Novels by Lysandra

The dust from the fallen pillar was still settling, a fine, grey powder coating the floor of the practice yard. The air hummed with the residual static of the collapse, and the scent of pulverized stone and ozone was thick enough to taste. Bima stood near the edge of the debris, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric of his satchel.He felt it before he heard it—a shift in the air, a drop in temperature that didn't come from the drafty hall. A shadow elongated, stretching toward him from behind a jagged slab of masonry."You have a very reckless way of drawing attention to yourself," a voice said. It was smooth, cool, and carried a melodic, slightly detached cadence.Bima spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. Standing there, leaning casually against a wall that had miraculously remained upright, was the stranger from the rafters. Up close, he was even more imposing. His coat was charcoal-dark, crafted from a material that seemed to absorb the light around it, and his ey

The morning sun bled through the high, arched windows of the Great Hall, casting long, dusty spears of light across the crowded atrium. Bima kept his head low, his satchel—heavy with the weighted promise of the book and the silk—clutched firmly against his side. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want the eyes.The Ranking Board stood in the center, a towering slab of obsidian where names shifted and reorganized themselves based on the previous day’s assessment. Bima stood at the back of the throng, watching as Jax pushed through, his grin sharp and predatory."Move it, Bima," Jax scoffed, shoving past him. "Don't get in the way of the actual mages.""I’m moving, Jax. Give it a rest," Bima muttered, his voice flat.Jax stopped, turning back with a sneer. "Still last? I’m shocked. Honestly, I’m surprised the Board even bothers to carve your name into the stone. It’s a waste of perfectly good magic.""Maybe they like the consistency," a nearby student chimed in, laughing.Bima ignored

The library air was still, heavy with the scent of vanilla-rotted parchment and the metallic tang of the lingering spellwork. Bima stood frozen in the center of the aisle, the silk handkerchief draped over his palm like a living, breathing creature."Okay," Bima whispered to the silence, his voice cracking slightly. "Just a handkerchief. That’s all you are. Don’t go doing anything else weird, alright?"He watched, breathless, as the embroidered thorn pulsated with a soft, rhythmically golden light that mirrored his own heartbeat. The warmth wasn't just physical; it felt like a tether, a direct infusion of potential that made his own sluggish mana hum in sympathetic resonance."It’s not burning," Bima muttered, turning his hand over to inspect the silk. "It’s not trying to incinerate me. It’s... it’s feeding me."He tucked the fabric into his breast pocket, right over his heart. The moment the silk touched his skin, he felt a strange, cool sensation ripple down his spine—not cold, but

The ink swirled like schools of microscopic fish beneath the parchment’s surface. Bima leaned back, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The glow from the pages bathed the dusty aisle in a rhythmic, golden pulse that felt less like magic and more like a heartbeat."What in the blazes are you?" Bima whispered, his voice trembling. He reached out, his fingertips hovering inches above the shifting text. "Are you a trick? Some kind of elaborate prank from Jax?"The book didn't offer a snide remark. Instead, the shifting ink coalesced into a single, intricate diagram of a human circulatory system, but where the veins should have been, there were complex, glowing ley lines of power."It’s... it’s not an ignition spell," Bima murmured, squinting. "It’s a flow chart. A conduit map? I’ve never seen a structure like this in the basic texts."High above the rafters, perched on a beam of dark, weathered oak, Kirill adjusted his grip. He peered down through the gaps in the flo

The heat of the training arena didn’t feel like power to Bima; it felt like a suffocating blanket. He stood in the center of the white-stone circle, his chest heaving, his palm outstretched toward the target dummy. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to summon the searing heat of a fireball, trying to pull that elusive spark from the pit of his stomach."Come on," Bima whispered, his breath hitching. "Just once. Just show up."He felt the familiar, lukewarm tickle of mana crawling up his arm, but it stalled at his wrist, flickering and dying like a wet match. He opened his eyes. Nothing. Just an empty, calloused palm."That’s it? That’s all you’ve got, Bima?"The voice belonged to Jax, a tall, broad-shouldered student with the kind of effortless magic that made Bima’s teeth ache. Jax was leaning against the stone pillar nearby, his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth."You look like you're trying to swat a fly, not cast an ignition spell," Jax laughed, gesturing to