There was a place in northern Lyra, not far from Aysgarth, the fortress city nestled deep into the mountains. Responsible for containing yet another astral space, as it had for centuries – the official home of the blademasters. Atop the tallest peak sat the remains of an Ark, the towers that had supposedly brought humanity to this world – or the nim, as that's all they'd been once upon a time. A glistening white spire shattered down the middle, catching the sunlight like the broken horn of some legendary beast. On the uppermost floor was the sanctum of Alexandros, primus of freedom and current observer to quite a show.
Staring down into a pool of water, a 'God's Eye' artifact that allowed him to view nearly any location in the wider world. Whether it be Oresund, Agoron, or Hjemland, anywhere where the fog was not – he could see.
But he wasn't alone, not this time. His haunt was befouled by the feet of strangers, something that had never happened as long as he'd been alive.
“Very confusing.” Lazarus mused, a great mage – one of the greatest human born mages to ever live, a man who was supposed to be dead. Father of many, a talent that some said approached Solomon's, but Alexandros had always had his doubts. Solomon had completed his tasks alone, but Lazarus was a man with many flunkies and agreements with many races. The mastermind of the eugenics project dedicated to creating a new race of hybrid nephilim, even better than before. Thus far, though, they'd been failures – remarkable but not quite as he'd imagined. A mad scientist watching the events surrounding the fruits of his labors unfold. “What do you make of that?”
“Tyr experienced his final awakening.” Alexandros mused, pacing around the pool, his two guests remaining stock still. Lazarus seated at a stuffed armchair, sipping from a chalice of what was most assuredly not wine, and Varinn – who'd remained on the floor with his eyes closed.
“Which is a good thing, correct?” Lazarus raised an eyebrow, he was a man of average height and a gaunt face. Curly brown hair worn short, always in humble robes that might convince someone he was a man of little means. Scrawny, so very human, but Alexandros had seen him erase archmages from the fact of the earth and burn villages – the 'saint' equivalent to a mage. One of very few, perhaps the only one who could claim so vain a title.
“He stopped it.” Varinn replied softly, not bothering to open his eyes – always meditating, sipping tea, or going about seemingly random business all over the world. He was a traveler, a watcher and burner of black books, slayer of evil things. A mighty warrior, one of the few that bothered to engage in the work of keeping order after so long a life.
“...Stopped it?”
“Indeed.” Alexandros wasn't sure whether to laugh, smile, frown, or curse. It was still too early, marking it as fortunate, but there was one problem. Tyr's shards should have all come together, into one entity, and he'd have been made the host. A true primus. But he'd resisted the call, refusing to bend to the influence, and beaten them into submission.
Something that had never happened before.
And a primus without a shard to anchor them and keep them sane was the greatest of all monsters.
“His bloodline, do you think?” Lazarus asked, watching the scene in pointed interest as Tyr was dragged off the field. “Interesting, he shouldn't have much of that left in him. I thought for sure the nephilim genes would win out – but that doesn't seem to be the case.”
“He's resisted that too.” Alexandros sighed. “It would seem the prince wishes to stay human, of all the lessons to pick up... We'll see what happens next, I suppose. But as oft repeated, that project of yours was foolish from the very beginning, I'm not sure what to do. The churches are moving, and the Guardians are stirring for the first time in centuries. We should be ready, whatever the case – and we should redouble our efforts in attempting to convince him to bear a child.”
“Continue watching.” Varinn nodded sagely. “I believe I can do that, and what shall you do?”
“Strengthen ties with Anu, move more pieces into the successor states, and prevent Octavian from doing anything rash. But if it's the churches, I'm not sure I can do much more – I'll think on it.”
–
Telmund told of tepid troughs, eyes that speak and mouths that walk. About the tree, and how Hjemland was but many leaves on one of many boughs. How small they were, and the grubs in the wood eating away at the shade offered by their home in the stars. The gods were these grubs, parasites, and while they were no better than living things – they'd reign supreme over them. There were real gods out there, sleeping owls, cast to slumber by those beneath them. Real gods.
Telmund didn't find them.
But I can.
And if I can do that... All our dreams will come true.
