Chapter 79: Tracks
Vaencel allowed the weight of his words to settle before he turned back to the blackboard, where his aides had drawn clean lines beneath the evaluation diagram, outlining a new section.
At the top of the board, they wrote in neat block letters:
"Academic Structure & Advancement Protocols."
The instructor placed the chalk against the board and, with practiced movements, began sketching a long vertical stack of boxes, ten in total, each labeled with a number.
“This,” he said, tapping the stack, “is your academic trajectory, should you survive long enough to complete it.”
A few students straightened in their seats.
Others exchanged glances.
The weight behind his words made it hard to tell if he was exaggerating.
“The full program at Twilight Crown Academy consists of ten semesters, divided over the course of five academic years. Each year is split into two semesters, one in the waxing season, one in the waning.”
He gestured to the first three boxes.
“The first three semesters, that is, your first year and a half, are what we call the General Pathway. You will take a rotating slate of foundational subjects across magical theory, practical spellcraft, enchantment handling, historical application of arcana, and physical and mental conditioning. This is not optional. It is the bedrock upon which all other education is built.”
Lucien felt a quiet hum in his chest.
This sounded serious.
Comprehensive.
Vaencel moved his hand to the remaining seven boxes.
The chalk clicked as he underlined them with precision.
“Semester Four through Semester Ten, the Specialization Period. From your second year onward, your curriculum will be based on your declared focus. This is where your career path is defined. Whether you choose to become an enchanter, battle mage, magical engineer, arcanobiologist, diplomat, wardsmith, necrologist, or dozens of other disciplines, this is where you begin walking that road.”
He turned from the board, clasping his hands again.
“You will also be required to undergo fieldwork and apprenticeships during this time. Some of you will be sent to observe real-world applications of your craft. Some of you will be assigned to remote labs, field units, or partnered workshops. You will earn your place in the world while still a student.”
There was an edge to his voice now.
Not harsh, but firm.
“And now, the part that will test your resolve more than any monster or spell.”
He raised a single gloved finger.
“The Credit System.”
There was a shift in the air.
The murmurs that had begun died away again.
Vaencel’s aide unveiled another panel of the board, this one bearing a column of numbers beside categories labeled Theoretical, Practical, Field Credit, and Research Bonus.
“The academy runs on a strict credit-based system. Every semester, you must earn the minimum required credits in order to pass and progress.”
His voice became clipped, each word emphasized with deliberate clarity.
“If you fail to collect the required credit total by the end of a semester, you will be barred from advancing to the next. Not only that, your credits for that semester will be reset. You will begin again from zero.”
Gasps rippled across the room.
“Let me be clear,” he said, voice like frost, “this is not cruelty. This is calibration. It is better you learn what is required of you in a controlled environment than die ignorant in the field.”
Lucien blinked.
‘Harsh’, he thought.
‘But fair.’
“For your first semester, the requirements are simple.”
Vaencel turned and tapped the board again.
“You must pass three theoretical courses and one practical examination. That will be your foundational score.”
He paused for effect.
“You may choose these courses freely.”
A collective exhale moved through the room.
“However,” he added, raising a hand, “once the courses are selected and officially registered, you may not switch midway through the semester. Unless, of course, you intend to void your progress and begin anew.”
Lucien internally grimaced.
‘That sounded… punishing. No safety nets.’
“Which is why,” Vaencel said, voice warming slightly for the first time, “we allow you, and encourage you, to use this opening period of the semester to explore. You have been granted a privilege that future semesters will not allow: the freedom to audit any class for the first few weeks.”
Students perked up.
“You may attend as many lectures as you wish. Observe. Sample. Understand the nature of each discipline, its demands, its pace, its risks. This is your moment to explore your strengths and curiosities. To see what resonates. What challenges you. What calls to you.”
Lucien felt a flicker of something stir in him, possibility.
Vaencel’s tone dipped again into seriousness.
“Instructors will provide guidance based on the data we gathered from your written entrance exam and the aptitude trials. They may suggest courses you’re better suited for. You’d be wise to listen. But the final choice is yours.”
He stepped back from the board, arms folded neatly behind his back.
“That said, once your final selections are made, they are locked. And what you begin, you must finish. No resets. No retries. Until the semester ends.”
Silence settled again, thick and thoughtful.
Then Vaencel inclined his head slightly.
“This academy does not teach children. It tempers minds and bodies until they are tools worthy of shaping the world, or warns them that they are not.”
He gave a ghost of a smile.
“But I believe you will choose wisely.”
With that, he stepped back and motioned for his aides, who began cleaning the board for the next phase of the seminar.
