“Forget everyone but the heads of each course.” Caelan was about to question that affirmation when Leopold cut him off. “They are a bunch of bootlickers who agree with anything the Masters say and do. I, uh, ‘borrowed’ the records of all previous hearings. Without fail, when the decision got split, it came from the heads disagreeing.”


    “Hum… Then, we focus on them and count on the lesser professors following what they decide?” Taking notes, he looked over the long list of people who could be sitting at the table. “What are the chances the Headmistress only brings the heads?”


    “If that happens, start praying.” To that, Leopold snorted out of his nose. How a ghost could do that was beyond both their understandings. "Relax. Worst case, you’ve got two heads at the table, and you butter up the right one. Odds of all five Masters showing up? Zero-point-nothing. Unless, of course, the universe hates you. Oh, wait.”


    “Yeah, being stuck with you in my head does seem like divine punishment."


    Ignoring his complaints, Caelan requested an overview of the professor’s personality. Putting on his traditional smirk, the floating being laid down on his back to give a lecture.


    “You’ve met Dorne. Walking rulebook. Doesn’t bend, doesn’t break. If you don’t step out of line, he loves you. You so much as sneeze wrong, he’s got your head on a platter. The man despises me—it’s mutual.”


    “Why am I not surprised?”


    “Holt’s a walking recruitment poster. Big, loud, and always talking about ‘grit’ and ‘perseverance.’ Failure’s just practice, he says. Yeah, right. The man could probably give a motivational speech to a rock and make it blush. Flash some puppy eyes, cry a little, and he’ll go to war for you.”


    That got Caelan to raise an eyebrow. “Cry a little? That’s your big idea?”


    “Back at the slums, tears were a weapon. Made everyone underestimate you. Until shivs got pulled.”


    “Anyway, Falkner. Absolute lunatic. Loves anything that explodes, paints, or otherwise defies the laws of sanity. Mention you enjoy sculpting manure, and he’ll call you a misunderstood genius.”


    “He did seem like an interesting person."


    “Trenith is a bitch. I’m not even saying it for laughs; she’s actually a bitch. She’s worse than Dorne, thinks she’s smarter than everyone else. Might be, too, but she’ll respect you if you can prove you’ve got a brain in that skull of yours.”


    Caelan sighed, sitting back to review his notes. “So… we focus on these four, pray they’re the ones called, and hope they’re not all in the room together.”


    "Relax," Leopold said, waving his translucent hand. “Odds of that are next to zero. Unless, as I said, the universe hates you.” He glanced at Caelan taking notes. “Oh, we''re so fucked!”


    "You should work on your jokes. They''re starting to get repetitive."


    -----


    "With all that said, there is a way to face the consequences of this year''s events; thus, giving me a second chance.” Caelan paused, enough for those who enjoy theatrics, but not too long for the ones who don’t. “I should be held back a year, undo all the progress made on the back of unsavory practices.”


    Another set of exchanged looks among the faculty, as they weighed the words given. A booming laughter came from the Hunt Master. “Well, that would solve our current predicament.”


    Caelan would later swear he heard the snapping of bones, with how fast Dorne turned to his colleague. “Absolutely not! Keeping a student with such disdain for the regulations would only serve to disrupt the students worth keeping.”


    Trenith crossed her legs, deep in thought. “And yet, losing an entire year of academic progress could work as an incentive to readjust one’s demeanor.”


    “Professor Trenith, do you believe a single year’s setback will instill a sense of discipline? In a student who has repeatedly acted with impunity?” Dorne looked around the table before settling on the person in question. “Letting him remain after repeated violations undermines the foundation of our institution.”


    “Oh Dorne, as usual, so rigid, so boring.” Gideon Falkner manifested himself at last. “Let’s not pretend expulsion fixes anything. Sturmfeld’s still got the capacity to learn and create—perhaps even more after facing setbacks. Isn’t that worth considering?”


