Tyr might've protested, but he hadn't. He was by no means wise now, that wasn't it, people changed with such nuance. The tiniest adjustment of their world view and they'd look like strangers to their own families. There was no point in arguing, no point in resistance, Tyr was healthier than ever – bodily – but he was so exhausted... If he was allowed some drama, perhaps some romance, his soul felt old and a bit worn. He knew what it was, that creeping emptiness that kept coming back whenever he didn't have anything to do.

The palace apothecary said there was no cure for it. The priests said that prayer and faith were a cure, but Tyr hadn't changed that much. He coped by doing, staying busy, and... Less savory things. Testing himself, his capabilities, just not around the others. Sort of hard to explain to them why he was stripping his own fingers of flesh with his knife.

In any case... Astrid and Sigi had always planned to go to the academy. To do so, one only needed to possess a cursory education on magic and the most basic ability to cast. One element's worth of 'level zero' spells was the requirement, what they called cantrips. It wasn't just an academy for magic, but practically everything and anything under the sun that related to it. Knights, blacksmiths, architects, even plumbers had classes there.

It was not easy to get in, but what with their status, obstacles simply didn't exist. If a primus spoke, it happened. Anywhere in the world, whether the academy was foreign or not. Haran had a good relationship with all of its neighbors, unlike Oresund and Varia, and few would question Jartor's word. Even in the republic, Jartor was a tyrant that few would refuse. It helped that all four of the others attending the same academy were all talented with magic, Tyr had been surprised to learn that Sigi and Astrid were already quite educated. Not just in theory, but in practical use of magic. Then again... He wasn't exactly the most observant partner.

There was one problem, though.

“I can't even use magic.” Tyr sighed. They rode from the capital, to pass through the central regions and down into the successor states. For whatever reason, he was not to be educated in the empire – despite having many prestigious academies of their own. Perhaps it had something to do with how the empire treated mages. Jartor's only justification being that the education was pruned and regimented in a way that might not be conducive to self discovery. “At least not real magic, everyone knows that..”

Varia and Haran alike were cultures that inherently feared magic. It was worse in Varia, but Haran wasn't much better. Magic was dangerous, they said. Incredibly dangerous, a source of great calamity in the wrong hands. Therefore it must be controlled. Most other nations simply let their mages exist, and they seemed to be doing alright. Tyr was unclear why it was this way, although after meeting Curtis he could understand a bit. Mages did wield incredible power and when left to their own devices could do terrible things. He just wasn't sure if that was ample reason to take their freedom from them.

“That's not true.” Tythas sighed. “Your mana is much stronger than mine. I think it has more to do with a lacking education than anything related to talent. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

Or my core has been warped after years of internal abuse by my world energy and won't work properly. He could say that, but he'd noticed that mana came much easier to his fingertips. Tyr let a ball of scarlet fire rest in his hand, cradling it gently as if he was holding a child. Albeit an onion shaped one. An onion baby. Before, when he pushed it to far, he'd have burned himself. But suddenly that was no longer a problem. He had no idea why, either. Another of life's great mysteries.

“See.” The other man sighed, sitting opposite him in one of the many carriages that carried the group south. All of the men had been newly outfitted and given horses to ride upon. Young stallions tall at the shoulder and rippling with muscle, Tyr could hear Tor and Mikhail arguing over which of theirs was superior while Ajax licked his chops loudly enough to shut them both up. Neither wanted their new mounts to be made a meal by the massive beastkin. They all came this time, except for Tiber who once again remained in the keep. Tyr had asked for him as well, but it wasn't his father – but rather the man himself who had refused.

“A typical mage would have need of a word of power or hand signs, some form of motion. Years of practice.” Tythas continued talking. Tyr wished he'd stop. “Yet you, with barely any experience, can just do this. As I can.”

He responded, summoning a ball of flame of his own. A red-black that burned more slow and evenly.

“Why is yours a different color?” Tyr asked. “And I thought you specialized in ice magic?”

