“The term ‘spell’ can be misleading, as it implies the use of words. However, only lung-marked attuned make judicious use of words for their magic. When a Guardian focuses their shroud around their hand before punching someone, the Guardian is using mana, and thus we classify that as a spell.”
He was surprisingly animated, despite the mundane subject. He emphasized each major term, like “spell”, and provided accompanying gesticulations. “Some academic institutions outside of Valia have begun to use different terminology for attunement-based abilities activated through other means. Others have simply replaced the word ‘spells’ with something more general in nature. For example, Edrians use a local word that translates to ‘techniques’.”
Several students made rude noises, and he paused to regain silence. Once he had it, he continued as though nothing had happened. “Now, you’re probably wondering what each of these attunements is capable of, hmm?”
There was a murmur of approval from the class at what I’d interpreted as a rhetorical question.
“Excellent, excellent. In today’s class, we’ll cover the basics of each of the local attunements. In subsequent classes, we’ll get into more details on the capabilities of each, as well as synergies with other attunements. We’ll also have an overview of the attunements of other regions, but you’ll have to wait for next year for details on those.”
The professor walked over to the chalk board at the back of the class room and began to draw. Aside from Professor Edlyn in my Mana Manipulation class, he was the only professor I’d seen use chalk.
I was sitting pretty close to the front, but it still took me a second to recognize what Professor Conway was drawing — the Guardian Attunement symbol. He finished it a moment later, keeping the chalk in hand.
“I’ll start with one of the most controversial: the Guardian. In old times, we didn’t think the Guardian had magical abilities at all, and the name is a legacy of that misconception. At first, we believed it merely passively enhanced the resilience of the Guardian. Thus, the name.”
He fell into a low martial arts pose of some kind, his chalk-hand extended forward. “As years passed, Guardians began to demonstrate seemingly magical abilities through martial arts. We understand these abilities far better now, and they are a way of manipulating mana as surely as hurling a bolt of fire would be for an Elementalist.”
A visible aura appeared around the professor as a swirling field of yellow-orange. Normally, I couldn’t see auras unless my attunement was active, so I assumed he was doing it deliberately.
The professor continued his explanation. “The Guardian accomplishes this by manipulating their shroud, a field of mana that surrounds their body. Normally, the shroud is equally distributed and serves primarily as a defensive field, but it can be focused on a certain part of the body. Either to defend...”
Conway flicked the chalk forward and it ignited in a burst of flame, vanishing a moment thereafter. “...or to strike. A Quartz Guardian will learn to use this to punch, kick, and block more effectively. At higher attunement levels, Guardians learn to extend their shroud to objects, or to push a specific type of mana through their shroud — just as I did a moment ago.”
He stretched, resuming a normal posture, and his aura faded. “Even at advanced levels, Guardians always focus on manipulating their shrouds. Thus, Guardians often learn traditional martial arts forms in addition to the techniques they study to focus their mana.”
That made sense. I was curious if specific motions triggered specific ‘spells’ or if it was more about just focusing their mind. I’d have to ask about that later if it wasn’t addressed directly.
He clasped his hands in front of him. “All attuned develop shrouds once they reach Carnelian status — but no other local attunement can manipulate a shroud to the same degree. There are, however, some foreign attunements, such as the Legionnaire—,” he turned his head, looking distracted. I heard it a second later.
A bell. No, bells — more and more of them, growing louder as the bells nearer to us began to chime.
Some students immediately began to stand. Conway unclasped his hands and held one out to forestall chaos.
“Students,” his voice was projected and clear, “please remain calm. The bells you’re hearing mean that there is an emergency situation within the school. We will be heading to the nearest shelter, which fortunately, is quite close by. First row, please stand and head to the door, then await me outside.”
He had us file out of the room in an orderly way. Once we had joined other evacuating students outside of the classrooms, most of us were deathly silent, but I heard a few whispers.
“Dangerous,” said a few of them.
“Scared,” was among the most popular.
“Monsters,” was the most important.
I got the general idea.
Our school was probably under attack.
Given the fact that both Teft and Orden had shown a proclivity toward testing their students, I considered the possibility that this was just some sort of drill. There had been invasion drills at school when I was younger; that school had been close enough to the Edrian border to warrant them.
I discounted that possibility when I saw the winged figures in the air.
There must have been dozens — no, hundreds of them. They all shared some characteristics: wings, obviously, as well as vicious claws. Beyond that, though, I noted a variety of shapes and sizes of the flyers. Some looked almost humanoid, whereas others looked like giant birds or winged lizards.
Too many to be illusions.