Sleep washed over me in a blissful wave—light and quick. My brain, tired from the string of events, needed only a good, deep rest. It lasted an unknown length of time but broke off at the most interesting moment: endless fields of flowers shimmered in bluish-red hues, and I was lightly chasing after some figure. I almost caught her…
I was thrown from sleep as if doused with cold water. Looking around in fright, I flinched at the sudden crash. I wasn't the only one whose sweet dreams were shattered—my roommates had jumped up, too. In the dim rays of dawn, barely piercing through the clouds, a dark silhouette took shape. The door had been ripped from its hinges and lay in the middle of the room. My eyes went wide, and my entire gut screamed danger. Friendly visits don't start at dawn with a broken door.
Without hesitation, I sprang to my feet and vaulted out of bed. The figure with the oppressive aura stepped out of the shadows, hovering slightly above the floor, and approached me.
"Edric." The commanding voice rang in my head, a knell that made my ears throb and almost knocked the breath out of me. The world blurred, and only my fighting stance—with one foot forward—saved me from smashing into the floor. A quick bow, and my senses came back. Squinting, I made out the figure: a luxurious, achingly familiar mustache twirled in different directions, a neat beard… one of the instructors.
Straightening up, I gave a slight bow in greeting.
"The rector summons you. Follow me," he said, now more quietly.
Stepping outside, we were immediately wrapped in thick fog. Winding deeper past the flowerbeds, the instructor quickened his pace. He was clearly rushing, so I had to nearly run to keep up. Even on the move I managed to use magic: the bloody threads that had run from my ears were gathered and woven back into my flesh, my hearing restored, and the ringing faded. During the spell, I caught the bearded man's interested glance out of the corner of my eye.
A dozen strangers stood watching—not just watching, but emanating a murderous aura that sent shivers down my spine. They parted to let us through, their gazes burning holes in the back of my head. As we climbed the stairs, whispers began behind us. Within the Academy walls, they dared not speak aloud, but they hardly bothered to hide either—every voice was clear.
"That bastard of no lineage… he's lucky to be under these walls' protection," a male voice said clearly. "The rector has already made up her mind. He won't be sitting here forever," a woman replied maliciously.
By the time we reached the middle level, sleep had completely fled. At the Rector's floor, the double doors stood open, and the Rector herself sat at her desk, watching the approach intently. Her furrowed brow seemed to burn with a third eye. After the instructor led me here, he immediately turned and disappeared up the stairs.
The doors slammed shut behind me. I turned to the rector and greeted her at this early hour. The question of why I was summoned didn't come—guesses were already racing through my mind. Finding no words, I stood frozen in silence.
Looking at Edric, I could not understand why his alertness hid a barely noticeable calm. It was unnatural for cadets and most young people. The rector's office gave me many powers, but magical ability even more, and that was precisely why even the council allowed themselves careful restraint when faced with my opinion.
Relaxed shoulders and a slight tilt of the head, held freely by the neck, did not match his puzzled gaze. He looked absentmindedly, as if not attaching to his surroundings but not getting lost in them either. He didn't avoid my eyes, and yet he didn't try to hold them either. His eyes drifted past me, landing on details and on the tips of his fingers, as if he wasn't searching for threats… but surveying the space.
It was the wrong kind of calm—neither learned nor put on. Such calm comes either to those who haven't realized how much danger they're in or to those who know exactly what they're doing. Edric clearly did not understand the situation at all.
I remained silent, waiting for something; I didn't know whether to stand or sit. Rector Tallores silently examined me, looking into my eyes several times. The silence was heavy, but eventually she spoke.
"What was I thinking…" Tallores exhaled. "How can one be such a fool? Because of your actions, many on the Council have descended on the Academy. When they learned about your roommate, they pounced like predators demanding harsh measures. You're already suspended, and the final step was supposed to be expulsion. I thought that's accurately what they would demand…but to my surprise, the Council insisted on something else," she paused.
"Something else?" I asked.
"The first trial was to take place at the end of the month. The Council insisted on changing its format and on your mandatory participation. The test will be in two weeks, outside the city walls, in the valley. All I can say is be prepared," she said, squinting slightly.
"Why tell me this now, when you could have informed me a day before the test?" I asked, swallowing the nervous lump in my throat.
"Because I am a mage first and foremost," she answered, "and I'm overly interested in people like you."
My words of caution clearly meant nothing to Edric—he needed a wholly different approach. He listened but didn't really hear. There was too much calm in his posture for a cadet, and it irritated me even more than his stubbornness.
Looking at him, I involuntarily thought of Him. If not for my haste back then… Kalien would have grown into a fine old man. Someone capable of finding the right words for a brazen boy like Edric.
"I think that will be all. You're dismissed. And stop rushing toward power—only harm will come of it," Tallores ended, waving her hand.
