Page 1 of Overwhelmed By Magic

1

100 Years Ago

Darkness seeps into the room, a nearly tangible entity as it spreads through the space, swarming the emptiness like a thick wet blanket of despair. Wind whistles through the cracks of the old building, damp stone encasing the eerie essence lingering in the room. A tree stands at the center of the room, defying nature as it splits the stone, roots rippling across the space as if alive. The bark breathes, a powerful hum emitting from the branches, thick leaves protecting the wonder from outside forces.

My lungs constrict, a painful notion that my essence may not be enough to keep me conscious. Even after returning the Book of Old to its rightful place at the base of the ancient Tree of Life, Mother Nature seems to rage against those who once removed it.

In its absence, Mother Nature has turned her anger against us, threatening to return us to the earth from which we came.

I swallow, clasping my hands in front of me, waiting for the spirits to seal the book into this room. Their heads are bowed low, chanting words of protection to sway any others from retrieving this powerful source of essence and darkness.

I pray no one finds this monstrosity but even more so, I hope no one retrieves the essence from this room. It is too powerful for one person to wield and will only bring about the destruction of the world we cherish in the wrong hands.

The legend it holds, a soul so dark and decrepit that should the true essence of this creature return to earth, the world will know true darkness.

The chants tamper off as the spirits called upon disappear, the essence in the room dissipating until once again I can feel my own essence swirling in my chest. I wiggle my fingers in front of me, sighing when the pink aura dances across my skin before vanishing. It is a pitiful flame, a mild power and yet I know that in the right circumstances, I could destroy cities. A secret that I will keep to myself and take to my grave. After all, no one knows that I can understand the ancient lettering from the Book of Old, a language long since dead to us—Mother Nature's tongue.

“Silas, have you finished?” Professor Graves’ rough voice carries through the stone room and I nod, heading back to the entrance. As the only individual without true essence, I am the only one allowed inside as Mother Nature deems me pure. Classified as human, I will not reject my place on the council for the flimsy aura that stays at my side.

“Yes sir,” I answer as I step into the hallway. “The Book of Old has been returned to its resting place and Mother Nature has accepted its presence.” I meet Professor Dmitri Grave’s scarlet eyes, his tight smile not hiding the tips of his fangs as if the presence of them is meant to keep me in line. Dmitri’s classification as a vampire does not terrify me, however, his rigid rules and his undying need to follow tradition do.

His elegant nature precedes his haughty aura as he waves a hand to the entrance, a stone slab moving on its own accord. “Excellent, then the room shall be sealed.” He mutters a few words, no doubt a spell to keep this room both locked and hidden from the public view. We stand there in an uncomfortable silence as stone slides against stone, Dmitri’s red aura twisting and swirling through the air until all that is left is a wall, sealing off Mother Nature’s secret.

I shouldn’t be able to see Dmitri’s essence but it is one of many things I have been gifted with. Dmitri nods his approval at his work before silently commanding me to follow. I hurry after him as he glides through the halls using his essence to boost his speed. I find it distasteful that so many of those with Mother Nature’s gift rely on their abilities for such small things.

Walking is not that much of a chore.

It doesn’t help that Dmitri enjoys playing into the Dracula stereotype, black and red cloak paired with a full three-piece suit. His pale face and the red lipstick he dons—though we’re all supposed to pretend he doesn’t wear it—add to the persona. Dmitri has lived well over a century without aging a day and his pompous acts feed into everyone’s preconceived notions. He craves the attention.

I don’t understand it.

The journey back to the main hall is made in silence until we reconvene with Eugene, a Versipellis—a shifter, who is also on the council. He’s never revealed his beast but rumors have it that he is some species of coyote, his essence rooted in the element of earth as all Versipelles are. Copper hair and soft features accompany the man, his lean stature putting him nearly at the same height as Dmitri. Both are well over six feet tall, towering over my short frame.

As we continue climbing the steps, the intricacies of Astral Academy morph into rich wooden patterns from old trees that used to line the forests that stood here. Essence found in nature has been encapsulated in the walls, protecting the occupants from those who would wish academies such as this one harm.

Academies made especially for those with essence or as many call them–Magila.

Well, more essence than me.

Essence has always been here, among us but Mother Nature only revealed this beauty a few centuries ago. To accommodate the growing change, Magila are trained as soon as they present. Many individuals begin showing their abilities around 5 or 6, a few late bloomers appearing in middle school.

Magila are then separated to learn to wield their abilities safely so that they can coexist with the human world they are born into. Laws and guidelines are set in place to ensure fairness between Magila and humans.

However, the rare few that do not conform to the elements we have discovered—earth, water, fire, air, metal, blood, and spirit— are forced into additional training upon graduation. Thrust into an academy hidden from the public and cast into the darkness with no way to return. Parents are told that remedial lessons will fix their broken children but many are never able to prove that they fit in a system not meant for them.

The only options are essence based on the seven elements. Anything else is considered rejected, broken, vile.

And I hate it.

Different doesn’t mean evil, regardless of what Dmitri believes. I bow my head and mutter my hellos to staff and lingering students, trying not to get caught by any of the Magila who despise my existence in this academy. After all, this space is only for individuals like them and as far as they know, I’m human.

The only reason I’m allowed to coexist with Magila in Astral Academy is because of my extensive knowledge regarding Mother Nature, the Book of Old, and several other books that most researchers have lost access to. My ancestry prides themselves in passing down stories so we don’t repeat the sins of our past and it is for that reason alone that Dmitri keeps me plastered to his side and on the council.

I slip into the professor’s office, taking up residence at my desk in the corner. These four walls are more of the same but where the vibrance of the forest adorns each and every corner, in here, it is mundane. Dreary. The warmth that essence generally brings is not present here. A bitter chill wafts through a cracked window, the early spring air only adding to the eerie aura that this office gives off.

I’m mostly ignored unless needed for tasks such as those just performed. Even then, I’m sworn to secrecy and can’t discuss my job outside of this academy. Not even with my wife.

“Dmitri,” Eugene calls as he steps into the room after us. He throws me a disgusted look at which I bow my head in respect. “I’ve retrieved the list of graduates this year. Everyone but three made it.” He slides a large white envelope onto the desk, Dmitri sparing it a few seconds before opening one of many research spell books.

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