“I can use water magic to generate ice, yes, but what kind of sorcerer would constrain himself to using only one element? It's absurd, water isn't even my prime element. In your time abroad I read of your 'colleges' and they are woefully ignorant compared to the rest of the world. It's a wonder a single archmage from the republic hasn't wiped out your western border singlehandedly.”

“They'd find my father on the other side.” Tyr shrugged, answering the rhetorical question.

“Ah. Good point.” Tythas replied with a nervous laugh. “I have also heard you possess great mages of your own. Imperial battlemages, that is, though less versatile. Anyways, the ability to silently cast spells is considered a talent at our age. To perfectly silent cast, as in to summon elements or cast spells without apparent movement or vocalization is even rarer. Sorcerer's are not so easy to come by. You and I are simply built differently than other men.”

“I see.” Tyr wasn't quite 'picking up' what he was 'putting down' – sans the obvious arrogance in his tone, but he wouldn't really know until he saw it. Nobody, certainly none of his tutors, had ever called him 'talented'. Not in anything. Receiving validation like that was unnerving and unfamiliar. He'd heard he was a decent swordsman, good for his age, and then been beaten blue by the trainer who'd offered the compliment – and that was about it... “If you know so much, why are you even going to the academy at all?”

Tythas laughed at that. “Being a sorcerer gives us a slight advantage, an almost genetic one. That doesn't make us gods among men. We learn just as anyone else does, and learning to combine our powers and wield it alongside wizardry or however you'd like to call it... My education was obviously far better than yours, but I still have much to learn. I am not a genius, I've just been at it far longer, practically since the day I learned to walk.”

They rode on in relative silence until Tyr had the presence of mind to separate himself from the bizarre man and plant himself on the roof of the carriage. He hadn't been given much by his father, just official imperial uniforms and arms for the men to make them appear somewhat akin to an honor guard, the carriages, horses, and a fair supply of rations. Beyond that, he held a shockingly small pouch of sovereigns... All he could do for now was wait, and the trip was boring. Seeming even slower than when they'd walked out into the countryside the first time. At that moment, he wondered what all his loyal subjects beneath the mountain were up to.

Somewhere, Luk the kobold sneezed before resuming his meal. It was hard to stop, the meat and gristle of living things was simply too good to ignore for long. Perhaps the greatest gift was a casting off of roots and fungi, those nasty things. Meat was best.

Tyr sat in a cross legged position, meditating. Training and refining in tandem his mana and world energy. The old man had called it 'cultivation', and the prince certainly felt like a plant when he did it. His mind blank of any thoughts and as still in body as he could possibly be, only moving when the carriage was jostled by something it had ridden over. He was at it for days, finding the interior of the carriage stuffy and overly warm courtesy of the heating runes placed within. Even sleeping on the roof of the thing, Tyr remained beneath the starry sky pondering his purpose and having wild dreams of wolves and a black forest, through which a woman watched him chew at the decaying corpse of some animal. Things he always forgot without exception shortly after rising.

Cultivating, always. It was a slow process, agonizingly so, but it definitely worked. Every day his world energy would grow a shred bit denser. Every day his mana core would grow brighter and larger before shrinking again, slowly balancing itself in the time it spent freed from the internal pressure. No longer warped and cracked so terribly courtesy of Jurak's 'gift', slowly coming to appear as a bright polished sphere. A light blue color, like the sky, a bit more vivid than that. Sapphire blue almost.

Eventually, the energies would come to a head again. He had to strengthen them both at the same time or one would overwhelm the other and kill him, as Varinn had instructed. It would seem that the simple act of killing wasn't the only way to progress, simply the fastest by his reckoning. His companions began to question his bizarre actions near daily. Tor and Mikhail joked that he'd spent too much time with Fennic and forgotten how to speak, whereas Tythas and the princesses were more curious, if not concerned. Most times, Samson would glare at them until they left him alone, and Tyr appreciated that.

“You're a lot less grumpy, you know.” Astrid mused one morning as they broke their fast. She had this 'knowing' look on her face, some clandestine consideration of their time spent sleeping together. Girlish giddiness that they shared this secret in confidence. It had just been sleep, nothing else, but she seemed to take it quite seriously for some reason.

