Kaz's physical was similar to those done at school on Earth, and Master Nicholas discharged him with little fanfare, even if Master Nicholas didn’t believe Kaz’s lie about not knowing what attacked him.
“Schola?”
“System?”
“Inheritance?”
“Primus Schola?”
“Shitty blue screen?”
He leaned against the wall staring at the too-white hall, lost in thought. The system was his only clue to reuniting with his family, and he had lost the opportunity. Kaz slammed his fist against the wall. The feeling of something slipping through his fingers was intolerable. The icky feeling of forced calm was better than this gnawing dread. He looked at the infirmary’s door, but couldn’t stand the thought of Master Nicholas’s pitying gaze.
He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. He wanted a shower. He needed to sleep and never wake up. Nails biting into the flesh of his palm, he forced his legs to lift, plopping them down–trudging along. It wasn’t his fault. There was no indicator of a time limit, he’d only wanted to wait until he was alone to explore the system. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember if he pressed accept.
Kaz felt the soft brush of fur. Fluffy was a panacea, a balm, one he could become addicted to. It didn’t chirp, sitting quietly on his shoulders, sensing his mood. Kaz kept forcing himself to move. What he needed to do hadn’t changed–just the method. He’d clung to a vague hope anyway. The situation he was in hadn’t changed.
He took the compass out of the storage ring and wasn’t surprised to see it pointing downwards. He’d meet up with his class, go through the motions of the day, and find a quiet moment to read his mother’s journal.
Kaz took a step, grasping shadows swallowing him.
***
Kaz didn’t hesitate, he kicked the person closest to him, landing a body shot before leaping back, putting distance between him and his opponent. There was no killing intent in the air, so Kaz restrained the impulse to draw a weapon.
There were three people in the room. One was the headmaster, the same stone face made flesh watched him with a curious expression. Kaz thought he would be shorter, but despite Luther saying he was a dwarf, he was the size of an average human male. The other had a stench of death clinging to him. He was dressed in the black robes that Kaz stereotypically associated with mages. The hood was up, blocking his face.
The third was testing Kaz. He was an older, heavy-set man whose eyes spoke of untold battles. He also wasn’t taking Kaz seriously. He weighed his options but didn’t have many options other than doing his best without using his powers. This man would know if he held back.
“Finished assessing me?” The old man asked. “You’d be dead if this was a real fight.”
“Rashly attacking an opponent without gauging their strength is the best way to end up dead. In a real fight, with these odds, I would have done my best to escape.”
Kaz didn’t let him speak, closing the distance, his first shot a rapid set of jabs, testing his opponent’s guard.
The old man deflected–a nimble fighter despite his plucky body. He slipped closer faster than Kaz could respond and delivered a brutal body shot.
Kaz grunted, taking a step back.
The old man didn’t let him breathe, launching a swift roundhouse kick that whistled through the air.
Kaz ducked, sweeping low and catching the old man’s legs. The man was sturdy. It felt like Kaz’s leg connected with iron. If the man’s balance weren’t off, Kaz’s attack wouldn’t have been successful.
The man tumbled to the floor, Kaz scrambling on top.
The old man twisted, planting a foot on Kaz’s hip to push him away.
They both sprang to their feet. The man charged forward, throwing a flurry of hooks and uppercuts. Kaz blocked or dodged most of them, but caught a glancing shot to the temple that staggered him.
Seizing the opportunity, the old man lunged, locking Kaz in a neck hook and driving repeated knee blows to his ribs.
Kaz used his arms to block, absorbing most of the blows, but taking too much damage. His ribs were fucked. Kaz pushed toward the old man, breaking free. He slammed his elbow down, grinning as he felt a pop, blood smearing the old man's face. Spinning, Kaz aimed a back kick, but the old man caught his leg, slamming them both to the ground.
The shitty old man was grinning. He tried putting Kaz in a headlock, but Kaz transitioned to a rear choke.
The old man thrashed, his breaths ragged. A frantic roll created enough space for him to slip out, flipping Kaz onto his back.
Kaz locked his legs around his hips, flipping them. Kaz mounted, raining punches down.
Kaz felt the moment the old man’s intentions changed. He slipped away, moving at speeds that shouldn’t have been possible, and even then he wasn’t fast enough. A trail of blood trickled from a wound in his neck.
The blade with his blood was thrown at his feet.
Kaz never used a weapon he wasn’t familiar with–a blade he didn’t know he could trust. Kaz weighed exposing more of his hand but took the risk. Knives didn’t have eyes. Even the best-trained professionals would get injured when practicing with real weapons.
This wasn’t practice. The old man didn’t want to kill him, but he was aiming to maim.
Kaz took out his heavy-duty tactical specialty combat gloves, slipping them on. Then he took out a Serpent T, Toor knife, hooking the ring on his pinky. It was a small, lightweight, four-inch fixed blade suitable for close combat.
The clash of blades echoed. A test to gauge competency. Kaz had more experience with a knife.
They circled each other, their breaths visible in the chill. Their movements were measured, every step deliberate, boots scraping against dirt in a dangerous dance.
The old man moved first, lunging, knife flashing in a deadly arc.
