"I hope you used the time you had been given for preparation well," Master Aerg frowned as he looked around at the students assembled in the lecture room.

Alas, their mini-vacation was over, and now you would have to prove that you had spent it properly, not by testing the power of kitchen magic or racing feyo with your friends. Although Tim had read through the main sections of Frexg's textbook, he ducked over his desk just in case, so that he could be less visible from below.

"Well, it's not hard to check. You, for instance!" the teacher's finger pointed at Elsingor. "Are you ready for class?"

"Aye, Master!" the elf jumped up.

"Very good. What are the main sections of Light Magic?"

It was not necessary to open a textbook to answer this question; it was enough to be present at the last class. But there was no one to discuss it.

"There are three: Healing, Defense against Dark magic, and Super-Abilities."

"Can you cite any formula from the Super-Abilities section?"

"Eltis dimglur znarub," Elsingor said without hesitation. "It's a formula for Super-Agility that allows you to catch things on the fly and jump from branch to branch like a vulpit."

"Let it be. What about the formula..."

"And we already have Super-Abilities!" Hindag announced cheerfully to the whole audience.

"For daring to interrupt your teacher, minus two points and three hours of community service," Master Aerg said without changing his tone of voice. "Your Super-Abilities are innate, aren't they? You don't have to be in school to develop them. If you had mastered something completely different by the second lesson, then you would deserve praise. For example, at least one of the ways to defend against Dark magic. Otherwise, if you come face to face with a black magician, you'll be defenseless against his charms. I'll show you what that would look like in real life."

And, pointing his wand at Hindag, he uttered 'shaftag toohs pfeshern'. A few purple-red sparks flew from the tip of the wand, and went toward the target. Hindag gave a muffled cry, and, biting his lip, collapsed on his side, convulsed. The apprentices next to him jumped up in fright, trying to move out of the way.

"Don't panic: it's only Epilepsy, not Plague Fever, which is dangerous to be around," the teacher reassured them. Then, however, he had mercy and cancelled the effect of his own magic. Clutching the edge of the desk, Hindag rose to his feet, his lip bleeding. Master Aerg raised his wand again, but, changing his mind, he lowered it.

"Is there anyone among you who knows the formula for stopping the bleeding?"

"May I try it?" Xitati stood up timidly.

Since no one else volunteered, permission was granted.

"If he gets any worse, blame yourself," Kunfor hissed at her, but that didn't stop Xitati.

"Bieli taarh pinso!"

Not immediately, but it stopped bleeding, and the wound gradually healed.

"Not bad for a start. I think it deserves two points. Do you see how useful it is to be a healer? A good sorcerer of Light will be welcome everywhere! Except for the gloomy abodes of Dark sorcerers, of course."

"Master, tell us more about the abodes, please!" Nhel'Yu'Min asked, smiling beamingly.

"Let another Master tell you about dark magic and its adepts," Master Aerg frowned again. "We are concerned primarily with guarding against it. And now I'm going to repeat the experiment (Hindag tried to hide under the desk, but he couldn't). Don't worry, this time you won't have to squirm. Because first I'll put up a defense!"

Anzimar's body was surrounded by a milky white glow, which swallowed up another batch of purple-red sparks.

"You see? Nothing bad happens to someone who has a protective spell on him! But only if the attacking spell was not too strong. Otherwise, the defense will be broken, and the attack will reach its target, though it will be weakened. But we will talk more about that later. For now, let us continue a test of your knowledge."

The next victim was Ruum-Fib, who correctly recited the formula to stop the bleeding, but made a mistake in the formula to relieve pain. Which naturally led to another stream of moralizing.

"Not 'amfirri' but 'etmirri', pay close attention to your pronunciation! Sometimes changing just one letter makes a spell useless! Or it might not work the way you want it to. This is not so critical when creating illusions, but it is disgraceful for the healer and puts his entire reputation at risk. So try not to make mistakes!"

No punishment was imposed - Master Aerg apparently decided that a verbal indoctrination was enough. Then he switched to Gmuruk, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't produce anything meaningful.

"What do you want him to do, he's a stupid orc!" Kunfor exclaimed merrily. A few of the students laughed, the rest just smiled. Tim was in no mood for laughter - Master Aerg had decided to walk among the rows and was now heading in their direction. If a teacher comes up to you in class, you're in trouble, Tim worried. He didn't think there's anything wrong with him, but it was still a little unnerving.

However, as it turned out, Master Aerg wasn't personally interested in him.

"Well, let's see what you're writing down. And we'll start with you! Show me your grimoire!"

Ri-Bo had no choice but to comply. Needless to say, he never bothered to fill it out. The teacher's reaction was quite predictable.

