“You cannot bring that into the academy.” A man pointed to Tyr's rear just as he was about to cross through the transit gate. In other terms, a portal, but evidently the science of portals and dimensional magic were completely different. A 'gate' was not a 'portal'. Ridiculous. In any case, Tyr turned, noting Okami at his rear.

“It's a him, and the academy rule book clearly states that students capable of bonding with a magical beast--”

“Don't get lippy, child. I know the rules. When we say a magical beast, we mean a familiar like a dweomer or a firecat. An oxling or a turtleduck. Not that! Look at the size of him, lad!” The man exclaimed, clearly losing his patience after a long day being hounded by first year students. Not all students were eighteen, as Tyr now was, the standardized classes began at age twelve and he'd already cleared the identities of over a thousand students alone. The day wasn't even halfway done, by the looks of the line this year. “That... He will not fit in the kennels. Absolutely not, send it off or I'll call the guard and they'll do it for you.”

“Oh?” Tyr chuckled. In a different circumstances, he'd have liked to see that happen. He'd seen Okami perform some rather shocking feats. Between a rock and a hard place, he could only send Okami back to the estate. Except...

The wolf shrunk. Suddenly.

“How long have you been able to do that? Do you know how easy it would've made... No, I'm not asking. Can you hold that form as long as you want?” Shape-shifting was not the most surprising thing he would think Okami capable of. Now, the wolf was the size of your average puppy. Small enough to carry with one arm, he doubted direwolves were naturally that small even in their infantile state. His features had changed as well, snorting in the affirmative to Tyr who easily understood his intent via their unspoken bond. “Will this--”

“Oi!” Someone yelled from the rear, obviously upset about the delay. “Get you and your twin mutt of the road and let some real mages move through, northern pig!”

...Who talks like that? Tyr turned toward the man. A young boy of perhaps the same age, but not but an inch over the level of his sternum. He hesitated, preemptively taking a deep breath in expectation of the red setting over him. Except it wasn't Tyr who answered the insult, it was Alex.

“Insult my partner again and I'll shove this boot so far up your ass you'll be tasting our northern soil. Savvy?” Alex called out, letting her fists rest on her hips in some kind of bizarre power pose. Tyr couldn't figure out if she was defending him, or the wolf, but if given an ultimatum he'd bet his life on the latter.

Today wasn't the official admittance, it was the registration and orientation a few weeks before classes, yet the place was packed. Perhaps due to the fact that many students were leaving home for the first time, many families seemed to be in attendance alongside their young spellcasters. Mages weren't rare, but Tythas had indicated that mages attending this academy in particular were. Perhaps one in a thousand people had the capacity to become a mage, but only one mage in a thousand mages would be given the opportunity to attend their advanced education at the Red Dragon.

Even so, there were quite a lot of them. More than Tyr had ever known existed, probably, although it was hard to tell who was a mage and who wasn't. The press of bodies was too thick to go through the laborious process of observing them all via world energy, not that he cared to. Okami was tucked in his arm as both he and his bonded partner remained oblivious to the strange looks given to them by wide eyed girls and grown women alike.

There was a thing about puppies and all things cute. A stereotype, maybe. Fortunately for them, Tyr was a great proponent of gender equality. As soon as he noticed:

“Keep staring, wench, and I'll gut you like a fish.”

That did the trick, mostly. He'd always considered himself lucky for having such a strong and positive relationship with his mother, allowing him to respect any woman as much as any man. That is to say, not much at all – but he wasn't much for discrimination. Equality, at least surface level, was near and dear to his heart.

Thank the gods I've managed to ditch them. Alex is giving me the creep--

“There you are!”

Shit. Tyr jumped, he'd been separated from most of his... Companions... By the jostling crowd. Something that had been fortunate, at the time, but no longer.

“Why do you keep running off like that?” Astrid asked, concerned. She was unused to so many people in one place. Oresund's population density was not much to behold, and she'd spent most of her time in the palace, alone. Here, people were everywhere. All strangers, and she was acutely aware that many of them were mages likely to be more proficient in actual magic than herself. Not afraid for her own life, but concerned a bit for Tyr's. He very rarely acted in a way that would keep him safe in a wild situation.

