The Versatile Thief

The hallway of Aethelgard Academy smelled of ozone and floor wax, a combination that usually heralded trouble for students like Santiago. He pressed his back against the cool, locker-lined wall, feeling the rhythmic thrum of magical wards in the building’s foundation. It was a comforting hum, usually. Today, it sounded like a countdown.

"Hey, Pratama. You look like you’re waiting for a bus that’s never going to show up," Jax barked, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. He stood with two of his sycophants, their fingers twitching with practiced, lazy sparks of kinetic energy.

Santiago kept his eyes low, calculating the distance between him and the fire exit. "Look, Jax, I’m just trying to get to Advanced Runes. Can we not do this today?"

Jax laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "Do what? We’re just checking in. You haven’t shown much progress in the dueling pits lately. It’s almost like you’re hiding something."

"I'm just a slow learner," Santiago muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Leave it alone."

"A slow learner? Or a dud?" The guy to Jax’s left, Marcus, stepped forward, his palm glowing with an unstable, jagged red light—a simple Impact bolt. "Maybe a little nudge will help you pick up the pace."

Santiago felt the familiar, cold itch in his gut. It was his curse, his secret—the ability to reach into the ether and peel the magic right out of a person’s grasp. But his 'storage' was pathetic. He was currently holding a flickering Light spell he’d snatched from a first-year’s dropped textbook spell-tag two days ago. It was useless here, but it was taking up the single slot in his ephemeral library.

If I want to survive the next ten seconds, the light has to go, he thought, his pulse spiking.

"Is that a threat, Marcus?" Santiago asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline. "Using offensive magic in the corridor? That’s an automatic detention if the prefects catch you."

"Prefects are at the faculty meeting," Jax said, grinning. "And you’re going to be nursing a bruise, not reporting me. Drop the act, Santi. Show us some juice."

Marcus leveled his hand. The red light intensified, casting long, hungry shadows across the floor. "Get ready to dodge, loser."

Santiago closed his eyes for a split second, reaching deep within his own consciousness. He found the Light spell—a soft, golden hum tethered to his soul—and simply... let it unravel. It dissipated into the air, a tiny puff of spent mana. The space in his mind went cold, empty, and ready.

"Hey, watch it!" Santiago shouted, feigning panic as he stepped forward, not back.

As Marcus unleashed the bolt, Santiago didn't weave or duck. He thrust his hand out, palm open, right into the path of the incoming spell. He didn't try to block it with his own aura; he reached out with his soul, grabbing at the raw structure of the magic as it hummed toward his face.

Grab it, he commanded his internal reservoir. Rewrite the sequence. Bind it.

The sensation was like shoving his hand into a beehive. The jagged energy scorched his palm, but he held on, stripping the kinetic force from Marcus’s spell and folding it into a defensive lattice. The red light turned cool, pale blue, and solidified into a translucent barrier just inches from his nose.

Clang.

The Impact bolt hit the shield and shattered into harmless sparks, spraying harmlessly against the lockers.

"What the hell?" Marcus stumbled back, his eyes wide. "Did you just... you stole that?"

Santiago exhaled, letting the shield flicker and fade as he let the stolen energy dissipate. His hand was trembling, his skin stinging from the rapid mana-drain, but he kept his face carefully blank.

"I didn't steal anything," Santiago said, adjusting his bag strap. "I just pushed your sloppy aim aside. Maybe practice your focus, Marcus. You’re leaking mana everywhere."

Jax stared at him, his mouth set in a hard, confused line. "That wasn't a standard parry. I saw the shimmer. That was a direct conversion."

"You’re seeing things because you’re bored," Santiago replied, walking past them. His legs felt like lead, but he didn't look back. "Find someone else to bother. I’ve got class."

He kept walking, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. He had survived, but he had been sloppy. The shimmer of a spell-steal was distinct—anyone who knew what to look for would recognize the way the light warped when the mana was forcibly displaced.

He rounded the corner, ducking into the empty alcove of the archives to catch his breath. He leaned his forehead against the cool stone, closing his eyes.

"That was quite the trick, Pratama."

Santiago spun around, his heart jumping into his throat. Standing in the shadows of the arched doorway was Nadia Volkov. She was leaning against the frame, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed in a way that felt like a surgical examination.

"I wasn't doing any tricks," Santiago said, his voice straining to sound casual. "Just had a lucky reflex."

Nadia pushed off the wall and took a slow, deliberate step toward him. "Lucky reflexes don't turn Impact bolts into Shield echoes. You shifted the frequency of the magic while it was in transit. That’s not a reflex. That’s a high-level anomaly."

Santiago forced a lopsided grin, trying to look bored. "You’ve been reading too many illicit spell-theory journals, Volkov. It was just a lucky parry. Nothing more."

Nadia didn't smile. She lingered, her gaze tracing the faint, fading blue residue still clinging to Santiago’s fingertips. She seemed to be weighing him, measuring the value of his secret against the cost of exposing it.

"Lucky, huh?" she murmured, taking another step closer. "If you say so. But you should be careful. People start noticing when someone stops being a dud and starts being a vacuum."

"Is that a warning?" Santiago asked, his hands balling into fists inside his pockets.

"It’s an observation," Nadia said, her voice dropping to a low, melodic hum. She turned toward the exit, but she stopped, looking back over her shoulder. "I'll be watching, Pratama. I’m curious to see what else you can pull out of the air."

She walked away, the rhythmic tap of her heels fading into the distance. Santiago stayed in the alcove, the silence of the archives pressing in on him. He had avoided the bullies, but he had caught the attention of someone far more dangerous. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, wondering if the spell he’d just stolen was worth the cost of the eyes now fixed on his back.