“Are you sure you're okay to do this?” Iscari asked, eyes full of concern. But Tyr insisted that he'd made a promise to Micah, and he 'kept his oaths'. Iscari had a high opinion of his friend, but sometimes Tyr was just so stubborn. And edgy...

'No matter what, you've got to have a code. Or nothing matters.' He'd say. Few men could disagree, it made sense. It might leave one in humor, hearing an eighteen year old boy assert that kind of conviction. Not for the first time, Iscari envied Tyr. He had such a magnetism about him, a simple charisma in his eyes, and once you moved past the violence that commitment to purpose and simplicity of demeanor was charming. A bit psychotic at times, but no less magnetic for it. When he made a promise, you just knew that he would keep it. When he spoke, Iscari knew that it was the truth. And nobody even knew who he was.

A painting of Iscari could be found within every church throughout the lands, so he was easily recognizable. Tyr, however, was not. Jartor had forbade it from the day that his son was born and had never changed his mind. Why he had done such a thing was a mystery, even to the cardinals that Iscari had spoken with about it.

“I'm fine. Let's go.” It wasn't much of a 'party'. Parties to Tyr meant a ball, galla dresses and hundreds of nobles passing by the high table to bow before he and his father. He'd only ever attended one or two, before actively excusing himself of them. This... It wasn't quite what he'd imagined. If these people weren't strangers he would've enjoyed the charm of a rendezvous beneath the stars, if it were more intimate and less loud.

A large group of students stood around a raging fire, drinking from flagons of fizzy ale. Beer! Something Tyr had always favored. Chilled to the right temperature, courtesy of magic, he savored the flavor as he emptied his first flagon in seconds and went for another. There was so much of it, too. Every spirit one could imagine. And they didn't even make him pay for it!

“Oi...” Brenn commented in awe. “You've a stomach for drink, too. You are a man's man, Tyr Ebonfist.”

Another misunderstanding. Like Iscari, Tyr too was seemingly immune to poison. No matter how hard he tried, he could no longer get intoxicated. Not anymore, the changes wrought on him by his developing spira took away the joy of getting so drunk he couldn't move, pissing his pants and carried off by a flabbergasted Tiber or Mikhail. He still liked the taste, but it was a source of some sadness to him. Like losing a loved one. In any event, he only liked to get drunk in two very specific settings.

A rowdy bar full of strangers, but unlike those people he couldn't beat his own frustrations into someone face here. Or, alone. With the blackguard perhaps, but he rarely participated in their games and they'd learned to leave him mostly to his own devices when he had a flagon in hand. One of the only pastime's that Jartor hadn't begrudged him, blessed alcoholism.

“Yeah, yeah. So impressive. Can we get on with this?” Micah asked impatiently. “Introduce us to some ladies, man.”

“Mmm...” Tyr replied, but he knew of no other women than his own wives. Hadn't known any beyond a passing acquaintance, actually, and neither had Iscari. Servants surely didn't count.

Tythas sighed at the two primus' and shook his head. “You're relying too much on virgins, let a learned man teach you how to act.”

The three walked off, even Brenn interested in verifying Tythas' claim, and a bit more in some other things he'd just said he had no interest in. Tyr and Iscari followed a ways behind, flagons in hand. For Tyr, it's because he enjoyed the taste. Iscari couldn't, saying it tasted like a 'skunks ass', dumping his before filling it with wine carried in his dimensional ring.

“That is swill. Tastes like rotten grapes.” Tyr's mouth puckered after being offered a taste of it. It was good enough, as far as wine went, but he could still taste the vinegar. It was odd that he found it so unpleasant, he liked vinegar, but not this. Beer was much better, crisp and refreshing compared to wine, like syrup in his mouth, far too much sugar. Iscari didn't agree, shaking his head in disappointment. He'd do anything for Tyr, but teaching him to improve his palate was a task beyond his ability. There was no nation on the wider earth that made wine finer than his homeland. Tyr's preference of a peasants drink was perplexing, but added to his charm in Iscari's eyes. Like the soldiers and guards, men with stories Iscari had loved to listen to as a child, and Tyr had many of his own if he could be coaxed into talking about them.