Neither she nor Sigi could forget the sight of him bursting from that coffin, worried that something like that might happen again. All torn apart and grisly.

“What?” Tyr asked. “Do we really have to walk about the academy as a team? Can you just go ahead and fu...”

Mmm... I should be nicer. Tyr noticed that he had been set on edge by it all as well. The academy was, like everything in Amistad, massive. A series of interconnected structures and towers of exaggerated proportions. Too extravagant for his simple tastes. It lay beyond the crater, separated by a twenty mile stretch of forest that had been crossed in an instant via the 'trans-dimensional gate'.

'It's not a portal! Teleportation is...' He'd had to sit through a lecture just for referring to as one, forced to repeat 'it's a gate, not a portal' five times before the academy employee was willing to open it again. His 'first lesson', the woman had said. 'Teleportation is the peak of stupidity!'

“Go ahead, finish those words...” Alex purred menacingly, grabbing him by the arm and not very gently. Tyr felt very lucky that she was there as well. That wasn't sarcastic, he loved having her around. So much. She was great.

“I'm going to go now...” He finished, changing his tone immediately. Why did she have to be... The way that she was?

There was the main building, that which faced the road, surrounded by a high wall and terrifyingly enchanted gates. A rectangular structure like any keep he'd ever seen, just bigger. Taller, with skyways stretching out in each cardinal direction to connect it to other buildings that had been constructed with no mind to symmetry. One was a cylindrical tower, another was a near perfect cube, and then there was an inner wall of sorts that curled one way and back again around the academy proper. Even the cultural influence on the architecture was inconsistent.

The influence of Amistad's unprecedented diversity, though it wasn't nearly as jarring as those estates present near one another inside the crater.

Most jarring of all was the level of mana. Tyr had thought he'd seen it all, and in terms of aesthetics and spires far taller than they needed to be – perhaps he had... He'd thought, though, that the mana that in Amistad was thicker than anywhere else, so much so that he could feel it on his very skin like a layer of oil. But here, he realized he was very wrong... It ran in waves and eddies of all colors that required very little effort to visually discern.

Crackling and electric, like a spell had been cast in front of his very face, stinging at his nose. It wasn't unpleasant, but it had a presence. Every single block, chair, painting, hells – even the windows were enchanted beyond anything he'd seen in the imperial palace. It ran through the walls like lightning, coursing back and forth on minuscule circuits built into the structure.

“The mana here is so thick...” Alex waved her hand about her, as if she could feel it too – reminding Tyr that Tythas had referred to her by 'sorcerer' as well. Or perhaps sorceress, it was unclear if the term had any basis on gender. 'Sorcerer' was probably fine, separating them like that was a bit odd in the first place.

“Indeed.” Speaking of the man, Tythas immediately agreed. “The entire academy is inlaid with fine mana circuits built over the centuries to commute energy throughout the entire building seamlessly. As far as I'm aware, nowhere in the world has mana generators as large as the academies of Amistad. At least, that's what they claim. My father always said that...”

This place must be hell to navigate through for classes. Tyr frowned, trying to imagine himself sprinting back and forth between lessons. There was a rule that even should they be capable, students were not authorized to use dimensional magic inside the academy. That magic the 'gates' required to manifest. He couldn't fly, either. It seemed too large and overly spacious for efficient navigation.

The main doors into the academy were wide open, giving them a look at the reception hall that stood near twice as big as that which was present in his own estate, and it was only one of four such chambers based on vocation. True mages would attend their own orientation, while the industry vocations had their own halls. The floor was black and surfaced with gold-veined marble, a rare look and one Tyr was unfamiliar with. Wherever this stone was quarried, if it was quarried at all, it wasn't anywhere near the empire. Not his empire, at least.

Beyond that, the hall branched off into three directions. To the left and right were the hallways that had been plainly visible, and forward was the courtyard. A wide stretch of grass and trees that was large enough for one to draw the reasonable conclusion that some magic had used to extend the space beyond that which the building should be capable of holding while leaving room for training halls and other facilities.