“If you're saying you miss the 'old Tyr', don't tempt me.” He said, but this time with less a glare and more of a lopsided attempt at a smile. Tyr couldn't help the stress eating him alive at the thought of not only leaving home, but the whole empire.

“No, no. This is fine. Remain as quiet as you like.”

“It's pissing me off. This trip is so damn boring, the least you could do is entertain us.” Sigi added. “Come spar with me.”

“Er.. No thank you.” It was a constant job, he could barely afford to do anything else. Though it had its upsides. Absorbing energy from the world around him was slow, but it had a nourishing factor all its own. He seemed to eat less, compared to constantly gorging himself and always feeling famished. Tyr rarely needed to sleep either. Sleep would come effortlessly to him if he wanted it like never before, but he could go longer without it. Before, he'd remain awake until exhaustion took him, now with such a gentle ride and all of this time on his hands, he didn't feel exhausted at all. It was rejuvenating, like a day at the spa or in the hot springs at the rear of the mountains near the capital.

Not necessarily a complete replacement for sleep, and certainly not for hunger. Not entirely, but he could remain awake for about two days before he felt any need to rest his eyes. Beyond useful, he was almost angry at his father for never teaching him this before he remembered why. If he'd only refined his world energy and focused on making it larger, Tyr would almost certainly be dead. Dead in the worst way imaginable as far as conventional knowledge went.

Everything was quiet, even when the legion trailing behind separated to scour the county of bandits in anticipation of a new lord being installed. They simply rode off without a word, the dutiful Regar once again back at their head, to comb through the area and catch any rapscallions the rangers might have happened to miss.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Tyr rode his own horse beside the carriage at times, appreciating the gentle bend of the hills and the mountains in the distance. The gradually warming air and the leaves that had begun to slowly return to the trees. Spring was here, or at least it was about to be, and while the air was chilly it was fragrant with the promise of new life. He found that he didn't miss the city at all. Tyr would stay here, forever if he could, wishing they could have detoured into Riverwood to see how things were going for the villagers.

It happened then. Something to mix up the drudgery. Tyr's senses grew day by day. The more time he spent refining himself, the more intimately he could feel mana and world energy alike. Akin to a sixth sense, he could smell the tang, like electricity on the air. Not like. There was actual electricity in the air. The problem stemmed from the fact that sensing a thing and maneuvering out of its way were completely separate actions. A combination of sense and reaction that he was far from mastering. It struck him in the chest, sending the mounted men around him into a frenzy as a black figure streaked through the air, weaving between their awkward attempts to corral it effortlessly. Only stopping to land a powerful kick on Tyr's side before the prince had been given the chance to stand after being blown off his horse.

Not strong. Not the physical action at least, but the mana combustion behind it was intense and full of ill intent though. His ribs grinding painfully against one another, he swung forward just in time to greet the block of stone hurtling towards his head. Bisecting it with a smooth drawing of his sword. He had no time to appreciate the mana breaking functionality of auronite, not his fantastically lucky swing, before he was engaged further in a desperate attempt to defend himself.

She was fast, the woman, clothed in tight fitting black leathers about her legs and a linen blouse about her upper body. Not dressed appropriate for the weather. Tyr managed to defend successfully against the next four attacks, feeling rather impressed with himself. That is, until a pillar of earth caught him in the jaw from below and sent him back to the ground. Coming from a direction he hadn't expected with no time to prepare the blade dance, it took him off guard and loosened his teeth, freeing some from their customary place in his skull.

He lay there, groaning, until a massive furry figure leaped on him and began to lap at his face. Tyr looked over toward the beastkin with a dirty look on his face.

“Thanks for your help.”

Ajax shrugged, walking without a care in the world. The men who'd formed a ring about Tyr with their weapons drawn called for a command. Pointing their swords and axes at the massive figure pinning him to the ground.

“Stand down.” Tyr provided them with one.

“What?” Mikhail questioned. “Are you alright?”

“Mm... I'd like you to all meet my third wife.” Tyr sighed, grunting as he shoved the animal from his chest. “Alex... This is...” He waved his hand about lazily. “Well, everybody. Everyone, this is Alex. I'm talking about the woman, not the wolf.”