“Tyr!” Someone shouted, leaping into his arms in a flash of pink hair. Smelling of pine needles and freshly hewn lumber. “I'm sleepy... Cuddle me.”

“Hello Astrid.” The night was still young. It wasn't even night, with the sunset only just now kissing the horizon. “What are you doing...?”

“Showing my dear husband some... Hic! Love! You're so handsome... I'm hungry...” Astrid purred groggily. Tyr's arms were strong and for once he wasn't reacting to her presence with displeasure. Gently patting her back and returning the glares sent to him by some of the other male students until they wisely looked away. Imagining what their faces would look like, flattened by his boot, but they weren't bad people – just jealous males. All animals behaved like that, and humans were no different, always seeking an attractive partner, he did not begrudge them. But like the boys he'd left half broken in the bathroom stall, they'd be wise to avoid glaring overlong.

“She can't hold her liquor.” Sigi answered, each hand holding a drinking horn that looked a bit awkward with its bottom that could not be rested on a table. She very obviously favored the more northern aesthetic. “I never thought I'd see you at one of these.”

“One of what?” Tyr asked. “A party? I've been to plenty of... Similar events.” It wasn't much different than an alehouse at 'happy hour', and he'd attended quite a few of those in his time. Even when he was as young as fifteen, abusing his authority to get blackout drunk, getting into all sorts of scraps with dock workers. They were a good sort, he missed those days, if not the person he'd been back then. Different... If only a little. Change came slow to men and he knew that more than most people, he missed the privilege of beating his fists against a face, but oddly enough he found that he missed his own face being beaten even more. Something about the pain he barely felt that reminded him he was still alive. All these little pleasures taken from him by the change.

“A mixer. Where young lords and ladies and future hopefuls among the magical communities come together to meet and share ideas. They aren't so bad.” She took a sip from her mug, clearly mead based on the honeyed scent of it. Tyr observed how light and flimsy Astrid felt in his arms, holding her anxiously, like a baby as she nuzzled his chest affectionately. “Well... I'm glad it's you and not someone else, of course.”

“I'm glad we are on speaking terms.” Tyr squirmed awkwardly, letting the words Iscari had practiced with him come to his lips. His mouth was dry and no amount of beer could fix that. “I had... Concerns.”

Sigi waved him away, almost offended by the insinuation. “There are complexities to how I feel, but I never blamed you for any of it. You should know me better than that.”

“Ah, well.” Tyr cringed a bit, but it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done. “Has she done this before?”

“Of course not. She's drunk, not stupid.”

“That's true.” Tyr nodded curtly, the turn of his back communicating how clearly uncomfortable he was in this situation. Sigi approached for that very same reason, before he got into some sort of trouble over his nerves. “We've slept together, but she'd never been so... Clingy?”

Sigi sputtered into her mug, froth leaping uncomfortably from her nostrils. “You did what!?”

“Anyways.” Alex made herself known at Sigi's back. Her hair was worn high and tied up into a bun. Unlike the other women, they'd done very little to improve their appearance. Not like such a thing was necessary. They put to shame all of the young women with their painted face and they were receiving accusatory looks because of it. “Did you have to show up looking like that?”

“Like what?” Tyr looked down at himself. He was dressed as he always was, even wearing his 'nice boots' for the occasion. He'd made sure to purchase new clothes after her most recent critique, but that wasn't what she meant. Not a single drop of blood had been shed on the cloth, as far as he was concerned this was one of the nicer ensembles he'd ever worn. After a handful of arguments in his youth, Jartor had stopped dressing him and so had the staff. His knowledge regarding fashion came almost entirely from whether or not Mikhail made fun of him for what he was wearing. Otherwise, he was pretty dense, but Iscari had said he liked the outfit and he was a man of exquisite taste, always so well put together.

“It's not your linens that's the problem.” Tyr was indeed dressed as he always was. Except this time, his shirt was silky black linen with silver embroidery, his boots were clean, and his riding chaps were clearly new. Complimented by a knee length cardigan that didn't look too bad on him. “You look like a gang of rogues and ruffians.”

