The release of the complete Lunarian Principle produced exactly the outcome Charlotte expected and exactly the outcome everyone else feared.
Across the Witching Hour, thousands of men immediately attempted to learn Charlotte's publicized mana circulation.
Thousands failed, of course, since they tried to wing it without guidance. Some failed within minutes. Others spent hours sitting cross-legged in bedrooms, gardens, basements, rooftops, and anywhere else they believed looked sufficiently mystical. Many discovered only sore backs. One particularly determined individual accidentally fell asleep halfway through the exercise and woke up convinced he had achieved the circulation.
He had not.
Forums quickly filled with complaints
.I can't feel anything.
Is my mana broken?
Has anyone actually succeeded?
I think Charlotte forgot several steps.
That last post received over fifty thousand likes. Charlotte never responded. In fact, neither Charlotte nor Aster showed the slightest interest in helping. The complete Lunarian Principle had been released publicly, complete with everything a student of the arts could need. The rest was everyone's problem. If they wanted to learn it, they could learn it the same way every Lunarium student learned everything else. Through study, practice, failure, and more failure.
The approach immediately drew criticism. Many demanded proper instructors or a simple video instruction. Others demanded government-sponsored programs to make homunculi teachers of the Lunarium teach the Lunarian Principle outside as the coven's semester hasn't started yet. Several covens of the Witching Hour attempted to contact the Lunarium regarding official guidance. Every request received the same response, "Read the material. Practice. Try again.".
The replies were signed by Charlotte. Nobody was surprised. Despite the failures, people continued trying. Hundreds persisted. Then dozens. Then a handful began reporting results.
At first the changes were small. Subtle, even. Easy to dismiss. A faint sensation in the air. The feeling of warmth gathering beneath the skin. An awareness of mana that had never existed before. Spellcasting remained beyond them. Miracles remained impossible. Yet they could feel the mana around them, and that alone changed everything.
For centuries, countless men had lived beside witches without ever perceiving the world the same way. Now some could. The first verified case appeared three weeks after the Senate hearing. The individual was completely unremarkable. A young man from a minor witch family living near the outer reaches of Nocturne. No prestigious bloodline. No famous surname. No connections. No extraordinary talent. Only the sheer determination to experience magic.
According to reports, he spent nearly sixteen hours a day practicing the circulation method. His family initially assumed he had lost his mind. Then one evening he looked up from his meditation and accurately identified the location of three witches entering the house before they opened the front door. The local examiner was called. Tests followed. Additional tests followed those tests. Then more tests after that. Nobody wanted to be responsible for making a mistake. The results were undeniable. The young man could do more than merely perceive mana. During the final examination, he managed to gather a small amount of mana into his palm and shape it into a crude sphere no larger than a marble. It was one of the most basic exercises taught to young witches, little more than an introductory lesson used to teach control and concentration.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been unimpressive. What shocked the examiners was the speed. Just the day before, he had only been capable of sensing mana in the air and recognizing the presence of nearby witches. Less than twenty-four hours later, he was already manipulating it. The sphere itself was unstable and collapsed moments later, but that hardly mattered. It was proof that the Lunarian Principle was working. Mana was no longer merely brushing against his senses. It was circulating through his body, gathering within the first of the Aetheric Points Charlotte had described and allowing him to interact with it directly. Well, only a point just for now.
The announcement spread across both worlds within hours.
Many witches stared at the reports in disbelief, while others demanded fraud investigations. Several older covens accused Lunarium of fabricating evidence, only for independent examiners to arrive at the same conclusion. Then another group confirmed it. Then another.
The impossible had happened.
The first publicly documented male wizard existed. His achievements were modest by any magical standard. He couldn't cast spells, couldn't perform enchantments, and could barely manipulate mana consistently. Yet none of that mattered.
For the first time in recorded history, the wall separating men from magic had been breached and everyone knew it.
Applications to the Lunarium surged once again, and what began as a steady stream of new students quickly turned into a flood. Daily arrivals became hourly arrivals, and hourly arrivals became a logistical nightmare large enough to make even Elowen, a marionette of the highest degree, a worry. The Lunarium was forced to expand almost constantly, new floors and facilities appearing as quickly as they could be built. Charlotte had expected growth. Nobody, however, had expected the entire Witching Hour to collectively decide that the Lunarium was suddenly the only coven worth attending to learn.
Construction began almost immediately. Additional classrooms appeared first, followed by new dormitories, expanded research facilities, and entire sections of the school that seemed to materialize overnight. Visitors watched in amazement as the Lunarium continued growing upward, floor after floor being added to accommodate the ever-increasing student population. The central tower eventually rose so high that many newcomers instinctively found themselves searching for clouds above its peak. There were none. The Lunarium existed within a dimension bubble, where no sky, atmosphere, or heavens existed overhead. Even so, the tower continued its ascent, stretching ever higher as if determined to reach a horizon that did not exist.
Charlotte apparently viewed physical limitations as suggestions.
