The tomb-like classroom of the Spirit class faded behind Darius as he stepped into the academy's winding corridors, the heavy air of Bone's lesson lingering in his mind like a persistent hum. The stone walls, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, echoed with the distant chatter of students and the faint crackle of elemental spells from nearby courtyards. His training robes—blue wind motifs shimmering faintly—rustled as he walked, his satchel bumping against his hip, the weight of his books grounding him. Bone's words about the mind shaping reality and the soul's rhythm pulsed in his thoughts, their potential for his Anemoi Shades sparking excitement. If he could infuse his will into those wind-spirit clones, make them act with true intent, he could elevate his magic to rival the greatest mages. His vow to prevent the dark future he'd written burned steady, a quiet fire in his chest, the system's silent aid amplifying his resolve. Elara's intensity flickered briefly, her focused gaze a subtle motivator, her drive pushing him to seek new heights in the Study of Genetic Alchemy class. The risks of altering one's body or magical conduits loomed, but so did the promise of transformation, a chance to make his magic live in ways he'd only imagined. The corridor's torches flickered, their light dimming as he descended into a quieter, more secluded wing, the air growing heavier, suspense building with each step toward the unknown.

The paths grew dimmer, the vibrant energy of the academy's main halls giving way to a sterile, lab-like wing, its walls lined with smooth, rune-etched stone that hummed faintly with mana. The scent of alchemical reagents—sharp, metallic, tinged with something herbal—filled the air, replacing the damp stone of the Spirit classroom. The corridor was narrow, its torches casting long, wavering shadows, the silence broken only by the soft echo of Darius's boots. His thoughts churned, the danger of genetic alchemy weighing on him. He'd written this class as one of the academy's hardest, its focus on manipulating the body's essence a forbidden art to some, requiring precision and will. Could it enhance his Zephyr form, make his wind-based magic more fluid, or give his Anemoi Shades a new edge? The system's nudge urged him forward, his ambition to surpass Lucien—a rival he'd crafted yet now faced in reality—burning brighter. Elara's focus sparked again, her quiet strength a reminder of what he could achieve, but he centered on the classroom ahead, its door looming, a heavy slab of rune-carved steel that seemed to pulse with quiet power. He pushed it open, the hinges creaking, suspense tightening as he stepped into the Study of Genetic Alchemy classroom, ready to face its mysteries.

The classroom was starkly different from the tomb-like Spirit chamber, its sterile tables gleaming under dim, mana-infused lights, alchemical tools—vials, crystal conduits, rune-etched scalpels—arranged with surgical precision. The walls were smooth, carved with intricate runes that glowed faintly, their patterns spiraling like DNA strands, humming with a clinical energy. Only five students sat at the tables, their serious demeanor underscoring the class's difficulty, their robes marked with various elemental motifs but unified by tense anticipation. Darius's eyes swept the room, his breath catching as he spotted Lucien near the front, his dark hair falling over a pair of sleek, black-framed glasses—a new addition since his Eye of God awakening, a detail Darius knew from his own writing. Lucien's sensitivity to mana must be tormenting him, surrounded by powerful teachers and their overwhelming auras. As Darius moved to a table, his shoulder accidentally bumped Lucien's, the contact jarring, sending Lucien's glasses clattering to the floor with a sharp clink. The room froze, the other students—two earth mages, a water mage, and a quiet girl with no visible motif—turning to stare, their whispers hushed.

Lucien's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing behind the fallen glasses, a flicker of irritation crossing his usually composed face. "Watch it," he snapped, his voice low but edged, his hand trembling as he retrieved his glasses, the runes on the table flaring briefly as his mana surged, reacting to Darius's presence. Darius's heart sank, guilt twisting in his chest. He'd written Lucien's Eye of God to awaken with a cost—sensitivity to mana that left him raw, vulnerable, a suffering he now regretted crafting. He wanted to help, to ease the pain he'd scripted, but Lucien's cold gaze suggested resentment, a barrier Darius couldn't cross. "Sorry," Darius said, his voice calm but firm, stepping back to defuse the tension. "Didn't see you." Lucien adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable, but the air crackled with his restrained mana, the room's runes humming louder. The other students exchanged glances, the water mage whispering, "That's Lucien—he's intense," the quiet girl shrinking back. Darius took a seat, his mind racing, guilt mingling with his vow to surpass Lucien, the system's nudge urging him to focus despite the accidental clash, the classroom's sterile air thick with drama.

