Chapter 26: Class Begins

The next morning arrived under the Academy’s carefully regulated sky.

Bright, artificial sunlight spilled across the pathways of the Middle Court as groups of first-year Squires made their way toward the Inner Court.

The lecture halls stood in a neat cluster of stone and glass buildings, their architecture austere compared to the more decorative structures of the Outer Court.

This was where the real work began.

Lazarus walked at an unhurried pace, hands tucked into the pockets of his standard-issue uniform.

The fabric was still stiff from newness, but he paid it no mind.

Around him, students clustered in small groups, some whispering excitedly, others maintaining carefully cultivated expressions of indifference. The hierarchy established during Orientation had already begun to solidify.

He entered the largest auditorium designated for general first-year lectures and paused just inside the doorway to survey the room.

Rows of seats rose in gentle tiers toward the back wall.

The stage at the front was modest—a simple lectern, a wide blackboard, and a single high-backed chair.

Most of the Class A students had claimed the front rows. Class B occupied the middle section. The lower classes filled the remaining seats toward the rear, though a few particularly bold or particularly oblivious individuals had mixed themselves in.

Lazarus chose a seat near the middle of the right-hand section, neither too close to the front nor buried in the back.

He had just settled when a familiar voice called out.

"Laz!"

Madeline appeared at the end of the row, slightly out of breath, her short yellow hair catching the light from the high windows.

She did not hesitate before sliding into the seat beside him and set her notebook down with a small, satisfied smile.

’Laz, huh?’

Lazarus smiled, recognizing just how comfortable Madeline had become with him after just one night of discourse.

"I was hoping I’d catch you before the seats filled up," she said. "Is this alright?"

"It’s fine."

Her smile widened a fraction. "Good. I still have questions from yesterday, by the way... but I’ll save them for after class."

Lazarus gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

He had expected her to seek him out again. What he had not expected was how naturally she settled into the space beside him, as though the decision required no second thought.

’She belongs in the front row, but oh well...’ Lazarus shrugged as he cast his sights forward.

Across the aisle and several rows forward, Zurbluris sat surrounded by a small cluster of students who clearly belonged to his orbit.

The Literary heir’s posture was relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the neighboring seat, but his gaze flicked toward Lazarus for a brief moment.

Their eyes met.

Zurbluris’s expression tightened.

Then he looked away, turning to say something to the student on his left with an easy, practiced smile.

The message was clear enough.

He had not forgotten the previous day’s humiliation, but he would not acknowledge it openly—not yet.

Further to the left, near the edge of the front section, Nyssa sat alone.

Her long white hair fell forward slightly, partially obscuring her face.

She had chosen a seat with empty chairs on both sides and made no effort to fill them. Her posture was perfectly straight, her pitch-black eyes fixed on the empty stage with an expression that bordered on indifference.

She did not glance at anyone, and no one dared to approach her.

The auditorium gradually filled. Conversations rose and fell in waves until a door at the side of the stage opened.

Miss Anastasia entered.

She was exactly as Lazarus remembered from Orientation—classical black robe, round glasses perched on a neat face, black hair with a few striking white strands framing her features.

A slim volume rested in the crook of one arm.

She moved with quiet precision, set the book on the lectern, and surveyed the room for several seconds before speaking.

"Good morning."

Her voice was not loud, yet it easily filled the entire hall.

The residual chatter died almost at once.

"I am Anastasia. For the duration of your first year, I will be responsible for your foundational understanding of Historical Records and the principles that govern Historical Projections. Today’s session is a general introduction. All first-year Squires are required to attend. From tomorrow onward, you will be divided according to class for more specialized instruction."

She opened the volume without looking down at it.

"Let us begin with the most basic truth. A Historical Projection is not a creature you command. It is not a spell you cast. It is a fragment of recorded history given temporary form in the present through the medium of knowledge and the Anchor of a Historian’s body."

She turned slightly and wrote a single word on the blackboard in neat, precise strokes.

—Knowledge.

