My name is Klaus Eisenwald. My existence began in a quiet hamlet in the north of Demora, the land of demons. A place where the bleating of cows took precedence over the cries of children, where magic was limited to culinary or livestock anti-pest incantations, and where grand prophecies – legendary heroes, six-eyed apocalyptic goats – were just fables to lull calves to sleep.

  My ambition was simple: a peaceful life, three meals a day, the scrupulous avoidance of any trouble, and above all… perfect invisibility.

  Alas, even for the most discreet, fate sometimes has the cruelty of a slap delivered with an iron-shod boot.

  I am a half-demon, the product of a frowned-upon, though not prohibited, union: a low-ranking demon father – a provider of tranquility in a magical tavern – and a human mother. In our society, blood is king, lineage an imperial calling card. Nobles boast prestigious magical affinities; commoners, nothing. Me? I was in an uncomfortable in-between, a bastard, a genetic and social anomaly.

  The result was predictable: no recognition, school doors closed, no master willing to instruct me, a future as nebulous as a storm-filled sky. Nothing, in short. Except for a letter.

  A rigidly formal letter, adorned with a golden seal bearing the image of a serpent.

  Imperial Academy of Magic of Luxnheim.

  Congratulations, Klaus Eisenwald.

  We are pleased to inform you of your admission to the first year of our magical excellence program.

  My first reaction was to see it as a joke, a grotesque administrative error, or a sophisticated attempt to peddle dubious hair growth potions.

  After an anxious verification, the truth dawned: the invitation was genuine. I was indeed expected at the most illustrious magical institution on the continent.

  The why remained an enigma. And the idea, far from delighting me, filled me with a dull apprehension.

  A week later, I was aboard an airship, watching the ballet of clouds beneath my feet. To my right, a noble examined my worn coat with blatant disdain. To my left, a pink-haired girl endlessly hummed a pop tune about protection enchantments.

  Me, I kept my eyes fixed on my clasped hands. The place I was going was not meant for me.

  The Luxnheim Academy stood with intimidating majesty atop a celestial plateau. A sprawling magical metropolis, enclosed by living walls vibrant with ancient runes. Stone chimeras and dragons guarded the entrances, and fountains of mana shimmered in the air at intersections. The very ground seemed to throb with latent power.

  And me, my old leather suitcase groaning with every step, I clashed miserably with this grandiose scene.

  Before the monumental gates, a welcoming golem scrutinized my status. The orb embedded in its chest glowed with a cold red light.

  [Status: Abnormal. Class: Non-noble. Magic Rank: Unidentified.]

  The golem considered me, at least I assumed so, its lack of a face making any expression speculative. A silent judgment, yet palpable.

  “…Temporary access granted. Please do not disrupt the established order.”

  Welcome, Klaus. The unpleasantness began as soon as I crossed the threshold.

  My first week was, to put it mildly, trying.

  I had been assigned to the "irregulars" dormitory, a half-ruined building where the walls leaked unstable mana fumes and where my bed groaned like an asthmatic goblin. My roommates were noble, insolently beautiful, radiating obvious magical power and unwavering confidence. I was the intruder, the object of mocking curiosity, the "little joker," according to one condescending professor.

  “A half-demon aspiring to magic? What are your skills, Eisenwald? Dandruff eruption?”

  Laughter erupted, dry and condescending.

  I never answered. Silence was my best armor.

  On the third day, I resigned myself to taking the magical affinity test. A simple protocol: place your hand on a crystal sphere, which illuminates according to your dominant element – blue for water, red for fire, green for wind, and so on.

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  When my fingers brushed the smooth surface, nothing happened. The crystal remained opaque, desperately inert. Not the slightest glimmer, not a fleeting spark.

  The professor in charge favored me with a look tinged with vaguely amused pity.

  “Without affinity… You might consider a career in magical maintenance. They’re hiring, I hear.”

  What they didn't know was that I had perceived something. Not in the sphere, but in the silent turmoil of my mind. A faint voice. A single word, clear and precise.

  [Affinity: ABSTRACTION]

  And just below, a laconic note:

  [Unknown to the system. No compatibility detected. No spells recommended.]

  Perhaps I was a mistake. But a mistake of a singular nature.

  I began to explore this singularity in secret. I devoured theoretical treatises in the forbidden library, melting into the shadows of the dusty shelves. I copied complex magic circles, but I modified them, altered them. Not with raw mana, but with implacable logic.

  "If a fire spell requires twenty units of mana to generate a thirty-centimeter flame, then, by reducing the circle by forty percent and reversing the polarity of the energy flows, shouldn't I be able to produce an inverted flame… of ice?"