“Huh...?” On second observation, she was right. Anyone outside of their party would've noticed the sulky glare Tyr wore on his face with his hair loosely pulled into a tail. Neck forward and slouching, staring about as if waiting for a challenge. Micah in his chair staring lasciviously at any woman who would meet his gaze. Brenn was just... Large, he had an intimidating turn to his eyebrows and looked to be glowering just as badly as Tyr was whether he was happy or not. And Tythas, who was... In truth, he just looked a bit shifty. There wasn't anything wrong with him specifically. It wasn't his fault. He just had, as some other students had commented – a bad case of 'RBF'. Otherwise he dressed well, still possessed some wealth and a more than healthy salary. He'd been the son of a count, once, he knew how to dress but he definitely looked like a shady character.

Iscari on the other hand was positively glowing. Here, among all his friends, how could he not? Those closest and most important to him. He greeted the girls with a smile and a bow for all who would address him, and a handshake for the men. His light was plain to see and he treated people well. Rather than Tyr, practically his twin except in the way he would stare down at people menacingly and grunt when they greeted him. Some women would giggle madly at that, but the men would stammer the rest of what they were going to say and scurry off most times. Tyr wasn't sure why, he greeted everyone in a similar way and he'd never been corrected on it by anyone but his wives, who were surely exaggerating.

After Iscari assisted the others in their goal for 'meeting some girls', Tyr was left alone, again with his wives. Astrid had recovered herself, still shamelessly snuggling at his arm as he seated himself on the log that served as furniture in this place. Growing bolder with the taste of alcohol on her lips. She'd always been less... Disagreeable, but it was evident now. Though, to make matters worse, Sigi was doing the same. Not touching him as she was, but seated close and sidling her hips into his whenever he tried to inch away, making for a very awkward sandwich. She was a very competitive person and Tyr was very aware that she must've been operating under a big misunderstanding, but it was better than being slapped in the back of the head.

It was quiet for a long while, nobody spoke except for the odd mumbled words from Astrid and observation that he 'smelled good'. Not one of the three knew what to say, and Tyr felt like he was about to vomit at any moment, again following Iscari's advice to speak first.

He cleared his throat. Odd that speaking to his married partners was somehow harder than sticking a piece of metal in someone's eye. “You haven't spoken to me since... Well... Are you alright?”

“It's not you.” Alex replied. “It's us. We didn't know how to approach you after what happened.”

“You? How?”

“For the longest time, I thought you were so wrong, but now I see what you meant. I really am sorry, I judged you and tried to hold you to an inappropriate vow, and I know you tried your best to keep it. We almost got hurt because of it. You did get hurt.”

“I would have been fine.” Tyr frowned. Alex knew as well as he did that not much could hurt him, not permanently at least. She'd seem him claw his way free of the casket. He'd never expected an apology from her. Humbling herself as she was, it was completely out of character. “You weren't wrong. You can't be wrong. I genuinely hope that you were right all along...”

“Yes, yes.” Alex snorted in amusement, at least she appeared to be in relatively good spirits. After pondering the events of their trip, it was hard to stay mad at him. He might not be considerate in the way that she'd hoped her partner would be, like her father, but he was thoughtful. And sincere, she still didn't like him much but he didn't deserve scorn. “You're a big, strong, masculine man. Your blood is pure testosterone and you live for the pain, big handsome warrior man with nice muscles. Always grunting like some boar when people say hello. I'm not saying you're right – but neither was I.”

After reflecting on himself and his surroundings, it'd make for a world he wouldn't much like to live in. If he was right. Tyr had this adherence and belief that his truth was the truth, but he had always wanted to be wrong. He just hadn't met a situation where he was. Not yet, but he hoped that one would come. A decision that challenged him, but he supposed he'd had those. Just not with humans.

“Mm.” Tyr grunted again, as if to accentuate the point, looking around shiftily in search of an escape from the pressure of the confrontation. Afraid that if he said any more he'd get into another argument with Alex, someone who was even more headstrong than he was.

“You're making this harder than it needs to be.” Sigi pinched his arm. “Thanks. For saving us, that is. Twice actually.”

“Like it or not, I am your husband.” He sighed. “It's common sense not to allow you to get eaten by a monster. It's my fault you got into that situation to begin with, probably.”

