“Crimson Lotus!” Tyr snarled. Aska's sleek form burst into scarlet light, a jet shrieking from the edge, bringing the bastard sword down and splitting the spine of the warg like dry kindling. Its body hit the snow, sending a spray of frosty air and viscera in all directions. It's lower half motionless, front half as of yet unaware that it was no longer connected to it's rear legs. These were ugly beasts, akin to a wolf but... Decidedly not.

Flat in the face like a bear, with slavering jaws and a generally violent disposition. Tyr did not like them. As if some fiend had taken all the majesty out of the noble wolf and created something foul out of it.

Monsters, each and every one of them, an animal that would find no mercy in him.

“Please...” It mewled. “I have a family.”

“Eat my ass, wargling.”

Not quite the same song it'd been singing when it was promising to chew on Tyr's bones and suck all the marrow out. The warg population was far larger than normal this year in the successor states, and some had even managed to awaken like this one. A true magical beast. Wargs were not actually monsters, they were simply predatory animals like any other. But like all things, they could evolve based on their environment. Many humans had died all across the marches, or been frightened into staying home, and prey animals had flourished in recent years.

One piece of the ecological balance. Nature always corrected itself. Normally, he'd support this, but these creatures sickened him. When awakened, they were a violent, barbaric race of intelligent canids. He split the bottom half of the creatures jaw with his foot wedged in its mouth and cooked it internally with a gout of crimson brilliance. Better not to damage the outer layer of skin overmuch, warg hide was valuable – and a fairly useful crafting material besides. Killing magical beasts was generally frowned upon, Tyr took what he could get from those with very little in the way of friends.

“Interesting technique.” Sigi said. Her face was turned to the side as she tried to figure out how to successfully dislodge her crescent blade from the rocky hide of her own opponent. Unfortunately bolstering itself with earth magic shortly before dying. It'd fade eventually, but she didn't want to leave it in there, lest it damage her hide more than Tyr had already torn his own. “How does it work?”

Tyr wasn't the best swordsman she'd ever seen from a mechanical standpoint, but she wasn't sure she knew many who could match him in immeasurables. With that being said, perhaps contradicting her first observation, Tyr was one of the best melee combatants she'd ever witnessed.

His move-set was erratic and aggressive to the point of eschewing all defense. She didn't recognize the style, he no longer seemed to favor the panther he'd used against her so many times. He'd been caught off balance by the clever foe before his body had abruptly jerked around and hammered his blade into the wargs spine. Shredding his arm and shoulder, though it achieved the desired effect. Quite interesting, really, how Tyr had adapted to his immortal body like that.

“It's a fire meta infusion that uses compressed air or water to generate a kinetic reaction. Essentially it--”

“Causes controlled explosions at risk of your own body to force your limbs into a better position, where a normal infusion would either be a victim to gravity and throw your aim awry?” Sigi smirked, but he could tell that she was annoyed for some reason. “I'm not an idiot.”

Tyr scowled, shaking his head at the interruption. “That's about the gist of it. But you asked. Pride is all well and good but you have far too much of it. I was telling a story, and that explanation was not nearly articulate enough. The Crimson Lotus is an art form, the most pure interpretation of the Fire Dance. It is sacred and beautiful.”

“You're one to talk.” She protested.

But just then, before another silly challenge could be made, Tyr's communication amulet started buzzing audibly. “Oh, so you do answer that thing?”

“I said I was sorry.”

Sigi laughed. “Relax. Don't be so sensitive, it was a joke.”

Tyr shook his head in annoyance before firmly grasping the ovoid wafer of silver and squeezing hard. “Yo, headmaster. Don't worry. On our way back now, I am aware of the timetable for my sabbatical.”

“We need you back now.” Lernin's voice crackled through the amulet. “This is an emergency!”

“Emergency?” Tyr frowned. “Oi, what kind of emergency?”

But Lernin would give no answer, the line bursting into static as Sigi and Tyr locked eyes and began sprinting in the direction of Amistad. Pumping their legs as fast as they could take them, realizing belatedly that they'd forgotten their horses entirely.

–

Tyr felt like a mountain had been lifted from the sky and been forced down his gullet to rest in his stomach. This couldn't be real. None of this was real. Another hallucination like all the others. It had to be. The seat he occupied seemed a throne cast of ice, chilling his body and pulling at his skin. How?

How could this happen?

“As I was saying.” Lernin cleared his throat. “Kael has been called away on a personal contract and therefore he won't be able to manage the fourth year submissions to the festival. Thus, we need your help. First, you'll be responsible for overseeing the performance of your students, as well as attending the galla as an official representative of the university. Understood?”

