“This is awful...” Tyr groaned. “I don't know what to do.”

“It's not that hard, brother.” Brenn snorted, his deep, smooth voice relaxing Tyr a bit – how self assured the man was, infectious confidence but not enough to resolve the latent anxiety. It was quite clear how mentally unstable Tyr was if he was so overly concerned with such a simple event. “Every year, it's always the same thing. Some do as the playwrights do, some craft items and make a show of it, some sell food. Our job, so to speak, in the advanced class is to ensure the event runs smoothly, we are like the headlining pre-show of a bardic performance. Post-grads are the ones who run the event, we're just supporting characters.”

“Yeah.” Micah belched loudly, much to the chagrin of literally everyone in the room, but he'd grown bold enough to ignore them. Chewing on bright red jerky and huffing with every bite to indicate just how spicy it must've been, and yet he still kept eating through all the winces. “Every year, the post-grads do something out of this world. They get the best time slot, the best resources, it's only natural. They lump all of the classes into one, and only select the best of the best. The fourth year in the academy is pretty small, but the grad classes are much larger because people transfer from other academies. That's why the Red Dragon is so famous. Did you know that we have one of the highest rates of archmage promotions in the entire world?”

“The highest.” Ayla correct, for some reason. Why Ayla? This was her first year... “Aysgarth held that title for six years in total, but metrics show that the Red Dragon had been marginally better for the last fifty. Try... Reading a book? I'm just saying, basically...”

This continued for some time, a not-so-brief history lesson of magical society spewing from her mouth at a breakneck pace. For whatever reason, that seemed to be a great hobby of hers, if not history then the observance of record and law...? A topic any man or woman with reason in their skull would find beyond dry.

“Thank you, Ayla.” Tyr smiled at her, greatly confusing the others, only Alex knew that they were friends. From the perspective of everyone else – Tyr had known her for a few days at most. But nobody actually knew about the time they'd spent together in the tower. It was good to see Ayla adapting well to this world, even enjoying it. Still in her human form so as to avoid the obvious implications of running about as a centaur spider woman. “I will not lose to the others. A food cart? Are you kidding me? No. We are going to crush them wholly and without reservation. Break them. I want to hit them so hard they might never practice magic again. I want them to be emotionally crippled after seeing our performance, to be left weeping and rattling copper cups for coins at the market, like the beggars they are. We will take from them their manhood, even the women, should they not have the cock to do so we will make do with their sense of self.”

“...What?”

“Um...?”

“Tyr...?”

“Where the hell did that come from? Are you okay!?”

“I, for one, favor that energy.” Sigi crossed her arms and nodded in satisfaction. “This is not the leadership we asked for, but it might just be the leadership we need. I'm tired of doing food carts. How many ways can a person prepare noodles before they can't take it anymore?”

Alex sighed. “I am also tired of losing, every year the post-grads laugh at us – and unlike our classes, theirs might not change for 5 years. Even now, they march around here like they own the place. I could have skipped, you know! All of us could have, but we stayed for the final year because the headmaster asked us to. To prepare for TA positions that we might not even end up taking...”

“Aye.” Sigi nodded. “Put me in a ring with any of them and I'll show them what for. They are weak. Their head, a watermelon. My thighs, the vise. I will crush them. Who else will join us on our glorious path to conquest?”

“...What is wrong with you?” Tythas asked, exasperated. “Who talks like that!? Find gods, ladies. For real, this time. It's a talent show, not a war! Who cares!?”

Tyr looked him in the eye with the utmost seriousness. “Every challenge is a war, Tythas. Against the foe, yourself, nature, anything. Doesn't matter. Life is struggle. To struggle is to live, and to overcome is to survive. Long falls the dew drop from the high tree, yet the dew falls not. The dew decides, it does not fall. Be dew, Tythas.”

“...WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!?” Tythas cried with both hands held aloft. Brenn's head slowly turned toward Tyr, pausing in the wooden carving he was working at with a small knife, squinting in contemplative bemusement.

