The Academy

Class ended slightly after the sun had begun to set from its highest point. I had given pointers to all the pairs presenting their techniques, nodding in agreement with some statements, and disappointingly shaking my head in response to others. Amber was long gone to her classes, leaving after sharing a cozy lunch shielded from the biting cold. The winter months up here in the North were dark, icy, and more often than not windy. Rain was a common occurrence, though we hadn't had any for weeks at this point. I was secretly happy about it: the rain most probably came down as snow, which was troublesome to execute swordplay in. 

For the time after lunch, I had a few hours to prepare for my afternoon theoretical classes. Besides swordplay, I was the Professor for "Theoretical Application of A Fighter's Spirit". Quite the mouthful, I scoffed, frowning slightly. My palms rested on the sides of a warm mug, its content swirling ever so slightly at my body's trembles. It sure as hell was cold. Lifting it carefully, I took a small sip of the steaming liquid, cherishing the spiked tea-ish drink as it comfortably slid down my throat. Tea was a rarity this far up on the Continent and the Professor who always managed to have a stash of the sort I was currently sipping on had never revealed his trade secret. 

Outside my office, a wind had started terrorizing the school grounds. The window boards of the window to my left were lightly crashing into the outer walls. On the opposite wall of the bench I was sitting behind, the door lay lodged into the timber fortress, the Academy's crest embroidered in the center. To my right was a small fireplace, currently blazing with an infernal vigor: tongues of flames licking the iron bars keeping the innate beast contained. Warmth spread in all directions whilst the black smoke slithered its way up and out into the blistering cold.

Before me, a new parchment scroll lay rolled out. The one I had signed the previous night was taken care of; Amber was doing my errands as usual. This afternoon, the information was about a new student joining my third-year classes. "Hold on..." I whispered, releasing my mug to lift the parchment into the light of my flickering candle. No, it was written correctly. I was to receive a boy of ten summers to my class of third-years. The acquisition date was sat to 25 days from the moment I read the scroll. 

"It does say he is a genius already at the evolutionary stage..." I sank backward into my throne. I called it a throne as I often depicted myself as the King of my room. A little childish, I know. 

A fighter's spirit was divided into several tiers. Everyone who managed to awaken it started in a dormant state. This state helped them acclimate the body to the sudden increase in physical prowess which were bound to arrive sooner or later. It did so by continuously feeding the host's body with qi, molding it to its favor. When the spirit decides the acclimation is complete, (no one knows why or how it decides) the Knight progresses into the awakening state, where many parents decide to enroll them in some fancy Academy. Generally speaking, the sooner a child enters the awakening stage, the more talent it is said to harbor. 

The requirement to jump grades was to pass through the stages of a fighter's spirit. The first years contained kids of eleven to twelve summers, exuberating life and passion. They were in the awakening state. The second years progressed into the latent state, where, much like the dormant, the body had to be accustomed to the increase in strength. To achieve higher than the latent state, one had to subject oneself to rigorous physical and mental training, hence why the second year in the academy only consisted of practical classes. 

In the third year, the essential need was to have achieved the evolutionary state, where the spirit absorbed energy suspended in the atmosphere to evolve itself. The ages of the kids in the second and third years ranged wildly as it was here talent began deciding much. But, a ten-summer young boy joining the third year? Unheard of.

I breathed out a heavy sigh. I had been holding my breath without knowing while I contemplated the possible reactions of the other kids in the third year. It was impossible for them to not feel envy, or even injustice, at the sight of a boy six, seven summers in the same state as them. 

I took a sip of my beverage, it had gone cold. For how long had I been thinking? It didn't matter though, I thought, as I signed the parchment with my title. I was nameless. I had no surname, nor a name at all. I was an orphan turned into a great Professor at the esteemed Winterpeak Academy, the absolute best Knighthood Academy on the Continent. 

