“Go sit by him?” whispered a girl.

  “No, are you crazy?” asked another.

  Casimir glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of a pert brunette and a chubby blonde sitting at the desk behind him. They both froze when they noticed his gaze. When he looked away, they giggled.

  Another commoner student entered their Applied Aetherian Patterns and Applications class and his eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his skull when caught a glimpse of Casimir. His bug-eyed stare continued when he passed Casimir’s desk in the front row and Casimir assumed it continued when he was no longer in sight.

  Casimir pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. One would think I had two heads or something.

  He glanced over at Bryson and Tristan seated together in the middle row. Bryson regarded him with a half smile, while Tristan looked up from his pattern book and gave him a wave. Casimir regarded them with a polite nod that garnered a look of surprise from the other students.

  Watching them hang on my every move is tiring? I always thought that commoners getting shamed for not lowering their eyes was demeaning but now I’m beginning to see the merit in it.

  He shook his head. No, I should not think that.

  The atmosphere shifted and all heads turned when a platinum blonde man with iridescent eyes and sharp features strode into the classroom. His countenance demanded compliance and quelled the giggling of the girls. He ignored them as if all were beneath him and sat beside Casimir without a word.

  Casimir glanced at him curiously. One of Emperor Lightwell’s spares? But he does not look like anyone from the Crown Prince’s family. He must be a cousin or nephew. Regardless, Spindle is definitely here.

  “Hey, it’s you!” Bryson cried out in anger.

  Casimir turned to see Bryson pointing an accusatory finger at the stoic blonde and he felt a blood vessel in his forehead twitch. Is this fool really—

  “Sit down! Do you not know who that is?” hissed a long-faced man in the third row.

  “What’s going on?” Tristan asked and looked at his friend, bewildered.

  “He was the guy who ditched me while I was being attacked by that creepy deer!”

  Tristan’s gaze darted between Bryson and Lightwell who remained seated in his chair facing the board. He looked reluctant at first, but after a sigh his brow furrowed and he shot up from his seat. “Is that so, Your Highness?”

  Casimir continued to look at Bryson incredulously.

  Lightwell did not bother to look at them. Instead, he grunted. “It’s Your Grace, sadly my father was the unlucky second son, and your friend seems to manage to get here without my help. What’s the matter?”

  Bryson’s face burned red. “That is only because someone who wasn’t a bast—”

  Casimir shot Bryson a look of disapproval. “Bryson, I understand that this school does not have the same social hierarchy as the real world but remember that we will all be leaving this school eventually.”

  “I don’t care who he is!” Bryson gritted his teeth when he noticed Casimir narrow his eyes. “Tsk, I should have known you’ll side with him.”

  The Lightwell turned to Casimir and gave out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Another incompetent fool spared, you should have left him up there.”

  “What?!” Bryson exclaimed.

  Casimir faced the blonde. “It would be against my morals to abandon someone who is in need. Is it not a part of the Weaver bylaws to use our gifts for the benefit of the Empire and its people? Helping a fellow classmate is one such case.”

  Lightwell smirked. “It also states that we should seek and share knowledge with our fellow Weavers in order to advance the Empire. Sharing knowledge with fools is a waste, and coddling them is a disservice to everyone.” He glanced at Bryson. “No matter, this school will weed him out eventually, and I will laugh in your face when that happens.”

  Bryson gnashed his teeth and inched forward. “Why you—”

  “Good morning.” A bespectacled middle-aged man with a noticeable hunch, possibly from years of huddling over a desk, entered the classroom.

  Tristan placed a hand on Bryson’s shoulder and encouraged him to sit down. Although Bryson’s glare did not leave the back of Lightwell’s head.

  “Seems like I came in just in time.” The graying blonde professor made his way to the board and gave everyone a small smile. “I am Professor Skillwright, welcome to Applied Aetherian Patterns and Applications.”

  He opened a drawer on his desk, pulled out a 1ft x 1ft x 1ft metal cube.

  Casimir observed the images imprinted on the box’s face, he spotted a candle on one face, and a stone on another. A puzzle box made with Aether absorbing metal… Each face probably has to do with an elemental pattern. Seems easy enough.

  “Let’s get to know each other with a little game first?” Skillwright walked through the middle aisle of the desk and headed towards the stone table in the back of the room. “You will be split into five teams of three and take turns in solving this puzzle box with your patterns.”

  Skillwright rotated the box, showing the symbols imprinted on the box to the students. “The team with the fastest time wins a prize.”

  “What do we get?” Bryson asked with a broad smile.

  “An extra credit paper of your choice!”

  The class groaned at the prospects of a paper at the beginning of the year.

  Casimir internally sighed. I doubt the winners would need extra credit.

  “Now, now, you may need it to bolster your midterm grade,” Skillwright said, waving their protests away. “You have five minutes to pick your group before I start assigning people.”

  The students seemed to convene at two points, in front of the Lightwell and Casimir much to both of their displeasure.