"What is that!?" exclaimed Master Aerg, shaking the grimoire with completely blank pages in front of the audience. "It's as if you were not even in class! Do you think you were given those grimoires out of nothing to do? Or are you counting on your memory? It's doubtful that you have such a phenomenal memory that you could remember everything that was said or read once! But it's not hard to check."

"Please, don't!" Ri-Bo muttered, terrified. "I'll take notes!"

"All right, fine. I'm sure minus three points and five hours of community service will be useful for it. I'll check the entire class's grimoires at the next class. If I find you sloppy in filling them out, blame yourself!"

And after making sure that what was said got through to everyone, Master Aerg headed back to the rostrum. Tim breathed a sigh of relief - the storm had passed. And he looked around, but he hurriedly averted his eyes when he met the grinning Selkise's gaze. Yesterday, after the conversation in the dining room, he decided not to pull the cat by the tail and make a gift at once. On a walk through the woods with Mez'A'Shib after a lesson in Mind Magic, they had spotted a peculiar flower with creamy, maroon speckled openwork petals surrounded by fleshy blue green leaves. There was no stem - the flower grew straight out of the ground. The drow wasn't interested in it - it wasn't on the ingredient lists, and you could find prettier ones in the flowerbeds. There were indeed specimens in the flowerbeds that were gorgeous to look at. But it would be clear at once - you didn't do it from your heart, but just to get rid of it. It would have been easier to present her with a bunch of the crystals they'd found in the dungeon. But his intuition told him that she would not like such a gift, and she might even be offended. So he borrowed a flower pot from Mez'A'Shib and went in search of the representative of the local flora. He had to pull it out with his bare hands, undermining the base and slowly releasing the roots. Good thing, after the rain the day before, the soil was soft and moist. The main thing is whether the plant will take root in its new location; it would not be very nice if it withered out the next day and she had to throw it away.

Heartbroken, he shifted from one foot to the other in front of the door of 27th room, hesitating to knock. But in the end he mustered up the courage.

Selkise, if she was surprised to see him, made no sign of it. Her room was pleasantly semi-dark - heavy curtains covered the window almost completely, letting in only a small amount of sunlight. And it was noticeably cooler inside than outside. Was she really capable of generating cold with her own body? Naturally, Tim did not voice the thought aloud.

"Here! It's for you!" he cheerfully announced, taking the pot out from behind his back.

"What for?"

"A present!"

"Really!?" Selkise has taken the pot from his hands after hesitating for a moment.

"Isn't it unusual? It's very pretty, isn't it?"

"It depends on what you mean by that. Everyone has different tastes and preferences, especially here, where we are all from different worlds. But I don't argue, the flower is very pretty indeed. But you shouldn't do that. I gave my word."

Tim stared at her stunned. She can read minds, after all! Or she is damn clever and guessing, capable of calculating situations many steps ahead. But the truth, as usual, was somewhere in the middle.

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"There's a lot of guilt emanating from you, resentment against yourself and a desire to be liked (now, who does she think she is?!?). Or rather, to please with a gift," Selkise corrected herself.

Which was followed by a conclusion:

"I suppose it's not the tradition of your people to take your word for it."

"It depends on the individual, sometimes on the situation," Tim grimaced. "Some people are worthy of trust, the others need to be verified, and there are those who will lie with absolutely honest eyes. But isn't that how it is with your people?"

"I don't deny it, we sometimes try to cheat, too. But it happens much less often - even if some yusme is not strong in empathy, he is able to distinguish the truth from outright lies."

"That's great! I want to be an empath too!"

"Yeah? Have you ever thought about the consequences? Can you imagine what it would be like to live with peeled skin? To feel someone else's pain as your own? A gift like that is also a curse. I'm afraid by the time you figure that out, it'll be too late."

"It's purely theoretical," Tim backed out, stunned by her emotional rebuff. Which didn't stop him from going on the counteroffensive a few seconds later:

"If, as you claim, I also will become an empath sooner or later, I have to be prepared for anything. So thanks for the warning. By the way, there, in the dungeon, we came across an inscription made in blue blood..."

Tim blurted, and then bit his tongue. But a word spoken is past recalling, and Selkise literally bombarded him with questions.

"What is this inscription? Why do you think it was blood? Did someone die there? Did you happen to find any remains?"

"Relax, there weren't any bones lying around. I knew it was blood and not paint when I touched the writing. I felt a cold of loneliness, sadness, and heartache."

"Did any of my people get so bad that even you could feel it?" Selkise got worried. "I'm sorry, I don't doubt your talents, it's just that it's easier for us, yusmes, to understand each other than it is for others. I wish I'd been with you!"

