The Magic Academy was nothing like I imagined.

  I expected massive training grounds where future archmages hurled fireballs and called down lightning storms. In reality, it was much more modest. A few lecture halls where students pored over theory, looking just as bored as kids in a regular school. Practical lessons took place in a separate building—enchanted, reinforced, and blast-proofed. And, as it turned out, access required a permission slip from a teacher or the Director himself.

  The students were mostly children. Logical, I suppose. The earlier you start developing a gift, the better. Magic here was like a trade skill or a sport—you started young. They also taught literacy, which made sense. You can't be a wizard if you can't read the spellbook. An illiterate mage is just a walking industrial accident.

  Lara introduced me to the Director. He was a textbook "geezer"—bald, wrinkled, stooped over a cane, moving like his joints were made of rusty hinges. But appearances are deceiving. According to Lara, he was a Second Circle master in Inscription and Invocation, and Third Circle in Convocation. You don't respect a guy like that for his looks; you respect him because he could probably turn you into a newt with a sneeze.

  Lara didn't ask for permission to use the training hall; she demanded it. The geezer was grumpy until he saw Lady Kalindra’s seal. Then the doors opened.

  "I will teach you the basics myself. Given your Hero's gift, it won't take long," she said as we entered.

  The hall looked like a high school gym, but instead of basketball hoops and climbing ropes, there were training dummies and targets. The air was cool and hummed with a low vibration—background static from centuries of spellcasting.

  "So, what do I do?" I asked, standing in the center.

  "Feel the magic," Lara replied. "You already use internal mana instinctively. We saw that in the sparring. In time, you will learn to channel it consciously. But external mana is different. You must learn to sense it. We Mages do this from birth, as easily as breathing. But you are from another world. There is only one way to teach you quickly..."

  "Which is?"

  "Forgive me in advance," she said, bowing slightly.

  "Forgive you for wh—"

  An invisible force slammed into me like a freight train.

  I was tossed backward, airborne. Instinct took over; I tucked, rolled, and landed on my feet, heart hammering, ears ringing.

  "What the hell is going on?!" I shouted.

  Lara didn't answer. Her eyes were focused, her lips moving in a rhythmic chant.

  "Moisture, condense! Gather into a strike! Strike the enemy with the force of the jet!" She spoke calmly, coldly, reciting poetry that carried a death sentence.

  "Lara...?"

  "By the power of waters I command! I strike with a crushing stream—Water Stream!"

  Orange light flared around her hands. A torrent of water, dense as concrete, erupted from her palms.

  It slammed me into the far wall. I hit hard, struggling to stay upright. The water didn't stop. The pressure increased, pinning me, crushing the air out of my lungs. Was she trying to drown me?

  I didn't want to fight. This was Lara. Gentle, sad, beautiful Lara. I couldn't hit a girl. Mom raised me better than that.

  But I couldn't just stand there. My vision was graying out. I was suffocating.

  Air... just a sip...

  And then, I felt it. Like groping for a light switch in a dark room.

  The water hit an invisible wall and shattered, spraying harmlessly to the sides. A translucent barrier stood between me and the torrent, pulsing in rhythm with my desperate heartbeat.

  I made that.

  I felt it now. Viscous, dense energy surrounding me. Thick like jelly, moving like a current. Mana. Real, tangible mana. It was everywhere. It was alive.

  I reached out to it—and it answered.

  The water stream cut off instantly. The pressure vanished. I gasped, sucking in sweet oxygen... one breath, two...

  My legs gave out.

  The room spun. Space warped and twisted. And then, the floor rushed up to meet me as I fell into the dark.

  I was lying on something soft. Warm. Strangely comfortable.

  A subtle, pleasant scent enveloped me—floral notes mixed with ozone, like a garden after a summer storm. It was peaceful. I didn't want to open my eyes. I just wanted to stay here. I lazily reached up to adjust the pillow...

  And realized the "pillow" was firm and warm.

  "Sir Alistair, please do not touch me," a soft, slightly flustered voice drifted down.

  I snapped my eyes open.

  Lara’s face was directly above mine. Sky-blue eyes met mine, scarlet hair curtaining her face.

  It took me three seconds to process the data: I was lying on her lap. Her thighs, to be precise.

  I scrambled up so fast I nearly tripped. No anime scream, thankfully, but I definitely felt the heat rising in my cheeks. It wasn't that it was unpleasant—quite the opposite. That was the problem. Lara looked just as embarrassed as I felt.

  "Sorry... I don't remember how I got there..."

  "It is I who should apologize," she looked away, voice quiet. "You lost consciousness from mana exhaustion. It happens when you channel more power than your body can handle. There were no pillows... and I didn't want to leave you on the cold floor... so I decided to... help."