  And surprisingly, it worked. Not always, certainly. My experiments sometimes resulted in the untimely explosion of my modest room. But each failure was a lesson, a new variable to integrate into my magical equation.

  I was learning magic like a programmer would assimilate a new coding language. I wasn't casting spells; I was dissecting them, understanding them in their fundamental structure, and then rebuilding them according to my own logic.

  One night, as I was striving to modify a light spell to create a stable illusion – an attempt to generate an ethereal double to escape certain particularly soporific classes – a dull thud resonated beneath the library floor. A deep, hoarse rumble… the bleating of a goat. A goat that had inhaled thirty magical cigars.

  I froze, the ink quill suspended above my parchment. And a voice whispered, a guttural intonation that seemed to emanate from the depths of the earth.

  “You who were not born to exist. Come.”

  I swallowed with difficulty. Courage is not my cardinal virtue. So, I slammed my grimoire shut with a brusque gesture, blew out the enchanted candle that illuminated my clandestine work, and fled without daring to look back.

  That night, my dreams were haunted by an eye. A vertically split pupil, planted in the middle of a shaggy forehead, surmounted by two spiraling horns. And in the depths of that eye… an abyssal void. Not darkness, but the total absence. Nothingness.

  I woke up with a start, my heart pounding. A certainty had taken root within me: my presence here was an aberration. But perhaps everyone else's was too, in their own way. And above all, something immensely ancient had just perceived my insignificant existence.

  My name is Klaus Eisenwald. A level one half-demon, devoid of affinity recognized by the official arcane arts. And apparently… I am on the verge of becoming a critical bug in Luxnheim's well-oiled system. Not by deliberate choice, but because, in this academy overcrowded with arrogant geniuses, capricious spells, and forgotten demonic creatures… I may be the only anomaly capable of causing a system crash.

  Perfect.

  The next morning, a throbbing migraine and a strange warmth in the palm of my right hand were my first companions upon waking. It felt as if an invisible imprint had been drawn on my skin during the night… but there was nothing there. No burn, no scar, just a persistent warmth.

  I lay still for a moment, my eyes fixed on the arborescent cracks in the ceiling. A pale ray of light filtered through a gap in the threadbare curtains. The air was still cool, that morning chill that roots you under the covers… especially when you're the self-proclaimed pariah of the establishment.

  “You who were not born to exist. Come.”

  The spectral murmur still echoed in the recesses of my memory. No, it was just a dream. Or the side effects of chronic sleep deprivation, compounded by the accidental inhalation of expired mana powder (don't ask).

  Finally, the need for sustenance overcame my morning lethargy. In the dimly lit corridor, a few students passed me without even a glance. Those who noticed me averted their eyes, as if my mere existence were a form of social contagion.

  I had resigned myself to it. Survival here rested on a simple strategy:

  Do not attract attention.

  Melt into the general indifference.

  Ignore provocations, however subtle.

  And above all, do not miss my classes. Because today… the dreaded magical dueling session was on the schedule. The test where they sent incandescent projectiles at your face "to assess your level." A pedagogy that was, to say the least… direct.

  The training ground resembled an ancient arena, with its worn stone bleachers, protective runes etched into the ground, and a corner reserved for the healers, whose jaded expressions testified to an established routine.

  I had settled at the back of the bleachers, hoping to blend into the shadows. But Professor Reiz, a middle-aged mage with keen eyes and a suspiciously friendly smile, stopped short in front of my refuge.

  “Klaus Eisenwald?”

  “...Yes?” I mumbled, surprised to be addressed.

  “Your participation is awaited. Today, it is your turn to shine.”

  …forgiveness?

  “Your opponent? Elena von Silberlicht.”

  The name resonated in the arena, eliciting admiring murmurs. Elena von Silberlicht. The rising star of our year. Double elemental affinity: fire and light. Status: daughter of an influential duke. Specialty: humiliating her opponents with cruel elegance, reducing them to ashes with studied grace.

  She stepped forward, wearing an expression of barely concealed boredom. Her silver hair rippled gently in the magical breeze that swept through the arena. Her golden eyes fixed on me with glacial condescension, as if I were an imperfection on the perfect whiteness of her uniform.

  “Him? The famous affinity-less one?” she asked, a hint of disdain in her voice.

  “I’ll try not to kill him,” she added, a mocking smile stretching her thin lips.

  Muffled laughter rippled through the bleachers.

  I walked towards the arena without saying a word. No magical weapon in hand, no ornate wand, no pre-cast spell. Just me. And the complex labyrinth of my mind.

  If I wanted to keep my place in this elitist establishment, I had to prove something. Not that I was powerful, because I knew that wasn't the case. Simply… that I wouldn't collapse at the first assault.

  And for that, it would take a good dose of improvisation and a logic… let's say… unconventional.