“That's fair.” Astrid mumbled, half in a stupor from the drink. “But your duty. Our duty, too.”

“...What?”

“We have a duty as well. That's what she means.” Sigi grimaced.

“And we haven't done it.” Alex added suggestively. “So, we were thinking...”

“Sorry.” Tyr stood up as fast as his legs could allow without harming Astrid. “It's been a long day, and I don't think its time for a harem moment just yet. Whatever contrived reason you have for treating me this way, I'd prefer we go back to how things were before. I'm not ready for that kind of affection.”

“You are so irritating. This isn't your call to make.” Alex pursed her lips, agitated but contained for the moment, not yelling like she might've in the past. Back when most of their time together was spent with her staring him down and waiting for him to do something wrong and nag him on it. “We'd take turns, you know, but I'm not having your children. And it's not like it'd be all at once, I understand that you're shy but we have needs, Tyr. I won't put horns on you under any circumstances, but you could at least help us out.”

“Yeah.” Sigi exhaled wistfully. “We are adult women, and I didn't sign up to be a nun. I'm not in love with you, but you'll do – neither of us come from the land of the chaste, man. Live a little, be a man and take responsibility.”

“Stop.” Tyr was done with the conversation. Letting Astrid fall into the waiting arms of Sigi instead. No matter his other duties, he had little interest in those. Most of all, he feared things about it. If it could stay the way it always had been, he felt like he could be happy for a while longer. Or at least avoid any unfortunate circumstance. Women were not lesser to men in Haran, but they were equally bound in duty, and their duties... Tyr was expected to 'perform' when asked, whether he liked it or not.

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To bear a children to a man they did not love. That wasn't right. Tyr was not a man overly concerned with the romantics, but he had notions about these things and felt like it would add a layer of complexity that he didn't want. He did not wish to steal their future when he had refused the only chance to prevent himself from losing his own. Leaving them widows would be beyond cruel, even if he had.... Needs... He didn't want to bear children either. Stepping away before they could say anything else.

“He is bizarrely skittish about a simple kiss.” Alex groaned, shaking her head, but doing her best to accept his wants along with her own.

“A kiss?” Sigi asked, eyebrow raised. “That's what you were talking about? What kind of innuendo are you making about a kiss? You've never kissed anyone before, for real?”

“Of course, what else would I be talking about? We haven't even held hands in more than ten years, and I know it's moving a bit fast at first but I'm willing to do it.”

“Well I was talking about putting my boot on his neck and--”

“Are you Tyr Ebonfist?” Halfway through his flight, a the group of students toward Iscari and the others, a small hand restricted his passage. Freely grabbing at his arm, as if such a thing were acceptable. He turned. It wasn't odd. It happened all the time, but he dwarfed these students. Standing near a head taller than them, it was clear they must be in their third year at the most. Either that, or genetics had truly cursed them to the fat suffered by the vertically challenged. Society was cruel, but genetics was far crueler.

“You want to fight?” Tyr asked, tilting his head. He was not in the mood for this, left twisted and confused by Alex and the others treating him the way that they had. All in knots over something so ridiculous as them being amicable towards him, it felt alien and undeserved.

“No!” The 'boy' laughed nervously. He was not so young after all, his facial hair telling the true story. “We just wanted to tell you how awesome you were. All of us are battlemages, under professor Kael. He, uh... I'll be honest – he asked us to convince you to join the class.”

“Not interested.” Tyr made to turn around, but the grasping hand had still not released him. Six ways to kill a man in that position sprung into his mind. That's all he could think about, being touched by others made the nails burn hotter than ever. The man was so tiny that Tyr could step forward and crush him with his thighs. Like a watermelon, smashed flat. He was short enough that a hop was all he needed to take purchase about his skull or torso and constrict him until he popped. A headbutt was out of the question, unfortunate because he quite enjoyed slamming his face into another mans and watching them squirm about grasping at their broken nose.”

“Woah, woah. Relax, bro. You're tense, and I get that, I was pretty nervous when I was your age. It's your first year here, so this must be uncomfortable for you. We just want to get to know you, have you joined a fraternity or any intermurals?”