“You've got to be shitting me.” Tyr spat angrily, eyebrows drawing a violent 'V' as he resisted the urge to stand and beat the willowy man before him to death with his bare hands. “This was your emergency?”

“Of course it is.” Lernin looked offended at the idea that this wasn't of the utmost importance. “Do you know how critical this event is for our academy? These people need hope, wonder, to feel confident in our shepherding of the next generation. Without it, we might as well be those half rate shills who call themselves our equals. The other 'academies' – and I'm heavy on the quotation marks there – a bunch of quacks if you ask me. It is our duty to remain first among them all, here at the Red Dragon, it is a tradition.”

“I'm not even a real professor!” Tyr cried in exasperation, they wanted him to proctor some component of a talent show. At a time like this, with total war looming on the horizon...? “I'm a teachers aide!”

“Details, details. Consider yourself promoted, tada! Perks of being a headmaster.” Lernin waved his hands about flamboyantly, there were times when he and Hastur appeared so alike. “People call you that in any case, you call yourself that at times. Responsibilities, consequences will come of your actions and I can see no more positive a result than this. It's a good change, and a great honor I bestow upon you.”

“It's really fun.” Wilhelm muttered, nearly choking on his coffee at the demonic glance Tyr passed him in response. “It is! For a young man like yourself, there is no better place to meet the up and comers in all corners of society. Forge political relationships, business agreements.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe meet a few charming young women, perhaps.”

“I have four wives and one husband.” Tyr replied seriously. “What would convince you I need more?”

“Actually...” Urden posited with a raised finger. She was a suspicious one, constantly giving Tyr an eerie feeling when he was around her – but she'd never done anything to deserve it. It was that instinct, something about her was inherently... Untrustworthy. “Maxxid are hermaphroditic – so you could say that you have five wives. Since the females of their society sit in position of a wholly matriarchal rule, your awakened maxxid 'husband' is actually not... A husband, I mean. He can identify however he'd... Well... You see... Er... Gender and sex are actually, well... Alright.”

Nervously, she lowered her hand at the blank look Tyr offered her. For his age, the man was simply monstrous in the terror he could instill in others, with nothing more than a look, a gravity to him that had evolved over time. 'Wearing his heart on his sleeve', one might say, if said heart was clearly communicating a weighing of whether or not he could kill everyone in a room and get away with it.

There were times... Staff meetings and official events where he would sit there, glaring, cutting his fingers repeatedly just to watch his digits suck all the blood back up into his body. Among other bizarre predilections.

But as usual, some of them were unflagging. Lernin, for example. Valkan, too, who knew Tyr well and naturally didn't fear him. Anyone who was familiar with the young man knew he was impulsive and blunt enough to warn someone before he tried to do it, not the sort to adopt the cloak and dagger strategy of surprise. Very counterproductive, that.

“Quit glaring at your seniors.” Valkan rebuked. It was a comical thing, watching his massive slab of a hand slap the back of Tyr Faeron's head. And along with it, Tyr meekly apologizing for his behavior, very much like a child. “You'll do it, and you'll enjoy yourself in the process. It's important to all of us, and you should feel the same. Is it not your academy, too?”

“I suppose so...” Tyr replied softly.

Valkan caught their astonished glances, crossing his arms smugly and nodding in satisfaction.

Lernin chuckled wryly. That was a talent worth celebrating, their relationship as master and student, marking Valkan as one of the only faculty members with any amount of influence over their resident perhaps-primus. “Then it shall be. Together, Professors Tyr and Valkan will take the fourth years. Urden will take the third, Wilhelm with the second. Leda will take the first year with assistance from Franz. For the intermediate and elementary courses, we'll leave Hubert, Larry, Agnes, and Trove to divide them evenly among themselves. Any names that have not been called will see themselves in reserve of the others. For the most part, you can do what you want – and you'll be expected to guide your clubs as always. Everyone came to see the older students, in any case. I will be handling the post-graduate classes alongside Robert and Killian. Morn will be general aid again this year, but as you all know, I wouldn't expect much in the way of help. Dismissed.”

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Nobody argued, not yet. They never did, really. If a professor asked for a position, Lernin would remain fair in his considerations. This was a worldwide expo of magic, not a simple school talent show. He did not care what any of the lesser classes did as long as it was appropriate and well maintained. Their reputation was predicated on how well the advanced courses did.

'Fifth year' – aka post-graduate understudies – were the shining stars of the academy. At their peak, every single one of them being a future archmage. Some were as old as 30, others as young as 23 – and they'd always attract the most attention.

“Yes, Tyr?”

“...What do I do?” Tyr asked nervously, dropping the glowering steel in his gaze and once again behaving like an anxious child. “I don't even know what this is, I've never attended this festival before.”

