Chapter 91: Chapty Ninety One
Enigma
An enigma is a person, situation, or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.
The classroom had beco exactly that.
And the biggest enigma stood before Nyssara.
Professor Zeke Vaughn.
She had been confused since the first day of class. In her not-so-small, not-so-grand life, she had t people of considerable strength and high standing. The best example was the eccentric dean who had offered her a place at this academy.
Eccentric as he was, he paled in comparison to her professor.
Maybe it was her perception, but against anything she had ever faced—even the dean—she could register at least a 0.1% chance of survival. Against her professor, she could not.
That feeling had shaped her behavior. She tried to anticipate his actions, to align her expectations with so coherent model of who he was.
He broke every convention.
One could be blunt and simply call him tardy and lazy. The class had certainly thought that before he appeared for the first ti. The thought persisted through the first week. She had tried to quell the class, going out on a limb to attribute sense to what otherwise seed like nonsense. She had propagated the theory that the professor wanted them to make friends, learn about the academy, read, and show effort—to prove they were worthy of their talents.
It was bullshit. But they had nothing else to go on.
A week later, the professor appeared again. She had expected excuses. Instead, he gave them another philosophy.
It was an eye-opener. For a class specially drafted by the dean, she had assud the professor would shape them into perfect students through endless instruction. But rather than over-teaching, he instilled philosophies that expanded their worldview—and increased his enigmatic presence.
Now, she expected berating. They had turned his test into a joke. She braced for punishnt.
Instead, he lashed out because they snitched?
Her mind reeled.
She had just faced one of the most terrifying auras in her not-so-small, not-so-grand life.
"You have a lot to learn, young Padawans."
Zeke tapped the podium with his fingers. He looked up at the class. The students were still recovering from the pressure they had felt monts ago.
"I gave you an assignnt. When the mont ca to present your growth, you were moved by the allure of learning about . You turned what should have been a mont of deep reflection into a joke."
He paused. His smile returned.
"Dope. One might call it Zeke-esque."
He made an OK sign with his fingers, his face splitting into a wide grin.
"It was a symbol of growth. The greatest symbol of growth, in fact. You have gone from strangers to people with a working pattern, an established synergy."
His smile faded.
"But you ruined it."
Zeke walked from the podium toward the middle row. As he drew closer, his voice carried.
"You ruined your show of camaraderie by succumbing to a stronger power."
He stopped at the first column, where Nyssara and Rhaegar stood.
"Rhaegar."
"Sir."
"You want to know about jolly old ?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you asking , or are you answering my question?"
He looked at the class. The students swallowed.
"We wanted to know about you, sir!"
Dean shouted it with his eyes closed, his hands pressed to his sides, his back straight, his head high—a soldier addressing his superior officer.
Zeke’s face split into a wide smile. He turned to face the rest of the students.
They got the ssage imdiately.
"We all wished to know about you, sir!"
They shouted it together, at the top of their lungs.
Clap.
"Spectacular." Zeke clapped once. "I knew I was goated. Kids want to learn of my legend."
He paused.
"But since we’re on the topic of growth, I’ll tell you about my growth since the first day we t."
The students leaned forward.
Zeke nodded. He andered between the podium and the rows of chairs, counting on his fingers as he spoke.
"I’ve slept more." One finger. "I’ve read. I read a lot of books so I wouldn’t look dumb." He paused. "Well, not look dumb per se. I can’t look dumb. I’m the epito of beauty." He mused, touching his chin. "Hmm. Beauty can be dumb, too. Not to look dumb. To sound dumb? No."
As he spoke to himself more than to the class, the students exchanged glances. Their looks carried entire conversations.
Was their professor okay ntally?
He seed fine a mont ago.
Soone ask.
Why don’t you?
I’m not the class rep.
The class shrugged. Even the representatives shrugged.
Aren’t you the class rep?
The rest of the class stared at Nyssara incredulously. Nyssara shrugged, then looked at Sam.
Aren’t you the vice?
"Ahh."
Zeke’s voice broke the silent conversation. The students turned their attention back to him.
"Did you enjoy the performance?" He smirked. "That’s what happens when you go through corners to try to get information out of ."
The students’ eyebrows twitched.
