Toji Fushiguro stirred his broth with the kind of intent normally reserved for mixing potions or planning escape routes. The cafeteria of Valemont Academy, with its soaring arches and frescoed ceiling, was too opulent to be called a mess hall. The polished marble floors, the glowing chandeliers enchanted to mimic sunlight, even the invisible servant spells that refilled water jugs with a snap—everything screamed prestige.
He hated how easily it impressed him.
The soup was hot and peppered with roots and herbs he didn't recognize. He didn't care. The food could taste like burnt bark for all he cared—as long as it kept him out of the infirmary and breathing.
He scanned the tables around him. There was an art to cafeteria politics. Every student knew it instinctively. The nobles clustered together at the long central tables, laughing too loudly, seated too straight. The commoners and scholarship students floated around the edges, speaking softly, eating faster. Class markers were subtle—pin colors on the robes, embroidery, a lack of polish on boots. But Toji saw them all.
He sat just off-center. Not in isolation, but not asking for company.
Still, company found him.
A tray dropped across from him, jostling his bowl. He looked up. Three students. All cut from the same noble cloth. Their uniforms were crisp, freshly tailored. Their shoes hadn't seen a single patch of gravel. The boy in the middle had golden hair and a tight smirk. His insignia marked him as a second-year.
"Fushiguro, isn't it?" he asked, already assuming the answer. "Cyris's little humiliation in the entrance trials?"
Toji didn't stop eating. "If you're asking whether I beat him, then yes."
The noble ignored the bluntness. "House Solvane doesn't take kindly to being shamed."
Toji finally met his eyes. "Then House Solvane should stop making fools of itself."
The insult hung in the air like a summoned spell. Nearby conversation quieted. A fork clinked against a plate and no one picked it up.
One of the noble's companions leaned forward. "Apologize."
"To who?" Toji asked. "Your friend's pride?"
"We don't take that tone from borderland trash."
Toji stood slowly. The movement drew eyes.
Every line in his body moved with precision, not challenge. Not yet.
"You keep calling me trash," he said evenly. "But I don't remember crawling. Do you?"
The golden-haired noble's face tensed, and his fingers twitched—small, but enough. He had wanted a reaction. Now he had one.
Before it could escalate, a voice cut in.
"Gentlemen," said a girl with a braided crimson ribbon tied into her hair. She balanced a tray one-handed and had a casual smirk on her face. "Let's not waste food. Or faces."
The noble scoffed but said nothing. With a final glare, he turned and walked off. His entourage followed.
Toji sat again.
The girl dropped into the seat across from him and slid her tray aside. She offered a hand.
"Kaela. Class F."
"Toji."
"I know."
He gave her a look. She shrugged.
"Word travels. New guy. Shadow magic. Punched the golden boy with a stick, metaphorically."
Toji smirked faintly. "It was literal."
"I like literal." She picked up a slice of bread and bit into it with visible effort. "Gods, this bread could blunt swords."
"I thought it was just me."
"Nope. They say it's an acquired taste." She leaned in. "Between you and me, most of the nobles get enchanted food. Subtly. Nothing big—just warm, soft, buttered."
He blinked. "That's a thing?"
"Everything's a thing. You'll learn."
He eyed her. "You've been here long?"
"Long enough to know not to duel anyone with four rings on their sleeves and a smile. And not to eat the purple stew on Thursdays."
He nodded once. "Thanks."
"No problem, Fushiguro."
He corrected her. "Toji."
Her brow lifted. "Family name too noble for you?"
He didn't answer. She didn't push.
⸻
After lunch, the first week began in earnest.
Aetherial Theory at dawn. Elemental Control in the high atrium. History in a circular stone lecture hall with living murals that re-enacted wars in silence. Etiquette classes held under the judging eyes of a dozen noble busts who whispered insults when students slouched.
Toji bore it all without complaint. He wasn't here for grades. He was here to learn, because not knowing got you killed.
His affinity lessons were the most confusing. Shadow mages were rare. The academy didn't have a specialized instructor. Instead, he was paired with Professor Aldwin twice weekly in one-on-one sessions.