"I will make sure it doesn't happen again," I replied.
For a moment it felt as if all her words were not to the one standing before her, but to someone behind me. Of course, no one was there. Yet that feeling didn't leave me.
Coming back down to the street, it was clear the self-important old farts had all left. Only the instructor who had brought me remained. Stroking his mustache, he didn't immediately notice my appearance at the doors. I didn't feel like sleeping or returning to my room. Passing him by without a word, I headed toward the training grounds.
After about ten steps, something unfamiliar brushed my shoulder.
"I've been getting bored waiting, young man. Care to warm up with a duel?" he said.
The instructor's hand rested on my shoulder, keeping me from leaving. On that quiet, windless morning, I didn't hear a single footstep. He seemed to have appeared behind me from nowhere.
I realized clearly: when I passed by, he didn't move from his spot. He had crossed a distance of ten paces instantly… and silently?
"Warm up?" I asked confused, trying to shake off his hand, which clung to my shoulder like a wet towel.
"Excellent, since you agree!" he said, dropping his hand from my shoulder and grabbing my wrist even tighter than before.
My objections were unnecessary—any attempt to argue was simply ignored. The instructor led me not to the outdoor arena I had intended for training but to another place entirely. Moving quickly, I tried with my free hand to break his devilish grip. Pain rolled over me in waves; my vision dimmed, and only with great effort did I manage to loosen one of his fingers. Only then, it seemed, did he realize he had overdone it.
We entered one of the buildings. Climbing the stairs and moving down the academic corridor, I tried not to fall behind, holding my throbbing wrist. Soon we stopped at a door. Inside, the hall brought back memories of my duel with Eril: just as spacious, with long benches along the walls and a square marked out on the floor.
Leaving me at the boundary of the square, the instructor closed the door behind us and, adjusting his mustache, said, "Go pick whatever weapon you want. This is the senior students' armory, so the selection is better here," he pointed down the hall.
I looked where he pointed. Racks of weapons covered almost the entire wall: swords, spears, halberds, short blades, and practice versions with and without weights. All were real battle-quality metal weapons. The metal looked battered—slightly worn, bearing shallow scratches, soaked with the marks of many duels.
My wrist still throbbed with pain. Strength in it was returning slowly; there were no magical threads, and I had no clue how to restore any.
I walked slowly along the racks, not rushing. The bearded instructor watched. His piercing gaze felt much stronger than the pain in my wrist. His eyes caught on a long rapier with a thickened hilt. Its balance was tip-heavy, the hilt scuffed as if often gripped. I took it off the rack and weighed it in my hand a couple of times. Grabbing a light wooden shield wrapped in a metal layer, I returned to the instructor, who waited patiently.
"I like those who think," the instructor snorted. "Didn't expect that—you use a rapier too? Very well… let's begin."
I stood opposite him. The space between us felt constricted. No command, no signal, just his gaze and the feeling that if I blinked, it would all be over.
He changed his stance, feet shoulder-width apart. The instructor raised the rapier toward chin level, blade pointing down.
"I'll cede the first five attacks to the cadet," he said, smiling through his hand that shielded the rapier.
Smiling—does that mean he's friendly? His frightening smile, half hidden by his hand, sent animal fear up my spine.
He didn't move, truly giving me the initiative. No need to thank him for that. Stepping forward with my leg and bowing my torso slightly, I launched a thrust in attack. Since he was yielding initiative, there was no need to hurry. I slowed the movement deliberately, raising the shield's sharp edge to distract him. My real target was his left shin—a thrust of the rapier went precisely there.
No movement was detected. A sharp, pulsing pain seized my wrist. A spark flew from the tip of the rapier. I had to jump back. My gaze fell on my reddening wrist—both arms barely obeyed, and I could no longer hold the weapon fully.
Lifting my eyes, I met his smile again. His rapier hand had dropped slightly.
"Four attacks remain," he said calmly.
Repeating the same move was pointless. Quickly assessing my hands' condition, I realized I could squeeze the rapier's hilt maybe once more. The instructor had probably noticed as much. I still had the shield strapped to my forearm, which hardly depended on my wrist.
I lunged forward again, switching my attack to his right shin. At the last moment, I didn't twist my body away with the shield and, using the momentum, drove it directly into his chin.
There was a sharp crack. The shield splintered into chips, hitting the wall. My arm was instantly wrenching painfully behind me, and I lost my balance, knowing this round was over for me.
The pain flared so sharply I felt the world tilt. My legs betrayed me, and I almost collapsed to the floor. My wrenched arm felt like it was being seared from the inside, as if a molten blade had been driven into the joint. No break, but surely a dislocation. My teeth clenched on their own; a strangled gasp escaped my throat.
I managed to stay standing. Through the throbbing pain and rising weakness, my body straightened, and, staggering, I took a couple of steps back. Each breath sent a deep, wrenching pulse through my shoulder; dark spots danced before my eyes.