Tim did not have time to react - after a moment's pause, she spoke again, hastily and pleadingly:

"If you get a chance, will you take me with you? I will not become a hindrance, I promise! I will not be frightened, and will not cry! And I'll come in handy somewhere!"

Stunned by her pressure, Tim took a step back.

"Please calm down, I personally have nothing against it. But it's not just my secret."

"The important thing is that you agree. And why don't boys like to accept girls in their company? It all depends on the individual! No offense, but among the males, too, there are cowards, and chatterboxes, and the real scoundrels! Would you say not?"

"I'm not arguing with you," Tim agreed humbly, and it was as if steam had been blown out of the yusme.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I got a little excited. Or, as we call it, I became peirot-like. The flower is really pretty, I hope it will take root - I don't have much experience with plants. The first thing they need is sunlight."

She put the pot on the window sill, but a sudden wind swung up the curtains and almost threw it off.

"I think there's a storm coming," Tim said anxiously, glancing out the window.

And indeed - the wind was getting stronger and stronger, the leaden clouds covered almost half of the sky, and blue-purple lightning was cutting through the horizon.

"How beautiful! Let's see from the balcony!"

Following Selkise, Tim found himself outside, exposing his face to the tiny droplets of water coming in from the ocean. A flock of birds with brilliant blue-green plumage swooped past, anxiously chirping in flight and rushing to find shelter from the impending storm.

"It's nice to have wings," Tim glanced at them.

"It's not for everyone," Selkise sighed. "Would you like to learn to fly? Some wizards can levitate. But we don't have enough mana to get even half a finger above a hard surface."

"That's a pity. Can you imagine how nice it would be to sit by the ocean? Or fly over it and maybe discover uncharted lands? Where I come from, everything has been discovered and mapped out long ago."

"You're quite the romantic, aren't you?" she smiled, wiping the splash of water from his forehead with her hand. "You're not the only one. Look at that!"

Tim looked around. Almost half the class had got out onto the balconies, too. And most of the 'romantics' were staring at them instead of admiring the wild weather!

Catching up, he grabbed the yusme's arm, and literally dragged her into the room with him.

"The lightning is too close. It's dangerous."

"That's not what I thought it was about," Selkise retorted sarcastically. "Okay, let's not get into that. Thanks again for the flower!

Tim took advantage of the moment to say goodbye and run off to his room. The fact that she accepted the gift was a good sign. And since she asked to take it with her, she wouldn't blab to anyone for sure - it wasn't in her best interest now. Though it's not clear what arguments he can use to convince his friends. He's not going to offer it directly, or they'll think he's under her influence. And then there is no avoiding ridicule. Therefore, the most reasonable thing would be to wait for the right moment to talk.

Thinking about it, Tim fell out of reality for a while. If the teacher or anyone else had called him now, he would not have reacted immediately. But luckily, Master Aerg urged them to master their healing skills in addition to filling out the grimoires, and then the session was over.

"Why didn't you ever bother to write it off?" Tim chided the tilfing when they were out of the classroom.

"I didn't have time... But today I will!"

A noise behind them interrupted their conversation and made them turn around. As it turned out, the three orcs who had followed them out of the lecture room were stationed near the door, waiting for the anzimars. And as soon as they appeared, a tense conversation began.

"Hey! You called me stupid, didn't you?" Gmuruk began without any preamble.

"Who else?" Kunfor joked. But he soon lost his laugh.

"Are you responsible for your words?"

"Get off, I'm not interested in you right now," the anzimar tried to end the conversation, but it didn't work out.

"You're a coward, aren't you? You won't take on a challenge?"

"Looks like someone's going to have to learn a good lesson," Kunfor gritted his teeth. "Germeht, hold my things."

"Are you insane to start a fight here?" Rumara was indignant when she appeared afterwards. "Get out into the yard and sort it out amongst yourselves! And the rest of you, too, if you have nothing else to do!"

What a commander, Tim grinned. You can't say a word against her. Whoever gets her as a wife can only be sympathetic.

Strangely enough, her shouting had some effect - the anzimars and the orcs ceased their verbal quarrel and headed for the mountain exit, followed by the thrill-seekers. There were a lot of thrill-seekers - almost the whole class, including our friends. They also were curious to see how it would end!

Nobody was going too far into the woods; there was no point, because no one was going to use attacking magic. And the ghosts didn't care about 'communicating' with the use of physical force - unless, of course, no one complained. On the flat ground about twenty steps from the exit, the opponents stopped, glancing at each other with hostility. Everyone else stood in a semicircle around them and waited.