Tyr could see the vague lines of an arched ceiling overhead, though the whole thing appeared to be made of glass, with the sky visible overhead. The only indication that it was artificial was the position of the sun. Outside, it was morning, and overcast – whereas it was bright in the interior of the space and the sky was a wide swathe of spotless blue. Probably an hour or two before noon, an artificial weather pattern, and Tyr wouldn't be surprised if he found himself tanning under it such was the intensity of the light.

Winding paths split the greenery, with tables and benches positioned evenly throughout the park, some of which were already occupied by students and their families. In the center of it all, a tablet of stone had been risen, a bevy of older men and women sat at this table. An intricate lectern cast from pure silver mithril stood about two meters separated closer to the students ushered before it.

They gathered there. All the students in the first year standard mage courses. There was diversity here as well. Tyr spotted the brightly colored patterns of an Assyrian kufi lost in the mess. Rare. Assyrian's weren't even permitted to step foot, nor trade in Haran due to historical tension and dfferences in creed. Tyr had always found it bizarre considering Varia was not held to the same standard despite being arguably worse. Still, it was a testament to the academy's reputation to attract talent even from the southern continent.

“Greetings!” A middle aged man with only the slightest dusting of gray about his temples stepped up to the lectern, loud enough to cause students and parents alike to cringe back in shock. He appeared as if from nowhere, stepping out of thin air. He was handsome, and well dressed. Bearing the loose robes that identified him as a mage. Ridiculous robes far too baggy in the cuffs to lack any sensibility. Tradition, probably. “Ah, to look at all my fresh faced students on their first year attending the secondary courses. For those of you who have come before, I'm sure you know me.” He chuckled. There was a jovial tone to his voice.

Olive of skin and dark of eye, Varian by appearance. Black haired, rather short and unassuming. It didn't take long for Tyr to realize that he may very well be the strongest mage in the place considering his ferocious mana. People were clapping already, cheering even, before he hushed them with the calm waving of the hand. A man of status and authority.

“I'll be headmaster for the year, and hopefully all the years after. Hopefully. Don't tell the council I said that, I've been thinking about retiring.” He winked, chuckling again. This time, his chuckles were joined by those in the crowd who waved the joke away like they were old friends. Tyr remained captivated by the vicious torrent of mana surrounding the man. Compared to all of the other mages here, the man speaking was a star to the torch, if the level of radiance was a good way to judge ones strength. Usually, it was.

A gnawing fear that set Tyr's instincts on high alert. With a waving a hand, this man could turn Tyr to dust if he so chose.

“Headmaster Lernin, but you can just call me headmaster. Lernin, if you've a high opinion for your own talent, I'm always looking for some exercise.” Another chuckle, though nobody joined in Audible gulps came from the crowd as a glint of steel entered the mans eye. “I'm not much for long speeches, folks. I'll admit. I welcome you to the Red Dragon Magic Academy, and look forward to seeing all that you accomplish in the following year and all those years beyond!”

Clapping. Lots of that. Even Alex seemed caught up in it, clutching at the puppy sized Okami with a concerning amount of force and staring intensely at the man. Tyr had no idea, but Lernin Casterling was one of the most famous mages on the continent. If there was ever a living saint equivalent among their kind, he'd certainly be in the running. Top ten. Hells, top five – maybe, but he never made a great show of it. Someone humble, which was rare among mages.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

There was more talking, more introductions, and a lengthy explanation of the orientation process. All of them were to be divided by rating and specialization, to be handed off to their academic advisors. For those undecided, they'd have other professors or teaches aides to provide assistance.

Tyr had no need to find his advisor, for his advisor would find him. A tall man that he had thought at first glance to be a woman if not for the pattern of stubble about his face. Hooded and standing at about six and a half feet tall, a bit taller than Tyr. He didn't look like a mage, with an athletic body, sleeveless robes showing off his muscular arms.

Mages loved talking. It seemed natural to of those born to use mana. But this man remained silent, dragging Tyr through the corridors by his arm with enough force and haste to ensure the prince had no time to protest the rough treatment. Not that he would, even if he could. His mouth was clamped shut and his body would not obey him. He'd felt fear when staring at Lernin, but this was more akin to terror. Like he was being dragged off to a predators den to be devoured.