"To the order of the day. Your chaos—even if it was at my behest—has drawn the attention of the professors and the dean of this academy. In turn, they disturb my peace. I have to find a way to quell your chaos while also teaching you sothing tangible. Sothing other than philosophy."
He looked around the room.
"Philosophies will not provide the strength you need to win fights. Nor the knowledge you need to know what magic your opponents are using."
Everyone in the class knew the last part was aid at Dean, who had lost, and at Kenshin, who had needed Jude to explain deviant magic to him.
"Tsk. For a class of geniuses, you sure have a lot of fools."
He clapped once.
"Class in session. Sit."
The students sat. Zeke had their full attention.
"So of you may know this. So may not. We will proceed on the assumption that you all do not know the basics."
He began to pace.
"Magic is an art. A force. A power system that allows those privy to its workings to alter reality by bypassing natural laws through will, knowledge, or external sources."
He held up a hand.
"Other arts, forces, and systems achieve reality-altering feats as well. But our focus today is magic."
He began to count on his fingers again.
"Magic includes certain core traits that individuals possess—or are limited to. These traits are ways for a ’mage’ to apply magic to their imdiate world."
He held up two fingers.
"Intent and execution. Spellcasting requires a conscious goal—intent—and a thod: words, gestures, materials, runes, or thoughts."
He lowered one finger.
"The aspect of intent—a conscious goal—is, in simple terms, having the intent to burn."
He raised the other finger again.
"The aspect of thod is what, in actuality, would be a limitation or a sign of talent. But that will be discussed later. For now, let’s talk about thods in conjunction with the intent to burn."
He began to pace again.
"Words. Incantations. Chants. For example—"
He recited, his voice taking on a asured cadence:
"Spark and sear, and smolder, and swallow—
Cinder and cry, and ash, and hollow.
Burn what was. Burn what will be.
So I will. So let it be."
A small fla appeared before him. Then he snuffed it out.
"Gestures. This can be used in conjunction with a chant or done on its own."
He traced his hands: open palm facing outward, fingers slightly spread. Slowly, he curled his fingers inward, as if gripping sothing invisible. He snapped his fingers on the final line.
A small fla appeared again. He snuffed it out and continued.
The students watched every movent, captivated.
"Materials. Physical items used as anchors, fuels, or symbolic links. Materials can be consud, reused, or environntal."
He paused, letting the information settle.
"These thods can be used together to ease beginners into magic and reduce the rate of failure. They also serve as a crutch for the less talented. The talented learn a thod and refine it."
He looked around the room.
"You are talented. So I expect more. This is where the other thods co in."
He held up his hand again.
"Runes or sigils. A rune is a symbol that holds magical aning by itself. Unlike ordinary writing, which describes magic, a rune is the magic—drawn, carved, painted, or imagined."
"An example is the sigil placed on you. It carried the inscription of the deviant magic Freeze. Runes are slow to create if you are not proficient with them. But if you are, they can be delayed and activated with a thought."
He stretched out his hand and traced in the air. A rune appeared before him, glowing faintly.
"This is a rune imbued with the intent of providing a small gust of wind. Refreshing, at this level."
The rune shone. A small gust of wind blew Zeke’s hair back.
"It is a complex thod. Arguably more complex than the next one."
He lowered his hand.
"Thought-based magic uses no external thod. No words. No movents. No tools. No runes. Only focused will and ntal imagery."
He t their eyes.
"You hold the intent purely inside your mind. You visualize the outco in as much detail as possible—colors, sounds, textures, sequence. Then you release the thought. So describe it as ’letting go of a held breath’ or ’unclenching a fist inside your mind.’"
A small fla appeared before him again.
"Like that."
He dismissed it with a wave.
"The ranking of thods is limited by one’s talent and level of training. Mostly talent."
He smiled, just slightly.
"For example, I skipped all other thods and used thought-based magic the first ti I used it."
He held up a single finger.
"The golden rule of thods: the thod must match the intent. You would not use a gentle whisper to call lightning, nor a violent shout to calm water. Every thod—word, movent, material, rune, thought—should feel right for what you are trying to do."
He lowered his hand.
"Now. Let’s talk about the other traits of magic."
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