They walked through the half-empty historical building of the university. The morning sun beat against the high windows, and the corridors smelled of fresh coffee from the vending machines. Beata led her confidently, until she stopped unexpectedly by an inconspicuous alcove in the main hallway, right next to a coffee machine. There was nothing there but a bare wall with peeling plaster and an old red fire extinguisher.
"Where are we going?" Ema asked uncertainly. "There's nothing here."
Beata just gave a conspiratorial smile and stepped directly toward the wall without hesitation. "Watch," she whispered.
As they got within arm's reach, the air in front of them rippled gently, much like hot asphalt above a summer road. Reality trembled. The peeling wall vanished. In its place, massive, antique elevator doors with a heavy brass grille and a floor indicator emerged from the void. Instead of ordinary numbers, unknown symbols glowed on it.
Ema gasped and instinctively stepped back. An older professor was just walking by. Ema expected him to stop in terror, but he just walked right past them, his eyes fixed on the floor. He didn't notice the elevator at all.
"What does this mean?" Ema breathed.
"We study somewhere a little different from people without power," Beata winked at her and pressed the call button. It clicked unexpectedly loud. "This elevator is an area artifact. We call it the Filter. It reveals itself only to those who have an active Shard of power inside them. To that professor, we are just two girls standing by the coffee machine."
The car arrived with a soft chime. Beata slid the grille open and pulled a fascinated Ema inside.
The moment the grille closed and the elevator started moving—not up, but sharply down—Ema felt that familiar, unpleasant sensation of weightlessness in her stomach. They were descending deep, much deeper than the foundations of the old building would allow.
When the doors opened again, Ema was struck dumb with awe. They weren't in a basement. What she saw simply couldn't physically exist beneath a building in the city center.
They stood on the gallery of a colossal subterranean hall. It was as large as a football stadium. The ceiling was lost in shadows high above, supported by massive stone pillars that looked as if they held the weight of the entire world on their shoulders.
In the midst of it all, suspended high near the ceiling, hung a giant, glowing sphere. It looked like a miniature sun trapped in a net of ancient magic, illuminating the entire space with cold, sharp light.
Down on the floor of the stadium, beneath the artificial sun, stood a group of about twenty students. They were all wearing identical, elegant black uniforms and standing in a flawless military formation.
"This is the Department of Experimental History," Beata whispered with reverence into the silence, which was broken only by the soft hum of the glowing sphere above them. "This is where we learn to rewrite the world."
She pointed to a smaller, modern-looking glass building right by the entrance to the gallery. "Those are the locker rooms. Let's go, so we aren't late on our very first day."
When Ema changed in the locker room and stepped out onto the gallery of the massive underground stadium, she felt different. The black, perfectly tailored uniform of the Department fit her like a glove. She felt more solid in it, sharper, as if the heavy fabric was holding together not just her body, but her trembling soul.
Beata led her down the stairs toward the formation of roughly twenty students. Besides Ema, there were five other freshmen there, shifting nervously, though their posture made it clear they already knew the basics of magic from their families. Ema was the only one standing completely outside the system.
In front of them, his back to the newcomers, stood a man in a long gray coat. It was Vector Šimr—one of the instructors. He had sharp features, rimless glasses, and an aura of calm, almost tangible authority.
"Wait here," Beata whispered, leaving Ema standing on the edge of the floor. She walked briskly over to the teacher.
Ema saw Šimr lean in slightly to hear Beata. The girl was explaining something to him urgently but quietly. With her hands, she gestured subtly toward Ema a few times. Although Ema couldn't hear a word, she could tell from the tense set of the teacher's back that Beata was passing on information no one else was meant to hear. She's not from any family. She doesn't know the basics. She can't control her power.
Vector Šimr nodded slowly. He turned around. He examined Ema scrutinizingly, but without a trace of mockery. Then he motioned with his hand. The murmur in the hall instantly died down.
"Students, attention," he said in a voice that didn't need raising, yet filled the entire massive space beneath the artificial sun. "Today, a few new faces are joining us. Your ranks will be expanded by Kryštof of Valdštejn, Anna of Vítkovice, Matyáš of Žerotín, Klára of Pernštejn, and Ondřej of Kravaře."
At the mention of those names, an appreciative murmur rippled through the ranks of the older students. They were centuries-old names, etched into history from Northern Bohemia through the southern estates all the way to Silesia. The other freshmen proudly lifted their chins. They belonged here.
"And finally," Šimr's gaze settled on the girl at the very edge, "there is Ema Volná."
Ema flinched. Volná? She looked at the teacher, but his expression was entirely serious. It wasn't a misunderstanding. Hradil had entered a surname for her into the system that wasn't burdened by any bloodline or shadows of the past. A name that was a promise. (Note: 'Volná' translates to 'Free'.)
"While most of you arrive with years of family training," Šimr continued into the sudden, curious silence, "Ema is a Scalar in the purest, most unformed sense of the word. She has no experience with shaping. But since we have her and five others who need to solidify their practice, we will start today from the absolute basics. As they say: repetition is the mother of wisdom. I expect you to support Ema."
