Aethelgard Academy Clash

Aethelgard’s recess courtyard didn’t echo the way the mundane streets did. Stone here held sound like it was afraid to let it go, so when Elizabeth flicked a finger and a ribbon of green light stitched itself between the hanging lanterns, the soft rustle of leaves and spellwork felt louder than it should have. Morty lay back on the warm edge of a carved fountain, boots propped on the rim, listening to the low murmur of water and the quicker, sharper laughter that always came from Lyra when she was pretending she wasn’t enjoying herself.

Elizabeth sat cross-legged in the grass beside him, palms open, coaxing a cluster of tiny saplings to grow in place of the brittle summer weeds. They unfurled with a patient, living confidence, their stems turning toward the sun like they were remembering an old promise. Lyra leaned back against a stone pillar, arms folded, a lazy orange glow curling around her knuckles and then fading, as if her fire wanted to stay polite.

Morty watched the light instead of his own hands. He told himself that was the safest way to be at ease - focus on anything that wasn’t the buzzing pressure behind his ribs. His telekinesis had a temper. It didn’t show itself every day, not the way Elizabeth’s commands of the living things did, or Lyra’s heat did. Sometimes it waited, quiet as a held breath. Sometimes it woke up wrong.

Today, though, he wanted it to stay asleep.

“Don’t make your eyes do that,” Lyra said, not looking at him. Her voice had that flame-quick edge even when she sounded calm. “Like you’re counting how many seconds until something explodes.”

Morty swallowed and forced his gaze back to the fountain water. “I’m counting something else.”

Elizabeth’s head tilted. Her hair shifted in the breeze, dark strands catching the lanternlight. “Then count quietly.”

He tried. He really did. The courtyard was tucked behind the legendary walls, hidden from the mundane world, where the stonework carried sigils meant to keep curious eyes out and trouble in line. It was the kind of place where recess was supposed to be simple: friends, warmth, spells that stayed where they were told.

A shadow slid across the grass.

Morty felt it before he saw who cast it. The air tightened, the way it did when lightning crowded a stormcloud. The lanterns’ green ribbon flickered, then steadied. Elizabeth’s saplings drooped for half a heartbeat as if they’d been startled.

Caspian stepped into the courtyard like he owned the stone itself.

He wore academy robes the color of polished night, collar slightly too perfect, the kind of neatness that always looked like a threat. His smile wasn’t friendly; it was sharp, like a knife pretending to be jewelry. Behind him, two older students drifted at a distance, close enough to be entertained, far enough to claim they hadn’t come for trouble.

Caspian’s gaze landed on Morty first, lingering as if he’d found something amusing. Then it moved to Elizabeth and Lyra, measuring them the way a person measured distance before a shove.

“Relaxing?” Caspian asked, voice carrying over the hush of water. “How sweet. I didn’t realize Aethelgard had recess for people who can’t keep up in class.”

Lyra’s orange glow flared, then tightened into a controlled curl around her wrist. “We’re keeping up just fine.”

Elizabeth rose slowly, palms still open but no longer coaxing the saplings. The living stems straightened, grateful for her attention. “Caspian. Leave it.”

Caspian’s eyes flicked to the saplings as if he disliked how quickly they obeyed. “Oh, I’m leaving it. I’m just… admiring it.” He took one step closer, boots clicking on stone. “Morty, isn’t it exhausting, always trying to pretend your hands don’t shake?”

Morty’s spine went rigid. His telekinesis prickled under his skin, a sensation like static crawling along invisible wires. He hated that Caspian could poke at the wrong places with a grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Morty said, and his voice came out steadier than he felt.

Caspian’s smile widened. “Sure you do.”

The older students chuckled quietly. The courtyard swallowed the sound and then gave it back muffled, like laughter trapped behind thick walls.

Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. “Caspian, we’re not doing this.”

Lyra shifted her weight. Heat gathered in her palms, brightening the air around her knuckles. “He wants attention. Give him a lesson instead.”

Morty’s stomach turned. A lesson meant a fight. A fight meant Master Elara’s eyes on them, and Morty - Morty couldn’t afford for his power to misbehave again.

He reached for calm the way he’d practiced it: slow breath, steady focus, hands relaxed. His gaze slid to the fountain water, to tiny ripples that moved without drama.

Caspian ruined that, of course. He lifted his chin and snapped his fingers.

It wasn’t a spell with sparks or light. It was worse than that - an impact without motion, a concussive pressure that slammed into the courtyard like a giant fist. The stone beneath Morty’s back jumped....