Looking up, it was clear—his smile had vanished, as if it had never been there. His shoulders dipped slightly, the rapier slid down, and at last I saw not superiority but guilt on his face.
"I overdid it," he said softly. "Forgive me."
He stepped toward me.
And at that moment, something changed.
Adrenaline flooded my body. He was still conscious, and through the pain and ringing in my ears, space suddenly wasn't empty. Thin, barely perceptible vibrations appeared in the air. There were many threads: scattered, tangled, pulsating, as if the very world itself were breathing around us.
A sharp inhalation filled my lungs with a burning ache; my chest painfully expanded. Along with the breath, my mind reached for the crimson threads, gathering them, drawing them to itself.
The threads resisted. Touching flesh, they turned ruby red. The scarlet flares twitched as if alive, and with a crack, were drawn inward. My body convulsed in response. Blood rushed through my veins, accelerating, hammering at my temples. The pain didn't vanish, but it drowned out, becoming a distant backdrop to a new, overwhelming sensation.
My vision narrowed, and the world became sharp and angular. The instructor took another step.
My movement erupted on its own. The floor vanished beneath me. My body surged forward with maximum acceleration, without conscious push, as if someone had pulled it out of reality. The air exploded; the hall's edges blurred with Edric's form. In a split second, the space between us simply ceased to exist.
I was behind him even before awareness clicked—it was as if time had given way. Metal clanked. Edric's blade flew from his fingers; at the same moment, the magical ripple—those threads still visible on his skin—snapped and scattered into the air.
Watching Edric lying there, it became clear that what I'd seen had nothing to do with normal skill or lucky timing. It was a dangerous meltdown—uncontrolled, destructive, and mortally risky for the one who unleashed it.
"You'll have to carry him to the infirmary, you reckless boy," I said quietly as I dropped beside Edric and checked his pulse. "And he's far more dangerous than he looks."
Consciousness returned in fits, as if someone were pulling me out of sleep. First, a smell came to me—sharp, herbal, and bitter, with a metallic tang. Then the feeling of weight, as if my body had been filled with lead and forgotten somewhere.
A deeper inhale brought only dull pain in my shoulder.
I opened my eyes with difficulty. Light floated above my head—soft, muted, with no harsh shadows. The ceiling looked unfamiliar, too clean, and smooth to be a dormitory ceiling. I lay motionless, not daring to move.
My body was tightly wrapped in bandages. They smelled of that same herb in the air—thick, cloying. The wrappings covered my shoulder, chest, and part of my neck; warmth radiated under the layers. Something under the fabric was slowly burning, as if scalding water were being poured into a wound.
Memory returned in waves, and my fingers twitched on their own. My left arm barely responded, only a dull tingling as if it weren't mine. The right obeyed better, but every movement sent a sharp, pulling pain through my shoulder.
"Awake so soon…" a soft voice said beside me.
I couldn't turn my head immediately. By the bedside stood a short man in a light robe, with gray temples and a calm, attentive gaze. He held a basin in his hands in which a bandage soaked in thick, dark mess floated—the source of that very smell.
"Lie still," he added. "The joint's back in place, but the ligaments all along your body are badly stretched. It's been a long time since any sparring with instructors got out of control… but it's interesting; how did this happen to you? Even the burdened professor came by to see you the same evening."
"Isn't there a woman in charge of the medical wing?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
"My assistant," he grunted and blew out a breath. "If only I were ten years younger…"
He cast me a skeptical look, as if calculating how many more headaches I'd cause him.
"And to answer your next question before you ask it: you've been here the entire day. So no heroics. Rest for a couple of hours, and the herbs will work twice as fast. Then you'll be free—but no sudden moves, or it'll be back to me."
The door creaked unexpectedly, but the old man didn't even turn; he merely snorted as if he'd been expecting this.
"Speak of the devil," he muttered. "Enter already. And no sudden moves—my patient's not dismissed yet."
The instructor appeared in the doorway. Not waiting around, he immediately stepped closer.
"Your last attack was… impressive," he said after a short pause. "I must admit, you caught me off guard. If I hadn't lost my guard, you probably wouldn't be lying here now."
"My fault," I cut in, not letting him finish.
The instructor snorted but didn't argue.
"When you're recovered, come to this same office in the evenings," he said more quietly. "If you don't mind some one-on-one training, that is."
He hesitated for a moment, his mustache drooping slightly. Remembering his grin in the duel, I felt goosebumps crawl down my spine and the dull ache spread through my body. Without staying any longer, the instructor hurried away, having said everything he deemed necessary.
Alone with the old healer again, I held out my arms as he'd told me. He silently replaced the soaked bandages with fresh ones, then got ready to leave as well. Already at the door, the old doctor turned back and said that I would be allowed to leave the medical ward by evening.