Kaz twisted, his blade slicing up. He caught clothes but missed flesh by an inch. He didn’t give the old man time to reorient, aiming for the inside of the old man’s arm. The blade’s edge came away red, grazing, but failing to cut deeper.
They danced closer, the fight brutal.
The old man feinted high, forcing Kaz to raise his guard, only to pilot and strike low, slashing Kaz’s stomach.
Kaz grunted but didn’t falter, using momentum to slam his elbow down on the old man's exposed back, forcing him back.
Kaz aimed for the neck.
The old man turned the fight into a grapple, arms locking, their knives straining against each other’s defenses. The old man twisted, slamming the butt of his knife into Kaz’s jaw, staggering him. Seizing the advantage, he drove the blade forward aiming to take an eye.
Kaz caught his arm, deflecting the strike to the side.
The longer they fought, the more raw and desperate they became. The longer they battled the less it became a test. Carefully choreographed moves dissolved into messy frenzied motions. They were exhausted yet relentless. The old man was unwilling to give in because of his pride, and Kaz was unwilling to submit to anyone.
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They misstepped, tumbling to the ground, but neither released their weapons. Knives flashed, scraping, and slashing in a chaotic flurry.
With a forceful thrust, Kaz disarmed the old man, knife pressed to his opponent’s throat.
The fight ended in gasping breaths and bitter silence, Kaz having forgotten about his audience.
He rolled off the old man and promptly passed out.
***
“What is the meaning of this?” Nicholas stared at the boy he’d just discharged.
Onukss sat by the window, his face black. Croy stood against the wall, his hands crossed over his chest. Old Boar, bleeding all over the place, sat on a bed stroking a knife with a fascinated expression.
“Young Ignacius is a killer.” Onukss looked over, something close to sympathy on his face before it was gone.
Old Boar snorted, cutting Nicholas off. “The boy’s a warrior. He’s had formal training, but he knows that doesn’t mean shit in a real fight. That sort of battle sense comes from experience, years of it.” Old Boar held up the knife. “I’ve never seen material or craftsmanship like this before.” He tossed it at Onukss.
Nicholas wanted to rip out his hair in frustration, but couldn’t find the words, so he watched something significant happening.
“I can’t guess the material. It’s a composite that prioritizes tenacity and toughness. Its size makes it easy to conceal and this ring allows easy draw. It’s a knife made for stealth, but the serration at the base of the blade maximizes damage. It's a last-resort close-combat knife.” Onukss looked fascinated and concerned.
“He likes to fight,” Croy said, his voice deep and grave in a way that always unsettled Nicholas.
“You have to,” Onukss said. “You have to learn to love it or else you break. The trick is not to revel in or relish taking a life. When you enjoy taking a life, you step past being human and the farther you go the more grotesque and twisted your psyche becomes. The boy learned to love fighting, but to him, killing is a means to an end.”
“He’s a child,” Nicholas said, disbelief coloring his voice.
“Wherever he was,” Old Boar said, leaning back. “He wasn’t allowed to be one for long.”
Nicholas had seen his body. He knew his life hadn’t been easy, but to know the boy was raised as a child soldier devastated him.
“There are always minor conflicts, but we’d know about someone with his skill. New like that travels.” Croy moved closer. “More than that, I’m sure that’s not all he’s capable of. Several times he reached for his magic. There was no spell, just forcing it to comply, but I couldn’t tell what effect it would have.”
“That isn’t unheard of when it comes to light magic. Self-healing is instinctive. And fire mages are prone to pyrotechnics when upset as children,” Nicholas said.
“Hmm, but their accidental magic is deterred with parents discouraging the efforts of overeager children to ensure they don’t hurt themselves. He was encouraged or was in a situation where he was forced to harness his powers.” Onukss cut himself with the blade. “The blade isn’t enchanted despite being suitable.”
Nicholas let out a frustrated sigh, approaching the boy to heal him. The bant stood guard on Ignacius’s chest, watching Nicholas with a weary eye, but didn’t stop him from healing the boy.
“South Aurys is a war zone. They could have been living there with someone hiding their tracks,” Croy said.
“Does it matter?” Old Boar asked. “Do you want his things? Do you think he’s a threat? Are you going to treat him differently?” He gulped down a healing potion. “The answer to all those questions is no. He’s not a threat to his classmates, but he needs to be exempted from combat class. I don’t have anything to teach him. Instead, I suggest you make him an assistant teacher for his year group. That spoiled useless bunch needs a fire under them. All of us have seen the undercurrents. This peaceful era might be ending, even if no one wants to admit it.”
“That is years away, and there are many people who can stop it before it escalates,” Nicholas's words were hopeful, but he had a hard time believing what he was saying. Even in the church, a steady spirit of greed had been spreading. Lunera was a cesspit of depravity. The three nations have been testing each other in small skirmishes.
“He hasn't received any formal training in magic. I have asked a few ghosts about their impression of him and they say he is knowledgeable in some areas but lacks common sense.” Croy walked over to Onukss, taking the blade. He has demerits and is sure to earn more. He is the type to push the limits. His teaching should be rewarded with house points. I’m sure no one will complain if he is taken as an apprentice in the Black Tower?” He turned to leave but was stopped by Old Boar.