“Ah!” Micah cried. “Brilliant, I get it! Like... It's better to be a warrior in a garden, rather than a gardener at war!”

“You do...?” Tyr asked with pursed lips. “Because when Daito told me that I have no idea what the hell he was talking about. I thought it was something profound, but I still don't get it. What does it mean?”

“...Uh...”

“Who is that? The adventurer Daito?”

Micah, as expected, dodged the question. “Have you apologized to Lady Jura for treating her so coldly upon your reunion? That's what I've been wondering.”

“Apologize for what?” Jura raised an eyebrow. “Sure, I wish he was a bit more intimate at times but I don't see a problem. Does this help?” The slits of Brenn's eyes grew thinner in observation of Jura pulling a shortsword free of her dimensional ring and stabbing it into Tyr's leg. His lips making for such a straight line that it would've impressed any dwarven craftsman.

“Why...?” Micah gawped. “Doesn't that hurt, man? Dear gods, you're all insane.”

“Kind of.” Tyr shrugged, his eye twitched but otherwise he remained unperturbed, the others staring at him uncomfortably. “We've trained together quite a bit and I'm sure there are stranger dynamics between a paired couple. It's not like she actually injured me, or that anything really can.”

“...You're getting blood all over the carpet.” Alex grimaced, she didn't like seeing him get hurt like that. Even if it didn't pain him the way that it should, it wasn't normal, and doing it so casually was even more concerning.

“Astrid? Why are you breathing so heavily, are you okay?”

“Mmm yes, don't mind me. Now twist it.”

“...Twist it?”

“Back on topic.” Tyr, mystified, shook his head at Astrid's warped gaze in disgust. They called him strange. Every day he found out new and strange facts about them all, and he hadn't wanted to know that. “What do we do for a show?”

“You want to go for an exhibition?” Alex asked. “I mean... It's not impossible, we are fourth years so we can definitely get a slot. Most classes oversee concession sales, or run a little stand for games. Separated by year, but also by clubs and workshops. Sigi and I will not be able to participate because of blitzball, and she also has her engineering booth to manage. Brenn is the vice-captain of the division Elemento team. Tythas has his necromancy workshop. Leaving you with... Micah and Astrid, since her enchanting workshop has so many people in it to begin with. That's why I wouldn't recommend an exhibition, most of our class is going to be have obligations. Anyone left without something to do is...”

“She's saying that they are a bit shit.” Tythas groaned, looking overly haggard – with dark rings around his eyes and 5 o'clock shadow to add to the mystique of their edgy, overworked resident necromancer. “Obviously that's not true, but Professor Sterner who runs the dimensional and spatial workshops doesn't like the festival. Says...” He cleared his throat, twisting his voice until it became mockery of a very posh east Varian accent. “The noble art of dimensional magic is not for the trifling of fools and commoners. Anyways... I am the only member of the advanced necromancy workshop at this academy so Urden told me that I can participate in any of the other events. I'm in the historical society but I don't particularly like them very much, and they all seem terrified of me so I doubt they'll mind. They call me 'emo boy'...”

“I did not say that you were 'shit', as you so eloquently positioned it.” Alex elaborated. “They're just a bit... Average. That's all. Of course, Micah as one of our companions is very talented and special.”

“I don't know how to react to that, in all truth.” Micah frowned. “But I thought there were a lot of people in the necromancy workshop?”

“A lot?” Tythas raised an eyebrow. “Not really. A few dozen in the intermediate courses but unlike other workshops there are levels to separate the greater discipline. I am the only advanced practitioner, but there is a master's class, with four students above me. We are like separate teams from an intramural standpoint. Get it?”

“That's pretty impressive, though.” Sigi mused. “Everyone in the advanced engineering workshop was in their 30's, all of them participant alumni. Since the academies govern vocational promotions it's really rare to see someone so young reach the advanced level. When did that happen?”