"Are you ready?" Rumara asked. "Then on my signal, start. One, two, three!"

With a guttural growl, Gmuruk lunged at his offender. Now he would miss, as it had taken place when they were standing in line, Tim thought, but he was wrong. Kunfor seemed to be counting on an easy victory again, but a few sensitive blows to the body quickly drove the smug expression off his face. He had to fight in earnest - the Battle Cry wielded by orcs turns a fighter into a berserker, increasing his strength and speed and making him insensitive to pain. It's essentially the same Super-Ability, just a different version of it. Alas, it is short-lived, too - when the effect ends, fatigue and apathy come to replace it. And now - only a minute has passed, and the opponents are suffocating, and their movements are not so fast anymore. A little more, and Gmuruk knocks Kunfor out, but stumbles and stretches to his full height on the ground.

"That's enough for today!" As the referee, Rumara ends the brawl. "There's a draw and we're done!"

"We're not actually done yet!" Kunfor rises and exclaims angrily.

"Haven't you had enough? I'll add more!" Gmuruk growls back.

"Do you want to kill each other? Look at yourselves, what do you look like!"

And indeed, the top of their uniforms was torn, in addition to numerous bruises and abrasions over the whole body there was a blueness above Kunfor's left eye, and Gmuruk was bleeding from a broken lip. At once there were several classmates who wished to try their healing talents on them. But if the bleeding could somehow be stopped, the black eye was more difficult to cure.

"Oh, well, it'll pass, you amateurs," Kunfor muttered.

"Never mind, we'll continue without witnesses at some point," Germeht whispered, reassuring him. "Then we'll show those animals where they belong."

The orcs, of course, did not hear this, noisily cheering their comrade's success. After all, few in the class believed in the possibility of successfully confronting anzimars in hand-to-hand combat. And so it was recommended not to quarrel with them.

Kunfor, accompanied by his countrymen, went to the medical aid station to clean up his appearance. Satre, who ran the station, had an assortment of remedies for bruises, colds, headaches, and, of course, indigestion, the most common ailment in the first year of the school. Too many, once out of their parents' control, began abusing the dining room, and the results were quite predictable. Especially when friends from other planets are treating you - the food they are accustomed to can be almost inedible to you. And it's not always convenient to refuse, because they might get offended.

In addition to a variety of powders and potions, Satre had scrolls - rolled sheets of special paper impregnated with disposable magic. If the situation was too grave, or if a potion was unavailable, Master Aerg was to be summoned. Tim wondered why they didn't hire a professional wizard-healer for that position. Maybe they decided to save money, since dwarves are cheaper? If Tim had been the Principal, the first thing he would have done would have been to hire someone with skills in both traditional medicine and Light magic.

And yet they had never shown them the head of the school! If he was so old and infirm, why didn't he leave his post? After all, it would be better for everyone, and especially for the Principal himself - to relieve himself of the burden of responsibility and simply enjoy life. But for some reason, the authorities prefer to remain in their positions even when they no longer have the strength or clarity of mind, shifting their worries onto the shoulders of their assistants. And gradually the helpers take the levers of government into their own hands, not caring about anything but their own benefit. And only for the sake of propriety they cover themselves with the names of their 'patrons'.

Could it be that something similar happened here? But how else can one explain the arbitrariness of the so-called Sir Pulsok? Mez'A'Shib told some interesting things about goblins on that walk through the forest. They are the most numerous race on Gallara. And the most despised. Everyone else dislikes them, and for good reason. Goblins are not very intelligent, but cunning and vindictive, in addition they like to take for themselves other people's belongings. Their tribes roam all over the planet, including the dungeons, not staying anywhere for a long time (who would like such a neighborhood?). They are engaged in hunting and gathering, sometimes hired to do some work that doesn't require great intelligence or great physical strength. They are hired reluctantly - though goblins charge little, the quality of their work is corresponding, it often has to be redone. But in doing dubious and dirty things they have no equal. They are the best at decorating someone's house with obscene drawings, ruining someone's garden or warehouse, swooping on a lonely traveler and taking all his belongings for themselves. Those caught doing this risk not surviving until the next morning - even light elves seldom show mercy in such cases. But the number of goblins is not decreasing - they are too numerous and prolific, and quickly restore their ranks. If Tim were Principal, he wouldn't hire Pulsok even as janitor. And why were the teachers the only ones who tolerated him?

His thinking was interrupted by an attack of a headache - Tim cringed, rubbing his temple.

"Are you all right?" Tiis-Mir, who was beside him, was concerned.

"I think so. It's gone now!"

"That's great! Then let's go play feyo with us!"