​The mechanical bell was ear-splitting—BRRRIIING!—its vibrations traveling from the stone walls down to the wooden tiles beneath Raphael’s feet. The sound still felt foreign, an anomaly amidst the usual silence of Iron Hearth, which was typically filled only by the roar of factory engines. For some students, it was the bell of freedom; for others, it was the signal to begin a new Chapter of the day.

​A mass of students spilled out from the large classrooms, creating two contrasting currents. The Advanced group marched with chins held high and steady strides—they had a purpose. Meanwhile, the Basic group moved more slowly, punctuated by light laughter or the shuffling sound of paper being hurriedly stuffed into bags. The scent of old wood and the sharp aroma of ink filled the corridors.

​Raphael stood frozen in the middle of the crowd, his fingers clenching a single sheet of schedule. Military Strategy – Sergeant Garon. "Hmm, good," he muttered softly. At least here, he didn’t have to worry about which spoon to use first. This was his world. The smell of sweat, faded maps, and the ring of steel.

​Just as he was about to step forward, a gravelly voice stopped him.

​"Sudrath."

​Raphael turned quickly. Sergeant Garon stood at the classroom doorway, hands on his hips, his posture as upright as a cannon ready to fire. His sharp eyes swept over Raphael, assessing every inch of muscle and the way the youth carried himself.

​"So you’re the new student everyone’s talking about, eh?"

​"Raphael Sudrath, Sergeant." Raphael straightened his back—a military reflex hard to shake.

​"I know who you are. Everyone in Northreach knows who you are." Garon approached, the sound of his boots heavy on the floor. Thud! Thud! "Have you tasted the scent of blood on the battlefield before?"

​"I have. At Northveil."

​"The front lines?"

​Raphael paused for a moment. He spat to the side—an old habit of soldiers to clear the bitter taste from their tongues. "No. I was in the bunker. Managing logistics and evacuation."

​Garon nodded slowly, a thin, almost invisible smile appearing behind his coarse beard. "Hmm, at least you’re honest. Most noble brats would boast as if they’d decapitated the enemy general single-handedly." Garon gestured toward the hallway with his chin. "Your specialized classes don’t start until tomorrow. Today, you have only one task: study the terrain."

​"What terrain? This is a school, not a forest."

​"This school is your terrain now. Study the corridors. Observe the people. Find a place where you can see everything without needing to flaunt your prince’s face." Garon crossed his arms. "Observation is the foundation of strategy. You cannot draw a map if you don’t know where your feet are planted."

​Raphael nodded in understanding. "Understood. Observation."

​"And don’t be late tomorrow. A minute here is worth as much as a life at the front." Garon turned away abruptly, leaving Raphael in the now-empty corridor.

​In the Basic classroom, the atmosphere was vastly different. The glow of gas lamps flickered warmly, illuminating Sera as she stood before the blackboard. Facing her, Kell and Barret—two grown men with scarred faces—sat hunched over small desks. Their hands, which usually gripped sword hilts, now looked clumsy holding wooden pencils.

​"Today, we will read a short story," Sera’s voice was gentle, contrasting with the cold air outside. She wasn’t the type of teacher to slam a ruler on the desk; she simply watched her students with patient eyes. "Who wants to try first?"

​Silence. Several students looked down, pretending to be busy with their nails. However, one tiny hand shot up, nearly causing its owner to fall off the chair.

​Mira. The nine-year-old girl looked incredibly eager. Only three days ago, she had sobbed because she couldn’t tell the difference between the letters ’A’ and ’O’.

​"Mira? Please, dear."

​Mira stood up, her fingers gripping the edge of the paper until it was slightly wrinkled. She stared at the letters before her, taking a deep breath as if preparing to jump into a river. Her lips moved slightly, spelling out the words with great effort.

​"To... day... I... am... learn... ing... to... read."

​Her voice was small and halting, yet in that room, every syllable sounded like the boom of a war drum. Barret leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Mira with the intensity he usually used to scout enemies. Kell squeezed his pencil until a small crack was heard, as if channeling his strength into the little girl.

​"I... can... read!"

​The last sentence exploded with absolute conviction. Mira stared at her paper, then turned to Sera with eyes that sparkled.

​Sera clapped her hands softly. "Wonderful, Mira! That was perfect pronunciation!"

​Instantly, the room erupted. Barret slammed the table with his wide palm—Brak!—as a substitute for applause. Kell gave a short whistle with a wide grin that was rarely seen. It was a small victory, but for those who had just emerged from the darkness of illiteracy, it was a revolution.

​In the afternoon, the home bell rang. Raphael walked toward the gate at a leisurely pace, trying to practice Garon’s advice to "observe."

​"My, the prince can actually walk slowly too?"

​Raphael turned. Elodie was already beside him, having appeared from some unknown gap. She grinned widely, revealing a row of neat teeth.

​"I’m in no hurry."

​"That’s good to hear." Elodie walked alongside him, her steps light as if she carried no burden at all. "You know, Sister Raveena taught in a very strange way today. I still feel like this is a dream."

​"Strange how?"

​"She didn’t tell us to ’meditate’ or ’feel the flow of nature.’ She told us to calculate!" Elodie moved her hands expressively in the air. "She said mana is like water. It has pressure, it has volume. If we can measure the pressure, we can control the flow as we wish."

​Raphael frowned, trying to digest the logic. "Mana... like water?"

​"Yes! Sister Raveena called it... hydro... hydrodynamics? Ah, forget it, my tongue almost tripped. The point is, magic can be calculated using formulas, just like Sister Elara’s mathematics."