The other freshmen from powerful families turned to look at her. She expected the arrogance or contempt she had grown used to from Friedrich. Instead, she saw curiosity and surprising kindness. "Welcome, Ema," whispered a freckled boy in the row next to Beata. "Hi," Ema breathed, feeling some of the tension drop from her shoulders.
"Formation!" the teacher commanded. The students instantly fell into line. The air in the hall thickened with anticipation. "Ema, fall in among them. The other freshmen as well. Today, we will create together," Šimr announced, his gaze landing on a tall, well-built young man with dark hair and a calm, confident posture. "Tomáš, you will lead the current. The others will connect to you, and you will shape the mass."
When Šimr said his name, Beata nudged Ema subtly but noticeably with her elbow. "That's Tomáš of the Přemyslids," she whispered so quietly only Ema could hear. "The crown jewel of the university. The strongest, the oldest, and honestly... pretty damn handsome."
Tomáš of the Přemyslids gave a slight nod and stepped forward. His expression was focused, yet he possessed the innate grace of someone who wielded power as naturally as breathing. Ema couldn't help but feel a strange unease mixed with curiosity looking at him.
"We begin," Šimr said quietly, his voice echoing. "Tomáš will create the riverbed, but you must give him the mass. The foundation of everything is emotion. Thought gives shape, but emotion alone gives mass. Close your eyes and reach deep inside yourselves. Prepare to connect."
Ema stood in the darkness behind her eyelids, initially unsure of what to do. She just tried to breathe evenly. And then she felt it. It wasn't anything tangible. It was like a quiet, electrical hum. Suddenly, she didn't just perceive herself; she felt the presence of other minds right next to her, all drawn to one strong, calm thought in the center—to Tomáš.
Through this thin, invisible thread, foreign feelings suddenly crashed into her. She felt Beata's hidden insecurity, brushed against the deep sorrow of the freckled boy beside her. And then there was Tomáš—his mind was like a cold, precisely cut stone that received all those emotions, channeled them, and prepared to give them perfect, fluid order. It was meant to be a calm, deep river.
"Water is sorrow," the teacher's voice guided them. "It is loss. It is the tears you never shed. Recall the moment you were at rock bottom. And let it out."
Ema swallowed dryly. Sorrow. She pictured Viktor's empty back, her erased family, her parents of whom only a fog remained. Her city, which no longer existed on any map. She stopped fighting the crushing pain and opened her internal floodgates.
And in that moment, it happened. The concrete floor in the middle of the stadium tore open with a deafening crack. The intent was a gentle river, but a massive, roaring geyser of wild water erupted from the fissure. Tomáš's silhouette drew taut like a bowstring. Within the mental current, Ema clearly felt his pure, unprepared shock. His mind, accustomed to channeling the trickling streams of ordinary students, suddenly faced a ruptured dam. The sheer force was just... infinite. As if he had connected to dozens of adult Architects at once.
Šimr spun around sharply. A shadow of astonishment flashed in his eyes, but he masked it instantly. "Excellent," he shouted over the roar of the water mass. "Do you feel that power? Tomáš, outstanding work, hold it!"
"But wild water sweeps everything away," the teacher changed his tone. "We need a solid foundation. And solidity... that is defiance. Recall every NO you ever wanted to scream. Tomáš, form the walls!"
Ema clenched her fists. Defiance. She pictured Friedrich von Riese and his arrogant smile. She remembered Viktor. He never told her she was weak, but that gnawing feeling of being nothing but a vulnerable burden had stayed with her. I am not weak! she screamed in her mind, sending the searing thought straight into the shared current. I am Ema Volná!
The energy in the hall began to pulse wildly. Raw, unstable, and untamed. The geyser thickened instantly. Massive waves of heavy mud began pouring from the fissures. Tomáš desperately tried to form perfectly straight walls, but Ema's explosive, immeasurable capacity of power crushed his efforts. He was trying to force an ocean through a garden hose. Irregular, ravenous, and colossal shapes formed.
Šimr took a step back. He stared at the rolling mass of earth. This was not the defiance of a beginner. This was an absolute, devastating capacity of force. Who in God's name did Hradil send me? flashed through his mind.
"And now, burn it!" the teacher roared, his voice trembling slightly for the first time. "Anger! We need fire! Pure, scorching rage!"
Ema took a sharp breath. The von Riese family. The emptiness they had cast her into. She felt white-hot lava start to pump through her veins. She threw her full weight into the mental link. It was no longer a wave. It was a volcano. She sent her searing hatred into the network, and the air instantly glowed red. Actual, blindingly hot lava began oozing from the cracks in the earthen mass. It boiled and hissed.
Tomáš let out a deep, ragged breath. His legs shook, his face contorted with physical and mental agony. The pressure in the network skyrocketed.
With a quiet yelp, Anna of Vítkovice collapsed to her knees beside Ema. Her connection snapped. A second later, another freshman fell, and right after, one of the older students crumpled to the ground, his nose starting to bleed from the sudden mental overload. The disconnection of three minds caused a massive rupture in the network. The structure began to collapse inward with a sickening crack, torn apart from the inside by immense, untamed heat that Tomáš alone could no longer contain.
"Hold it!" Šimr roared over the deafening roar. He saw Tomáš's knees buckling and the network failing. He didn't hesitate for a single second.