“Really?” Lernin asked with an arched brow. “Were you not present during your first year here?”

“I slept through it, I thought it sounded boring.” Tyr scratched the back of his head.

“Ah...” Lernin chuckled, that, at least, was very much in character. “Then leave it to Valkan. Everybody already knows that the performance of my students will far exceed your own.”

“...Are you baiting me?” Tyr raised an eyebrow at the older man.

“Of course.” Lernin nodded confidently. “Is it working?”

“Yes.” Tyr said. “I will eliminate you by any means necessary.”

Lernin cackled, holding his stomach in the process. Tyr didn't like how the headmaster seemed to be mocking him at the moment, especially out of such petty motivation. “Good luck, you'll need it. It's not a fight, professor Tyr. Make sure you lose with dignity. But let's say... Between friends. We're friends, right?”

“I suppose we are on relatively amicable terms, and you're not on my list.” Tyr shrugged. “Why?”

His list? Lernin frowned, opting to gloss over that in lieu of more pressing matters.

“Let's say we make a wager, between friends, then. My team wins, and you swear the oath sentinel to Amistad.” Lernin said, the crafty man that he was, and Tyr saw right through it. But it didn't matter, his interest was piqued from Lernin's perspective. Only, decidedly, Tyr's thoughts were nowhere near what the professor was bound to expect. “If your team wins, which it will not, no chance in that... I'll, uh... I'm not sure. What do you want?”

Tyr's face crumpled at that, not sure whether to be offended or shocked at the gall of someone who would utter those words in his presence. As always, he remained prideful though only in the self, trying not to project his values on others, but what Lernin was suggesting was highly inappropriate. And extremely disrespectful, the equivalent of spitting on Tyr's House standard and insisting that House Faeron was somehow lower in stature than anyone or anything in Amistad. His relationship with his father was what it was, but Tyr still held great pride in the lion banner, and his nation of birth, especially after seeing the absolute state of things elsewhere.

The oath sentinel was a Harani custom, there was no national chapter of knights in this country, though, making it confusing. To become sentinel wasn't to swear fealty, it was far more than that, it was akin to a blood oath and not all men took it for that very reason. Even despite the rewards, but Tyr wasn't so well versed in law and custom. However, it generally meant on the surface level to agree to fight under the banner of the guarantor, should they ever be attacked. Akin to pseudo-feudalism, in a way, an old custom and it would make him a 'sentinel' of Amistad, which again, had no chartered knighthood. By extension, this would include his technically subordinate blackguard who were considered hedges, meaning knights with no national affiliation on an official basis.

It was the bond that knights, legion men, and rangers took to always safeguard the interests of the empire in the event that they were not landowning nobles. Haran was an autocracy, but it was in no way a place where the 'emperor' – be that the primus – could unlawfully seize the belongings of a free man without consent. People had rights.

'Rights'. On paper, at least.

Relevant exposition, in context, because what Lernin was asking him to do was to kneel to the authority of a foreign kingdom quite literally.

The oath sentinel was willingly eschewing all those rights and agreeing to serve the crown even over personal interests. Gods first, crown second, family third, self last. It was a lifelong commitment, at that, once sworn you could not turn your back on the oath. Granted, many pensioned out, but for example – a man like Rorik of Riverwood could be recalled at any time for the rest of his life no matter how long in the tooth he was.

Jartor himself could arrive in person and behead him for no reason at all, and it'd be entirely lawful. It was an oath that brought a person about as close to slavery as possible in the northern states where such a term held such great disdain. Like all oaths among 'northerners', they were taken very seriously – not in the way these southerners played so loose with their promises. In a situation like this – Tyr doubted any north blooded man would blame him for standing and cutting Lernin in half on the spot. There was nuance to these things, the oath sentinel was given, never taken as a contrivance revolving around a petty wager.

All Tyr could see in this moment was a trap, and it infuriated him. But he'd learned not to let his emotions rule him so readily, asking the more obvious question.

“You want me to become a sworn knight of Amistad?”

Lernin waved his words away. “Ignore the title, keep everything else. If we are attacked, let's say, you will swear to come and defend us. Furthermore, as my right as headmaster, I'd amend the contract to ensure you'd suffer none of the negatives.”

“That is not the oath sentinel, then, it's just a convenient way to play to the fact that I still hold great pride in the country of my birth.” Tyr frowned. “I am not a king, a lord, nor do I own sovereign land, yet you are asking me for a defensive pact. But I have no army to offer you, no forces, so it does not make sense. Asking me to take the sentinel to Amistad is not only inappropriate, it is illegal and extremely offensive. I am still of the royal family of Haran and heir or not, I cannot be given true political clout in any of the successor states. It would break the treaty.”

