The Dragon Stirs

The scent of stale parchment and chalk dust hung heavily in the modest classroom of the Elseria Magic Academy. For most, it was a place of tedious memorization and rudimentary spellcasting. For me, it was an elaborate playground.

My instructors were, to put it mildly, unimpressive. They rattled off beginner-level theories with the enthusiasm of a merchant counting coins, unaware of the true cosmic forces they fumbled to describe. My classmates struggled with basic levitation charms, while I privately experimented with long-forgotten methods of bending space and time. Suppressing my vast power was like holding back a tidal wave – exhilarating, yet with constant risk of exposure.

Despite my best efforts, the illusion of 'average' began to crack. Practical demonstrations were a particular headache. When everyone else summoned flickering fireballs, my carefully tamped-down energy erupted in roaring infernos. Healing spells meant for minor scrapes resulted in miraculous recoveries. My instructors gaped at me, their eyes a confusing mix of awe, suspicion, and a touch of fear.

Word spread like wildfire through the academy. 'Ard Meteor' became a whispered name. Some saw me as a prodigy, others whispered rumors of demonic pacts fueling my unnatural abilities. Soon, I was dodging the fervent admiration of ambitious classmates and increasingly sharp glares from professors who felt their authority threatened.

One sunny afternoon, the tension reached its peak. Our instructor, a balding man with a fondness for belittling his students, decided to make an example of me.

"Meteor," he drawled, "perhaps you'd like to enlighten us on the complexities of transmutation? Or is that too far beyond your simple mind?"

My inner demon bristled at the disrespect, but Ard merely blinked with exaggerated innocence. "I'm not sure, sir. Never really tried it."

The instructor's smirk widened, and a ripple of cruel laughter spread through the class.

"Then how about a demonstration?" He gestured to a training target. "Transmute that rock into solid gold. If you're truly the prodigy they say, it should be child's play."

The trap was obvious. Transmutation of that scale was far beyond beginner level, a failure meant to publicly humiliate me. My power thrummed beneath the surface, eager to unleash and turn this arrogant fool into a toad for his insolence. But that would reveal my true self.

A sly grin spread across my face. "Gold, sir? Bit gaudy, isn't it? How about…diamond?"

The class gasped. Diamond transmutation was on the level of master alchemists. The instructor sputtered, "Don't be ridiculous, boy!"

With a shrug, I focused. It was a simple matter of manipulating atomic structure, an act I once performed on a celestial scale. My control had to be flawless to avoid transmuting the air, the ground, myself… A bead of sweat trickled down my brow; this was a far closer shave than I'd intended.

With a surge of power – minuscule in comparison to my full might – the rock shimmered, transforming into a flawless, glittering diamond the size of my fist. Silence hung heavy in the classroom. The instructor stared, mouth agape like a landed fish.

When he finally regained his voice, it was a choked whisper, "H-how did you…"

"Like I said," I gave an infuriatingly innocent smile, "Never really tried it before."

The rest of my academy days became an odd dance. I excelled, but in subtle ways. A 'mistake' during combat practice resulting in an unusually effective shield spell, a 'lucky guess' unraveling a particularly complex enchantment. I was simultaneously the academy's star pupil and its biggest enigma.

Then came Lydia. The girl with the mismatched eyes reappeared one day, leaning against the academy gates as I departed, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Varvatos," she said, stating it rather than asking. "They don't see what you truly are, do they?"

My pulse quickened. So, my secret wasn't entirely safe. "That depends," I replied coolly, "Who are you, and what do you see?"