If someone had told Kael Vire that today's class would actually matter, he might've skipped it harder.
But here he was. Seated in the back row of Lecture Wing Seven, surrounded by high-born heirs, magical prodigies, and destiny-stained do-gooders, all watching a floating diagram of a glowing human Core spin slowly in the air like it had stock options in dramatic tension.
Kael slouched just enough to suggest fatigue but not enough to invite questions. His boots were propped on the rung of the stone bench in front of him, one arm stretched along the backrest like he owned it. Which, in a way, he did—he was a Vire, after all.
"I swear," he muttered to himself, "if this turns into another 'Power is Responsibility' speech, I'm snapping my Core in half and calling it character development."
[SYSTEM: That would be unwise.][Also mildly impressive.]
He ignored it.
Below, the amphitheater buzzed. Crystalline projectors pulsed in the center stage, displaying complex magical systems with elegant loops and glowing pathways. Nobles and commoners alike filed into the semicircle seats, most in uniform, some already with textbooks hovering beside them.
Kael's eyes drifted over the students.
And—of course—landed on the front row.
The Heroes™.
Arin Solari and his glittering six-person narrative support squad sat in formation like they were posing for a recruitment poster. Hair perfect, expressions intense, backs straight like they were competing in posture contests. Each one of them practically exuded protagonist-grade determination.
It was disgusting.
Kael clicked his tongue and leaned further back.
He caught snippets of conversations as others settled into their seats:
"He's really here? Kael Vire?"
"I thought he was still in recovery…"
"Did you see him in combat class earlier? He smiled. I didn't know his face could do that."
"I heard he joked with Niaomi Starstriker and lived."
Let them talk. That was the point.
If people were confused, they weren't suspicious. And if they weren't suspicious, they'd stop trying to guess what he was doing—which was mostly, at the moment, surviving with style.
The lights dimmed.
And then, floating five inches above the ground in robes so dense with magical threading they had their own gravitational pull, came Arch-Instructor Parxel Volund.
A silence fell like someone had cast Mute over the room.
"Welcome," the old man said, his voice dry but precise. "Today's subject: Post-Dominion Core Theory, Drift Instability, and the Lattice Paradox."
He waved a hand. The floating diagram in the center exploded into a 3D blueprint of a humanoid figure, with six rotating spheres circling a glowing Core in the chest.
"The human magical core," Parxel said, "is not a generator. It is a gate. A processor. A conduit between aether and identity."
Kael smirked. "Can't wait for the pop quiz on soul architecture."
Parxel launched into the lecture without delay.
"Each Core chooses—or is chosen by—a Path. There are four principal Paths: Synth-Knight, Sigilcaster, Netwalker, and, yes, the Divine Anomaly."
He gestured, and each sigil appeared in glowing succession.
"Who here can define them?"
Hands shot up. Arin's, of course, was first.
"Solari," Parxel said.
"Synth-Knights focus on physical enhancement," Arin said smoothly. "They amplify strength, speed, and durability. Most martial combatants favor this Path."
"Correct. And another?"
Aeris raised her hand. "Sigilcasters manipulate structured runes and spell arrays. Their power scales with complexity."
"Very good. And Netwalkers?"
A pause. Then Fenn hesitantly spoke up.
"They, uh, link with old systems? Digital magic? Glitchy stuff?"
Laughter stirred around him. Parxel gave a small nod.
"Crude. But not incorrect."
He turned to the class. "Netwalkers channel residual coding from the Lattice—pre-cataclysm magic-tech infrastructure. They function like aether hackers."
Kael muttered, "And die like them, too."
Unfortunately, Parxel's hearing was still terrifyingly sharp.
"Vire," he said, turning toward the back row. "Would you care to elaborate?"
Kael raised his eyebrows. "Me? Oh no, I'm just here to enjoy the explosions."
Several students snorted.
Parxel didn't smile. "You've read the advanced theory texts, have you not?"
Kael blinked.
"I… might've skimmed a few."
That wasn't true. He'd read the entire novel twice. Including the appendices, footnotes, and lore glossaries. He knew more about this world's magical theory than the authors of some textbooks.
Parxel waved a hand. "Then answer this: why is Core Drift feared?"
Kael stretched lazily, pretending to think.
"Well," he said, drawing out the word, "because it means the Core won't settle. It can't choose a Path. So you get pieces—like Synth-Knight reflexes mixed with Netwalker resonance or Sigil drift in physical enhancement. Which sounds fun until your heart stops syncing with your own aether output and your brain explodes."
The room went still.
Parxel stared.
Aeris turned halfway in her seat again.
Kael cleared his throat. "Or so I've heard."
Parxel seemed... intrigued. That was rare.
"Indeed. Drifted Cores are rare and highly unstable. Most die. Those who live are often unable to fight without burning out."
Kael stayed quiet. He could feel eyes on him.
"However," Parxel continued, "some believe Drift is not a flaw, but a fragment of something older."
He expanded the projection, revealing a cracked world map.
"Before the Fracture, when gods still walked the lattice roads and the sky bled aetheric fire, Cores did not drift. They adapted. Multi-path resonance was normal. It was only after the Old Collapse that we began fearing it."
Kael leaned forward, slightly.
This part wasn't in the academy curriculum.
It was hidden in a late-chapter lore drop of the novel.
He smiled faintly.
So the story was still throwing curveballs.
Parxel continued.
"The dominant theory is that modern Drift reflects a damaged world. That our Core system—once divine—is now fractured, like the world itself."
He turned to the class again.
"Now. Who can name the six traits of Core configuration?"
Arin's hand lifted immediately. "Dominion, Direction, Density, Drift, Discipline, and Drive."
Parxel nodded. "Recited like scripture."
He turned again—toward Kael.
"Alternate model, Vire?"
Kael blinked. "You… want my take?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
Kael stood slowly, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Well, it's a bit fringe, but there's a theory that says the Six Traits aren't Core fundamentals—they're overlays. Labels the Dominion Council enforced after the last Magequake. Before that, some texts suggest Cores were formed from a different system entirely."
The room was dead silent.
"Something called the 'Thread Spiral,'" Kael went on. "A kind of emotion-based alignment matrix—where will, memory, and trauma determined Core resonance. You didn't follow a path. You followed a self."
Even Parxel tilted his head at that.
"And where did you find this theory?"
Kael grinned. "Nightmares. And maybe a banned novella."
Laughter rippled. This time, less nervous.
The rest of class rolled on with less drama, but Kael felt the ripple he'd made continue.
Parxel gave him a rare nod at the end.
The heroes didn't speak to him, but they watched.
And as the class dismissed, Kael lingered a little longer, letting the others filter out.
He walked down to the central ring, staring at the now-dormant projection disk.
Then something flickered—just for him.
[CORE TRACE: Kael Vire – Drift Status: 34% Synth / 32% Sigil / 19% Netwalker / ??? UNKNOWN][Warning: Fourth thread detected.]
Kael swallowed.
"Fourth?"
[Unable to identify.]
[Core anomaly growing.]
He stood still.
Let the echo of the lecture fade.
Then whispered, "Of course it is."