I let my eyes rest on the familiar crest carved into the door before me, some distance away. Vines curled out from the center, enveloping a broken shield depicting unfathomably large mountains. Snow covered parts of the tagged vines, sharp edges protruding through the white blanket. Draping down in torn pieces across the shield, were blue and black fabric. Together, they created an eerie picture of valiance, disorder, and cold. It was oddly comforting to look at. 

My fit of contemplation was torn down by heavy knocks from outside. I reluctantly got up from my too-comfortable chair and walked over to the door. Before a second wave of knocks threatened to collapse the aperture, I swung it open. Amber almost fell face forward into my room, her body having leaned towards the door as if to put her weight behind every knock. 

"My class is starting soon, I presume?" I smiled tiredly at my assistant steadying her balance. I stepped past her, leaving cloak and sword hanging and resting respectively. They were not to my need for this afternoon's class. 

"Yes, Professor," she answered, glaring up at me. "Very well." I stepped past her, brushing invisible particles of dust from my pristine leather armor. "You can use my room for your studies, if you wish," I invitingly held my arm out and pointed towards my chair. "If you do, will you please deliver the scroll on my table? It is for the principal." 

"No need Professor," Amber shook her head slightly, "it is a one-way scroll." I frowned at the faint light illuminating the left side of her face. Damn mages, always dabbling in what they shouldn't, I cursed in my mind. "I will still take you up on the studying offer if that is alright?" Amber looked at me expectantly. 

"Of course. Do as you please." I smiled goodbye, turning my back and heading down the dimly lit corridor. A faint thud echoed behind me. 

——————————

Chatter met me as I walked into my evening class classroom. The fourth-years were idly talking with each other, but with my entrance, it died down rather quickly. I stepped up behind the teacher's pedestal. Already in place were tonight's notes, neatly prepared and delivered by Amber before her kind visit to my office. 

I was rather renowned at the Academy. Despite my young age, I had achieved many grand things and my knowledge about Knighthood was nothing to scoff at. Some thought that my forté would lay in swordplay. However, the subject where I truly shined was in the usage of qi. The requirement to go beyond the fourth state, the concealed state, was to learn how to move your qi. Tonight's class was precisely that, incorporated into the course "Theoretical Application of A Fighter's Spirit." 

I waited for the absolute last words to be spoken, my stern gaze bearing down upon the fidgeting teenagers before me. The hall was similar to one of the ancient theatres: a quarter sphere with benches for each student to keep their notes on. "As of today, we will be venturing into the area of utilizing your spirits," I started, leaving my post behind the pedestal. "Your spirits are so much more than just a boost in power. It could be likened to your soul, the core of one's being."

I stopped slightly in front of the pedestal, gliding into a battle stance. "Not knowing how to properly move the force your spirits emit, a punch will simply not be strong," I threw a straight punch, the air whistling around my fist as it cut through the room. Despite not using any qi at all, the punch was still powerful enough to endorse a gasp from some students. 

I retracted my arm, releasing a tensely held breath. I relaxed, diving into my body with my mind, and poking at the slumbering orb of power deep within. It awoke with a flashing light visible only to me. Circulating the power it exudes, I let the force concentrate in my left arm as I completed the same movement I previously did. 

This time, concentric circles of air enveloped the fist as it tore space apart. A loud boom echoed in the chamber, my fist having passed the sound barrier before stopping. As though delayed, a rushing wind followed close suit, parchments and scrolls taking an escape into the classroom's air, dancing in the rummaging winds. 

Relaxing back into a neutral stance, I met the shocked student's gazes'. Chins hit the floor and primeval fear radiated from some. Slowly but surely they regained their hearing and senses, retrieving fleeting parchments and feather pens from the air above. One student, who I recognized as Pierce Savill, raised his slightly trembling hand. 

"Pierce?" I questioned, locking eyes with him.

"Yes, Professor." He audibly gulped. "Excuse the bad language, but I think I speak for the whole class when I ask, what in God's name was that?"