  The first to approach Casimir were the two girls who sat behind him, giving him their prettiest pouty faces. He pretended not to see them and darted between the desk and gravitating students to the two commoners who would at least treat him, normally.

  Bryson noticed Casimir heading toward him and Tristan. “Uh, do you—?”

  “Yes.” Casimir answered sharply.

  He maneuvered his way behind them and laid claim to his team by placing a hand on each of their shoulders. The other students gave up and scrambled to form another team among themselves since the Lightwell’s team was already formed. Standing confidently beside him were a fit tawny-skinned man with curly green hair and a round man with blue hair and large glasses.

  A Forevergreene and a Vector. Of course, he would pick the only other students from Established Weaver families.

  Lightwell caught Casimir’s gaze and after glancing at Bryson and Tristan he gave him a look that was a mixture of confusion and disappointment.

  “So,” Bryson began, drawing Casimir’s attention away from Lightwell. “Have you played this game before?”

  Casimir shook his head. “But it looks like a simple puzzle based on the elements.”

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  “Oh,” Bryson looked away unease. “Do you know every elemental pattern?”

  Blast it! Perhaps I should have been more selective. Nevermind this could still work out. Casimir hid his frustration behind a confident smile. “I only know wind, water and electric. How about you two?”

  Tristan shrugged. “Just water, and earth. I’m still working on my fire and wind patterns.”

  Casimir turned to Bryson who remained reluctant to speak. “Bryson?”

  After a long pause, Bryson scratched his head and began counting on his fingers. “I know Aether arrow, Aether shield—”

  “So no elemental patterns…” Casimir cut his stalling short and clicked his tongue. “Drat, no fire.”

  “The professor did say that some faces have multiple answers so we might get by with what we have,” said Tristan.

  “Time,” announced Professor Skillwright in a tone oozing with excitement. He carried with him a stopwatch and a clipboard. “Who wants to go first?”

  Lightwell raised his hand. “I want to get this over with.”

  Professor Skillwright nodded. “Your and your teammates names first.”

  “Alistair Lightwell.” He answered and positioned himself in front of the box. His teammates followed his lead, by calling out their names and lining themselves up behind him.

  “Fannar Forevergreene.”

  “Pascal Vector.”

  “You may now begin,” Skillwright marked them off on his attendance. “It appears that your first obstacle is a lit candle, Mr. Lightwell.”

  Alistair gathered Aether to his pointer finger and weaved a pattern lightning speed.

  Casimir could only catch that his hands were moving in circular motion. A stream of water launching from Alistair’s pointer finger confirmed that it was a water pattern.

  Blazes, he’s fast.

  The box accepted the pattern and the image of the lit candle changed to an unlit one, and the box rotated to another face.

  Alistair’s hands moved and a gust of wind struck it before Casimir could get a good look at the image on it. The box accepted Alistair’s patterns again and again, until he hit the last face and the box clicked open.

  The class looked at Alistair in awe, even Casimir caught himself gawking at his skill until he coolly looked away.

  He already has the skills of a General Weaver. Why is he here?

  “6.35 seconds that will be difficult to beat. Excellent work, Mr. Lightwell. It is a pity you didn’t give your teammates a chance,” said Skillwright.

  “We are fine with it,” said Fannar, relaxed.

  Pascal nodded in agreement.

  The remaining groups seemed hesitant to follow up on Alistair’s stunning performance and instead they all stared at Casimir’s team.

  How troublesome. Casimir took a step forward.

  “Mr. Mindrattler,” Professor Skillwright interjected. “I should have asked Mr. Lightwell this but please allow your teammates to go first.”

  Casimir frowned, but took a step back. “Of course.”

  Tristan volunteered to go first, after hearing Bryson’s nervous laugh.

  Their professor reset the box and said, “Perfect, your names?”

  “Tristan Killgore.”

  “Casimir Mindrattler.”

  “Bryson Rottenborn.”

  Casimir heard soft snickers and mumbles from some of his classmates after Bryson said his last name.

  Bryson turned red and cursed underneath his breath, but that only fueled his mockers.

  “Begin,” Skillwright announced.

  Tristan looked at the box and saw the image of a wilted sampling.

  “Water?” Tristan muttered. He presented his pointer finger and crafted a circular pattern of glowing aetherian threads. They formed together and a stream of water that shot from his hand. The box absorbed the pattern and the image of the sampling changed into a tree.

  Casimir smiled. Good.

  The face of the box then rotated to one that possessed a sailboat. Tristan frowned and took a step back. “I don’t have wind.”

  Casimir weaved a semicircular pattern and summoned a Wandering Breeze. The box swallowed it and the boat sailed away, before the box rotated again, this time to an image of a rockwall.

  Tristan jumped into action and weaved another stream of water. The image of the rock wall shook but stayed the same. The box then rotated back to the image of the sailboat.

  “What!” Bryson exclaimed.

  “Huh, I thought that water erodes stone,” Tristan shrugged.