    “None of you know this young man as I do. I’ve seen signs of his actions for a long time, only never managed to catch him in the act. And if you think I will allow him to cause chaos among those under my care, you are sorely…”


    “Oh, go suck a dick!” Leopold turned upside down, spinning around as he tried to fight his boredom. “Or lick a pussy, if the first is your thing.”


    “If I could, professors…” Caelan had the fierce debate interrupted, their eyes once more set on him. “Holding me back a year isn’t the only suggestion I have in mind. If I am to prove myself, offer me a challenge while also accounting for my unique circumstance.”


    “Do tell us what you have in mind, dear.”


    Taking a deep breath, he revealed his hand. “I believe remaining under the Weaving course would be an impossibility. Both in practice and theory. Not to mention going against Professor Dorne’s beliefs. No, if I am to show my resolve, a new course would offer greater hardships, even more so in light of recent events.”


    “I see.” The Headmistress spoke, looking at her colleagues. “Is there any among you who would accept Sturmfeld as a pupil?”


    “Such a challenge would be a delight!” Holt got up from his seat, eyes brimming with excitement. “Give me a year, no—just six months, and none will recognize young Leopold here!”


    “My, my, Sturmfeld, you do have a way with words. In ‘practice and theory,’ you say? Tell me, is this charming ambiguity your idea of strategy, or are you hiding something deliciously scandalous?” Despite the sweetness oozing from her tongue, Vaedra’s eyes had a frigid air to them.


    Caelan cleared his throat. “I was just getting to the part, ma’am.”


    “Oh shit, here it comes.” Leopold joined his hands in prayer.


    “I’ve been told this in private by Dr. Moreau; it shouldn’t even be on the medical record yet. Whatever the accident that afflicted me was, I have been crippled in a unique manner.” He waited for his words to have sunk in. “I have become unable to manipulate essence in any way, shape or form.”


    A tense silence followed the revelation. “Excuse me?”


    -----


    Hand pressed against the orb, Caelan focused all his being into… to be honest, he didn’t know what. Leopold had tried explaining several times already, much to his growing frustration. Yet, the displaced continued to fail to grasp the concept.


    “It’s all right, Leopold, let’s stop.” Doctor Moreau placed her hand over his shoulder. “I think we can both agree this isn’t working.”


    The young man looked away, frustration sinking in. “I’m sorry, I… don’t know why I can’t do it.”


    The medic invited him to take a seat while she went and picked a glass of water for him. While he drank, she pulled a few papers from her briefcase. She then asked if he knew what the purpose of the tests was. After giving her a negative answer, the older woman sighed before looking into his eyes.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    “Leopold, when I examined you, I noticed something unusual. Most people would never even think of looking for it in the first place. And if not for my stronger sensibility to essence, neither would I.” She waited for him to absorb all her words before moving on. “What do you remember about the way Aether works?”


    Using his knowledge from the games (and some help from the actual Leopold), he explained, as best as he could. How it consisted of an energy that formed the fabric of all that exists. Every living being had essence and could manipulate it in some manner. But only the Awakened could use it for combat purposes. In fact, the purpose of Hollowbane Academy was their training.


    All so they could better fight the Hollowborne.


    “Good.” She paused, a mixture of subtle emotions showing up in quick succession. “Leopold, you aren’t… normal.” Moreau’s voice softened, but her eyes bore into his as if searching for something deeper. “Most people release essence without even thinking about it. You don’t, at least not anymore. Your essence is… silent.”


    She hesitated, her hands tightening around the papers. “To be frank, it’s almost as if it isn’t there at all.”


    A numbing sensation crashed over his body. Leopold’s ghost form had his eyes wide as plates. “What do you mean?”


    She held onto his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I thought it strange, feeling nothing from you all this time. It made me wonder why you would try to conceal your essence like that. But after the exams, my conclusion is that you either don’t have essence inside you, or something is blocking it.”


    A numbness crashed over Caelan, like cold water thrown over bare skin. For a split second, a voice in the back of his mind screamed, "This complicates things." But he clenched his jaw, pushing it aside. Feelings could wait. Plan first, worry later. “I see.”