Someone coughed nervously in the background, perhaps unable to discern whether or not Tyr was making a joke.

“We gathered that.” Samson grunted, all whilst bowing toward the black haired woman who'd just arrived, seemingly from nowhere. “It is an honor to meet you under more proper circumstances, princess.”

“Alexis, Alex, or 'girl', if you'd like. I refuse to be called a princess and if you must be courteous, preceding my given name with 'lady' is the most I will tolerate.”

“As you wish, Lady Alex.” That seemed to placate the woman for now, earning a curt nod.

Tyr stood, thinking about casting a glare in her direction before remembering the beating he'd just received. She was fast, angry, and always so mean to him. A real mage, and one trained by the colleges. Neither he nor Tythas would fare too well against her. She was meeting them here to continue south with the caravan... Or so the plan went. Tyr had no idea if she'd go with it or not. They'd barely spoken since the mess that had been their wedding day. When they did, things didn't go so well, but he swallowed any offense he might've taken to her actions in the past and contented himself with ignoring her as best he could.

Another 'why' behind the actions of the great primus Jartor. Alex was beautiful. Well, they all were, Tyr would say that a million times if he had to. He had eyes. Jartor had explained as much after being accused of being 'shallow' by Tyr's mother in how picky he'd been with pending betrothals. Those that he'd had the chance to influence, at least. There were eleven. A literal harem awaited Tyr's excursion into adulthood and that number had been carefully whittled down to three. But for some reason, despite his taciturn and cold character, he had been extremely enthusiastic, even forceful, in regard to Tyr's current and very unfortunate collection of wives.

Picky with a purpose, he'd said, indicating that men would follow his future grandson more readily if he was handsome and from good stock. Alex was fit, tall, and a gifted mage – as well as the daughter of a very powerful count and arbiter. As such, she met his 'qualifications', Tyr's opinion was irrelevant, as was her refusal. A forced marriage just like the other two wives of his. Black and wavy of hair like most eastern Harani, with graceful features, a nice jaw, and sultry eyes. Tyr liked her jaw, the line of it fascinated him for some reason. An odd predilection, Tiber said. Too bad he hated just about everything else about her, especially those piercing violet iris'.

“You've gotten taller.” Alex observed him, looking down at him over her nose. She had ebony black hair and violet eyes that seemed to glow from within. Fair skin and full lips. More accurately, she was looking up at him, as he was quite a bit taller than her. He still couldn't shed the feeling that he was shorter though, in the metaphorical sense. “Still useless, I presume?”

“Still useless.” He agreed with a nod. It had been two years since they'd last laid eyes on one another, did she expect him to remain the same height forever? Regardless, she seemed shocked and confused at his nonchalance, usually Tyr was so easy to get a rise out of. Alex was a bit disappointed, truth be told, though she didn't voice as much out loud.

“Alex!” Astrid cried out, skipping forward to greet her. “How have you been? Still maging about?”

“Hello Astrid.” Alex smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth in an overly aggressive smile. Compared to Astrid's gentle demeanor, her smile was predatory, flying in the face of what a 'smile' should communicate. Completely at odds with how she treated Tyr, she was friendly with his other wives, even clasping forearms with Sigi. “I was indeed... Maging about. Sorry I'm late, there are undead rising in the easterlands and all of the colleges are busying themselves with stomping them out. Bit of trouble at the border too, but it's nothing serious. You?”

They exchanged greetings while Tyr dusted himself off and gave a shake of the head in warning to the others, the beast that had just been lapping at his face following close behind.

“Prince... Eh...” Tor's horse seemed near to buck him off as they approached, leaving the women about their business. “What's that thing following you for? You know what that is, right?”

“Who and him.” Tyr corrected the man. “His name is Okami. A gift from High King Ragnar on my betrothal day to his daughter.” The prince didn't seem concerned at all about the titanic wolf following him, allowing it to make a mess of his hair with a frenzied sniffing.