You can't trust the others, my love, only I can make you happy. The others don't see you, not as I do, how much you've given and will continue to give. How great you could truly be, how magnificent you've always been. You've always been my hope for this reason, they who fear and revile you do not deserve to see you stand tall when we rise to the peak.
It's not that I hate them, they simple do not see as we do.
And so I'll continue you, I'll follow this path and share your burdens – and then I'll tell you the truth.
–
Tyr coughed, his throat was raw and the projectile of blood spattering Brenn made him understand how damaged his body was. He didn't know how much time had passed, but it had been quite a stretch. Brenn's normally clear face was patterned with dark stubble, tired eyed and disheveled.
Flowers. Static. Pain. Enemy. Betrayal.
Nails.
“Where am I?” Tyr groaned. “What happened?”
Brenn's eyes glared balefully back at him, holding Tyr by his collar, about to say something until Sigi dragged him back.
“We are in an old abandoned hunting cottage in the northern forest. Didn't know where else to take you. Who are we speaking to now?” Brenn asked, eyed vigilant, hand still resting on his hammer – and by the smell of him he hadn't bathed in days.
Every time he roused, it was someone different. Some were kind, quick to smile, but others were stark raving mad and violent. The deuritium necessary to ensure that he didn't harm himself further, or commit suicide as he'd oft threatened.
“...Uh?” Tyr didn't know how to respond to that, what a ridiculous question. There were rods shoved through his hands and ankles – pinning him to a stone wall, ensuring that he couldn't move much if at all. Deuritium, black steel, gums itching and gut burning – a cruel way to contain him but an effective one. Not for long, needed time, and then we'd kill them all. Crucified like the martyred prince, how appropriate. “I suppose that's an existential question, eh? Who are we? What are we? Who the hell are you, to begin with. The last thing I remember is you hitting me with your hammer – fuck, this hurts by the way. Like, a lot... Why are you doing this to me? All of you, too? For Sigi to go the far makes sense, we had that fight, but you all...? Even you, Micah...?”
Tyr paused, swallowing. His throat was dry. Not only from blood loss and hunger, but because Okami was there, watching him warily and clearly communicating distrust through their bond. He didn't like that, hated it, after all they'd been through – this was how they treated him.
Humans will always let you down.
We will not.
“No matter what excuse you use to justify this...” Tyr struggled against his bonds but they were iron. “You've betrayed me...”
“You tried to kill us.” Micah pleaded. “Nobody wanted to do this, I swear--”
“I did.” Brenn corrected, and Micah wasn't sure what to say. Merely nodding at the look the man gave him. “You nearly killed Sigi, Micah, and Alex. If not for your broken mind, you might have. None of us trust you anymore, but we haven't for a while.”
“I told you. Over and over again!” Sigi protested. Her limbs were covered with a layer of bandages so thick and tightly wrapped that she could barely move her upper body. If she could, they were sure she would've struck Brenn in that moment. Those wounds weren't all from Tyr, some were self inflicted in anger, unwilling to strike them when they kept her and Tyr apart, opting to abuse the walls instead. “It was my fault!”
“And we all told you...” Astrid sighed. “It's not your fault, but I don't think it was Tyr's either. You said those were Hastur's men. So? Who cares if he killed them all? I'm only angry that he didn't take us with him so I could do it myself.”
Alex frowned and shook her head, Astrid had yet to make a kill and always faltered in the moment. Since then, they didn't take her on bounties anymore. Tyr had imprinted an inferiority complex within her, somehow, and now she was insistent she could handle it. That seemed to be all she wanted, to murder a man – it was a frightful ambition.
“He's insane, unstable!” Brenn argued angrily. “You saw what he did to those people, he--”
“He's completely fine.” Alex crossed her arms, voice haughty again. Highborn and arrogant, too gentle when it came to him, all of a sudden. “Aren't you, Tyr?”
“Actually.” Tythas raised a finger. One of those 'ackshually's' that he was known for. Rare nowadays, but no less irritating. “Most of those corpses were pigs. Hundreds of pigs... Wait, Tyr, why were there so many dead pigs there?”
