I stepped into the casting ring.
In all honesty, Spiral Guard wasn't a particularly difficult spell to cast, but difficulty wasn't the point of this exercise.
The point was to choose how to build a spell before it was even formed, and how much of that choice you made was deliberate.
So all I had to do was show my intentions clearly.
I raised my hand and embedded the pressure of the geometry first, before I cast.
"Ventus: Spiral Guard."
A tight revolving surge of compressed wind burst outward, wrapping around me in a fast, continuous-turning shell. Dust and loose grit from the floor got caught at the barrier's edges, as they were dragged into a pale, spiralling blur that traced the shell's shape.
It didn't operate solely as a wall. It had rotation, it was hard and controlled, its outer layer catching its own motion and feeding it back inward before the spinning could spread wide.
'I didn't expect my cast to be this much better than Taron's.'
I was shocked by my own progression in spellcasting. I had only been at the Academy for a couple of weeks, yet I've improved considerably... thanks to the Codex.
Snapped out of my thoughts, I noticed that the rotation locked sooner than expected; the shell of wind formed more tightly around my body, its pressure held closer along the barrier's surface, reducing drag and making the whole construct feel less fluid but more stable.
Instead of blooming wide as it was before, it seemed to arrive already convinced of its own shape.
'Nice, two defensive spells in two different affinities now.'
The spiral held for a second, then eased apart into a harmless breeze.
Taron's reaction was immediate.
"You changed something."
"Yes, I did."
"Something in the base?"
"Yes... I'm surprised you noticed."
"Heh, I'm a man of many talents. You made the base of the spell tighter than it should be, didn't you?"
"That's one way to phrase it."
He gestured vaguely around me. "No, I mean it. It feels different. Like the whole shell got pulled inward before it locked."
"It did."
His expression sharpened.
"I thought so. So what did you do?"
"... I narrowed the spread of the outer pressure before the rotation formed."
Taron looked at me, slightly grinning this time.
"You can do that?"
"Yes."
"No, I mean— obviously you can." He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed once. "It's just that when I do it, I think I do some version of what you did without really thinking about it."
"Maybe."
"But I've never thought about it like that."
"That's probably because you never tried to."
The sentence hit him harder than I expected.
He went still for half a beat, then looked back at me with the expression of someone who had just been handed a word for something he had always known how to do, but had never consciously understood.
"Huh."
"It seems to be a common theme around you," I said somewhat harshly.
He barked out another laugh, somewhat in amusement and disbelief. "Haha, you sure are an odd one, aren't you?"
"I don't kno—"
My response was cut off as, across the room, there was a resemblance to a mini-explosion. It was clear that other pairs were struggling exactly the way Professor Orin probably expected
I could hear one student complain about the way his partner had cast, describing it as a "Useless surface-level piece of magic."
'Oof, that's harsh.'
Another pair argued about the specifics of their cast.
"It moved forward on its own, I swear," I heard someone say.
"It looked stable, I don't know why it collapsed like that," someone else offered, sounding like he was begging his partner not to look at him like an idiot.
Professor Orin moved slowly through the room, neither saying anything nor offering advice to some of the pairs who were struggling. He simply watched, wrote, and kept walking.
When he passed our station the first time, he didn't even bother to stop. The second time, he turned away as if he wasn't bothered to inspect what we were doing.
Taron continued the conversation, saying, "So if I widened the pressure base and narrowed the release path—"
"Then you'd lose some of the fluidity but gain edge retention," I said.
"And if I wanted both?"
"You'd need a better transitional ratio. Or more control." Professor Orin interrupted.
'What the— when did he get right next to me?'
A few students nearby noticed.
"Young Caelvarin, you focus too much on willing your constructs to existence. Something you picked up from your father, I'm sure."
"..."
Taron went silent, but something about him was odd; his usually playful demeanour faltered, just for a split-second, and in its place was something more serious, something sad.
Noticing Taron's brief change in mood, Professor Orin further explained, "I'm not saying what you're doing is wrong, after all, one's willpower is the driving force for Aether creation, that's what's given your House the famous 'Storm Breather' name."
Taron's face became more neutral now.
"But if you really want to make Aether your own, create your own Aether signature, you have to grasp the importance of control alongside raw power." Professor Orin concluded.
"That's also what makes you intriguing, Young Arin. You may not have the raw power that Taron has, but to be this polished... certainly intriguing."
"Thanks. I think." I replied in slight confusion.
"You may carry on now," said Professor Orin.
'Great, now everyone is looking at us.'
One of the noble students from a neighbouring station looked over for half a second too long. A commoner pair across from Ryn did the same. Nothing was said, but attention shifted.
From across the room, Ryn was working through the same task with his assigned partner, but his attention kept drifting. Every now and then, when I looked up, I'd catch him glancing over with the kind of expression that managed to be suspicious, protective, and mildly annoyed all at once.
Taron noticed once and followed my gaze.
He caught Ryn watching and, without any self-consciousness at all, gave him a nod.
Just a casual acknowledgement.
The sort of thing he'd probably do for anyone.
Ryn looked down at his own work immediately, as if the nod had failed to pass inspection.
I said nothing.
The class moved faster after that.
Once students understood the task, even poorly, the room became livelier. There were more repeated casts. More quiet curses. More dust is flicking off the target plates. More frustrated attempts to describe structure instead of just visible effects.
By the time Professor Orin called the room back to attention, the atmosphere had sharpened.
He stood near the front desk, slate still in hand.
"Any pair wish to demonstrate?" he asked.
Silence.
Obviously.
Most students looked away at once, as if eye contact might somehow count as volunteering.
Taron looked at me.
No noble expectation. No pressure.
Just a look that clearly said, "We should."
He tilted his head slightly. "Ours went well."
I considered it for one second.
We definitely had the strongest result I'd seen in the room.
The only risk was visibility.
But the only gain was clarity.
Was this balanced? Did it favour action?
"..."
"Fine," I said.
Taron grinned.
"Sweet."
He stepped toward the front before anyone else could decide they suddenly had courage.
Heads turned.
A few students looked relieved it wasn't them. Others looked interested. A handful looked annoyed in advance, which usually meant they were already preparing a reason to dislike the outcome.
We took our place at the front station.
Professor Orin gave a minimal nod.
Taron raised one hand.
"Ventus: Spiral Guard."
Wind burst outward from him in a tight revolving surge. Air wrapped around his body in a fast-turning shell of compressed pressure, catching dust and loose grit at its edges and dragging them into a pale, spiralling blur. The barrier formed more cleanly this time than before. He had already adjusted from our earlier exchange. The outer spread widened at the right moment. The shell locked sooner. The rotation held with better balance.
And as it formed, I spoke.
"The outer pressure spread is widening earlier than standard."
A few students straightened.
I continued.
"That gives the rotation room to stabilise before the shell tightens. If he compressed too early, the spin would drag unevenly across the back."
The barrier spun hard around him, a circular field of controlled deflection rather than a static wall.
I kept narrating.
"There. Left-side correction. He's redistributing the load through shoulder alignment to stop the rear pressure from thinning."
The spiral held.
Dust circled. Air hissed softly at the edges.
"He's not forcing the barrier closed," I said. "He's letting it find the right rotation first, then tightening it once the pressure stops fighting itself."
The guard dissolved into harmless currents.
Silence followed.
Because the room had suddenly become aware of the difference between watching a spell happen and understanding why it held.
I could feel the shift in attention.
The recalculation.