“That's a big wolf you've got there...” Tythas said, looking a bit pale in his awe at the size of the beast. It stood near similar at the shoulder to his own horse. He'd never seen a hound that large, least of all a wolf.

“Dire wolf.” Tyr corrected again. “They also call them stalvarg in the north, it means 'iron wolf' in their language or... Or maybe steel wolf, I'm not sure. Don't look so nervous, he's gentle. They are smarter than we are, so if you don't give him an excuse to eat you, he probably won't...” He said that last part with a bit of question to the words, making Tor laugh and the others even more nervous.

“Dire wolves don't eat man flesh.” Tor stated, a bit more calm now. “Too much gristle and sinew on us to make a good meal out of it.”

The great wolf snorted in apparent agreement, still panting after its erstwhile 'partner'. Direwolves didn't have masters, or owners. They were like the gryphons in the western mountains, they obeyed no man but could bond with those who raised them, or who they were raised alongside. Okami still seemed to remember the prince. After all, they'd been together for about eight years before he'd been set loose from the kennels he'd outgrown, allowed to roam freely through the countryside. After that, he'd vanished and Tyr hadn't seen him since. It was necessary, though. There was no sense keeping him cooped up in a place like that, and Tyr was not permitted to leave the bounds of the palace at the time. It had been his decision, but Jartor had not refused the suggestion. They weren't monsters. With the understanding that he'd harm no man, woman, or child – it had been necessary.

Okami was the size of a horse and as white as snow to match his bonded partner. He'd once been the runt of his litter, a joke of Ragnar's, but his growth had been explosive. Direwolves existed in Haran, the republic, and Oresund, though those in the north grew to tremendous sizes beyond that of their southern kin. Tyr had been surprised at the size of him too, but it wasn't all that shocking considering his lineage. According to Ragnar, Oresund's direwolves, the beast his own family was named after, had a habit of hunting the great woolly mammoths of the ash fields.

He seemed as friendly as ever, that Okami. Though how he'd found Alex was...

“I found this poor beast all the way in Arendal, near scared a battalion of wardens half to death reporting sightings of a magical beast. He's been with me for years now.” She answered the obvious question.

“Ah.” Tyr didn't feel much like talking. Seeing her again had stolen more energy out of him than communicating with his father did. “That's good, thank you for looking after him. But he's not a beast, he's a person. With feelings.”

Okami began wagging his tail, producing enough force to nearly bowl Tyr over as he walked ahead. There was no 'telling' a creature like that what to do, you simply asked and hoped they would. He was well behaved, but he was still a wild thing, capable of tearing them all to shreds and then some if he felt the urge. Big enough to ride, too, coincidentally. In fact, Okami grew so obviously jealous of Tyr riding a horse instead of mounting him that the prince grew fearful in regard to the health of his stallion and returned to the top of the carriage.

“Some person.” Tythas observed, staring in wonder at the titanic creature. Even after hours, they couldn't stop casting nervous glances toward it. Okami remained apparently oblivious to their fear, running circles around the caravan to the cheers of the beastkin. Ajax and his kin treated Okami with greater respect that they offered Tyr, and then some. “Can he talk?”

“Maybe one day. He's only a few year old, maybe 10 or 11. Apparently they can live for a very long time, I'm not totally sure what their development cycle is.”

“I was kidding...” Tythas sighed, looking dazed. “Are you serious?”

“'Course he is.” Tor asserted. “Every children of Oresund has spoken to a wolf.”

“Seriously...?”

“Oi, mutt!” Alex called from the rear. Tyr turned to face her, still apathetic to her bait, annoying her yet further with his lack of retort. He seemed fine with the insult, even. Something had changed in him and she wasn't sure if she liked it. No, she definitely didn't like it. “We're hungry. Stop the caravan.”

Okami couldn't speak, but he understood their words just fine, bonding with Alex over the last few years. It wasn't long before he returned with a fat stag clutched in its maw expecting all sorts of praise.

“Glad you're back, buddy.” Tyr chuckled, rubbing at his scruff and taking care to avoid the thrashing tail. With Alex glaring daggers into his back all the while. Tyr wasn't so sure if having Okami back was worth the package deal, though. Probably not.