Ahhh, the best time of day, reflected Thomas. His lungs were thoroughly laboring, and his legs had a pleasant warm glow that he just knew foretold soreness later. He had just crested the largest hill on his run, just outside of town, and turned around to admire the view that he had just passed through. Brick townhouses and commercial warehouses alike stood around the core of the town, they seemed all the browner in contrast to the university’s bright red and light gray theme. He could just about make out the gray dormitory that he called home, near a cluster of its brethren. The university stood out from the rest of the town, in more ways than just the difference in color scheme. It seemed baroque, vaguely medieval in design. IT looked vaguely menacing in the way of an old retired soldier, obsolete, yet dangerous. Thomas liked it that way; it felt safe and reassuring.

He pumped his legs clinically, finding no weaknesses of injuries, and leapt down the hill step by step, gaining speed and momentum. He rode that wave of energy a quarter mile into town, near his favorite deli, “The Roasted Crow”, and pushed onwards. One mustn’t be late, Thomas thought to himself, especially when the professor knows my name. He smiled wolfishly and pumped his legs into his next highest gear.

By the time the sun strolled its way over the horizon, Thomas had just finished his morning run. He returned to his dorm to find men barely awake, some few crawling out of bed to brave the dangers of empty hallways and showers. Early as he was; however, he was unable to beat mischief’s wily hand. He had rushed up the stairs two at a time, excited at the though of a hot shower, and hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. It was home, after all, and hadn’t met anybody truly dangerous in town. Thud! Thomas hit the floor just inside of his room, hard enough to shake the room.

“Yo, man, you okay?”, Zach peered his head into the room, taking in the scenery, as Thomas moans in pain. “Oh shit, look at this! I haven’t seen knots like this since scouts!”

The knots Zach was referring to were those anchoring a wiry rope across the doorway, just outside of the door. Thomas recovered enough to stand, and he limped his way over to the doorframe.

“Wait, this was a trap. Cool knots or no, we have to report this!”, Zach’s brows furrowed, and his dark face twisted in disgust. “Who the fuck would put a trap in your room?”

“I think we both know the answer. That cunt from last night seemed the grudge holding sort.”, Thomas’ face was calm, but for a slight growl in his voice. He cut the cords from the doorway with his pocketknife and put them away in a drawer. “We won’t be reporting this.”

“Oohhh. I see, you want to handle this guy yourself, like last night. I don’t know, that could get dangerous. I know a couple cholos from back home that could teach him something.” At that moment, you’d be easily forgiven for assuming that Zach was some kind of godfather, and not the innocent kind.

“Hmpphh. Not like last night. I don’t know it was him, but it seems likely. And Zach, don’t worry. I’ve chewed up and spat out tougher guys than Nathan.”

“Oh, hey guys!” Obi stuck his head out from the tangle of blankets he called a bed and looked around. “What’s up?”

Zach explained the situation while Thomas changed beneath a towel and left to shower. Obi’s face twisted in disgust by the time Thomas had returned.

“What a scum-sucker!” Obi exclaimed, “What’s the plan? Break his kneecaps? Burn his car? Steal his girl?”

“I feel like Zach already did the last one.” Zach stuck his tongue out at Thomas, “But no, these kinds of problems are best solved through direct and honest dialogue.”

“I see. That’s why you’ve been cracking your knuckles and neck since you were tripped?”

“Not all dialogues use words?” Thomas grinned and waved away their questions. He had work to do.

The walk over to the history building, Glenfallow Hall, passed as a blur. Thomas was walking quickly, eyes roaming the halls, picking out passerby. The look on his face and the set to his shoulders was enough to clear him a path through the crowds.

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“Do I ask for him to step outside for a chat? No, too obvious. Do I confront him publicly? No. He’d play the victim. Wait until he is alone? Maybe.” Thomas thought to himself as he hurried to class. He didn’t know where he’d see Nathan next, but he wanted to be ready for when he did. These things were so much easier in his old neighborhood. There you could just say a few words and head outside to solve differences. Thomas felt uncomfortable being challenged by such treacherous methods.

