Logan tilted his head and couldn’t help but raise his brow. His dark locks fell to the right and cascaded down his shoulders.

A new pupil? How come? The registration period was already over and classes had already begun. Then again, the more pupils registered, the more it was in his favour.

He picked up a pen and paper straight from the thin air and wriggled his slender fingers, getting ready to take on a physically straining activity.

“No wonder I didn’t recognise you,” he said, adding as a thought crossed his mind. “Who sent you here, again?”

“Gwydion, sir.”

He was about to write the name down when he halted. Putting the pen away with a deadpan expression, he stared the boy down with a frown on his face. Gwydion, huh? What a horrid surprise, indeed! Leaning forwards, he waved the boy closer.

“Gwydion? The druid, Gwydion?”

“Yes, sir. I met him in Mazheven, in the Forgotten Forest, and—”

“And he sent you here?”

“Y- yes, sir.”

Logan sniggered before erupting into wicked laughter. He couldn’t believe his ears! That high and mighty druid sent him, Logan, his old foe, a pupil!

Amused by this thought, he picked up the pen again and wrote down the druid’s name, shaking his head in disbelief and smirking all the while for himself like a little girl.

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Gwydion actually sent a kid, a human at that, to Lárhus! Not even in his wildest dream did he anticipate such a strange surprise!

It wasn’t like Gwydion to do such a thing, not even if they were as close today as they were a thousand years ago! What in the world was going on?

He raised his eyes, put the pen at rest between his fingers and tapped the desk repeatedly as he studied the grey-eyed boy.

His eyes became narrower. Huh, what was this strange feeling?

He could swear he had seen those eyes before yet could not recall where. It was such a rare eye colour too – so rare, that only a few members of the aristocracy actually possessed such magnificent eyes.

“Well, then? You’re not going to tell me your name?”

“I already did—I mean, it’s Hain, sir. Hain.”

“Hain…?” Logan repeated more to himself than for the kid to hear. Why did that name sound so familiar to him?

“Yes, sir.”

“No surname?”

“No… just plain Hain.”

The boy lowered his head as if he was embarrassed and his cheeks became flushed. Logan put the pen away for a second time and leaned back in his chair.

His hands rested on the wooden desk, plaided together, and observed the boy. There was something definitely off about the kid.

He let his eyes bore into him. He recognised those eyes from somewhere, it was right on the tip of his tongue, but the kid kept avoiding his gaze. What was it with those eyes?

Heaving a deep sigh, he threw in the towel and leaned forwards again.

“I heard people back in Mazheven are not fond of wise men and wise women. Are you sure you want to become one? You might never be allowed there again.”

“I am. I don’t care what other people—”

The green door swung open with a loud thud and rocked back and forth in a steady rhythm. Logan observed the boy, who looked as if he had just seen a ghost fly by.

“Room 245.” The boy shifted his eyes from the swinging door to him once more. “Class just started, so you better hurry. Ms Yones is not fond of latecomers I must say.”

The boy came to a sudden stop in the doorway and turned around to face him. He beamed wide and thanked him before rushing out to reach his class.

Logan’s face hardened as the door closed on its own. Those eyes. Now he recalled. He had seen them before, or precisely, a thousand years ago.

A shiver shot up his spine and made him shudder. Just what was that stupid druid trying to do?