The students' whispers faded as the classroom door opened, and the professor stepped in, their entrance startlingly normal compared to the academy's dramatic norms. They were androgynous, with short-cropped hair and simple gray robes, their features neutral, their steps measured, carrying a quiet authority that silenced the room. Darius's curiosity piqued—why was this teacher so understated for a class known for its difficulty? The professor's calm demeanor contrasted Bone's theatrics, their presence commanding despite the lack of flair, the runes on the tables glowing faintly as they passed. The students straightened, the earth mages exchanging nervous glances, the water mage clutching a vial, Lucien's gaze fixed forward, his glasses glinting. The professor paused at the front, their eyes scanning the sparse class, the room's clinical energy humming with anticipation.

Darius leaned forward, his earlier guilt overshadowed by intrigue, wondering what made this class so formidable, his ambition to master genetic alchemy burning steady, the system's aid amplifying his focus as the professor prepared to speak, the tension building in the sterile, rune-lit room.

The classroom's stark atmosphere pressed against him, its smooth stone walls etched with spiraling runes that pulsed faintly, their glow casting intricate patterns across the sterile tables laden with alchemical tools—vials of shimmering liquid, crystal conduits humming with mana, and rune-etched scalpels glinting under the dim, mana-infused lights. The scent of alchemical reagents, sharp and metallic with a hint of herbs, filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of the room's energy, a clinical pulse that contrasted the tomb-like intensity of the Spirit class. Only five students occupied the sparse room, their serious demeanor underscoring the class's reputation as one of the academy's most challenging. The two earth mages sat rigidly, their robes marked with stone motifs, while the water mage clutched a vial, her eyes darting nervously. The quiet girl with no visible motif stared at her table, her fingers tracing a rune, and Lucien, glasses glinting, sat at the front, his posture tense, his mana sensitivity a quiet storm Darius could almost feel. The professor stood at the front, their androgynous form cloaked in simple gray robes, their short-cropped hair and neutral features exuding a calm authority that silenced the room's whispers, the runes on the tables glowing brighter as they prepared to begin.

The professor's voice cut through the silence, steady and measured, carrying a weight that drew every eye. "I am Professor Elys," they said, their tone calm but commanding, their eyes scanning the small class with a quiet intensity. "Welcome to the Study of Genetic Alchemy, where we delve into the art of reshaping the self—body, mind, and magical conduits—through the manipulation of your essence." The runes on the walls pulsed, their light reflecting off the alchemical tools, the air humming with a clinical energy that sharpened Darius's focus. He leaned forward, his robes rustling, his thoughts racing. Genetic alchemy promised transformation beyond what Bone's soul movement offered—could it refine his Zephyr form's fluidity or make his Anemoi Shades more autonomous? His vow to prevent the dark future he'd written pulsed in his chest, the system's nudge urging him to grasp this opportunity, Elara's intensity a fleeting spark in his mind. The professor continued, their voice unwavering. "This is not mere spellcraft. Genetic alchemy alters the building blocks of your being, bending flesh, bone, or mana channels to your will. It's dangerous—precise, yet unpredictable. One misstep, and you could unravel yourself." The earth mages exchanged nervous glances, the water mage's grip tightening on her vial, Lucien's glasses glinting as he shifted, his mana flaring faintly, betraying his sensitivity.

Halfway through the explanation, the professor paused, their neutral features softening, and a faint shimmer enveloped their form, like liquid mana rippling across their skin. The class froze, the runes blazing brighter, the air humming louder as the professor's body shifted. Their short hair lengthened, cascading into dark waves, their frame softened into curves, their robes reshaping into a flowing, silver-trimmed gown. Where Professor Elys had stood, a woman now stood, her features strikingly similar yet distinctly feminine, her eyes carrying the same calm intensity but with a warmer, more vibrant edge. The students gasped, the quiet girl's hand freezing on her rune, the earth mages whispering, Lucien's mana flaring sharper, his glasses fogging briefly. Darius's heart raced, confusion swirling—same vibe, yet different. The woman smiled, her voice smoother, with a melodic lilt. "And I am Professor Lyra," she said, her tone echoing Elys's authority but softer, more inviting. "Or perhaps we are one, or perhaps two, genetic alchemy blurs such lines." The runes pulsed wildly, the alchemical tools vibrating faintly, the room's energy surging with the transformation. The class stared, transfixed, the water mage's vial slipping slightly, Torin's absence from this class a quiet pang in Darius's mind.

Professor Lyra's gaze swept the room, her smile enigmatic, her presence commanding despite the shift. "Where did I—did we—leave off?" she asked, her voice dual-toned for a moment, blending Elys's calm with her own warmth, the question hanging in the air as the runes glowed brighter, suspense thick in the sterile room.

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