Traditional covens felt the consequences almost immediately. Students began leaving, not in overwhelming numbers, but in sufficient quantities to draw attention. Smaller covens were hit the hardest as more and more daughters chose Lunarium over traditional instruction. Their reasons varied. Some wanted access to the curriculum of the Lunarium, others were interested in the knowledge that could normally be only taught to inner coven daughters than normal coven daughters, while many simply saw opportunities that their home covens could not provide. A few openly admitted that they wanted to learn directly from the person responsible for overturning centuries of magical assumptions.
Nowhere was this more apparent than among coven daughters. For generations, many witches entered arrangements with established families, receiving support, resources, and training in exchange for carrying the family's name and contributing their talents to its future. Such arrangements had long been considered stable, and leaving them was almost unheard of. Now, however, it was happening with increasing frequency as Lunarium's influence continued to spread throughout the Witching Hour.
At first, the reaction among the larger families bordered on panic. The possibility of losing promising coven daughters to Lunarium was not something any house had anticipated, much less prepared for. Yet unlike the smaller families, the great houses adapted quickly.
The Ravens adapted.
The Pantheras adapted.
Before long, most of the major families arrived at the same conclusion. Fighting the trend was pointless.If their coven daughters wished to study at the Lunarium, then let them study at the Lunarium. They would remain members of their respective families, keep their obligations, retain their surnames, and continue benefiting from family support. In return, everything they learned would eventually find its way back home.
What began as a compromise soon revealed itself to be an opportunity. Families gained access to Charlotte's knowledge, Lunarium's latest research, and discoveries that would otherwise take years to reach traditional covens. Rather than weakening the great houses, the arrangement often strengthened them.
Several family leaders privately admitted that opposing Charlotte had never been a particularly viable strategy to begin with.
The smaller families reacted far less gracefully, particularly those that had aligned themselves with the Welsch faction during previous disputes. While the larger houses adapted to the changing landscape, these families dug their heels in and resisted.
Their outrage soon became impossible to ignore. Public statements began circulating throughout the Witching Hour. Articles appeared in magical publications, open letters were distributed between covens, and what began as criticism quickly evolved into a coordinated campaign of complaints directed squarely at Charlotte and Lunarium. According to them, Charlotte was destroying magical traditions, undermining the authority of established covens, and dismantling customs that had survived for centuries in favor of reckless innovations. They were still in that problem while the others had already moved on.
The accusations varied, though most carried the same underlying complaint. Smaller covens argued that the Lunarium was draining them of promising students before they could properly inherit family traditions. Others complained that coven daughters and families who returned from the school came back questioning practices that had gone unchallenged for generations. More than a few elders blamed Charlotte for encouraging that attitude in the first place. If a student left her coven convinced there was a better way to do something, then clearly it was Charlotte's fault.
The complaints continued for weeks but gained little traction. The public had heard similar warnings before, when Charlotte founded the Lunarium, when Eidolons were introduced, and again during the summit. Each time, the predictions had been dire. Each time, the world had stubbornly refused to end. At some point, many people had simply stopped betting against her.
Unfortunately for them, Charlotte noticed. The response appeared online at three in the morning without any buildup whatsoever. One moment the complaints were circulating through the Witching Hour, and the next a new post appeared on Charlotte's official account.
"Thank you for the compliment."
Beneath it was a screenshot of the accusations. Every highlighted complaint had been carefully circled by Charlotte herself, destroying traditions, undermining outdated systems, dismantling barriers, and changing the future. Beside each one sat a neat little checkmark. To make matters worse, the post ended with a selfie of Charlotte sticking her tongue out at the camera.
The reaction was immediate. The families in question nearly exploded. Responses appeared within minutes, despite being three in the morning, some demanding apologies while others insisted the post be taken down entirely. One elder reportedly shattered a table after seeing it, while another required medical attention shortly afterward. Whether the two incidents were related remained unclear.
Charlotte, naturally, decided to make things worse. Less than an hour later, a second post appeared beneath the first.
Still sounds like a compliment.
The internet adored it. What followed was less a discussion and more a full-scale war in the comment section as supporters celebrated Charlotte's response, critics rushed in to condemn it, and countless bystanders gathered simply to watch the chaos unfold. Arguments spiraled into arguments about other arguments, old grudges resurfaced, and before long nobody seemed entirely sure what they were fighting about anymore.
Charlotte never participated. Having successfully irritated several families and a sizable portion of the Witching Hour, she apparently decided her work was done and quietly lost interest in the conversation.
Far above the growing school, inside an office overlooking the endless activity below, Aster sat comfortably in his chair. Another notification appeared. Then another. Then another. He ignored all of them.
Outside, students hurried between buildings while construction crews worked tirelessly to expand the school. New classrooms were already being prepared for the next wave of applicants, and somewhere in the distance another group of aspiring mages was undoubtedly attempting the Lunarian Principle with results ranging from promising to disastrous.
Aster took a sip from his drink and watched the activity below. Progress was rarely neat. It tended to be slow, messy, and occasionally catastrophic, but it was progress all the same.
Beyond the window, the central tower of the Lunarium continued its steady climb toward a sky that did not exist, growing taller with each passing week. Looking at it now, Aster couldn't help but think that the school was still far from finished.
The future probably wasn't either.