That was the only class I had scheduled for the day, but it left me more tired than I’d expected. Sitting around gathering mana in a classroom full of cautious first-years turned out to be surprisingly draining. By  the time evening rolled around, my stomach was growling like a disgruntled wolf. So I made my way back to the dorms to grab dinner.


    The cafeteria was in its usual evening bustle: students chatting animatedly about their classes, the clatter of dishes echoing around the high-ceilinged hall, and the mouthwatering smells of stew and freshly baked bread drifting through the air. I spotted my usual group at a table near the far wall and hurried over with my tray of food.


    Kora, the petite harpy girl with inky-black feathers, was fiddling with a quill in her slender fingers. “Hey, Gromli,” she called as I sat down. “Busy day?”


    I shrugged, rubbing a hand over my tired eyes. “More mentally exhausting than anything else. Spent the morning learning how not to blow myself up with mana.” I flashed a small grin. “How was your day?”


    Kora ruffled her feathers. “Well, I signed up for a flight drill class to improve my maneuverability in enclosed spaces. Turns out, flying indoors isn’t as easy as it looks. Almost crashed into a chandelier.” She gave a nervous laugh, then poked at her plate of greens. “I’ll get better, though.”


    Leela, the elf girl with bright green hair, chimed in next. “I’m taking an elective on elemental flora—fancy name for plant magic. We spent the entire class identifying different seeds and trying to germinate them with mana. I managed a little sprout.” She twirled a lock of her hair around a finger. “Baby steps, I guess.”


    Across the table, Tanri, the ginger-furred cat-eared boy, leaned back in his chair, looking amused. “I spent most of my day in archery practice. I mean, cat reflexes are great, but apparently my form is sloppy. Got an earful from the instructor—literally. An arrow grazed me, and I nearly yowled for half the hall to hear.” He wiggled one tufted ear in mock indignation.


    Sylra, the treeling girl with bark-like skin and evergreen hair, spoke up softly from her seat beside Kora. “I had an alchemy workshop. We learned how to stabilize potions using bits of root or bark. The professor complimented my natural affinity—apparently treeling wood can help slow a potion’s volatility.” She offered a small smile. “Makes me think we all have our own unique advantages.”


    Finally, Grok, the orc who was my roommate, paused from wolfing down his food. “I was stuck filing paperwork for my scholarship job,” he groaned. “But hey, I did manage to catch a lecture on defensive wards. We tried to reinforce a simple barrier spell. I, uh, might’ve cracked a wall by overloading the mana. Oops.” He shrugged, clearly more amused than remorseful.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I chuckled, scooping up a big spoonful of stew. “Sounds like we all survived our first real day of classes, anyway. Go us.”


    Kora puffed out her chest feathers. “Yeah, just gotta keep at it. Tomorrow’s another chance to improve.”


    I nodded, letting the warmth of the stew seep through me. Despite my fatigue, I felt a small spark of excitement for the days ahead. Sure, class had worn me down, but the chance to learn and grow—especially in a place bursting with so many different people and skills—made it all worthwhile. We chatted about random campus gossip and our next-day schedules as we ate, each of us already plotting out how to make the most of our time at Stoneharp College.


    After dinner, I found myself with a few free hours before bed. I wasn’t as tired as I’d been before—probably thanks to that “pure” mana we absorbed in class. It had a strangely invigorating effect. With time to kill, I decided to head to the library. I had questions rattling around in my head, and maybe I could find some answers tucked away in old books.


    As I walked, I turned over the old elf’s words about extraplanar beings. A nagging thought kept coming back: was I one of them? My memories of another life, another time—how did they fit in with this world?


    I remembered working in the military once. Well, mostly I wore a uniform and did office work. Then I got out, and guess what? More office work. But it wasn’t so bad. I had decent times there. My real passion, though, was running. Every run felt connected to every other run, somehow part of a bigger tapestry. I’d had one perfect run once—so smooth and exhilarating it felt almost transcendent. Even later, when I was heavier and out of shape, I kept trying to chase that memory of perfection.


    It occurred to me that running was a lot like this business of channeling mana—pull it in, push it out, find a rhythm in your body. It made me wonder: were qi and mana really just different words for the same thing? Old elf teacher seemed to think so, chalking it up to humans complicating matters. Maybe all that “cultivation” talk in my past life was just describing how you felt when you pushed yourself physically: that buzz of endorphins, that sense of mastery over your own body.


    But then there was this idea of meridians and a dantian, the places you supposedly stored energy—like a mana core, right? If my core was already a rock, did that mean it had gone from vapor to liquid to solid or something else entirely? My mind whirled with half-baked theories. Another thing to check, I supposed.


    Anyway, I tried not to get too lost in my head as I made my way across the campus. The library building stood tall, with wide steps leading up to grand doors. Dwarves aren’t big on reading—mine folk usually care more about pulling ore out of rock and carving stone into shape. But me? I’d always liked books. Whatever dwarven instincts I had didn’t override my curiosity for the written word.


    As I stepped inside, the hush of the library wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Shelves stretched in every direction, laden with tomes of every shape and size. Some looked ancient, bound in cracked leather. Others were newer, with bright covers and embossed titles. A few chairs and tables were scattered around, lit by soft-glowing mage-lights. A handful of students were poring over scrolls, quills scratching quietly.


    I took a slow breath and felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe I’d find something here about “meridians” or “dantian,” or maybe I’d stumble onto a treatise about dwarven rune techniques. Who knew? One thing was certain: between my reincarnation questions and my newfound dedication to magic studies, I wasn’t going to run out of reading material anytime soon.