  “Yeah, maybe after thousands of years of you spraying it,” Fannar said with a laugh.

  Bryson glared at Fannar on his friend’s behalf, but the man paid him no mind and yawned.

  “It just wasn’t strong enough,” Casimir said, while hitting the box with another Wandering Breeze and returning it to the face of the rockwall. “Try again. I’ll help you out.”

  “Alright,” Tristan shot another jet of water at the box and Casimir weaved a star pattern that formed into a lighting bolt.

  The box absorbed both and the rock wall was smashed into pieces. Bryson cheered as the rest of the class looked on in wonder.

  “Is that allowed?” Pascal asked.

  “Yes, I intended for each team to work together,” Skillwright answered. “I am aware that not all of you have learned every elemental pattern.”

  “Where is the challenge, professor?”Alistair asked, while crossing his arms casually. “If they were forced to work alone, wouldn’t it push them to work harder?”

  He gave Bryson a side eye. “Sharing a victory with deadweight is unfair.”

  Skillwright stroked his chin. “Perhaps later into the course.”

  The box shifted again and landed on the face of an unlit candle.

  Casimir rubbed his bottom lip. It isn’t lit this time. Well I could still probably—

  “I got this one!” Bryson rushed forward and began weaving a square pattern.

  Casimir watched Bryson’s shaky Aetherian threads with worry, and said, “Slow down—”

  Skillwright cut in and finished Casimir’s thought. “Mr. Rottenborn, stop! You are going to–”

  The Aetherian threads jumbled together and produced a loud pop and flash of light that sent Bryson flying backwards.

  “Ahhh!”

  “I got you!” Casimir caught him mid-flight and laid him on the ground. He looked down at Bryson’s hand and saw that his fingertips were bright red and swollen.

  They’re singed off.

  Bryson bit his lip in an attempt to keep a brave face but he trembled with pain.

  Their professor rushed over and held Bryson’s hand, palm up. “Someone, grab the first aid kit on the wall!”

  The crowd of students parted to make way for Tristan to retrieve the kit. Casimir took it from Tristan and began treating Bryson’s wounds with the burn ointment. Professor Skillwright observed Casimir first aid skills and nodded with approval while he bandaged Bryson’s hand.

  “Damn it,” Bryson said while Tristan and Casimir helped him up.

  Their professor looked at Bryson and sighed, “It is alright, Mr. Rottenborn. Meet me in my office once you return from the nurse.”

  “Let’s go,” Tristan said, ushering Bryson away.

  “No, I…the” Bryson protested.

  “It is fine,” Tristan said. “It is just a game. Nothing worth losing a hand over.”

  “But–”

  “We lost anyway,” Casimir said, looking at his watch.

  Bryson’s face fell and he lowered his head. “Next time.”

  Casimir silently watched Bryson and Tristan leave the classroom and his peers snickered right when the door closed.

  “What was he trying to do?” The blonde girl asked.

  “My guess it was an Aether Arrow,” said her long faced teammate.

  Fannar laughed. “How the hell do you mess up an Aether—-”

  “Enough of that,” Professor Skillwright snapped. “Although, I want us to have fun. I do require a level of decorum. Miscasts sometimes happen to the best of us, especially when we are under pressure. Although speed is important to prevent a pattern failure. We must remember to maintain the correct thread thickness and line quality. ”

  The class quieted down but a few snickers continued.

  “I’ll start the clock again.” Skillwright turned to Casimir. “Finish up for your team.”

  Casimir sighed. It can’t be helped.

  Casimir weaved another lighting bolt and struck the box with it. The candle set fire and the box shifted to the face of an angry sun. He weaved a circular pattern and encased the box in a creeping mist. Like before the box absorbed his pattern and shifted to the last face which was a man with a sword.

  Too easy. He weaved another star pattern electrifying his hand and touched the box with it. The box accepted his pattern and popped open.

  “4 minutes and 43 seconds. Not the slowest time,” Skillwright said, stopping his watch. “Thank you, Mr. Mindrattler.”

  Casimir rejoined the class and the team of two girls and the long faced man took his place. He groaned when he saw Alistair inching his way towards him.

  “No need to gloat,” Casimir whispered, crossing his arms.

  Alistair smirked. “Next time around I hope you learn a fire pattern. There is no need to summon lightning to light a candle.”

  Casimir rolled his eyes.

  ***

  Neither Tristan or Bryson returned before class ended.

  The burn wasn’t that bad. He probably didn't come back to avoid the shame. Casimir exited the classroom and overheard his classmates still gossiping about how amazing Alistair was and about Bryson’s screw up. He kept hearing them ask how and even he had to wonder. I hope for his sake it was just nerves, but even so I never received an injury from such a simple pattern.

  Casimir passed the two girls from his class lingering in the hallway.

  “Aww, I wish he would catch me like that?”

  “He still could if…”

  Their voices faded the farther he got away from them.

  “Alright, next is Alchemy. At least Cornelius will be there,” Casimir muttered.