"Without corresponding knowledge, there is no summon. The more complete and accurate that knowledge, the more stable and potent the Projection becomes. This is why Research Sessions exist. This is why the study of past Aeons is not optional. You cannot summon what you do not understand."

Madeline’s pen moved quickly across her notebook.

Lazarus remained still as he listened attentively.

Even though he already knew the material, he still found value in hearing it structured for new minds.

’Everything she says is accurate...’ He quietly nodded.

"Historical Projections are ranked according to the scope of their original influence and the depth of their historical imprint," Anastasia continued. "At the lowest level are Echoes. These are ordinary existences that once lived or existed—soldiers, craftsmen, common beasts, everyday objects that left some trace in the record. Their capabilities are limited. Their presence is brief. All of you will begin here."

She wrote the rank number and name, then continued without pause.

"Above them stand Architects—those who shaped their immediate surroundings in meaningful ways. Saints, who carried supernatural or superstitious weight in their time. Nobles, who held territory and commanded subordinates. The hierarchy continues upward through Princes, Kings, Emperors, Principalities and Powers, Absolutes, and finally Transcendents."

A low murmur passed through the auditorium at the higher ranks. Most of the students had never heard the full list spoken aloud in sequence.

Anastasia waited until the sound faded.

"Each rank carries greater authority, greater domain, and greater risk. A Squire’s body—your Anchor—is not yet tempered enough to sustain anything beyond an Echo for long. Attempting to force a higher Projection without sufficient Integration is one of the fastest ways to damage your Mind’s World or trigger assimilation into the Celestial Library."

She turned fully to face them.

"This brings us to the second critical principle. The longer a Historical Projection remains in reality, the greater the chance it becomes a target for corruption. Nameless Entities are drawn to concentrated knowledge given form. A careless Historian who leaves a Projection active for too long may return to find it no longer entirely their own."

Several students shifted uncomfortably.

"There is also the matter of personality," Anastasia added. "Higher-ranked Projections often retain strong impressions of their original nature. Some are cooperative. Others are demanding. A few are actively hostile to any summoner they deem unworthy. You will learn to negotiate these temperaments in later classes. For now, understand that power is never free of consequence."

She closed the volume gently.

"I will end today’s Historical Projection introduction with a warning that every generation of Squires must hear."

The auditorium grew still.

"There exist certain Historical Projections that should never be summoned under ordinary circumstances. They are too powerful, too unpredictable, or too costly in the price they exact. Among these, one name is spoken more often than any other when instructors wish to impress the danger upon new students."

Anastasia’s gaze swept the room.

"Mr. Wish."

A few students exchanged uncertain glances. Most had never heard the name. Only one or two of those from established Historian households stiffened slightly.

Lazarus’s expression did not change, but a faint crease formed between his brows.

He knew the story far too well.

Anastasia did not elaborate.

She simply let the name hang in the air for several seconds before continuing in the same calm tone.

"We will not discuss the specifics today. That subject belongs to a later lecture, once you have a firmer grasp of the fundamental ranks and the principle of Potentiality. For now, remember this: curiosity is necessary for a Historian. Recklessness is not. There are doors in the Celestial Library that should remain closed until you are strong enough—and wise enough—to open them."

She glanced at the large clock mounted on the side wall.

"That is all for this morning’s session. Your individual class schedules will be distributed at the exits. Research materials for the next lecture are available in the general library. I will see you all in the next class." Anastasia’s words left the students in a quiet daze.

Naturally, this silence was only temporary.

Conversations resumed in low, thoughtful murmurs. Students began filing toward the doors in uneven streams.

Madeline turned to Lazarus almost immediately, eyes bright with residual focus.

"She didn’t explain much about the higher ranks," she said. "Or about that Mr. Wish person. Do you know anything about him?"

Lazarus stood, smoothing the front of his uniform.

"A little."

"Is it bad?"

He glanced toward the stage, where Anastasia was already gathering her book and preparing to leave.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It is."