  "Hey, don't worry about it. It was... nice, actually," I smiled, trying to defuse the tension.

  Lara’s expression hardened. That familiar mix of sadness and anxiety returned to her eyes.

  "Please. Never speak of this. If someone hears... there could be problems."

  It sounded like a warning. Apparently, being a pillow for a "Hero" violated some social code I didn't understand yet.

  "Understood. Sorry," I backpedaled. "So, what happened? Why did you attack me?"

  "There are few ways to force an adult to sense ambient mana. The most effective is extreme survival instinct. I... had no other choice."

  "Sink or swim, huh?" I nodded. "Well, it worked. I felt it. It was... everywhere. Thick. Alive. But why did I pass out?"

  "Everyone has a limit. A mana capacity. For beginners, it is small. It grows with practice. But you channeled a significant amount for a novice. Basic skills are enough for now."

  "Got it. One last question... Lara, why am I... half-naked?"

  I was standing there in just my trousers.

  "You were soaked," she whispered, studying the floor tiles. "I dried your clothes with magic. You were unconscious... I did not wish to disturb you..."

  "Right..." I took the neatly folded stack from her. The fabric was warm, dry, and smelled of herbs. "Well... I'll get dressed. What's next?"

  "Workshops. Once you finalize your specialization, we buy the rest of your gear. Ideally, tomorrow you take your first mission," she said, smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear.

  "Mission?" I raised an eyebrow. Quests.

  "Yes. The Explorers Guild. Residents post requests—delivery, escort, monster hunting. Anyone can accept them. It is the standard way for freelancers to earn coin."

  "I see..." I scratched my chin. "I'm not interested in crafting. And memorizing spellbooks sounds like a headache. I think Glori was right. The Warrior path is for me."

  "A pity... as you say, Sir Alistair," Lara’s voice cooled. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. She turned toward the exit. "Allow me to escort you to the armory."

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  We left the academy and headed back to the trade district. Stone and wood buildings, bright signs, shouting vendors—it was cozy and alive. We stopped at a shop with a sign reading "Enchanted Weapons".

  Wait.

  How did I read that? It wasn't Russian. It wasn't English. It was a script I’d never seen before, yet the meaning just... appeared in my brain. The translation software in the pod must cover literacy too.

  Inside, the shop was a proper arsenal. Way classier than the arena. Racks of gleaming steel, glass display cases, weapons humming with magical auras. We went to the short swords.

  And I immediately realized I had no concept of the local economy.

  One sword had a tag: 1 Gold. The one next to it: 150 Gold. To my untrained eye, they looked identical. Unless the expensive one was forged by blind monks on a mountaintop, I didn't get it.

  "Lara, what's the difference?" I asked, swallowing my pride.

  "The first is human-made, enchanted by a Fourth Circle Mage. The second is Dwarven masterwork with Second Circle enchantments," she explained.

  "And that does...?"

  "Durability. The ability to channel mana without shattering. The first is fine for skirmishes; it can pierce armor. The second... can cleave stone, provided you have the strength to back it up."

  "Right. So, rookie gear it is."

  "You are a rookie, Alistair, but you are capable of much," she smiled faintly. She turned to the Dwarf behind the counter. "Shopkeeper. We require a short sword, human or dwarven apprentice work. Third Circle enchantment minimum. And a matching shield."

  "Comin' right up," the Dwarf spat, not even looking at us.

  Rude. Do shopkeepers here not work on commission? Where's the customer service? Or is "grumpy Dwarf" a racial trait hardcoded into the AI?

  He vanished into the back and returned with a sheathed blade and a round shield. Wood, metal rim, sturdy but plain.

  "Fifteen gold," he grunted.

  "Fifteen? It's worth eight at best. And I asked for apprentice work. This is... journeyman's student quality," Lara said firmly.

  "For a Nivarn, that's the price," the Dwarf sneered. "Take it or leave it."

  Nivarn. That word again.

  "I may be a Nivarn, but I am a retainer of Lady Kalindra," Lara’s voice dropped to absolute zero. Faint embers sparked in the air around her. "You are not just cheating me. You are insulting the Ruler of these lands."

  "Lara, let's just go somewhere else," I interjected, trying to de-escalate before she burned the shop down.

  "Don't threaten me, abomination!" The Dwarf stepped forward, teeth bared. "Ten gold, and get out of my sight!"

  "This will be in my report," Lara said coldly, slamming coins onto the counter.

  "Go ahead," the Dwarf smirked, biting a coin. "I'm not scared of that abomination-lover."

  That did it.