“Where are you going with that?” Old boar asked, eying the blade with greed.
“I’m going to enchant it for him.”
Nicholas scoffed. “You’re trying to buy his favor.”
“And you’re upset you don’t have anyone to buy favor from.”
Nicholas spluttered, reinstating the dark mage’s ban from the White Tower. “I have never.”
“Wait,” Old Boar said, hopping off the bed with more energy than a man who’s bled so heavily should have. “Since it wasn’t forged with magic, can you try duplicating it before you enchant it?” There were the sounds of heavy steps retreating. “Don’t ignore me! Emilya owes me a favor!”
“Shouldn’t he ask Ignacius if he wants the knife enchanted?” Nicholas asked.
Onukss laughed. The sound subdued. “Your rivalry is ever alive and charming.”
“Headmaster,” Nicholas said.
“I understand your fears. You are the one who sees the effects of students who are uncontrollable and cruel, but Young Ignacius is innocent. It’s wrong to punish him for evildoings he hasn’t committed and might never commit.”
“The other students should be warned.” Nicholas tried casting a more comprehensive diagnostic spell, but the stupid little bant nullified it.
“It will not matter. Martial arts aren’t well regarded. His proficiency at weapons will not deter them. They might even look down on him. In fact, they already have. Only magical might will be respected. He has demonstrated that today, but only time will tell what impact it will have.” Onukss stood, walking closer. “Young Hendrix didn’t expect his son to return from wherever he’d gone. A mistake, I’m sure he and his wife are scrambling to fix. There is also that greedy uncle of his. The Caster family fortunes have dwindled and they are scrambling to access vaults that were locked when Blythe disappeared. The family that didn’t deign to send children to their ancestor’s legacy sent the heir in desperate hope he might gain the legacy and save them.”
“I understand. He’ll need the strength to protect himself, but–” Nicholas found it hard to leave him to suffer. Killingworth would not protect him. The teacher and buildings might try to harm him as well as his peers.
“Heal him and get him to his next class. He’s proved himself competent so far. The first in his year to realize his badge can already mark items. It usually takes them months!” Onukss chuckled, a forced sound, walking out of the room, hands crossed at his back.
Despite the fervor from earlier, none of them remembered the research they wanted to conduct on the bant or the information that Kaz had to agree to sell.
***
“Have you seen him?” Zyaire asked. Tristan looked at her with those eerie eyes that made her feel exposed. He tilted his head to the side as if weighing whether it was worth answering her.
“I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
Zyaire rolled her eyes. They’d all seen him convulse. It was terrifying how something seemed to move under his skin, scraggly black and red branches forming on his face. Then there was that mess with the teacher. Miss Thalia had approached only to be knocked back and almost destroyed by a malicious wave of mana that leaked out of Kaz seemingly with a life of its own. She hesitated to call it mana. It was a massive writhing thing like the curse-infected plague she’d witnessed when serving by her aunt's side. They’d been slavers, and no one was willing to waste the energy to save them.
“He’s strong.” Tristen’s words were laced with respect. His eyes glowed with expectation and satisfaction.
Zyaire didn’t know how, but the two were friends, their fates tied together in a way she couldn’t understand, her eyes too untrained to penetrate the mystery.
She glanced at her classmates. They were in shock. She couldn’t blame them. No one who experienced that malicious mass would be okay. That it was defensive didn’t matter. It could and would kill them, which meant Kaz could kill them. It was then that she heard whispers about the fight that happened in the boy's dorms.
“He’s full of secrets,” Zyaire didn’t mean anything by it, and she didn’t notice the effects of her words.
Zyaire stiffened, something cold pressed to her neck.
“What are you going to do about it?”
The words were low and whispered against her cheek. She shivered. Failing to hold still the blade sliced her flesh. Her life meant nothing to him. Her title meant nothing to him. If she didn’t give a satisfactory answer, Tristan was going to cut her throat over a boy he’d met yesterday. Words threatened to bubble out, but she swallowed them back.
I won’t beg!
She locked her knees, lifting her chin. “I’ve made a vow not to betray him.”
“Acceptable.”
The knife was gone as if a figment of her imagination. She watched his retreating back, arms tucked into his pockets.
Beast. Both of them were beasts.
Zyaire remembered a documentary about lions forming pairs to fight for and defend territory. Usually, they were brothers but not always.
Kaz and Tristan were fast on their way to becoming brothers and Killingworth was to be their territory. She couldn't help wondering what that meant for the rest of them.
Kyaire pulled out the dictionary, stroking the cover. There were words and dates in there that didn’t make sense. Animals she’d never heard about. Plants she’d never heard about. Concepts that would have her burned by the church.
She remembered the smile on his face when he handed it to her. He probably hadn’t noticed. The little curious smile as if she were a potion whose effect he hadn’t figured out.
Darkness by its very nature is chaos. Things cannot help their nature. People do not know how their unconscious influences their actions even as they think they are in control. Change is coming, Zy. It is coming swiftly in the darkness.
Zyaire had asked if it was a vision. But it was probably an inevitability.