The next morning came faster than Clayton would've liked.
Muscles ached from the previous night's training session, and the memory of Cynthia's voice still echoed as he got dressed.
"Power demands a shape. If you don't define it, someone else will."
His wristband lit up with his updated schedule. First day of electives.
Three new classes. Three distinct energies.
He bolted through a lukewarm breakfast and dashed across the stone paths to the Spiral Archive, home of his first elective: Deck Analysis and Reconstruction.
The Archive shimmered with moving shelves, levitating scrolls, and slates that scribbled diagrams by themselves. It was like stepping into a brain mid-thought.
The instructor didn't wait for latecomers.
"Every card is a choice," she said. "Your victories are the proof of good choices. Your failures? Proof you didn't think hard enough."
Clayton took a seat at the far edge. Students here wore Gold Fang pins, sat straight-backed, and flipped through decks like surgeons preparing for an operation.
Their task was immediate: break down their current deck, then adapt it to a projected simulation—fog-thick terrain, broken visibility, and a stealth-type opponent.
Stimulus cards were provided for the practice match. Cards that mimicked real ones but vanished at the end of the session.
He examined one: Flickerfield Veil — "Grants invisibility for two turns, but halves physical defense while active." Interesting.
Another: Anchor Sigil — "Fixes one terrain feature, negating illusion-based manipulation within a 3-meter radius."
He traded in his standard combo for something more suited to the task. No point in using his permanent deck here. That included his Monocle of Insight, his unique card, which pulsed faintly inside his satchel but remained unused.
In the simulation, he stabilized the battlefield with Anchor Sigil, then followed with Pulse Net—a trap card that revealed hidden enemies within its arcane lattice.
The illusionist student flinched when her position was revealed mid-cast. Clayton followed up with Hollow Strike—a low-AP projection attack that damaged stamina more than health.
By the end of the test, the instructor paused at his table. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Antigonus. You understand leverage."
He didn't know if that was praise or a warning.
Next up was Mental Fortification Through Arcane Patterning, a Pioneer Tower specialty.
A quiet, circular room. No duels. No flashy magic. Just ink, breath, and focus.
Their instructor, an Adept with a scar crossing one sealed eye, spoke in whispers that demanded attention.
"This class is about shaping pressure. The mind cracks before the body does. You'll learn to hold the pressure without letting it become you."
Each student was handed a pattern scroll and a stimulus brush—infused with minor arcane conductivity.
The glyphs had to be redrawn freehand, then activated through breathing exercises.
Clayton worked slowly. Every motion mattered. The ink reacted to emotional surges, glowing brighter with instability.
When he drew the spiral of Mindlock Bind—a pattern used to suppress intrusive thoughts—the ink glowed faintly, but didn't spike.
Progress.
The instructor passed behind him and murmured, "Your imprint resists strain well. Have you anchored your emotional core yet?"
Clayton shook his head, cautious.
The Adept didn't press. Just moved on.
By the end of the session, Clayton felt lighter. Not relaxed—but aligned.
Then came his final elective: Tactical Card Adaptation, taught under an open arena. No chairs. Just chalked rings and a heavy sun overhead.
The Gold Fangs instructor was all muscle and gravel. "Anyone can memorize a combo. Real weavers adapt mid-swing."
Pairs were assigned. Scenario cards handed out. Random variables, environmental changes, mid-duel conditions. Clayton's match was against an Iron Ring student with a brute-force style and no patience.
Perfect.
His provided cards included Root Lash—"Binds the opponent's legs with arcane vines, reducing speed," and Rebound Crest—"Reflects the next minor spell cast at you. One use."
His opponent opened with Burn Trail, a short-range flame swipe.
Clayton faked a stumble, activated Rebound Crest, and sent the flame flying back. The crowd hissed. Next, he triggered Root Lash, pinning the heavier boy just long enough to follow up with Cloak Pulse—a speed-boost dash card that made him blur past the counterstrike.
He landed behind the boy, tapped his shoulder, and the match ended.
Even the instructor grunted approval.
"You adapt faster than most."
Clayton didn't respond. He was sweating, but inside, he was calculating.
By the time the final bell glyph echoed across the arena, he didn't head for his dorm.
Instead, he drifted toward an abandoned practice yard—old stone, weeds growing between cracks, echoes of past duels humming underfoot.
He knelt and pulled out his Monocle of Insight.
It was unlike any card in the deck. Unlike any card at all.
Golden-rimmed, etched with glasslike glyphs that refused to stay still. It felt… aware.
Its effect wasn't always clear. Sometimes it amplified perception, and sometimes it revealed the inner mechanics of another's card. Once, it had shown him his own arcane field fracturing in slow motion.
He activated it now.
The world stilled.
Every line of the stone glowed faintly. Arcane traces, even in decay. The glyphs in the monocle's lens twisted, scanning something unseen.
Then—
A flicker. Not in the stone.
In the card itself.
Like a layer peeling.
He didn't dare push further.
"Still playing with secrets?" came a voice.
Cynthia.
She leaned against the rusted gate, arms folded. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp.
"You should be careful with that thing. It might look like a tool, but it's testing you back."
Clayton pocketed the card.
"I know."
She walked over, joining him on the cracked tile.
"I watched your last duel," she said. "Fast hands. Smarter plays. The instructors are talking."
"Good or bad?"
"Does it matter?" She smiled. "They're noticing."
He looked at her sideways. "And you?"
Cynthia crouched and drew a chalk rune with her finger on the stone. "I think you've got potential. But you need more control. You're still fighting like someone trying not to break."
"That's because I am."
She didn't laugh.
Instead, she stood and offered a hand.
"Train again tomorrow?"
He took it.
And for the first time in a while, the hand wasn't cold.