“Beginning of the semester.” Tythas shrugged. “Sort of by accident, really. I managed to summon a real greater construct, not just a chicken this time. Urden was very shocked. Necromancy masters are, at their youngest, in their mid forties I think.”

It was a system that stood in line with how mages were officially ranked by the government. Advanced was the standard of a full fledged, professional mage. It wasn't always universal, however, as all of them had registered as official mages over a year ago. Just a badge indicating their skill in a profession to serve as a sort of medal or mark on their resume. Not all professional mages had vocational certification, but it certainly didn't hurt. Naturally, Alex and Tythas both were provisional in that regard, as they were already marked mages of Haran. They couldn't belong to Amistad officially, but were welcome to be graded by the institution. With it, one could secure funding for projects, or accrue merits to be exchanged for various rewards through their research in exchange for sharing. It was similar to the rating system adventurers used, but carried a lot more benefits in exchange.

For vocations involving restricted knowledge such as necromancy, animism, and some branches of enchantment, there were pieces of knowledge or materials that could not be obtained without a license. Though for the most part, it was more about racking up merits on the path to becoming an archmage.

Post-mastery certification was extremely desirable. Slots were limited, it wasn't officially permanent either, but the rewards were insane. Amistad would give practically any amount of wealth to an archmage in a bid to convince them to stay in the nation. Land was the most common incentive, in such limited supply within the crater it was bound to be valuable. It wasn't easy, but talent was ferociously pursued, all of the girls had been hounded for years. Even Alex, aware of how hard it would be to expatriate her, something she would never do in any case.

But they kept trying, the only one immune to it was Brenn – being a paladin and all. Everyone feared the churches, and mages most of all – no matter how kind Vestia's faith might be.

“You should have told us.” Brenn smiled in delight. Despite finding the art of necromancy a subject of disgust, Tythas was still a good friend. Over time, he'd gotten over his aversion to darkness magic after learning the truth of things. There was no evil magic, just magic, power was defined by what one was willing, or not, to do with it. That didn't mean he'd ever use it himself, but people developed and matured – come to accept things they might not have in the past. “We could have celebrated.”

“It's not that big of a deal.” Tythas said. “There aren't many who take necromancy seriously, so the competition isn't very fierce.”

“Why?” Tyr asked.

“Because people misunderstand it.” That was Tythas' answer.

“Because it's disgusting.” Was Brenn's.

“Because it's worthless. Alchemists make better golems, engineers make better and more easily maintained constructs even though everyone calls them golems as well, conjurers, summoners, the list goes on. Undead are easy to counter, and while versatile, it's really just cheap. Technological advancement had rendered necromancy inferior to other schools of magic. Many of which can do the same thing but better.” That was Alex's answer. “Want to speak to the dead? It's only theoretical of course, nobody can talk to dead people, but diviners can read energy better. Pure darkness centric evocation has better drain spells. Enchantment has better wards. Necromancy spells peak at the level three standard and are almost universally incompatible whatsoever with metamagic. Everything beyond that is an expensive, or illegal ritual. Many consider necromancy a rapidly dying study of magic, and for good reason.”

“...” Tythas frowned. Necromancy was a lot more than summoning undead, but she had covered the basics well enough. It was a school of magic with far reaching applications, but everything they could do, someone else could do better. The study and manipulation of death energy. The study of the phenomena of death as a discipline, perhaps – that was just the most literal use of it. He was good at it, and it had its perks, but he'd have chosen another school should it not have been his natural talent for whatever reason.

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But Tyr was of a differing opinion, surprisingly.

“I think it's worth celebrating.” Tyr nodded, engrossed in thought with his hands steepled about the sides of his head. “I wish I could use darkness magic like you can. Even if necromancy seems ineffectual on paper, it's versatility should not be overlooked. People with a prime element for darkness that can eschew ritual by power or talent alone would be a terrifying opponent. Not including Hastur, I have only ever met one other mage with your element and she was very strong. Just a bit of an idiot, named after a cactus, I think. I am very proud of you.”