    Moreau explained how the more advanced tools could detect the energy inside of him. Yet nothing he did let him access nor manipulate it in any form. Then, after some hesitation, she explained that some forms of deep trauma could trigger it. Although there wasn’t enough data to support such a claim. “Leopold… do you know what the ‘accident’ you had truly was?”


    A glance at the silent specter, who hadn’t moved an inch after facing away from them both, would be all Caelan needed. “I’m not sure of the details… but I think I can guess what happened.”


    “With time, you may recover from it. I can refer you to an amazing therapist to help you with all the physical and psychological effects of such a...”


    “I’m sorry, ma’am, but could I… have a few minutes to myself? It’s… a lot to take in.”


    Once they were alone, Caelan looked at the small form of Leopold, who had hugged his knees. His companion broke the silence first, before the widower could say anything. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”


    A sigh came out of the obese body they now shared. “We don’t know that. It could be just an effect of our unique problem.”


    “I knew," Leopold finally muttered, his voice a fragile whisper. “Spending your life feeling it, you know the moment it’s gone. But… I just… I didn’t want it to be true. Like so many other things.”


    He let out a dry laugh, bitter and hollow. “Just another fuck-up to add to the pile, huh?”


    “Why didn’t you say anything?”


    “Too much shit going on all at once. You probably noticed, but my life has changed a little bit in the last few days.” His body trembled a bit. “I just… hoped I was wrong. Like always.”


    “You’re right—your life’s gone to hell.” That had the younger man retreat further into himself, as if he wanted to disappear. “But mine as well. And beating yourself up about it won’t help either of us.”


    He moved towards the front of Leopold, meeting his gaze with determination. “We don’t need essence to think or fight. And the hearing? This could be the best card we’ve got. A ‘cripple’ who wants to prove himself makes a more compelling picture.”


    -----


    Caelan spent the following minutes relaying everything explained to him. Even including the more detailed medical terms. Holt’s eyes glistened, and he dabbed them with a handkerchief the size of a bedsheet.


    Falkner leaned forward, scribbling in a notebook already cluttered with sketches and equations. Every so often, nodding or humming, as if fitting Caelan’s condition into some grand plan. Without looking up, he murmured, “Fascinating… essence silence. Could it be… no, impossible…”


    Dorne sat as straight as a pike, his lips pressed into a tight line. Though he didn’t speak, his knuckles whitened as he adjusted his already set spectacles.


    Trenith’s sharp eyes narrowed, her index finger tapping against her crossed arms. She leaned back in her chair, studying Caelan with the intensity of a scholar dissecting a theory.


    Vaedra’s fan snapped shut with a soft click, her lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile. Her gaze lingered on Caelan, eyes like polished onyx glinting with amusement. Or something colder. “How… tragic,” she purred, though her tone made it impossible to tell if she meant it.


    Lady Veylor remained still, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. Only the faintest narrowing of her eyes betrayed her contemplation. When she finally spoke, voice carried with the deliberateness of a judge. “This is… unprecedented.”


    Caelan nodded, giving his agreement. Then he explained why he picked his words just minutes before. When revealing why the Weaver Course wouldn’t work with him. In fact, only two of the courses were available to him at the moment.


    “Understanding and Creation.” The headmistress nodded to herself. “Two paths available to you, demanding resources, time, and trust of this institution. Let us say we grant you this opportunity. What, pray tell, does the Academy gain by extending you this courtesy?”


    “Publicity.” Whatever the six of them expected, that word wasn’t it. “The hollowborne grow stronger, yet fewer people come to train here. Why? Because the Academy has an image problem.”


    None of them gave him an answer; instead, they waited for him to continue. “To most people, it’s a fortress of privilege. A place for nobles and those under their patronage, not for common men and women. Where elitism fosters, turning away those who might otherwise stand against the tide.”


    He raised a hand, aiming the gesture at the Master of Weaving. “I know what you’re thinking, Professor Dorne. How could one with such distaste for the rules attract potential new candidates? Consider how accepting a pariah among pariahs shows that anyone thrive.”


    “And Professor Zenith, you get the chance to break the puzzle of the one who had his essence blocked presents. Wouldn’t you say this merits my continued stay?”


