The next lesson… turned out unexpectedly successful.

  After Elinia’s explanations in the previous class, everyone handled earth far more confidently:

  some could already lift small stones,

  some could change shapes,

  some assembled small lumps into things resembling statues,

  and a few… tried to copy my golems.

  The teacher walked between the rows, repeating only:

  “Incredible…”

  “Excellent…”

  “Amazing…”

  “In just one day, such progress…”

  He looked less like a teacher and more like an archaeologist who had struck gold.

  Thank you, Elinia, I thought.

  She really had given them a foundation.

  While everyone practiced, the teacher lifted his head and frowned at Elinia and me.

  For a second, I thought he was about to ask:

  “Are you two teaching the class instead of me?”

  But instead, he said:

  “For the two of you… I’ve prepared a separate task.”

  He went behind a screen, and when he returned…

  he was dragging two enormous boulders.

  Truly enormous.

  About fifty kilograms each, if not more.

  I looked at the boulder.

  Then at Elinia.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Elinia looked at me.

  Then we both looked back at the stones.

  And at the same moment, the same thought flickered in our eyes:

  This is war.

  I placed my hand on the stone.

  My sensitivity was better now,

  but I deliberately slowed my pace—

  mastering a new element too quickly would raise questions.

  The stone obediently trembled—

  I gathered its connections into a single core

  and began forming the first figure.

  An orc.

  Heavy, massive, with a broad facial structure.

  It came out a little crooked—

  I deliberately made it worse than I could have.

  Elinia, of course, noticed.

  The corner of her lips twitched, as if to say:

  Hiding your strength?

  And in response, she created…

  A knight.

  Already from a boulder.

  Stone armor, straight lines, a sword—

  everything precise, clean, far too good for a beginner.

  “I see…” I muttered.

  And it began.

  I formed:

  orcs,

  undead,

  a small stone dragon,

  some rough barbarians.

  Yes, they were worse than the ice versions—

  but earth was heavier,

  and the figures held together more firmly.

  No accidental cracks.

  Elinia created:

  knights,

  cavalry,

  mages with staffs,

  shield-bearers,

  even a miniature fortress.

  The level of play rose.

  This wasn’t a war of figurines anymore.

  This was… strategy.

  And yet… no one around us even understood what was happening.

  The teacher watched us with an expression that said:

  They’re doing what I myself could barely demonstrate.

  The other students gathered around,

  not understanding where such an oppressive focus was coming from.

  I deliberately made:

  the orcs rougher,

  the undead asymmetrical,

  the dragon small and slightly crooked,

  so no one would ask:

  “Why are you so good with earth already on the second day?”

  But even so… my forces looked alive.

  Elinia glanced at me.

  “Still playing ‘I’m weak’?”

  “It’s a role,” I replied quietly. “Get used to it.”

  She smirked.

  And then she created…

  a stone paladin three times larger than normal.

  “Are you mocking me?” I whispered.

  “If it’s war, then it’s war,” she answered calmly.

  The teacher finally pulled himself together and stepped closer.

  “Helvard… Elinia…

  this… this is incredible…

  you shape earth as if… as if you’ve worked with it for a year already…”

  “Sorry,” I said. “We just… tried.”

  “Very hard,” Elinia added.

  The teacher looked at both boulders,

  now transformed into small armies.

  Rubbed his eyes.

  “I… think I’ll… step aside.

  If you manage to build a fortress—

  tell me. I’ll write it into the textbook.”

  And he left.