He made it to his class, on the top floor, and scanned the room, small, and cramped, with lecture style seating that was straight out of the eighties. He recognized a couple people from prior classes, a tall volleyball player and a waifish blonde, both near the front. He took a seat near the door and set to waiting for the professor to walk in. He was still brooding, but soon became distracted by the thought of the next Star Wars movie.

“Hey! Mind if I sit here?”

Thomas jerked his mind back from his daydreams to find a woman standing next to his desk, leaning down to get his attention. She had light brown hair and was pretty, in a ‘still haven’t lost my baby fat’ kind of way. Focus. Do not look at her boobs.

“Yeah, I mean, no, not at all. Feel free.” Thomas stuttered slightly as he responded. Then he lost focus. Shit. They were nice boobs, though. Small, but pert. He refocused his eyes onto her face and stuck out his hand.

“Hey, I’m Thomas.”

She took a seat before responding, “I’m Rose.” She grabbed his hand and shook, her petite hand barely able to grasp his. Thomas was, if not in love, definitely crushing on her. Thirty seconds, a new record.

Rose and Thomas talked for the few minutes left before class began. She was a medieval studies major, with a concentration in medieval economics. She was here for the intro class as a late requirement, Thomas soon discovered. She was impressive, to say the least, and Thomas was almost capable of forgetting about her incredible beauty.

“You’re the guy who beat up Nathan Rodschild, right?” she asked, with deliberate nonchalance.

“Um, yeah. We had what you could call a disagreement last night.” Thomas’ face winced, and he broke eye contact.

“Really. That ‘disagreement’ was the all-over social media last night. Some blogger named Obi-won put it on his story.”

“Son of a bitch”, Thomas muttered. He was going to have to talk with his roommate about that once he finished up with class. “I try to keep that kind of thing down low.” Rose smirked at his discomfort and put a hand on his arm. She opened her mouth to speak, but as the professor walked in, she sat back and swallowed her words. What is her deal? Thomas wasn’t used to getting much attention from the fairer sex. He was puzzled but set his confusion aside for the first lecture of the semester.

The professor, Orson Gladwell, was a British man in his early thirties. He was preoccupied with his glasses, so much so that he adjusted them almost once a sentence. Thomas felt for the man, public speaking wasn’t his forte either, and Professor Gladwell obviously was nervous. Through his occasional stutter and fidget, he spoke about the course in general and how he would be grading, fortunately he seemed fairly lenient in that regard.

“We will be discussing heroes and myths. I know that you all took this course expecting dry history, with dates and locations. Those will be p-present, but the focus will be on the people who made history. Who was Joan of Arc really? What made Octavian the legend he was? Charlemagne, what parts of the myth were true, and how did he come to be? We’ll cover all these men and women in this semester. And now, for the exam schedule.” He droned on about expected examinations, and Thomas

‘Bam! Bam!’ The door rang with thunderous impact, and the frame shook around it. The professor continued on for a few moments more before trailing off. He walked around to the door and opened it just enough to see its assailant.

“Y-yes? What do you think you’re doing, beating on the door like that?”

A large hand appears, golden furred and bulky, like a lifelong boxer’s, and clutches at Professor Gladwell’s face. Long dark scratches were left there, and the professor fell silently, clutching at his wound.

“You have nothing I need.”, rolls out a deep, velvety voice. Its owner pushed the door inwards, delicately, and ducked his mane beneath the seven-foot-tall door frame. It had the head of a lion and the fur of one, but its manlike body stood tall and lean, though lean at nine feet tall was still imposing. The classroom, Thomas notwithstanding, froze and stared in awe. They were prepared to study myths, but this creature put the term to shame.

The lion-man stepped over the professor and addressed the class. “What is this place, hmm? A place of learning, perhaps?” He picked up the textbook from the professor’s podium and flipped through it. “Hmmm. No magic, no schemata, no kind of channeling nor cultivation. How sad for your academy. Learning useless things. No matter. I am here for one of you whelps.”

His amber gaze wandered from student to student, before landing on Rose. He walked up to her row, with padded feet making nary a sound on the linoleum and stooped down to near her level. He exhaled, and let out a satisfied chuff, and spoke.

“You are coming with me, young one. There is much for you to learn.”