    “And Master Falkner, I''ve always had a wish to expand my horizons beyond the mundane. And so, my true calling lies in your care. For imagine what perspectives I could bring to the table with my unique situation.”


    “Oh, I already have many things in mind! Such ingenious things in store!”


    “Oh, I do love a good underdog story. But tell me, darling, is this about redemption—or survival?” Vaedra leaned forward, as if a lioness ready to strike.


    “Why not both, my lady?” A deep bow accompanied his returned question.


    “I like you more by the minute, young Leopold.”


    “An intriguing perspective.” The headmistress''s words cut through the words of the others like a knife through butter. “But you’re asking us to gamble the Academy’s reputation on you. How can you ensure we don’t regret this decision?”


    Caelan gave a smile that would make Leopold proud. “One would think if there’s anyone capable of reforming someone like me, it would be the people in this room. Or am I wrong?”


    “Ha!” Slapping his enormous thigh, Holt laughed with joy. “The lad already has my vote. What say the rest of you?”


    “Oh, to work in such a rough canvas could provide a learning experience, indeed!” Falkner’s forehead had drops of ink from his furious writing. “Let the kid be under my care.”


    Dorne’s face had several red dots on it, his hands white from gripping the table. “Publicity stunts have no place in an institution dedicated to discipline and order. The Academy’s reputation must rest on its principles, not on hollow symbols. I say we proceed with his expulsion."


    A knot tightened in Caelan’s stomach as Dorne’s words landed with the weight of a hammer. He could feel Leopold seething in the back of his mind, hurling obscenities at the Master of Weaving. Still, he kept a neutral expression. Showing weakness now would be fatal.


    Trenith took out a strand of hair that had come loose from her braided crown. “Your sentiment is admirable, but it is an invitation to uncertainty. I shall not place my hopes on one who has failed to demonstrate his resolve so far.”


    Her words hit harder than expected. Stay calm. Don’t show it.


    Vaedra’s fan snapped shut with an elegant flourish, her smile a mix of charm and danger. “Oh, my dear Leopold, you do make a compelling case. If this were about personal tastes, I’d keep you without question.”


    Body relaxing from all the tension, he had words of thanks about to come out when the woman continued. “But sadly, sentiment alone cannot outweigh practical concerns regarding your will to improve. My vote, reluctantly, is for expulsion.”


    Caelan’s heart sank. Even Leopold had no snarky remark. Nothing but an open mouth as the room filled with overwhelming pressure. Every sound muted, his mind going blank, all preparation thrown to the side. Then his thoughts raced as an eruption of indignation formed from Holt and Falkner.


    “Come on, think of something!” Leopold kept his face dancing from the teachers to Caelan. "You''re the one with knowledge from the future!”


    “Enough!” Caelan’s voice thundered, not with volume but with a clarity that cut through the rising chaos like a blade.


    “What are you doing?” Leopold''s horrified face would be comical in any other situation.


    “Saving our asses from the firing squad.” The room stilled, all eyes locked on him. He clenched his fists, forcing down the tremor in his voice. “You want proof? Fine. But it’s for the Headmistress alone.”


    Dorne at last managed to break his pen, such was his ire. “You think you can demand things, at this point?”


    Ignoring all but Lady Veylor, the young man proceeded, gaze glued to her. “Madam, I am Leopold vorn Sturmfeld.”


    Lady Veylor froze in place, studying him. Then, for the first time, the venerable woman stood up from her seat, pale as a ghost. “All of you, leave."


    “What’s the meaning…”


    “Out!”


    Her voice, though quiet, carried the weight of an unbreakable command. The air itself seemed to shift, heavy with an authority that brooked no defiance. Even Holt, who looked about to protest, rose without a word. Not even his massive frame could eclipse her presence.


    Then, they found themselves alone. “Explain yourself.”


    Caelan took a deep breath with lungs that weren’t his own. “I’m not Leopold. My name is Caelan Ashvale, and I come from another world. Everything you think you know about me ends today.”