“Because I refuse to kill men who willingly surrendered. Because I'm in love with Alex and she asked me to do something once, obviously.” Tyr sneezed, it was strange to feel cold and sickly. Weak beneath the deuritium. Almost pleasure in it. Feeling... Normal? Human... The two halves of himself pulling at one another to stop him from feeling that way, from seeing the colors. “I purchased the off-cuts or scrap carcasses of over a thousand pigs and planted them around with the pulverized organs of animals we clean for rations. I only kill a few men, for good reason, and part of the job is making it look like I wiped out the garrison, a deterrence protocol. Tyr the monster, the villain, it is very important that they fear me. But the rest go to a hidden camp in the disputed valley.”
“...”
Alex's heart sank, despair settling over her for obvious reasons. If they feared him, believed him capable of such mass slaughter while living a relatively peaceful life otherwise – less would come. Thus, less would die, Tyr was trimming the fat from the field in the future. Trying to, it wasn't the most genius plan but it was clever – making a scene of everything and leaving it behind for people to discover. Based on the reaction of the Fingers – it had had the desired reaction. Only Tyr would be implicated, only he would suffer, it was noble in a foul sort of way – but no less so. There was valor in what he was doing, and they'd ruined it.
Tyr claimed Tiber no longer accompanied him because they'd had an argument, but Tiber did not argue. The old man would do whatever he pleased, she'd never known him to bend – and based on what she'd heard the man had been ordered to stand down. Tyr was doing most everything by himself nowadays. He'd been ensorceled, that much was clear – the fingers possessed an extremely able dream mage. Tyr hadn't lied to her either.
Sigi had already realized the mistake she'd made – but the others wouldn't listen to her. Astrid and Micah both had an expression of 'I told you so'. Tythas remained cold and silent as usual, considering the impressive genius of the plan, from his perspective. Whatever the motivations, the remains had been treated in such a way that he wasn't sure what they were until he'd risen them. Brenn on the other hand... He remained unconvinced in typical paladin fashion. Knights of justice and all of that.
“For what purpose?” His voice was quieter now, but inquisitive. “Why do all of this? You must know that you are inciting the Baccian's to war? Do you know how many lives that could ruin?”
“They've been planning to invade ever since Hastur's first failure, there was never any chance at peace. If I had not come, they'd have attacked sooner.” Tyr spit a long string of blood from his mouth, groaning. He saw no point in hiding the truth any longer, to do so would invite more misunderstanding and confusion. But this deuritium, as bizarre as it sounded he wanted to feel more of it – something was happening to him. “The whole point of me coming here, other than to face my fears and make amends, was to eliminate their border supply chain. A preemptive strike against compounds primed for raiding, advance battalions and the like. Every time, I offer them a chance. Surrender, and they live. Safe and sound, humanely treated in a hidden camp located in the disputed valley just beyond the span. Overseen by some... Associates of mine. I exist, currently, to stall first and bait Hastur to rage later so that he attacks me personally. In doing so, I can potentially get him away from the city and someone... Someone more able than me can put him down once and for all. I think I might be able to do it alone, but I'm not sure. I'll try my best, you shouldn't involve yourselves.”
“Why were you alone?” Sigi asked with a grimace. “We could have helped you. I'd bet Alex knew much of this, considering her expression. If we had known, this wouldn't have had to happen.”
“Can we at least release him!? This is torture!” Alex cried, but the others weren't so quick to support her. Micah wanted to, as did Astrid. Sigi was on the fence. What they'd seen was a bit much, truth be told, hundreds of Tyr's bursting from him like nesting dolls and killing one another. They'd often joked about Tyr being mentally ill, but all that had happened cemented much of their opinion on the matter. Not just mentally ill, either, but something magical and unnatural to create so many clones of himself that all seemed intent to murder one another. Some even begging to die, allowing the others to do so, a battle royale in the soul made manifest on the physical plane. It made absolutely no sense at all.
Brenn was adamant in his refusal, and his domineering attitude regarding it left no room for question or protest.
He was the paladin. And Tyr was apostate.
Not to mention that Brenn was the only one who could remove those stakes without harm to himself.