“I see.” Lernin nodded. “A poor choice of words, and my apologies for that. Let's amend. How about the oath vigilant, then?”

Tyr once again pondered taking his fists and if not killing Lernin, something he'd never do, perhaps teaching him a lesson. The dialogue equivalent to a cabbage merchant pricing their goods at 100 sovereigns only to wave it away and convince one that their goods were coming at a huge discount when sold for a more reasonable price.

Lernin was crafty. Using a sacred oath first to unbalance Tyr mentally and then bringing up a much more common oath. One sworn between neighbors or men who fought in the same formation. Nothing political, a bit strange to swear vigilant to a nation rather than a military unit or chapter, but it wasn't inappropriate in the least. Farming families who lived near one another across the generations might swear this oath. If one was at market, the other would watch their children, if a roof collapsed and they lacked the funds to fix it – the bonded villages would come together in a show of brotherhood.

And Lernin knew, Tyr was absolutely certain that the headmaster was aware of all that he'd been doing behind the scenes. Despite the great pains he'd taken to ensure the vast majority of it was done by proxy, Lernin must've sniffed it out. But he'd not done it for Amistad, he didn't even know why he'd done it at all. He had an army, all he needed to do was blow that horn, and they'd come from all directions. Crashing down on whatever army was foolish enough to invade the space that he occupied in the moment.

“I watch your back.” Tyr said. “You watch mine. Lawfully. That is far more reasonable.”

“With both arms are my sword steadied by my brothers. Two hearts, one steel. To cut away the enemy at our gates, so we swear, ever vigilant – ever ready.” Lernin smiled. “Is that how it goes? How dramatic and dour you northmen are.”

It's not. Tyr frowned. He might be an idiot when it came to many things, or perhaps just maladjusted, but the oath vigilant creed was simply 'hand in hand I call you neighbor'. Wherever Lernin had heard that, Tyr had absolutely no idea – Harani were not prone to romance like the Oresundians were. Although, in context, it sounded very Varian, with their feathered caps, puffy sleeves, and irritatingly short stature.

“Don't call us that, and I am not your brother.” Tyr snorted, sighing in exhaustion at the unexpected turn of events – he liked giving oaths well enough, but he hated being asked for them even more. A man should offer of his own accord always, not be requested. “The Oresundians will sail from their frozen hellhole and slap you in the face. Of the same blood, though, I never understood why the cardinal direction of our nations relative to the continental axis was so important. Anyways, draw up a contract of vigilance and I will agree to that on a personal level. Just me, not my family, and certainly not my wives or sworn men. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Lernin nodded happily. “But any wager needs to have something in it for both sides. What shall you ask for?”

“I'm not.” Tyr replied, turning his back to Lernin. “I don't need to be baited, or goaded, tricked or coerced. Challenged, though, I like a challenge. I will crush your frail lot of weak wristed children by my own merit, no reward is necessary save the looks on your faces when we grind you to dust. I will agree to a contract of vigilance. I love Amistad and would have protected it without this silly game of yours, or at least we'll say that's my motivation – and few will find error with it. Ask, and I will come for as long as I possess the capacity to do so. And tell that spineless wretch Kael Emberwind that if either of you makes up an excuse to throw me into something I'm not entirely comfortable with, that I'll shove his head up my ass. I mean that. His head, my ass. Good fortune for your preparations, you bird necked excuse for a headmaster.”

The vitriol... Lernin was ambivalent, Tyr hadn't spoken with any ill tone but he'd always find a way to make something sound nasty.

“...He left.” Kael, from his hidden compartment observing the room. As Tyr has surmised, there was no 'contract' pulling him away. What nation on the verge of total war would send one of their greatest talents to fields afar? “Do you really think he'd shove my head up his own ass? Why would he do that?”

“Shit, man.” Lernin frowned hard. “Why does he do anything? I think we misjudged him again this time. What do you think?”

“I think he was telling the truth.” Kael nodded. “I think. What I know is that I have no idea what that guy is about in the slightest. Please do not let him shove my head up his own ass. That is so bizarre. Like... Who would do that? Mechanically, how would that even work? I have a big head!”

“...You can use my estate on the periphery just in case. Even if he was joking, Tyr seems like the type to suffer that discomfort just to keep his word. Ultimately, I'm left wondering if he's getting better or worse these days.”

“Ah... Decidedly worse.” Kael scurried away nervously, no longer the proud swordsman he was so well famed for being once upon a time. Then again, with a threat like that... Who would be? “Let me know if you need anything, Lernin...”