“...Really?” Tythas blushed, much to the amusement of the others. All except for Ayla, who would have agreed. Tyr didn't understand darkness magic as she did, but he was completely right. Dark and light were inherently the most powerful elements if one could properly commune with them. Light magic could counter a spell two levels higher in most cases if used correctly, with no backlash, but a master of dark magic could snuff out any spell with a thread of magic below the level one standard. Just a cantrip was all it took, and any weakness in a mana phenomena would run wild and implode. Granted, that was all theory, that level of mastery was beyond human ability. In any case, it was the only element that could break a mana construct outright. Could destroy anything with form or substance, even energy itself - theoretically. Running in the face of all the laws of physics, even on her own world it was poorly understood. “You are?”

“How could I not be?” Tyr asked. “Necromancy is, as they said, an almost defunct school of magic. Every few centuries something bad happens and the empires run around burning books and slaughtering covens. I don't know that for sure, but if not them – the churches. It is one of the oldest forms of ritual magic and yet its history can be traced back only two or three generations ago at best. There's a reason for that, in my experience. If darkness magic had been allowed to be properly studied and applied... Things would be very different, but don't worry.”

He winked, though nobody in their right mind would take Tyr's academic prowess seriously enough to attempt to understand why... What could he do?

Cancer would not exist. Flaws would not exist. Light could make, and dark could destroy. Together, melded, it might be a combination capable of bending reality itself. Veda's Black Book claimed that 'spatial magic' did not exist at all, in fact. Space did, of course, very obviously it was a part of universal law – but it was not an element. Essentially, the whole element in the contemporary academic sense was just humans projecting their poor understanding of things onto it. Astral space was the meeting point between the two prime elements of all existence, just one of the many gates one might unlock if they could discover its secrets. But she'd been a light mage, her positions were theoretical and she'd never delved too deeply. By the time Ellemar had achieved something akin to proof of her hypothesis, he was far too mad to say it in words Tyr could understand.

The clash of dark and light was enough to rip temporal anomalies in the fabric of space and time, enough to send one across continents should they possess the energy to properly wield it. Ultimate power lay within the meeting point of that balance – in the walls.

“...That means a lot.” Tythas squirmed uncomfortably, looking like a rosy faced worm trying to escape potted soil.

“Why are you acting strange?” Tyr asked, his mouth twitching and expression disturbed. Tythas was behaving very uncharacteristically, wiggling around and vainly attempting to hide the tugging at the corner of his lips. Tyr swore he could see stars in the other man's eyes. Impulse and compulsions forced on others, an effect of his aspect no doubt, earning Tythas a grim frown. Day by day, Tyr was starting to feel as if everything around him was one great lie. “I'm just stating the obvious. It is as relevant and important a school of magic as any.”

“He is bashful after being complimented by his prince.” Sigi chided. With the back of her hand, no less. Some things didn't change, just the force of them, a bit more gentle than before. “He is sworn to you, after all. A blackguard like the rest. Did you not bring him here to learn, so as to be a better retainer in the future? A good lord would never spit on the excitement a subordinate feels when they are praised. You are very stingy with it, after all.”

“I am not.” Tyr frowned, looking toward the others. “Am I?”

“You praise me!” Micah laughed, while Sigi glared at him. “Yeah, though. You don't say many nice things to people. Honest, but even when you do say something complimentary you don't look very impressed – so nobody thinks you are. Lip service, even if we believe you – we don't feel it. You like being pat on the head, right?”

'It's like that' – perhaps he would've said. Tyr was being a bit of a hypocrite considering he become so excited when validated by one person in particular.

“...Micah!” Alex choked, spraying water from her nose across the room, nearly drenching Ayla before the arachne managed to raise a hand and pluck the water from the air with an amused expression. Eyes tearing up and nostrils runny, Alex faced Tyr. “I'm sorry, it just came out! I would never gossip about you with the boys!”

“The boys?” Brenn frowned. “That implies you gossip about us with the girls?”