​Raphael thought of Rianor. "Hmm, my brother Rianor would be very pleased to hear that. He always says even feelings are just chemical reactions in the head."

​"Feelings too?" Elodie frowned, her nose scrunching up cutely. "But my plants don’t grow just because of chemicals. They grow because I... love them."

​Raphael didn’t respond. He simply watched how Elodie’s eyes lit up whenever she mentioned the plants. There was a pure passion there.

​"You know," Elodie continued, "Sister Raveena said I have talent. She said I’ve been flowing mana into the roots since I was a kid without realizing it. Now I just need to learn how to ’turn the tap’."

​"And, can you do it yet?"

​Elodie nodded firmly. "Watch this." The girl stopped at the side of the road near a crack in a stone where a withered wild flower grew. Elodie reached out her hand. Raphael narrowed his eyes, and he saw it—the faint veins in Elodie’s hand glowed with a very thin, pale blue light.

​Slowly, the brown petals began to lift. They didn’t bloom perfectly, but it was enough to show life pulsing back into them.

​"You... actually did it?"

​"Just a little. I still fail a lot." Elodie pulled her hand back. "I used to only be able to do this when I was sad or angry. Now, I can do it whenever I want because I know the formula."

​They resumed walking. Elodie talked about her past in the village, about how people regarded her magic as a strange curse.

​"You aren’t strange," Raphael interrupted suddenly. "You’re just... different."

​"Eh? Isn’t that the same thing?"

​"No. Strange is bad. Different is... interesting."

​Elodie smiled faintly. "My, you’re starting to talk like Sister Raveena."

​"I’m not sure if that’s a compliment."

​They reached a fork in the road. "I have to go this way. Want to come along?" Elodie pointed toward the green outskirts of the city.

​"Where to?"

​"To the fields where my parents work. It’s not far, but then again... a prince like you probably doesn’t like the smell of soil."

​Raphael stared at the path. The fields. Something so far removed from castle protocol. "Fine. Show me."

​The farmland was vast, filled with giant greenhouses made of glass and steel frames. Steam pipes from the main factory wound around the structures, emitting a soft hiss as they channeled heat into the soil to prevent the plants from freezing to death.

​The farmers worked with a steady rhythm. When they saw Raphael, the atmosphere suddenly stiffened. Elodie’s father, a man with skin as tough as tree bark, nearly dropped his harvest basket.

​"Your Highness... Prince Raphael?" His voice trembled. He hurried to bow, nearly kissing the ground in his nervousness.

​"Relax, Father. He’s my friend," Elodie calmed her father casually, as if bringing a prince to the middle of a field was part of her daily routine.

​Elodie’s mother came out from behind the greenhouse, frantically wiping soil-stained hands on her apron. "We... we didn’t prepare a welcome..."

​"It’s alright," Raphael said quickly, feeling a bit awkward. "I just wanted to take a look."

​Elodie led Raphael to a small plot in the corner of the greenhouse. There, various sprouts grew in unique ways—some winding around poles in patterns too neat to be called natural.

​"Sister Raveena said I could experiment here. A place to fail, she said."

​"And have you failed?"

​"Often!" Elodie laughed merrily. "See that pot over there? It used to be a tomato. But I was too eager in giving it mana; the roots exploded in growth and choked the stem until it died."

​Raphael almost laughed at the term "exploding garden," but he held it back.

​Elodie stopped before a small sprout that looked fresh. She reached out, and this time the glow was clearer. Fine roots emerged from the surface of the soil, winding around the plant’s stem as if embracing it. The plant grew several centimeters taller within seconds. Its leaves turned green instantly, appearing lustrous under the steam lamps.

​Raphael was mesmerized. He had seen cannons destroy fortresses, had seen his brothers fight monsters. But this... this was something sacred. The creation of life amidst a deadly winter.

​"Why do you like this so much?" Raphael asked quietly.

​Elodie touched the leaf with her fingertip. "Because plants never judge me. They don’t care if I’m a farmer’s child or not. As long as I give them love and the right ’mana pressure,’ they will grow." She turned to Raphael. "I like something honest like that."

​Raphael went silent. He remembered how fed up he was at the Sol-Regis Academy, where everyone only saw him as "Riven’s shadow."

​"I understand what you mean," Raphael murmured.

​Night began to fall, enveloping Iron Hearth in shades of deep violet. Lights began to flicker on in the small windows of the workers’ houses surrounding the fields.

​As they said their goodbyes, Elodie’s parents bowed respectfully once more. "Thank you for visiting, Your Highness."

​"Thank you for having me," Raphael replied. He looked at Elodie. "And thank you for bringing me here."

​Elodie smirked. "You aren’t as grim as you look, Prince."

​"I’m not grim."

​"Hmm, your face always looks like you want to challenge everyone who passes to a duel."

​Raphael snorted, but this time there was a faint smile on his face. "That is just my natural face."

​"In that case, learn how to change it. That’s basic etiquette, isn’t it?"

​They shared a small laugh together, a light sound in the middle of the freezing night air. Raphael walked back toward the castle, but this time his steps felt lighter. He turned once more toward the dimly lit greenhouse in the distance.

​Perhaps, he thought, true power doesn’t always come from massive explosions or the swing of a sword. Sometimes, it exists in the corner of a field, with a girl who understands how to talk to roots.

​"See you tomorrow," he whispered to the night wind. And for the first time, Raphael Sudrath felt that tomorrow was a day worth looking forward to.