With such a large class, Astrid and the others had all been formed into groups of fifty or more and ferried off by their advisors. Whereas Tyr, for some reason, was alone with this bizarre stranger. This continued for some time until he was deposited into a large hall. He'd seen halls like this before, an indoor training field like a few of the subterranean complexes they had in the palace. Dedicated to the rare battlemage that visited and needed a place to flex their muscles, so to speak, without blowing anything up.

An insulated structure with runes that were designed to contain even the largest of spells.

“An E rank, really child?” The man growled. “If you fancy yourself laying low for the sake of coasting through your lessons, you're sorely mistaken. How'd you manage to fool the proctors?”

“...Excuse me?” Tyr had no idea what the man was saying. “Who are you?”

“Abaddon.” The figure replied curtly, removing his hooded cloak and rolling his shoulders in their sockets to loosen up. “Don't play at ignorance. Ah... That would explain it, crafty but inappropriate. My academy is no place for a trickster.”

Without need for an answer, this Abaddon seemed to have his own, snorting in bemusement and plucking at the bracelet on Tyr's wrist.

“Take it off.” He said. His deep voice was smooth, like butter or syrup, pouring out of his lips in an easy sort of way that would shame any bard or storyteller. Every word was a symphony and every syllable rang no matter the tone tone, sticking in the ears and making Tyr feel at ease. Even a little sleepy.

“Take what off?” Tyr had only ever worn one piece of jewelry for most his life, and clearly the man was indicating the only one. The black bracelet gifted to him by his mother, joined now on his left hand by the circular band of metal that composed the armor belonging to the very same woman. “If you're asking about my bracelets, I'd rather die.”

He had few possessions he wasn't willing to part with. To see a castle burn or his estate laid to ruin was of little consequence, but his mothers armor and trinket? Never. Tyr jerked his arm from the other mans grip with as much force as he could muster. It barely moved Abaddon's arm, though he did allow the prince to free himself from his grip after a sigh of resignation.

“I'm an old friend of your father.” Abaddon said. “Old friend, as in old – even by his standards. You can keep the bracelet – I'm not about to take it. Remove it and lay it aside, I see that it has value to you, but I won't do anything to it.”

“No.”

“Why? For what purpose do you come to my academy wearing a deuritium suppression band?”

Tyr lowered his brows, staring at the band of linked chains and black steel wafer about his wrist. “Deuritium?”

Deuritium, to humans, was known as 'black steel'. Nearly all metals acted a mana conductors, common knowledge that even Tyr was privy to. Black steel however, was not a conductor. It was wholly resistant and alien to the presence of mana, sucking it away or repelling it entirely like water on the feathers of a fowl. Mages and criminals capable of powerful magic would be chained in the stuff and stakes of the metal would be forced through the bodies of necromancers to ensure they could not be risen in the event that they'd stored fragments of their soul elsewhere.

Evil stuff, and painful for mages to even look at. Tyr had never felt any pain from his mothers bracelet, and doubted Abaddon's words immediately.

“Yes. That band about your wrist is deuritium. Black steel as your people call it. Did you not know that?”

“I didn't.” Tyr replied honestly, conflicted at the thought. “Why would my mother clamp this to my wrist just before she died?” The thought of a possible betrayal or some hidden plot plucked at the withered strings of his heart as only memories of her could, though in the complete opposite way.

No. She would never do that. And she wouldn't. Signe was an honorable woman, from an honorable clan, and the only woman Jartor had ever loved, marking her as miraculous as well. He knew that, and he believed his father had spoken the truth to him when he'd said as much. If it was black steel, it'd burn his skin and cause him great pain. This couldn't be it, he'd seen mages gone mad thrashing about their bonds and begging to be released in the midst of their executions. He felt nothing at all, not even the smallest sliver of discomfort from it. The opposite, really, it had steadied him and served as a balm for his racing mind many times in the past.

“To be blunt, dear professor, if anyone wants to remove this from me it'll have to come from my cold, dead corpse. Even you might find that a difficult task.” Tyr was resolute. He didn't know this person, and didn't remove the thing when he was sleeping let alone when with a stranger. For all he knew, it could be incredibly valuable. Valuable or not, it was still worth more than all the lands of men, if only to him.