“If Hastur knows we are still close.” Tyr rasped. “He might target you as well. I kept a respectful distance for a reason, but I was foolish. I'm never usually alone, but they have a mage skilled in dream magic. They even had a mage capable of using blood magic to steal my immortality. Imagine for a second what would happen if that group of people had gotten to you first? I've been a lot of places, fought a lot of people – mages too – but I've never seen magic like that. Never. All of them were totally unique and powerful in their own... Ah...” That was it for Tyr. The sweet release of a dream weighed down on his mind, risen only for a few minutes. Head sinking again, just as the door shattered inwards and the wall framing it was torn free from the mortar. There were figures there. Tall figures, proud and cloaked, with hard shadows obscuring their features.
“...Father?” Tyr groaned delirious at the man in the lead. A heroic man with a curtain of black hair tied back in a tail, a bearded angel. Old and worn.
“I'm not your father, but I'm here – kid. And that's enough of this. I'll defer to you lot for most things, but not this. He's coming home. With us.” Tiber growled, and the blackguard raised their weapons in unison. All one hundred and eighty three of them.
No question in what would happen if they refused.
–
“I've never seen strength like that.” Sigi pursed her lips. Tyr faced her, still weak from his contact with the deuritium but not as taxed as one might expect. Not as bothered either, that Brenn had taken the time to nail him to a wall with anti-magic stakes, and it hadn't been half as effective as it was against other mages. Any other mage would've died, but Tyr had slowly acclimated to the black steel to the point where he was able to remain lucid while in its presence. “Tell me the truth. Were you always hiding your power?”
“We are all products of our environment, but I would say no.” Tyr shook his head, and she could tell he was being honest, or thought he was. “I am like a vessel of clay full of molten steel, I guess. Perhaps that's a confusing analogy, probably is. The first time I tried to move like that, I tore my body in half. Not figuratively, but literally. My lower body moved but my upper half would not, so it was left behind. Something... When I lose control, it just happens. As for the mind splitting part – I don't know, but it's relatively new. In summary, this is a thing I chanced upon, I guess. Not a power I was born with, so my body...”
Pattoli had ripped away something integral that was keeping all of his parts together, and even on its return... Tyr still had some reservations regarding the fact that his shards were of such a number. Every one of them with their own personality, and they were still there – waiting patiently for the control to fall again.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“I get it. I mean, I don't, I don't know who could possible understand that explanation, but it doesn't matter.” Sigi nodded. “I didn't lie about what I said, although some of the insults were... Let's say exaggerated. But I am sorry, I wanted to you know that.”
“I am sorry too.” Tyr extended his hand, and she took it. Crushing the extremity in her powerful grip for no real reason other than to make him suffer. He winced, but mostly he found it funny. How could he not? “I had no idea how you felt about Trafalgar, but I should have. You've been through a lot. I give you my oath, even if not together, I will return there personally one day and give the city a proper send off. If not, I'll liberate it. For you.”
Sigi frowned, looking a bit amused at the prospect otherwise, but there was gratitude in the nod she gave him.
“I'd better go.” She said. “Class is about to start.”
“That it is.” Tyr's frown matched her own. “Get out of here, and let the class know I'll join them in a bit. Alex has the helm.”
He gave her enough time to both do as he asked, and to collect his own thoughts. A lot had happened, but at the end of the day – he was a salary man now. The university didn't care if he was sick, indisposed, or nailed to the wall on black steel spikes. There was work to do and he was obligated to do it regardless of circumstances. Something about a society...
“Professor?” Brenn peeked through the door with a bashful look on his face. Appearing very out of place, with his masculine features twisted by a blush. Reminiscent of a schoolgirl confessing to her first love, if Tyr was to believe the books he'd read as a child.
“Please don't call me that.” Tyr snorted, turning away and sorting through a variety of items that Valkan had prepared for him. Little things, the wafers he'd been creating that could serve as a pseudo mana shield without need for expending one's own energy. It was strange how expensive they were normally, the typical student couldn't afford them. For Tyr, he found them quite easy to make. Three runes was all it took, the rune for barrier combined with a mana storage and an activation rune. Even moving carefully, he could produce dozens of them every hour, and the materials weren't exactly expensive. Maybe it was one of the subtle differences between his runesmithing and that of ordinary smiths... “I've been wondering about something, so I'm glad you found time to come see me.”
