me, “received that deity’s grace. It was confirmed by means of a divine instrument.”

  “I knew it!” exclaimed a plump boy with freckles scattered across his nose like constellations. “It must be the God of Time. Feels like that kid grew a few fingers taller in just two weeks since the exam.”

  A rabbitfolk beside him rolled his eyes. “You know rapid growth is normal for wolfkin, right? They mature differently from humans.”

  A girl with bright blue eyes leaned toward me, her gold-coloured pendant, a miniature shield, swinging forward. “Are you going to head the new religion?” she whispered.

  I ran my clawed hand through the fur on my neck. “Actually, I plan to join the Church for the God of Order,” I responded, my tail swishing nervously behind me.

  “Seriously?” Her eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath her copper bangs. “Will they even take you in?”

  I shrugged, my shoulders rolling beneath my loose uniform. “Why wouldn’t they? One holy order already invited me to chat with them,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

  “That’s so cool!” She beamed. “I’m not even sure I’ll manage to get into any order…”

  Around us, the classroom dissolved into chaos, a cacophony of theological debates and half-formed theories. A dwarf pounded his fist on a desk to emphasize points about divine hierarchy while two kids near the window sketched competing ideas for a new deity’s symbol. Elder Konsteus simply leaned against his lectern, watching with twinkling eyes and a barely concealed smile. The disorder seemed to please him, a chaos cultist reveling in his natural element. Despite the bedlam, I found myself smiling, my tail swishing contentedly behind me as I absorbed the passionate exchanges of my classmates.

  The next morning, I arrived at the magic classroom to find Professor Irleophiss, or rather, his uncanny proxy. The marionette that served as his avatar stood at the front of the room, its jointed limbs hanging with an eerie stillness that wasn’t quite natural. Carved from polished ebony wood and inlaid with opalescent scales that caught the light when it moved, the construct bore the vague suggestion of draconic features, slitted amber eyes that glowed from within, and elongated fingers tipped with miniature ivory claws.

  It made sense that a massive dragon couldn’t quite fit inside a lecture hall, even the biggest one on the Academy campus. So he had to communicate with us through this contraption. I noticed thin, nearly invisible silver threads connecting the puppet’s limbs to the ceiling, occasionally catching the light as it moved.

  “Good morning, disciples of the arcane,” the puppet’s mouth moved with a slight delay, but the voice that emerged was deep and resonant, filling the room with a subtle vibration that made the crystal chandeliers tinkle. “How delightful to return to teaching after my sabbatical. This particular class is quite exclusive. I’ve personally selected eight students who exhibit exceptional potential for spellwork. The challenges ahead will test your limits, but I assure you, the results will prove most remarkable. Have no doubt.”

  Nobody questioned this. The competition for these coveted spots had been fierce. Students had performed increasingly desperate feats of magic, some ending in spectacular failures. Anything for a chance to learn spellcraft directly from a dragon. I was silently thanking the divines for the opportunity. I was thanking them even more that Prince Thomin didn’t make the cut.

  The marionette’s amber eyes flared brighter as it gestured with its jointed ebony fingers. “Let’s start with the basics. Who knows how many types of mana there are? You, the quadruped.”

  The horsekin student’s ears flicked backward in annoyance. He stamped a hoof reflexively, but didn’t protest. “To my knowledge, it is four,” he answered, his voice deep and resonant in the vaulted classroom.

  “Generally speaking, correct.” The marionette’s head tilted with a creak. “There are a few more exotic types, but they are so rare, they shimmer at the edges of our understanding.”

  He paced around the classroom as he continued his explanation. “First, the wild mana, sometimes called the primordial energy. Found everywhere in nature. Second, the contained mana or arcane energy. The product of countless aeons of experimentation with wild mana that transformed it into a class of its own.”

  He pivoted and returned to the lecture podium. “Third, the divine mana, unseen and untouched by anyone but those bestowed with favors from our esteemed patrons, the deities of this world.” The puppet's wooden fingers spread wide, casting spidery shadows across my desk. “We will explore theory, but not practical applications of working with divine mana. That is the domain of the theologians. And finally,” its voice dropped to a whisper that still resonated across every corner of the room, “who knows the last kind?”

  A human girl with ashen hair that hung like willow branches around her hollow cheeks raised her hand, trembling visibly, the blue veins beneath her alabaster skin standing out like rivers on a winter map.

  “Yes, you, the especially pale one,” the puppet’s wooden jaw clacked as amber eyes swiveled toward her.

  “The miasma,” she whispered, her voice like dry leaves scraping across stone, “otherwise known as corrupt mana or energy of the occult.” Her eyes, ringed with shadows the color of bruised plums, darted nervously around the room before fixing on her desk.

  “Correct again.” The marionette’s amber eyes flared brighter, casting eerie twin reflections across the classroom. “The exact origins of corrupt mana remain shrouded in mystery, lost to the mists of forgotten eras. Even to my kind!” The puppet’s voice dropped to a hollow whisper that somehow penetrated to the marrow of our bones, “using this type of mana in spellcasting is absolutely forbidden for several compelling reasons. Its volatile nature warps reality itself, twisting living matter into grotesque forms, while its toxic emanations poison the very air, rendering environments where it accumulates as barren as the void between stars. More importantly,” the puppet leaned forward, “it corrodes not only the material plane but reaches beyond, tainting and eventually unraveling the luminous tapestry of the soul itself.”

  My chest constricted like a vise crushing my ribs, a sensation I haven’t felt in years… not since my other life.

  “Magic can destroy a soul?” The words came out before I could stop them, my claws digging into the wooden desk.

  “Yes.” The puppet’s amber eyes fixed on mine, burning. “The miasma obliterates not just the vessel, but the soul it inhabits. Judging by your terror, you grasp the implications. Soul destruction violates the cosmic order itself. When a soul shatters, it doesn’t merely die. It ceases to have ever existed. The divine gift is not just taken but erased from the tapestry of creation.”

  His words continued, but they vanished beneath my heartbeat’s earthquake, each pulse threatening to crack my ribs from within. No, no, NO… this feeling, this dread. I recognized this terror. The one controlling me all my previous life. I’d buried it, hadn’t I?

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The cold flooded my veins like liquid nitrogen. Soul destruction. True death. No reincarnation. No Jerome. No ANYTHING. All this time I’d been strutting through danger like some immortal, treating death as a mere inconvenience, a checkpoint reset in some cosmic game.

  My tail bristled into a bottlebrush, fur standing like I’d touched a lightning rod. My ears flattened so hard against my skull they ached at the roots, while my whiskers trembled like plucked strings. Panic surged through my body, drowning out everything, the classroom, the other students, even the puppet's glowing eyes. That nightmare scenario loomed again: absolute nothingness. My paws trembled uncontrollably, claws extending and retracting in spasms while something unseen wrapped around my throat and squeezed until my lungs burned for air that wouldn’t come.