The room erupted into chaos, half of them laughing, the other half arguing with one another, Astrid and Ayla alike eyebrows raised and content to simply listen.

“Too loud.” Tyr slammed his hand on the table with enough force to crack the slate, his forearm and wrist along with it. Popping loudly as the joints slid back into place, the skin straightening before a bruise could form. Watching that was always... Disturbing. No matter how many times they'd seen the grisly sight repeat itself. “They'll hear us.”

“Who will hear us?” Tythas asked. “These rooms are soundproofed, you could scream as loud as you want and a person would hear naught but a muffled whisper beyond the closed door at best.”

“They're not outside.” Tyr replied, chewing on his cheek and drumming his fingers rapidly on the table. “They are in the walls. I can hear them but they can't hear me, not yet. They're looking for us though, and we can't keep running forever.”

“...?”

“Oh.” Alex nodded, her mystified expression relaxing into a frown of honest contemplation. “Yeah, it wouldn't be odd to see the different clubs spying on one another, but I doubt anyone is paying attention to us. Nobody pays any attention to the general courses, even at the advanced level. People are here to see students in the masters and doctorate programs. These days, it's all about smiths and engineers. Money related, naturally. The rest is more or less a morale boosting exercise for the academy between terms, a fireworks show.”

They all nodded in understanding.

A weird way to say it, but Tyr had never been what one would consider 'normal'.

Brenn found that odd. Tyr was usually a very calm, quiet person. He flew off the handle at times but only in a fight, and it was so obvious and abrupt that one just knew what state he was in. Iscari had said there was more nuance to it than that, once, but nobody had really listened. That was when they had either been too busy or too annoyed to pay attention. Sometimes, Tyr would seat himself in a position and barely move for hours. It creeped everyone out at first, but they'd gotten used to it. He had a real tic in his ways, a tugging at the eyebrow when he was trying to behave differently than his normal self.

People wore masks, that was just common sense. Everyone did it, and Tyr was the same as any noble Brenn had ever met in this way. He had never seen this tic before, though. Tyr's fingers were still drumming at the table, the man staring off into the distance with a blank gaze, looking at nothing in particular. All there was, was the bare wall, while the others joked and discussed various things, moving far from the topic at hand. And the drumming of his fingers was too rhythmic to be a random twitch, like... A puzzle?

Brenn was not fluent in Morse's code, how ships would beat the water the communicate to one another when sailing in concert with friendly aquatics. More common in the Krieg, where he'd been raised, but he'd say...

Tyr's tapping would indicate something roughly equivalent to a distress signal... Perhaps?

'Help.' Repeated, though not the help of someone drowning or a ship capsizing, but rather a communication that an enemy force was on the horizon line and he was requesting assistance.

This lasted for quite some time, until they all separated again. Going to their various clubs, or perhaps just to nap, they weren't together like this all the time. The older they became, the more time their studies required and thus went their separate ways. Often meeting back up at night to attend a gathering or go cause mischief elsewhere. Brenn, for the most part, spent his nights in quiet prayer and contemplation. He did like a good party, though, and so did Vestia, that was her way.

And now... These two men in particular were alone now, for the first time in...

Brenn didn't know if he'd ever been alone with Tyr before. Ever, outside of the sparring hall, and they were never actually alone when training. The eerie quiet punctuated only by the drumming fingers unnerved him, so he seated himself across from his friend and cleared his throat. Slowly, too slowly, Tyr turned to face him. His fingers stopping their rhythmic motions and frowning.

“How long have I been here?” Tyr asked with a troubled look to him.

“A few minutes.” Brenn said. “Are you alright?”

“I'm sure that I am not.” Tyr replied, flat and matter-of-fact. “But there's nothing to be done, and therefore not much else to say on the matter.”

“Does it have something to do with... Your thing? Your mana core?” Brenn asked. “I don't understand it in the least bit, I'm only good at hitting things or rather being hit by them. A thing we have in common, I think.”