“...What is that?” Tyr wasn't sure if he should bend at the knees and hips to meet them at eye level or continue to talk down to them. Regardless... “Please remove your hand, or I'll remove it for you. I don't like being touched, and when I say I'll remove it, I mean I'll cut it off.”

Thankfully, the man did as he was asked.

“Oh, sorry. Just a bit nervous, you know? You were bad ass out there in the arena. Anyways, a fraternity is...”

Tyr half listened to their explanation, praying that Iscari would come to rescue him. He might be more familiar with combat, but this was not one of those situations – and he wouldn't harm people without reason. A man should have a code. Iscari was the far more socially able member of the duo they made for, and people loved him so readily at first sight. Tyr didn't want to be loved, really, but he definitely didn't want people to dislike him either.

“Wait...” He heard something that interested him. “You have sports here?”

“Of course. Oh, by the way, I'm Justin.” Tyr took the offered hand with a raised eyebrow. His father had never allowed him to play in the sports his own elementary school had offered. “We have blitzball, duel monsters, elemental... There are a lot of options, did you ignore the recruiters during orientation?”

Tyr had no reason to lie. “Yes.”

“Ah... Well. I'm the left striker on the blitzball team, so... Read up on it – and get back to me. Professor Wilhelm is our coach, so you can let him know, or me I guess. Garth is our captain, he's friends with Alex and you two seem to... Know each other. If you're interested.”

“Will do.” Tyr brushed them aside without another word in his bid to find Iscari and the others. While sports were interesting, they'd be just another thing he lacked all talent in. There was no point in trying. He wanted to know what they were all about, but would never join, he had other more important things to do than play games. Even if it did sting a bit, thinking about growing up having been so... Poorly adjusted, he wondered what he would be like.

Micah looked dejected. Iscari's lips were stretched as wide as his eyes, in that way that communicated someone resisting the urge to visibly cringe. They had, at least, found a group of women willing to talk to them – but no luck thus far. Even Tythas, for all his claims of being good with women, seemed to be doing a poor job of speaking with them. If Iscari had joined and they were still being half ignored other than the odd 'oh, wow' from the women – they were truly lost.

“Oi.” Tyr announced himself curtly. “I am going to leave now. I just wanted to let you know, Astrid is a bit drunk and I'm going to--”

Just then, a hand rested on his chest. A hand. Woman or man, it didn't matter, both were thinking beings of flesh and he'd cut them all the same. Startling him beyond a capacity to communicate that, the greeting freezing him in his tracks. Even while his skin crawled like a million ants and he grit his teeth, all of them crowding around him. “Oh. My. God. Becky....”

“It's him!”

“Ahh!!!”

They squealed like piglets, surrounding him and jumping up and down, spilling half of their drinks on both themselves and his brand new linen shirt. Tyr's eye twitched but he managed to swallow his displeasure, something about Iscari being there with him made him feel that even torture would've been pleasant. Nothing could be bad when he was around.

“You were like.... So cool in the arena. Will you teach me how to fight like that?”

“Have you ever killed someone before?”

“My father has commercial treaties with the Ebonfist clan, perhaps we could discuss new business agreements in private...”

“Are you betrothed?”

“Listen.” Tyr held his hands up. Normally, he would rebuff them rudely, but the looks the others were giving him were.... Complicated. Micah was very obviously jealous, but Tythas and Brenn stared at him like the headsman, with his on the block. Piercing gazes, observing his every move. Too proud to show the same emotion that Micah had. Young men who were concerned with the obvious, regardless of Brenn's constant mentions of 'his duty'. “Can I tell you a secret?” He leaned forward, conspiratorially. Just a game. A few minutes at most and he could be back in his dark room, doing something that mattered.

They nodded.

“Promise you'll never tell anybody, no matter what?”

More nods.

“I am the primus of Haran. Tyr Faeron. Not Tyr Ebonfist. It's all an alias, so that--”

“I knew it! I told you it was suspicious!” One of the girls cried out. She had a mole plain and present on her nose, but otherwise she was quite charming. With a radiant smile and bright, intelligent eyes. Contrary to his expectation, only two of the five seemed surprised. None of them were particularly unattractive, but that mattered very little to him. These were cute girls, or women, only seeking an improvement to their station.

