When Elinia finished explaining the structure of earth, the teacher stood there as if he’d been struck on the head with something heavy.

  He blinked.

  Then blinked again.

  And finally said:

  “Uh… Elinia…

  would you… continue?”

  She nodded in surprise.

  “Of course.”

  And just like that—the earth teacher sat down at a desk.

  Took out a quill.

  Opened a clean page.

  And began writing down every word, as if this were a lecture by an archmage.

  Meanwhile, Elinia stood before the class and confidently explained:

  “Earth reacts not to pressure, but to structure.

  Now that you understand this, try controlling

  the shape of stone.

  Not with force, but by directing the connections.”

  She lifted a clod of earth.

  Calmly. Naturally.

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  “Imagine rearranging tiny particles so they assemble into the form you want.

  Don’t push.

  Rebuild.”

  The teacher nodded so vigorously he nearly knocked over the inkwell.

  I barely held back a smile.

  We were handed stones—small, dense, easy to work with.

  “Try forming any shape,” Elinia said.

  “Simple. Or complex—your choice.”

  Everyone froze.

  Then began trying.

  Some tortured the stone with their hands.

  Some flattened it with wind magic (unsuccessfully).

  Some hoped it would turn into a cube on its own.

  As for me…

  I simply exhaled and got to work.

  I felt the connections.

  Rearranged them.

  Smoothly. Gently.

  And the stone began to change shape beneath my fingers.

  A minute later, I had a small human figure:

  simple, but even,

  with proportions,

  with a hint of a face.

  I set it on the table.

  Nearby—there was a soft sound.

  A knight figurine.

  Beautiful. Neat. Detailed.

  I looked up.

  Elinia stood beside me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  “Not bad,” she said.

  “You too,” I replied.

  But… something inside clicked.

  Old memories:

  the war of ice figurines.

  Hundreds of tiny statues.

  Our duels.

  And quietly, unnoticed by the others…

  I began forming a new figurine.

  An orc.

  With tusks, powerful arms, broad shoulders.

  She noticed.

  Smirked.

  And answered.

  Her stone began to restructure—

  and a minute later, a stone knight stood beside it—

  even more detailed than the first.

  I smirked.

  She did too.

  We both stayed silent,

  but between us a quiet duel of figurines was already underway.

  Orc → strong, rough, battle-ready.

  Knight → slender, shielded, precise, ideal.

  At that moment, the earth teacher was taking notes in awe:

  “O-o-oh… such a sense of earth… such forms…

  this… this is the future of the Academy…”

  And the students watched as two people performed wonders—

  quietly, calmly, without words,

  as if playing their own small game of magic.

  When the lesson ended, two figurines remained on the table:

  The Orc.

  And the Knight.

  Standing opposite one another.

  As if ready to begin a new war.