***
As his aides resumed erasing the blackboard, Vaencel stepped forward once again, folding his hands neatly behind his back.
The room had settled into a still quiet, the kind born of intense information absorption, and perhaps a pinch of dread.
“Now then,” he began, his voice returning to its more neutral timbre, “before we conclude, allow me to address something that is, shall we say, statistically curious.”
He let the pause linger just long enough for the room’s collective interest to reignite.
“This year’s entrance exam results,” he said, slowly pacing along the front of the room, “were… peculiar.”
He did not elaborate immediately. Instead, he gestured subtly to the aides, who rolled back the blackboard to reveal a large parchment affixed to the wooden wall behind it.
It bore a vertical line graph, though the details were too faint for those seated at the back to decipher.
“Historically,” Vaencel continued, “the number of students who pass the aptitude exams falls within a predictable margin. A certain percentage weeded out by the theoretical exam, more filtered through the field trials, and then those who make it through, tried, tested, and few.”
He gave a tight-lipped smile.
“This year, however… the margin shifted. Quite significantly.”
A ripple of uncertain murmurs buzzed at the edges of the room.
“More of you passed than our projections accounted for. In fact, the total number of qualifying students from all sectors surpassed the upper ceiling of our models.”
He turned his gaze to the right of the room, and for a fleeting moment, his silver eyes landed squarely on the Ruby Sector group.
Lucien felt a prickle race across his back.
He straightened in his seat on instinct, eyes briefly meeting Balt’s.
Corin, beside them, shifted as well, looking around as if wondering whether someone else was being stared at.
Vaencel’s eyes lingered, on Lucien, on the hammer-wielding girl near the end of the row, and then briefly on the quiet spear wielder seated near the center.
“Several anomalies disrupted the usual variables this year,” he said, measured and precise, “Some of them were… beneficial.”
He paused.
A soft cough broke the silence from the back.
“Others…”
He trailed off, his voice dipping into something unreadable, “…are being investigated.”
Another pause.
Students shifted in their seats.
The air grew taut again, as if everyone were waiting for him to explain more.
But he didn’t.
“You needn’t worry yourselves over it,” Vaencel said at last, with a dismissive flick of his fingers.
“It is not your burden to carry. Focus instead on your studies and conduct. That is what lies within your control.”
He let the tension dissolve, and smoothly shifted gears.
“Now, onto more mundane, but no less important, matters, campus etiquette and island protocols.”
Another parchment was unrolled behind him, this one far more colorful, displaying the island layout, the academy sectors, and the town areas below the cliffs.
“Dress code is to be adhered to during all official lectures, evaluations, and campus assemblies. Uniforms are enchanted for utility, protection, and identification. You may not tamper with them without instructor clearance.”
Several students groaned faintly.
“You may request modifications for accessibility, magical resonance compatibility, or cultural attire adaptation, but this must be filed through the Wardens’ Office, with two faculty co-signatures.”
Another wave of mutters.
“Off-campus access to the lower towns is allowed, but only with a written permission slip from your assigned Warden. This slip is to be presented upon exiting and re-entering the northern gate checkpoint.”
Lucien blinked.
‘So no sneaking out at midnight… damn.’
“Any excursions without documentation will be treated as disciplinary violations. Repeat offenses will affect your credits. Severe infractions will lead to formal hearings.”
He didn’t have to raise his voice for the message to sink in.
“And finally,” Vaencel said, his gaze sweeping once more across the rows of attentive faces, “no student is permitted to leave the island unless granted an official application of leave or absence. This is a magical and political security measure. There are forces outside these walls that would take interest in you, for better or worse. We do not risk exposing half-trained students to external threats.”
The silence was absolute.
“If you are caught attempting to leave without clearance,” he added, tone sharpened like a blade, “you will face punishment up to and including suspension from the Academy.”
Lucien stole a glance at Balt.
The latter gave a small, tight shrug that said, ‘Well, that’s firm.’
“And,” Vaencel finished, a finality to his voice, “do not test the warding systems around the island’s periphery. They are neither lenient nor forgiving.”
With a final nod, he gestured for the aides to step forward again.
“That will conclude your orientation seminar. You are dismissed to explore the academic wing and review the course offerings for the first semester. The full catalogue of subjects will be available in the Grand Rotunda by midday. You may begin auditing this evening.”
He paused, eyes softening ever so slightly.
“And welcome to Twilight Crown Academy. May you rise as the storm, not drown beneath it.”
With that, he turned and strode from the hall, leaving behind a room full of new students with heads full of rules, fears… and possibilities.