“Alright, Tyr.” Brenn nodded. “Ask away.”
“Nailing me to the wall like that was pretty creative.” Tyr said with a smirk. “Cruel, as well. I didn't expect you to be that kind of person. I'm not upset, and I've said that, you did what you did to protect the others and that is good. I guess I just want to know what made you capable of such a thing?”
“It was Alex's idea to prevent you from hurting yourself, not the other way around.” Brenn said. “I put the stakes in because unlike the others, deuritium doesn't have such a profound effect on my body. I can still feel it, but you know... I'm not sure why. It was cruel, but sometimes justice is like that. It's not always golden and heroic, sometimes it's black and bloody.”
“I understand. More than you know.” Tyr nodded. “You can touch deuritium without becoming sick, which means you probably have some kijin blood in your line. Maybe your grandfather or his father, but... Wait a minute, do you still have the black steel?”
“Aye. There were crates of the stuff in the compound you were... Raiding. Bolts for crossbows, larger ones for ballista or scorpions. A lot of it – actually – more than I've ever seen. We put it all in the basement of the estate, didn't know where else it should go – and deuritium is contraband in this country. The girls refused to allow me to submit it to the council.” Brenn confirmed it. “...Why do you ask?”
Tyr pondered on that. Deuritium made him uncomfortable, made his gums itchy and his skin hurt, but it didn't suck the life out of him like other mages. He'd never seen a human mage touch enriched deuritium before. His bracelet was 'depleted', a more refined version of the metal, leaving him curious as to what he could do with the real stuff. “Give it to me.”
“For what purpose?” Brenn's eyes flashed with concern again.
Tyr breathed out. “Not sure just yet, but I'm confident it'll be useful.”
“In that case...” Brenn coughed. “I'd rather not. I bet you're dreaming up new ways to run about sticking it in people, eh?”
Things were still tense between them. Brenn had overreacted, even when he'd offered his oath that things were okay. He didn't regret jumping in like that, never would – and Tyr understood well enough. But Brenn wasn't as conveniently forgetful as Tyr was. For all his stoicism, Brenn had suffered from social anxiety since he was a child. His mind seemed to latch on the smallest complication of an interpersonal dynamic to the point where it became hard to breathe. He chuckled though, awkwardly – trying his best to be the paladin he wanted to be. Someone reliable and understanding... Maybe, he was still confused how he should really feel about the other man.
“That's exactly what I'm going to do.” Tyr nodded, impressed at how quick Brenn was. Maybe the man did know him better than he'd thought. “Well, there's something else, I'd like to try making some kind of shield emitter or an emplaced anti-magic ward. If I can't figure out how to insulate the metal properly, those would be difficult... So, javelins are a strong likelihood.”
Tyr began to mumble, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in contemplation. Brenn watched as the mans head tilted back and forth like one of those birds in the gift shops designed to move perpetually, making it look like they were drinking water. “Maybe some knives. I've always wondered why it's not used for weapons considering how strong against mages it is. It's brittle, I get that, but so is obsidian and it makes some of the sharpest knives and arrow heads known to man. What if I could get Sigi's help – right? To make like an, a uh... A slingshot, or a handheld scorpion that can shoot deuritium nails. We could counter any mage that pipes up to us in an--”
“Tyr.” Brenn said. “I was... Joking. With that being said, that is a concerning line of logic. Always thinking about new ways of killing people... Deuritium is very painful, not to mention it's against the Accords to use it in combat...”
“That's fine.” Tyr shrugged. “I wasn't. I've thought a lot about how you guys act, how you prefer not to kill. Violent, yeah. I get that. I'm a sick creature or psychotic wretch always maiming and hurting others. First, experiment how it can save lives. Second, test nonlethal options, preferably ranged ones. It's not like I want to run around murdering everything in sight, man. I have a... Compass, believe it or not. Let's call it that, a 'moral compass'. Maybe I am sick – or my brain is broken in a way that makes me different from you all. But I can pretend, right? No more ends justifying the means, I can be the person you expect me to be. I don't want to let you down.”