“Did I tell you about that?” Tyr's face screwed up in thought. Iscari should be the only one who knew the true extent of it. Maybe Alex? Did he tell Alex? His memory was doing things again, there were periods lately where he'd just be somewhere else. But the voices promised to assist him, a handful of them had quite obviously been helping – and so he didn't resist those in particular. It was all about separating the screaming and promises to get to those lucid enough to be properly understood.

Voices in his head. Tyr snorted, shaking his head and erupting into full blown laughter, a loud cackle that brought Brenn to flinching. Though he didn't ask.

Staring up at a clock, seated at a table in a place he didn't recognize and yet it felt so familiar – a temple of some sorts with a single book present. Facing a mirror image of... Himself, he'd say, though the figure merely watched him. Not yet, it seemed to say, but the book would open soon and Tyr would need to be ready for it. More power was necessary, gathering all those small bits of kindling in preparation of the great burning.

“Iscari told me.” Brenn said. “Gave us details that you did not in the way you articulated it. I had no idea you were dying though, not until year 3's control course...”

“I don't think it's that, I believe I was duped into believing it was.” Tyr's eyes were hooded, squinted a bit. A shady look about him. “Maybe it is. Who really knows? I'm a bunch of pieces held together by a promise made by a god who couldn't possibly keep it. But I'm not dying yet, I'm just breaking. I've trained for a long time to calm my mind but it gets harder every day. It was so easy before.”

“Have you tried prayer?” Brenn asked, his dark brows lowered and face earnest in concern. “I know how you feel about the divines, how you profane them. I dislike that, but as their son you are not to be held to my convictions. All primus' pray, though, or so I hear. And not all gods require you to cloister yourself in a room of powdered urns and incense. Try asking, and maybe they will help. I'm sure you'd find great familiarity with the Path of Flame.”

“I pray every day.” Tyr replied softly. “To a god who does not answer.”

“I see...”

“You have to be ready.” Tyr said suddenly.

“Ready for what?” Brenn leaned forward, Tyr was speaking with two voices. Not two voices on top of one another, but he was mumbling under his breath even as he spoke. Talking about walls and eyes and hands, repeating the word 'twelve' in between. Before he could hear much more, that second voice stopped and Tyr didn't react at all. Brenn wasn't shocked, this was exactly how the high priestesses communicated the will of his goddess, and Tyr did claim to be a paladin – albeit in the most mocking way possible. “I have made peace with your unfortunately short life and I will protect the others. If that's what you mean.”

“Protect them from me.” Tyr frowned hard and with his right hand, he grabbed at the left that had begun that drumming again. “I'm going to awaken soon, you need to help ensure that I do but get them away as quickly as possible in the process, I will try to prepare them before the day comes. I can feel it. The big one. My aspect is domination, conquest. To conquer. To conquer the mind? I don't know. I just don't know. I want you to kill me when that happens, it's very important that I die one way or another. But you can't kill me yet, it won't work, you'll know it when you see it. Do you understand? Vestia will aid you, she is watching us now – she is at your side always. The tree will be your first sign, and when the wings come at the call of the Black Heart, be ready.”

Brenn had many questions, but Tyr was primus. A child of light. Could he kill one? Ability wise, of course he couldn't. Brenn was a man, as in race, something that was important to consider. Just a man. Too weak. In terms of consequence and burden... Another resounding 'no'. He couldn't possibly kill a primus, even if he'd the power to. But for Tyr, in this moment at least, all Brenn could say was... “I'll be waiting.”

Brenn accepted Tyr as his brother, part of his new family. There was nothing else he could do.

“If you're not.” Tyr grimaced. “There will be nothing left. No gods, no people, no primus'. Just eyes and hands. Broken walls. We don't want the walls to break, do we?”

Brenn shook his head slowly, not quite sure what to make of it. He had no idea what these walls were – but it was clearly allegory. For what? He didn't know. The veil that separated the plane of gods from man to keep the various worlds in order? But through Tyr's gaze he could feel how important it was to keep them intact.

These walls of his must never fall.