The squelching of wet clay echoed through the room as the students began their first hands-on lesson.
Clay was hauled in by pre-made golems, which looked exactly like the illustrations in a textbook. They placed the heavy mounds across the worn worktables.
Some students prodded it uncertainly, more accustomed to velvet-bound grimoires than anything this visceral.
Lucien had claimed a bench near the front, not far from where Vellichor stood in silent observation. He rolled up his sleeves and plunged his hands into the cold, wet material, and after a few moments forced it into a rough approximation of a torso.
It was deeply inelegant work. The clay resisted him like a living thing. Sticky and uncooperative.
Others fared no better.
One student across the room had created what looked like a lump of bread dough with stick arms.
Another had attempted a spider-like construct, but its limbs sagged comically under their own weight and then shortly collapsed.
Still, some were more ambitious.
A girl with pale hair tied back, maybe a third-year, had sculpted a humanoid figure with almost elven features, long-limbed and pointed ears.
She had an eye on aesthetics instead of function.
Her fingers moved with the precision of a trained sculptor, every motion deliberate. Her hand was steady even when other students sneezed or cursed nearby.
Vellichor paused behind her and raised an eyebrow.
He simply watched for a moment, then moved on.
Lucien took note. If he would pursue praise, he couldn't put too much stock in the looks of his golem. Not that he was a very skilled sculptor, but his creation was beginning to look like something worthwhile.
Unlike across the room, where the inevitable happened.
With a loud splorch, one of the golems collapsed into a slumping heap of wet clay, sliding slowly off the table like a dying slug.
Its creator, a tall man with ink-stained hands and a horrified expression, looked around as though betrayed.
Vellichor turned toward him.
"I guess there was too much moisture. Try again, we have enough materials," he said.
The boy swallowed and nodded, already reaching for a fresh lump of clay.
Then came a spectacle.
Near the center of the room, a student had drawn a small crowd, not of people, but of stares; not by shouting or action, but through skill.
His name was Jeremie. A broad-shouldered youth known for his artistic spellwork and taste for theatricality.
Lucien had met him once at a student forum: charming, arrogant, and undeniably gifted.
His golem was… him. Not merely humanoid. Not abstract.
It was Jeremie in miniature.
Perfectly sculpted musculature. Chiseled jaw. Even the swoop of hair across the forehead, detailed down to the mole just below his left eye.
His hands supporting the delicate neck structure like a jeweler handling glass.
Someone let out a low whistle. Someone else muttered, "Show-off."
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
"It's arrogant. But impressive. He'll earn Vellichor's attention, or his disdain."
Vellichor, slowly making his way through the room, eventually came to a stop before the statue.
He furrowed his brow, too subtle for most, but it didn't escape Lucien.
Jeremie smirked faintly, holding his creation like a babe in his arms.
"I guess you model it on yourself?" Vellichor said.
"Yes, Master," Jeremie said. "It helps to know the material intimately. I know how I move. My posture. My stride. I can visualize the balance."
A pause.
"The human face is a bit flawed when it comes to golem design. You will now be forced to account for the limitations of human symmetry in your glyph placement. The body is not a convenient canvas. You've made your task harder."
A few students exchanged glances. Jeremie's smirk tightened.
"And worse," Vellichor added, "if it animates and fails, it will look like you."