“You've given a lot of thought to this.” Brenn sighed. Just looking at him, being so close – it was impossible to hate Tyr. Even in his worst moments he was... “Sometimes I think you're a birthday cake with a profane phrase written out in icing on the top.”
“...What?” Tyr paused in all of the dreams and designs flickering through his brain. Bladed discs or bola's with insulated balls at the end, or a handle connected to a chain to avoid direct contact with deuritium. Like a whip... “Is that some sort of euphemism? Is that the right word? Euphemism is a nice word. Is it a metaphor?”
“I think...” Brenn's face crumpled. Tyr had been mumbling a lot. Normally he's toss any concerns aside, excusing them as the actions of an eccentric, but it didn't bode well to see him act strangely. All men had passions, Tyr was just too passionate about an odd thing. Brenn had seen him in the training yard chewing on a shard of blue steel until his teeth broke. Ignoring the blood pouring from his mouth and jotting notes into a journal. Strange behavior... “Both might be applicable... In any case, I meant that I couldn't ever hate you, right? I like cake – it's one of my favorite things. Well, all sweets really. I might find the writing on the surface of the cake inappropriate, but it's still cake at the end of the day. Get it?”
Tyr raised an eyebrow at him, mouth twitching. “Not at all. What about me is sweet?”
–
Tyr prepared himself. Mentally, physically, emotionally. This was going to be one of the hardest things he'd done since his return to the city. Looking at himself in the small mirror on the opposite end of the prep room, he straightened his knee length cardigan, wearing it open as always. Black over his white shirt – a new pair of leather riding boots and tight breeches to match it. They called them 'denims', a cloth dyed with black that was originally designed to replace cotton sails, but it didn't hold magic very well, being such a dense weave of fibers. Tyr had found a way around that, though. Very impressed with himself. It was actually easy, all he had to do is stud the waistline with fingernail sized discs that--
What am I doing... He smacked his cheeks. Procrastinating in thought, his coping mechanism. Tyr felt fear, an emotion he hadn't felt very often. That cold, heavy, sinking feeling in his gut. Doom. Feeling like he was headed to the chopping block. He pushed open the door of the prep room, entering the wide lecture hall where the class gathered every Monday and Friday for their briefing. As expected, the classroom was loud. His hair was getting long again, pulling it into a tail while he waited for them to quiet down.
They didn't. Tyr missed the days when they'd felt honest fear for him, grown soft and lax - like the zookeeper and the tiger that most assuredly wouldn't harm them.
He'd let the class sit idle for ten minutes, it was bound to happen with so many peers in the same place, even the normally aloof Alex was participating in the conversation. Either she or Rafael had a responsibility to order the students, but the latter was too busy leaning over a group of blushing girls, flashing them a white smile as one played absentmindedly with her hair in rapt interest.
Tyr didn't call for silence or order, he walked silently to the position behind his desk, facing the chalkboard. Nobody really used these things anymore. Hadn't for centuries, but Lernin 'liked how they smelled' so every classroom had one installed. For the most part, they were still unused, everyone preferred the more flexible option of rune-boards or holo projectors. Taking a stick of chalk in his hand, he wrote down the date. There were conventions that differed in various nations, so he never used the Month, Day, Year format in Haran. Opting to slowly write November 7th on the board. With that, the rowdy room grew quiet and people settled down into their seats. More than a few of them were pale of face, wondering what punishment he was cooking up next.
“The eleventh month of the year, the seventh day. The seventh day of the second semester for many of you.” Tyr said. There were four semesters with a month long period in between blocks of 2. September and October were the first. November and December the second. January was the intermission where exams would take place, work study assessments, and break. February and March for the third. April and May for the fourth. June differed based on what school one participated in. What clubs they were a member of. The event month, but it was also where finals took place. Some students finished in a few days, some were in workshops throughout the whole month. “Does anyone know what the significance of this particular day is?”
Nobody answered. It was as normal a day as ever. As normal a day in 'Professor Tyr's' classroom could be, at least. Finally, after a tense period of silence, Cirdan raised his hand passionately into the air.
“I can't believe you remembered my birthday!” He cried. “As expected of the third overall score in the academy.”