"Most elements have structure," Aldwin said, as Toji stood in a training circle once again. "Shadow does not. It reflects you. It is you, in a form you don't understand yet."
"Sounds vague."
"Magic is often vague until it bites your throat."
Toji didn't reply. He closed his eyes, reached inward, and pulled.
His shadow lengthened. A ripple ran through it. From the edges, shapes emerged.
An eye.
A paw.
Fur.
A second form tried to manifest—a lean, lupine figure with eyes like dying stars.
Then it vanished.
Toji breathed hard. Sweat prickled his back.
"That was new," Aldwin said, stroking his chin. "Your Eidolon is… not singular."
Toji stared at his own feet. The shadows twitched.
⸻
Later that day, in Magical History, Professor Bellum lectured about ancient rites of the Echo-Born. Shadow-wielders, she claimed, who drew on memories from other lives to cast spells that required no runes, only will.
Toji listened carefully.
He had no idea what an Echo-Born was. But when she spoke of their affinity changing form depending on their self-understanding, something clicked.
⸻
So my shadow's not just a tool. It's a mirror. The more I know who I am, the more it shapes itself.
Then what happens if I don't like the answer?
⸻
At dinner, Kaela found him again.
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The I-might-be-a-rare-magical-aberration-and-it's-ruining-my-soup look."
He couldn't help the snort. "That obvious?"
She shrugged. "You're quiet. That usually means thinking. Or murder."
Toji hesitated. "Hey, what do you know about… shadow magic?"
She blinked. "Not much. Dangerous. Hard to read. Most nobles avoid it. Makes people nervous."
"Why?"
"Because you don't need to chant to kill someone with it."
He nodded. That tracked.
She pointed her fork at him. "But you're different. It doesn't look evil on you."
"What does it look like?"
"Like it's waiting."
He paused, food forgotten.
Waiting.
That's what it felt like too.
⸻
In the days that followed, things didn't calm down.
He wasn't targeted again, but whispers followed him. Some students watched him like a puzzle; others like a threat. But not Kaela. She stayed real.
He noticed small things. How she never touched her food fully, how she kept one hand free at all times during meals. Her eyes always checked the exits. Street-trained, maybe.
She noticed things too.
Like how his shadow sometimes moved when he didn't.
Or how he kept turning away from mirrored surfaces.
She never asked why. And he never volunteered.
⸻
By the end of the week, the Sentient Aether course began. Professor Ilestra, who wore half-moon glasses and a perpetual expression of suspicion, gathered the class around a summoning circle.
"Today," she said, "you will attempt to imprint a minor familiar. Most will fail. Some will faint. A few may vomit. That's perfectly normal."
Kaela muttered, "Comforting."
Toji stepped up when called. He knelt, touched the rune, and focused.
Others chanted. He didn't.
He felt.
A pull.
From inside.
From the shadow.
It surged.
A small creature formed in the air—black mist swirling into shape. It looked like a fox at first, then a jackal. Then something with eyes that blinked sideways.
It stared at him.
It was his. But not bound. Just… connected.
Ilestra frowned. "That is not a summon. That is a shadow tether."
"Is that bad?" someone asked.
"No," she said slowly. "But it's not typical."
She turned to Toji.
"You'll need to come after class."
Toji didn't respond. The fox-thing remained, hovering beside him like a question unanswered.
⸻
After class, Ilestra closed the doors.
"You're drawing from something deeper than aether. I've seen this before. Once."
She leaned in.
"You're either very old in soul, or something made you wrong."
Toji stayed quiet.
"Don't worry," she said. "We don't punish rare things here. We study them."
That didn't comfort him.
⸻
Later that night, he sat on the rooftop of the dormitory, alone. His shadow curled beside him, a twitching thing like liquid charcoal.
"I'm not Toji," he whispered to it. "Not really."
The shadow said nothing.
"I'm Ethan Grae. I clicked something I didn't understand. I woke up here. I'm faking every move I make."
A breeze stirred his hair.
"But you already knew that, didn't you?"
The shadow shifted.
And for the first time—it nodded.