  "Hey. Watch your mouth," I snapped, stepping up. "Show the lady some respect."

  The Dwarf stared at me. Then he threw his head back and laughed. A loud, guttural, mocking roar that shook the walls.

  "This? A lady? Bwah-ha-ha!" He clutched his belly. "Nivarns are ladies now! Oh, that's rich! Thanks for the laugh, kid!"

  "Alistair, let's go." Lara cut through the noise. Her face was a frozen mask again. She grabbed the gear, shoved it into my hands, and marched out.

  I followed, fuming. The Dwarf's laughter chased us down the street.

  "Lara, what does that word mean?" I asked.

  "Better you do not know... for as long as possible," she whispered, her expression bleak.

  "Why?"

  "Tell me... how do you see me, Sir Alistair?" she deflected.

  "Hard to say. We just met," I caught up to her. "But you seem responsible. Polite. And, well... sweet."

  Sweet? God, I'm awkward.

  "And, obviously, incredibly beautiful," I added.

  "Beautiful...?" Lara stopped dead. She blinked, looking genuinely confused. Like she’d never heard the word applied to her before.

  "Yeah," I smiled. "Beautiful. Ask anyone. I haven't met other Elf girls yet, but you're definitely top tier."

  I would have been a stuttering mess in real life, but here? It felt easy.

  "Elf girls... Yes, they are truly beautiful," she murmured. Her voice was wistful, sad. "Please. Never... never tell anyone you said that about me."

  "Why?"

  "It is better this way." Her face shut down. Teacher Mode engaged. "We need armor. Then we are done for the day."

  "Already? The sun's still up."

  We hit an armor shop next. The seller—another Dwarf—was polite. No insults, no sneers. We bought leather armor for seven gold. Maybe not all Dwarves were racists. Just the weapon guy.

  "Tomorrow, the Explorers Guild. Choose your first mission responsibly," Lara said, sounding like she was sending me to war.

  "With your help, I can't fail," I grinned.

  Her eyes went dead. She looked at the ground.

  "I do not think you will fail," she whispered. "If you have no further need of me, I will take my leave. I have reports to file. Follow this street to the inn."

  "Sure, Lara. See you tomorrow."

  "Farewell." She gave a stiff bow and vanished around the corner.

  I stood there, watching her go, wondering what kind of darkness lived behind those sad blue eyes.

  "Wolf, got a minute?"

  I logged out and found the old man in the cafeteria. I needed to talk to a human.

  "Of course, kid. Always happy for company." In reality, Wolf was shorter, hunched with age. But the voice was the same—steel wrapped in velvet.

  "Don't you think the NPCs are... too alive?" I asked.

  "We talked about this," Wolf rubbed his chin. "Advanced AI. State of the art."

  "What if... it's not artificial?"

  "Hmm. You think they're actors? Or the devs?"

  "I don't know. But I have this gut feeling. They feel as real as you and me."

  "Occam's Razor, my young friend," Wolf smiled. "Don't look for supernatural explanations when a simple one fits. The simplest answer is usually the truth. It's a simulation. A masterpiece, yes. But a simulation. We are the only living things in there."

  "Maybe you're right," I sighed. "But is it really that simple?"

  "I didn't say it was simple," Wolf’s eyes twinkled. "Imagine the computing power. We are on the threshold of a new era. But remember: we are the players."

  I went back to the pod.

  Night had fallen in Artea, but the giant planet in the sky acted as a massive celestial nightlight. The crystals in my room glowed with soft, magical luminescence.

  Is this really fake?

  The taste of food. The smell of rain. The pain in my shoulder. The warmth of Lara’s lap.

  I tossed and turned. I couldn't sleep. I tried logging out to sleep in the bunker, but my thoughts were louder there. So I jacked back in.

  Eventually, I drifted off.

  I dreamed of battle. A shattered shield. A broken sword.

  I looked back. Lara lay on the ground, unconscious. Not dead—I knew that much.

  I turned forward.

  From the darkness, eyes watched me. Scarlet eyes, burning like coals, framed by blonde hair that floated in the air like smoke.

  Thanks for reading!

  So, Alistair gets a crash course in Artea's magic system (literally crashing into a wall). We also get a first-hand look at the ugly side of Evandar and how this world treats Nivarns. That dwarven shopkeeper definitely isn't winning any "Employee of the Month" awards.

  Question for the readers: What do you think about the magic system so far? No floating blue screens or instant skill downloads—just raw instinct, mana, and a very painful learning curve. Let me know in the comments!

  P.S. If you're enjoying the dynamic between Alistair and Lara, don't forget to add the story to your Follows / Read Later list! It really helps the algorithm.