Tyr grimaced. It had nothing to do with Cirdan, how was he supposed to know this idiots birthday? But more importantly. “I suppose I'm supposed to pretend I've no idea what you're talking about?” His eyes met Astrid's and he knew, her apologetic look said it all. “Since the exam results of the professors are supposed to be confidential.” He sighed.
“That's a good call-out, Cirdan!” Rafael laughed. “Here I was thinking our very own White Wolf was some kind of idiot, only good at fighting. How'd you do it, by the way? You scored higher than I did, did you cheat?”
“IT IS MY ABSOLUTE HONOR TO HAVE IMPRESSED YOU, SIR!” Cirdan rose, saluting enthusiastically.
“I studied.” Tyr shrugged. He'd actually failed the mathematics exam, so Lernin had allowed him to take the dwarven exam instead. Cheating, basically, but he'd done well enough in all of the other subjects with no aid. By faking it and vomiting up knowledge he could remember at a moments notice. Paper exams were not an indicator of talent or genius. Even so, it was a sign of just how incredible Alex and Astrid were to do even better than he did when Tyr had literally cheated, he was even given extra time and a lot less regimented of an exam period. “But yes, as Cirdan correctly surmised, today is someones birthday. Of course I wouldn't forget my second favorite assistant's as well.”
He winked, charming again. Tough, but always charming. If Tyr had been harder on the eyes, he had no doubt there'd be a lot more complaints about him sent to the headmaster, and there were a lot of those already. Lookism was a real thing.
“Second favorite! Ha! You hear that, you lot?” Cirdan seemed to be enjoying himself, puffing his wide chest out like a bird on the hunt for a mate.
“I'd give you first.” Tyr bowed in apology. “But I'm afraid my lady wife might take offense, and I do so enjoy our hand holding time.”
“I'll kill you.” Alex hissed in embarrassment, even while a soft smile began to to tug at her lips. The room was filled with laughter as they were caught between watching Cirdan, who was bent over his desk and flexing his massive arms, and seeing the look on Alex's face. A rare moment of playfulness from what was for many of them their least favorite professor.
“Sigi.” She didn't like sweet things, not like Brenn. He remembered that much, at least. Hoping it would help bridge the gap between them and maybe make things easier. Everything was by motive, not by the goodness of his heart, whether he wanted it to be or not. Tyr hadn't celebrated his own birthday in... It had been a long time, over ten years now. And he hadn't done much to celebrate theirs, either. Not before, but now he stood to gain a benefit from it. “Happy birthday.”
He waved his hands, amused at the fact she couldn't look him in the eye. Face flushed red in shame and embarrassment. Tyr knew that she was still beating herself up over what had happened. And she should do so, she'd royally fucked his plan and now he'd not get another chance to keep that hamster wheel of easy victories going. Hamster wheel?
Maybe... Maybe if she hadn't come, he'd have ended up doing far worse when Pattoli stole his curse. Who knew? In any event, he clapped his hands and a slew of academy staff entered the room. Wilhelm, Urden, Valkan, Leda, professor Morn with her creepy overly wide eyes that never seemed to blink... Even Lernin himself. Hells, Kael showed up, and Tyr most certainly hadn't invited him. That might explain the mischievous wink the professor sent his way.
After them came floating trays of assorted foods. All of the savory sort. Sandwiches and sizzling meat, stewed vegetables, and her favorite dish – Feldun grapes. Pretty strange, really. They weren't grapes, weren't even fruit. They were strings of red kelp, pickled and brined, then charred on a flattop and rolled into neat balls.
Tyr hadn't had enough time to get 'sea plums', which were similar, a product that her old country was supposed to have enjoyed once upon a time – but they were close to it. Kirk had said so, maxxid enjoyed them too, apparently. And he joined them, with Tiber and Samson helping turn him slightly to fit through the door. A ridiculous sight, and most of the class seemed to think so, too.
Behind them came Rakkis and Camille, Mikhail, Fennic, Lina and Ajax. One by one, they offered Sigi their well wishes and she greeted them with a very strained smile. She was the type to pretend to hate this kind of thing, Tyr knew that, but she'd struggle through it. As a royal, she'd been raised to behave that way. He thought. Hoped. Was fairly worried that he'd called it wrong and been tricked into another beating by Astrid.
