ShadowBound: The Need For Power

The rest of the Core Myst paper passed faster than most students expected.

That did not mean it became easier. If anything, the second half carried a more exhausting kind of difficulty, the sort that did not strike all at once but wore down the mind by forcing it to keep arranging concepts after the body had already decided it wanted to be done. The first half had been sharp because everyone was alert.

The second half was sharper because everyone was tired. Questions that might have seemed manageable in the morning now required students to reread them twice, sometimes three times, just to make sure they were not answering something entirely different from what was being asked.

Still, time moved.

Pens scratched. Pages turned. Mystica and Professor Caelus continued their silent supervision. Dylan, despite all his noise during the break, wrote with surprising focus until even his restless energy dulled into concentration. Ariana remained steady to the end, though by the final hour even she flexed her hand between answers. Sheila wrote carefully, refusing to rush through the last analytical section.

Asher looked personally betrayed by the final question but answered it anyway. Charlotte finished with enough time to review and somehow made exhaustion look intentional. Liam fought through the last few sections by choosing clarity over prettiness, writing what made sense, cutting away unnecessary phrasing, and refusing to let the more twisted wording pull him into overthinking.

Then the final bell rang.

Mystica’s voice followed immediately. "Writing materials down."

This time, the entire hall obeyed with the heavy relief of people released from a slow punishment. Pens were placed down. Hands moved away from parchment. A few students slumped in their seats the moment they were allowed to stop. One boy near the middle looked at his completed paper as if it had personally aged him.

Professor Caelus moved through the hall with a collecting spell, and the parchment packets lifted from each desk one after another, sealing themselves midair before arranging into neat stacks near the front platform.

No one spoke until Mystica dismissed them.

Even then, the sound that filled the hall was less excitement and more exhausted survival.

Students made their way out in groups and loose streams, trying very hard not to worry about what they had written. Some failed immediately and began asking vague questions that did not technically violate exam rules. Others swore they would not think about Core Myst again until results came out, which meant they would absolutely think about it for the rest of the day.

A few decided the best use of the unexpected free time was sleep. Others went to train, study for the next paper, or eat something large enough to make up for five hours of mental strain.

Liam left without discussing the paper.

He had no interest in performing the usual post-exam ritual where students compared misery as if it could change their answers. The paper was done. The parchment was gone. Worrying about it would not improve his score, and he had enough other things demanding thought without reopening questions he could no longer touch.

The day passed.

Then, somehow, the second day of Theory week arrived in its fullness.

The previous week, the professors and instructors across each department had apparently come to a common agreement. Instead of allowing the remaining four days to become a chaotic mess where different specialized classes stacked on top of one another without mercy, the academy had separated the theory days by department.

The first day had been Core Myst for all years. The second day belonged to the Magic Department. The third day would be for Knight Combat. The fourth and fifth days would be left to the additional departments and special tracks: Alchemy, Forgemastery, Tactical Espionage, Healing Principles, Combat Strategy, and whatever other elective or specialized studies students had decided to suffer through.

It was almost merciful.

Almost.

After breakfast on the second day, students reported to their respective magic classes. Liam and Asher found themselves in Professor Vale’s Fire Magic classroom with roughly fifteen other students, each seated before a fresh parchment packet marked with the Fire Magic Theory examination seal.

The room had been rearranged for testing, desks spaced apart, windows partially warded to prevent outside distraction, and the usual demonstration circles dimmed into inactivity. Professor Vale stood at the front with his stern expression and red-toned instructor robes, looking far too calm for someone about to force teenagers to write for four straight hours.

Four hours.

No break.

The duration was not fixed across every Magic class. Each professor had chosen what they deemed appropriate for their subject, and unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately depending on perspective, Professor Vale had decided that four uninterrupted hours of Fire Magic theory was suitable. Asher muttered something under his breath when he heard it, but not loudly enough for Vale to call him out. Liam only stared at the parchment and accepted that the academy had once again mistaken suffering for structure.

The good part was that Fire Magic theory was not as bad as Core Myst.

The bad part was that it was still not easy.

The paper covered combustion control, heat density, compression limits, flame shaping, channel burn, affinity overdraw, explosive dispersal, combat-state output, environmental oxygen influence, and the dangers of mistaking destructive strength for stability. Liam moved through it with more confidence than he had the Core Myst paper, especially when the questions involved compression, controlled release, or battle application. Miniature Sun and Inferno Edge had given him enough practical experience to understand the difference between stable compression and reckless heat buildup.

Asher wrote with far more intensity than calm, and though he clearly hated the written portion of anything, Fire Magic at least belonged to him enough that his answers came with conviction.

By the time that test ended, the day had already lost its shape.

Students left the Magic Department with cramped hands, tired eyes, and a strange sense that the week was moving according to its own rhythm, dragging them along whether they felt ready or not. The rest of the day passed quickly enough. Some students used it to prepare for Knight Combat Theory. Others collapsed somewhere quiet.

Liam divided his time between reviewing combat principles, reading a little more of the Eldervale guide, and keeping an eye on the slow movement of second-year politics without stepping into it.

The third day was less painful.

Not painless.

Less painful.

Just as the second day had belonged broadly to the Magic Department, the third day belonged to Knight Combat. Every student had to take a Magic class and a Knight Combat class, which meant the academy treated both as core parts of second-year evaluation. The difference was that Knight Combat Theory, for most students, felt closer to something they could understand without needing to drag abstract Myst equations through their skulls.

Combat positioning, weapon matchups, battlefield spacing, stamina management, formation breakdown, common mistakes against certain enemy types, and practical response under pressure were things the students had lived through repeatedly.

The paper reflected that.

The duration varied slightly depending on instructor and class section, but the minimum was two hours and the maximum was three. Compared to five hours of Core Myst and four hours of Fire Magic, it almost felt like a gift. A cruel gift, but still a gift. By the time many students finished, they had far more of the day left to themselves than they had on the previous two exam days.

Liam and Asher stepped out of their Knight Combat classroom after just under three hours.

The corridor outside was filled with students leaving nearby rooms, some stretching arms, some rolling shoulders as if the written paper had somehow been a physical fight. The atmosphere was lighter than after Core Myst. Not happy, exactly, but less crushed. Knight Combat Theory had bruised pride more than minds.

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