Selan Velo · Chat

The late spring wind, carrying the scent of spiritual plants from the Star Pivot Academy, swept through the half-open wooden window, settling on the man in the light grey robe at the podium. Selan Velo propped up his chin, his eyelids half-drooping. The sunlight dyed his slightly messy, light-colored hair a soft gold, making him look even sleepier than the students dozing off below. This was the most neglected classroom in Star Pivot Academy—Class 1 of Basic Aether Perception. No dazzling elemental magic, no explosive chanting of incantations. The entire class taught only one thing: how to see aether, how to gently touch it, and how to make that faint light at the fingertips shine steadily. “Alright, keep practicing.” His voice was light, like lint floating in the air. After speaking, he buried his face in his arms, revealing only a clean section of his nape, entering a complete state of semi-hibernation. A flurry of whispers and snickers immediately broke out below. “Like this again... Does Teacher Selan really know magic?” “I heard that in his last aether test, he barely passed. He doesn't even qualify as a second-tier Weaver.” “Isn't he just a substitute teacher who got in through connections?” The discussions weren't loud, but they were loud enough to drift up to the podium. Selan's eyelashes fluttered. He didn't look up, only sighing softly in his heart. *That's good enough,* he thought. Being a bit weaker, more ordinary, and inconspicuous was the only way to live a peaceful life. For three hundred years, he had seen world pivots shatter, pulse lines snap, and countless powerful beings burn their souls to ashes for a sliver of power. Hiding in this tiny classroom now, teaching a group of kids who couldn't even hold their aether steady, was already the gentlest ending he could think of. Just then— “BANG—!” A blinding white light suddenly erupted from the back row of the classroom. The runaway airflow of out-of-control aether overturned desks and chairs, mixing dust with fragmented light. A girl with braided hair stumbled back, her face pale. The aether lamp at her fingertips not only failed to light up, but instead, like a backfiring musket, frantically spewed chaotic fluctuations of aether. “I, I drew too much... I can't control it...” The girl's voice trembled. Haste is the greatest taboo in aether perception. Once the external pulse lines are forcibly pulled, it can cause a backlash headache at best, or severe aether disorder and damage to one's foundation at worst. The surrounding students scattered in fear. Even a passing instructor from the next class stopped in their tracks, looking troubled. An out-of-control situation of this level required at least a third-tier Weaver Master to guide and disperse. However, the high-level instructors were currently holding a meeting in the main building and couldn't possibly make it in time. Seeing the girl's face turn increasingly pale, and the runaway aether about to shatter her own aether barrier— A hand was gently placed on top of her head. It was very light, very warm, like a cloud landing. Selan had stood up at some point. He still had that sleepy-eyed look, his cuffs frayed, his robe rumpled, and his fingertips clean, without even a single trace of weaving. The surroundings instantly went silent. The students were stunned. Teacher Selan? What is he trying to do? He can barely even light up his own aether lamp! Next second, everyone's pupils contracted. No incantations, no gestures, no gorgeous rituals. The wild, rampaging mass of out-of-control aether, which even the pulse meter registered at a dangerous level, suddenly became as docile as a tamed beast the moment his fingertips touched it. The chaotic light subsided. The dispersing airflow froze. The flow of aether in the entire space seemed to be gently pressed down by an invisible hand, leaving it so quiet that only the sound of the wind outside the window could be heard. Selan lowered his eyes, his voice still lazy: “Don't worry. Aether isn't meant to be grabbed; it's meant to be greeted.” With a slight flick of his finger. The chaotic light actually obeyed, condensing into a tiny, soft point of light, landing gently in the girl's palm and shining steadily. The entire process took less than a second. The classroom was dead silent. Everyone froze in place, their minds blank. What was that just now? It wasn't formulation, it wasn't soul intent, and it certainly wasn't basic perception. That was... a form of control that directly overrode all order of aether. It was as if the pulse lines of the entire world were obeying his command alone. Selan withdrew his hand, patted the girl's shoulder as if nothing had happened, and slowly walked back to the podium, lying down again, acting as if nothing had occurred. “Keep practicing,” he mumbled, his head buried. “If it gets out of control again, I'll deduct your participation points.” Sunlight flooded the desk once more. Only he knew. At that moment just now, he had deliberately suppressed ninety-nine percent of his power. Even a single leak of a Pivot-grade orbital weaving technique would be enough to instantly shut down the magic circuits of the entire academy. Outside the window, the wind blew gently. No one saw that in the worn, yellowed notebook under the podium, a line of faint golden ancient characters silently flashed— 【Guardian of the Seventh World Pivot, Selan Velo.】【Today, still a useless teacher of basic classes.】