“Dang... This is actually good...” Tyr's head tilted to the side as he observed Micah shoveling the... Ocean... Grass? Into his mouth very enthusiastically. Tyr thought they both smelled and tasted terrible, but it was certainly edible, he guessed...
“Thanks.” Tyr said. His arms crossed, observing the 'party'. These professors all seemed to be quite fond of his group of friends, even he himself. Like Lernin was, something Tyr did not quite understand. Kael was an asshole to him as usual, in his way. Extremely sarcastic and flamboyant with his claims of 'if you hadn't X, I wouldn't have Y' – with Y equating to 'lost'. Tyr had heard that... A hundred times, it seemed. As far as he was concerned, loss meant dead, and dead men didn't have the opportunity to give excuses. Tyr would live through them all and he'd never once complained about the many beatings he'd received with a 'what if'.
“My compliments to the chef.” Micah corrected, mouth full of red, juicy fibers. They were pickled, so it wasn't strange that they smelled like pickles, but the intense odor of garlic hung on the air as well. Apparently Trafalgar was a very rocky place and they didn't have much in the way of local agriculture. Their spices were all easily dried and preserved products. Pickled or cured foods were very popular, the rest came from – or used to come from – expeditions into the western continent. “It's nice that you set this up, though. I'm grateful for that, and I'm sure she will be too.”
“You misunderstand.” Tyr replied, trying to swallow the smug look from popping up onto his face. “I made all of this myself.”
“...Really?” Micah asked, and Tyr nodded. Every dish. Astrid had handled all the socializing and invitations. Today was to be a day of rest for the students. For a bunch of pale, frail, soft handed mages – the class had gone further than he'd expected. Leaving him in a state of improvisation before he thought up new content. Rafael wasn't very helpful, but Alex filled in that gap very well alongside Lina. Her organizational skills were something that awed Tyr. As expected of the woman that would one day inherit the Goldmane household, he supposed.
Her brothers were all off doing their own thing, but he didn't know the specifics. Keeping track of all these nobles he didn't know was irritating. Who cared? “Well... That's surprising. Another talent. Do you ever get tired of being so amazing?”
Tyr laughed loudly at that, loudly enough to startle those around him. First, there were the professors, some of which who were wary of him. Fond, they'd come to visit sometimes, acting familiar and he reciprocated their kindness as best he could – but constantly suspicious of his motives for being here. Maybe even fearful. Then there were the students, who had never heard him laugh like that. His entire personality in this excursion through the academy had been an act... For the most part. It felt good, though. Just to pretend, for a little while.
Much to his surprise, in this specific instance... He wasn't pretending, though.
“I'm strong, and I'm confident in myself these days, but not amazing. Alexandros says if I speak a thing into being, it'll happen. Calls it the law of attraction, so I've been trying it. I don't really change, not sure if I can. I have in small ways, but only because I know better how a person should act. You have no idea how frustrating being so stagnant is. And sometimes it's even worse knowing that I am so daft that I never would have achieved the things I have without the influence of others. I just... Copy, emulate. Try to make something mine, but never by myself, little more than a common thief.”
“That's still a talent, Tyr.” Micah shook his head in exasperation. “Think of all the great mages today, and then think about how they became what they are. Imagine if Renicci or Trevor Dolores had access to the textbooks we do? They'd be Solomon's of our generation, I think. Well, hopefully not in some ways – but the genius was there. You know?”
“Better textbooks.” Tyr nodded.
“But I do know something you're bad at.” Micah smirked.
“Oh?” Tyr asked. “And pray tell, what is that?”
“Your sense of fashion.” Micah said, leaving forward conspiratorially. “No, I'm not talking about what you're wearing. I'm talking about that bulky armor you made for the girls. Shouldn't armor conform to their bodies? Show off more skin? What's the point of all that work the gods put into them if you're going to cover it all up with metal? It's called a boob window, look it up. Armor should be sexy, at least show me a little bit of--”
“Micah...”
“I'm just saying...”