“Fine.” Abaddon shrugged his acceptance of Tyr's stubbornness. “You have a lot of questions, I'm sure. So, let's get a few things clear. I know about your 'problem'. Do you understand what I mean when I say that?”

Tyr nodded. He didn't, at all, but he didn't care to know necessarily After all, he only had one problem – considering that perhaps his father had shared it directly with others. It almost assuredly had to do with his warped mana core, that ridiculous contrivance of a plot device that would almost assuredly never be explored, nor addressed. I mean, who kills the man character after spending all this time fleshing them out...? An idiot.

Wait... Tyr paused, face screwed up. What...?

“Good.” Abaddon said calmly, removing the cap that lay beneath his hood to expose a shock of blood red hair and ears pointed at the helix. Red skinned, too, in the way earthen clay was. His features were fairly human, sans being damn near perfect, but the little quirks like that identified him as anything but.

“An elf!?” Tyr blurted out. Elves were isolationists by nature, refusing all but the smallest interactions with men if any at all. Some said it was because they thought they were better than everyone else, or perhaps that they actually were. The prince, on his part, wasn't sure. He thought it was more accurate to say that they feared the primus' and wanted nothing to do with human dramas. They traded through proxy and overland routes in the east of Haran, always avoiding the sea. Or so the rumors went.

Abaddon laughed at that, not unlike the strings of a harp being plucked rhythmically to produce the purest and most joyous of notes. “My race is irrelevant and I'd ask you, like anyone else, to refrain from questioning it. There is a reason I wear a cap, and I trust you'll keep your mouth shut about my ears so as to avoid the prying tongues that would follow. I'm not an 'elf' though. Elves do not exist.”

There was no question to that request, merely a statement of fact. A truth to it, as if he knew that Tyr would never rat him out to others. He didn't have any reason to. Elf, dwarf, who cared? Hells, the man could be a dragon and Tyr wouldn't say anything. They simply wouldn't believe him, in any case, what with Abaddon's complete lack of scales and wings and hellfire bursting from his nostrils. Elves were supposed to be very short of stature as well.

“Good. I am your academic advisor because I owe your father a bit of a favor. Moreover, I know of your problem and despite doing by best to find a solution – I couldn't. I've been studying magic, both of the old and the new for a very long time, and still I do not understand how such a malformed runt like you survived your birth... Let alone managed to reach the age of adulthood. It's not an insult, it's fact. You have a congenital birth defect that I have never seen in any other living thing, ever. Never. Even with all the wisdom of my forebears to supplement what knowledge I do have. Which, pointed ears as proof, goes far beyond what any human alive has access to.”

“Ah...” Tyr nodded along as if any of this made sense. Well, some of it did, but the rest of it seemed like unnecessary exposition. Maybe Abaddon just liked to hear himself talk, like many people did. He'd never been a fan of small talk and lengthy dialogue.

Abaddon continued. Of course he continued. Why wouldn't he? Tyr hung on his every word in rapture, so excited to be talking to this creepy old not-elf instead of doing something better with his time. “Your experience here is irrelevant to academia. You will take courses as all students do, and we expect you to perform as best you can. If you fail, you'll not be expelled but rather pulled from class and taught personally by myself as my disciple. Ideally to discover a cure for your... Condition. It is unfortunately, granted, but you are a wellspring of knowledge pertaining to this very unique phenomena. Does that make sense?”

“Not really, n--”

“Good. I am a professor here under stipend, though I work primarily in research and am not one you would normally encounter during lessons. From here on out, I'll be your tutor regarding the practical applications of mana. I will not teach you theory. Human theory is ridiculous and incredibly flawed, and I do not care for it. In essence, it's my way, and there's no refusing this. Understand?”

“Not really, n--”

“Good. Let's begin. First, I want you to conjure your largest spell and throw it at me. Are you ready?” Abaddon didn't 'warp', he just... Slid? Through the air? Before he knew it, the 'man' had relocated to fifty meters away, his hands behind his back and body bare of any clothing. As in, completely naked. What was with all of this pointless nudity...?

“Why are you--”

“Go ahead. Whenever you please, though do note that I am a very busy individual. As in, make it quick.”

“Okay.”