People of modest houses who found themselves with a talent for magic. Like Tyr and Iscari, they'd been admitted to one of the best academies in all of Amistad. That, in and of itself, was a testament to their merit. Now it was time to hone their craft and potentially better their families for it, this was how future nobles were made in the meritocratic states.

“See that man there.” He pointed towards Micah, not skipping a beat. As Iscari had said, everything done by the boys, must be for the boys. “He is so talented in dimensional magic that my father, the primus Jartor, has taken special notice of him. I am betrothed, unfortunately, but he isn't. In fact, I am specifically here to study with the professors and help them find a cure for his legs, he's a very talented mage and I expect he'll have a great future in front of him in service to the emperor Jartor.”

“Now that you mention it...” Micah was pale and had a shallow jaw. A bit on the softer side, but he had bright, gentle eyes. A healthy head of hair, long and curly. Not only smart, but also funny, if one could get him talking about something appropriate... Before long, two of the women approached him, toying with his long locks and laughing at his every word. Insane how things changed like that, even Tyr was a bit aghast at the abrupt change in behavior.

“Women...” Brenn hissed, agitated.

“Not women.” Iscari whispered. “Everyone is like this here. They've been coerced into taking on the duties of their families. It's systematic. You cannot blame them for looking for a better future for themselves and their houses. They have a great burden, and a lot of pressure on the average person lies on what connections they can make in the academy. Believe me, it's sick, forced into predatory behavior because your parents aren't influential enough to find a proper arrangement. Or too proud and ambitious to let you find it for yourself, I've always hated it but there's nothing we can do.”

And he did. As a paladin, the word of a primus was tantamount to the word of a god. If he hadn't been so focused on the topic at hand, he would've smacked Tyr about the head for impersonating one. But it worked, somehow, the man was an exceptional liar. And Iscari hadn't called it for what it was, which in turn made it right.

“And this man.” Tyr pointed to Brenn next. “A paladin of Vestia. Have you heard what teachings they offer in the house of the goddess of hearth and family?”

They shook their head, a look of anticipation about their wide eyes.

“He's so good at what he does...” Tyr winked. “That even those cardinals in Haran have taken notice of him. He, too, is being observed by my house. Why else would I surround myself with these men? Look, even Iscari wants to befriend him in hopes that he'll pull him to Varia's side.”

“He's right, you know... Everyone knows how competitive the twin empires are.” Iscari winked, so incredibly elegant, handsome, perfect... Everything about him was just the best. “Brennwulf is very talented.”

Another pair flocked to Brennwulf. He was certainly the most handsome of the trio on offer tonight, classically speaking at least. With a hard jaw, heavy brows and all sorts of muscle. Plainly visible through his snugly fit doublet. Tall, too. Tyr noticed women seemed to prefer taller men, though he wasn't sure why. Thing about height was it could be a disadvantage in a survival situation, opened up the range of which their body could be struck, bigger bodies meant bigger vulnerable points. Size was important, but a knife to the trachea was always the eternal balancer of scales.

“Last but not least...” Tyr leaned forward even further. He had no idea how he must smell, but to the women – it was... Worth noting. It was too bad he was betrothed. His words were like honey, and he smelled of roasted chestnuts to one, and a freshly made blitzball to the other. “He is so powerful a mage that even the colleges have chased him throughout the foreign lands, trying to recruit him. Look at his mark. Thankfully, I got to him first – making him my personal retainer.”

“Oh my! A marked mage... That's so interesting! Have you ever killed anyone?”

But Tyr would interrupt them, begging their forgiveness while he dragged the men away.

“I've done you this favor, but now I want one of my own.” Tyr stated calmly.

They nodded. Micah had a look of insane rapture in his eyes. Brenn, expectation. Tythas knew him best, simply listening. He didn't really care about the women, this was a 'flex' of sorts for him, to look good in the eyes of his friends.

“If you dishonor them. Make a promise you can't keep, or act in a way that is not befitting our relationship. I will hurt you, and you'll never see it coming. I put the word of my house in this oath, and I've shown you a great deal of faith by putting my own name forward to your benefit, because we are... Friends. But never think, even for a second, that I'd allow you to take advantage of my good graces. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir...” Micah croaked. Even if Brenn and Micah hadn't believed his claim, they were well aware of the reach of clan Ebonfist. Having seen him in the arena, they believed every word he said. Making their way back to the women and acting much more courteously. Giggles matched by Micah's nervous eyes as he continued to stare at Tyr.

“You're good at that.” Iscari sighed. “I've never been good with people. They are scared of me, but you...”

“Being worthless has it's upsides, I guess...” Tyr's sigh matched the other man's. Iscari was not only handsome and able, but incredibly humble to claim that he 'wasn't good with people'. If his easy charm classified as 'not good', Tyr was atrocious. “Did I do okay?”

“You did very well. For the boys.” Iscari smiled mischievously.

“For the boys.” Tyr repeated with a snort. It would appear that he had finally found himself some friends, at least for the time being.

Tyr returned to 'his own' girls and hoisted Astrid into his arms once again. She was dead asleep at this point, with him escorting the others back to their dorms and audibly growling at any man who had the gal to look their way. It was ridiculous, but they had to admit it was effective.

Alex and Sigi did the rest, both as intimidating as he was. If not more so. People often stopped them, usually men, or said unkind things. At first – but they'd learned to stare at the ground when it was clear who they were looking at. A Stalvarg and Goldmane both were possessive of a station easily capable of ruining their entire lives before they'd begun. Neither was a pushover, and they'd do it – too.

Astrid mumbled something in his arms. Considering her height, she was a light thing, wispy as a leaf, enough to blow away at any moment. “What did you say?”

“She's asking if you meant what you said at the bridge.” Sigi acted as the interpreter. Their powerful bond, despite being complete opposites in the personality department would have surprised him, if only he'd taken the time to reflect on it. They were very close.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Tyr blushed, unable to look her directly in the eye. Sigi craned her neck forward, mimicking the way he walked to snickered laughter from Alex and the few students observing them. It was a nice night, and at times like these the commons were chock full of people studying or simply sitting around. Sharing a drink or passing around any manner of ball.

“Something, something, a thousand deaths before you'll ever let them touch what is yours. At first it was perhaps romantic, but now I see you for the possessive, vain little man you are.”

“Stop.” Tyr's toes were shriveling up inside of his boots, having no idea where such a grandiose statement had come from. Deep inside of him, some unknown place. “Yes, I meant it. You are mine, until the day you choose to accept my offer to part ways and be done with it all.”

“Very romantic.” Astrid mused, drooling a little before erupting into loud snores.

–

“He's not bad.”

“Not bad.” Lernin chuckled in amusement. “What was that about the 'greatest swordsman in all of Amistad'? I remember vaguely you making that claim, half drunk in Kriegstad's court. Either your talent has begun to decline, or...”

Kael sighed. He'd never expected things to turn out this way. A draw was a draw, and he accepted the result, but the boy... “Well, regardless. At least we know he's not hiding his power. Talented as he is – it felt like fighting a man.” Not that he, nor any man, had much experience fighting a primus. Not many lived who could claim that – but he'd expected more – if only a little. “Reminded me to work on my game though. If magic had been involved, I'm confident that I would've won almost immediately. His talent doesn't lay in that direction, which is a relief.”

“Is that so...?” Lernin and Abaddon alike had studied the wards infusing every inch of the arena after the duel. There was a reason why the bout was held there and not the significantly lesser sparring hall. According to the ward masters and their centuries old artifice, they claimed it was enough to subdue even a proper primus. Their pride said this, but the headmaster was only recently made aware how ridiculous a claim that was.

“There are sixty nine individual wards--”

“Nice.” Kael replied with a nod, half listening.

“...”

Lernin, at times, had to remind himself that he was a headmaster so as to avoid hitting the man. Mages tended to be eccentric, with unique personalities, Kael was one such example – taken a degree further than the others. In his genius, he was uniquely irritating. Never doing his work as he was supposed to, skimping reports, slacking in his duties and missing deadlines. He was, however, an exceptional educator – and he liked his students despite claims otherwise. Loved Amistad, too, calling it home despite not being born there.

“Thirty nine of those wards were broken during your fight. I would not rush to judgment just yet, and I'd avoid antagonizing him further. It's enough to wait and see.”