At the end of it all, Tyr was barely capable of summoning a level one firebolt. That, in itself, was actually fairly incredible progress... Er, contextually. He'd gone from spraying sparks from his hands, to being able to manifest a fireball, to being able to generate an actual mana combustion. All within the span of less than a year. Abaddon certainly wasn't impressed, but the prince stared at his smoking hand with wide eyes.

“Ignoring your obvious ignorance to magic, a discussion I'll need to have with your father at a later date, let's try again. So, first thing. You operate under the delusion that you need to cast standardized spells – for what reason do you shout the word 'firebolt' as if there's a point to that?”

“...How else would I cast them?” Tyr asked, oblivious. “You have to speak the spell aloud, that's just common sense. Right...?”

Abaddon sighed at this. He was a tremendously patient being, but this... He wondered what, exactly, he had gotten himself into by agreeing to do such a thing. He would've regardless because it was a unique research opportunity, to instruct an undeveloped herald. However, he'd most assuredly never thank his one-time disciple for the opportunity, the oaf who hadn't taught his son proper etiquette nor magic of any kind. “Back to the basics, then. Do you know what a bloodline is?”

Tyr nodded.

Bloodlines were incredibly rare, but they were known. Bloodlines, legacies, wyrd, there were all sorts of words for it among kingdoms and cultures. They were – as the name implied, a calling back to predecessors that were inhuman in nature or otherwise beyond that of a normal man. Special beings, for good or ill. Some of it was myth. For example, the bloodline of a god – that was just ridiculous. However, some were very real.

Elven bloodlines that allowed a human to access what they called 'old magic', he knew of no such beings in the modern day but they existed in the stories. Spiritual, or people who carried the bloodlines of magical beasts that could transmute their forms to that of a humanoid shape. There were many of those. Rumors of mythical things like dragons, wild gods, gryphons that could talk. Again, everyone knew those things were fake – but heritage was an important part of magic. Mages tended to breed more mages, it was the natural order of things and this was an example of a bloodline or legacy. It was very possible for a human to meet with, and subsequently beget children from a relationship to a magical beast. Okami would be one such possible example, although the implications were pretty disgusting.

To save one from plucking their eyes out with a spoon, higher magical beasts (which did exist) were said to be capable of taking human forms. Still very rare. Having a dwarven or telurian bloodline was far more common, as these were very real races that required no contrived magical transformation to cross-breed. It wasn't a guarantee, there were some compatibility issues, but it happened sometimes. Half-orcs, half-dwarves, etc.

“With that being said, you are aware that you need not speak the ancient language to cast spells. You are what you might call a 'sorcerer', and equally ridiculous term, enough precedent to serve as a starting point though.”

Tyr nodded yet again.

“Then why are you attempting to cast cantrips? A bloodline doesn't inherently make your more powerful, but it does give you an advantage. I don't see why you wouldn't take advantage of it, that's the only reason I ask. Enough of your blood is unique, like all nephilim--”

“Did you say nephilim?” Tyr asked, eager to have one of the question Jurak had ignore answered by this an educated person. “What's a nephilim?”

“A higher human, by another word.” Abaddon replied, disappointing the prince. “All primus' are nephilim, but not all nephilim are primus'. It's a subject of much debate even among my own clan, and I cannot answer your question beyond that. I don't care what you call yourselves, another lesson worth noting is that you should not repeat this word to any human. Best case, they wouldn't know what you were talking about, worst case – they'd try to dissect you or something equally disturbing.”

Tyr's shoulders sagged in defeat. If he understood what nephilim was beyond 'high human', perhaps he could use that information to find his aspect. It most certainly was not magic. He could say that with absolute confidence after learning what little he had.

“I don't use this...” Tyr let the fire engulf his hand. It was warm, but not hot. Ones mana didn't hurt them unless it carried a force from the combustion of a specific spell. One of the many rules that predicated magic. A rule that seemingly didn't apply to Tyr, he could make it hotter, but it would harm him. Quite badly, and not just in the spot the flames came out of. “Because I don't know how. I guess.”

“Really...?”

“Really.”

Abaddon clucked his tongue in annoyance, letting his palm slap into his face with a force audible even at this distance, echoing throughout the chamber. “What had that bastard been teaching you...”

He certainly had his work cut out for him.