Mage Crucus is in the same shack; does he live here? The first indicator is obvious, and the second is the second story that I have yet to inspect. Lastly is the chaotic state mage Crucus is usually in. Even a recluse like him has to clean up in social settings. Leading me to assume his garments are a type of loungewear I am unfamiliar with. Regardless, the polka-dotted satin is off-putting and reminds me of a traveling circus.

“Good morning, mage.” I greet as Crucus answers my knock.

“Vesh, just in time. I have the last payment for the tubes. I know you haven’t finished, but I thought I would get you the rest before the next bimester comes due.”

“I appreciate your consideration.” I thank him while accepting the purse liner.

“I also have the rune diagram for the next project. Which leads us to a bit of a snag.”

“Yes?”

“You went through the material on amalgamations faster than I expected. You covered the syllabus for Amalgamations 101.”

“What can we do?”

“I cannot advance you to Amalgamations 102, but I will still require your assistance. It is the way of things. After nearly three decades of study, I can’t even access High mage status.”

“Have you not discovered enough through research?”

“I stopped that dance long ago. You will learn it eventually, no matter the field you choose. Experimentation is a joke because basic confirmation studies are the only ones approved. Anything new gets cast aside unless it is an obvious dead end. Or, of course, if a high mage wants to study it for personal consumption.”

“So that is why they won't let you be a High Death mage?” I push.

“Exactly why. And with the truth seers, no one gets away with it for long.”

“How do you feed that desire to learn more about something you love?”

“I guess it won't hurt to tell you. The best way to learn more is to get commissioned on rune maintenance. You get access to information, and if you work on installation, you can work on the runes at the Wall.”

“Aren’t the runes at the Wall from the founding? How can you repair them?”

“Not the foundation stone.” Crucus laughs. “There have been defenses added over time. That’s all I can say.”

“And that’s what you have done? Repair these additions?”

“Before getting called off to teach a farmer about magic.”

“I will not apologize for that.”

“As well, you shouldn’t.

“How does this relate to the rune diagram?”

“Right. The inductor rune I mentioned earlier is in the diagram.”

“Oh? Is it a rune formation?”

“In a way, a set of inductor runes of varying affinities.” Mage Crucus clarifies, handing me the rune diagram.

“So a condensing formation…” I mumble.

“Yes, you are quite astute.”

“It is an assumption based on what I have learned so far.” I fumble.

“Yes. Well, I am not doing a whole syllabus thing. You have your projects, and I will provide a reading list. Aside from that, my office hours haven’t changed.”

“Sr?”

“I know you haven’t chosen your classes yet, but we both know you will continue in death magic. We don't need you sitting here eight hours a week while I ramble about things you can read in a book. If you get stuck or have questions that the material doesn’t answer, you can come to me, but I’ll likely send you to a book for the answer.”

“Works for me. Is the rate the same for the disks?”

“Well, let’s ask you. Do you think it will be worth as much effort?

“Hmm…”

The diagram shows a thin steel disk that is three centimeters in diameter. The various open inductor runes have thirty-two different affinity variations, meaning each disk will have a distinct affinity. If I am engraving, the inductor runes will take longer. Should I set a price for the speed I can perform? It isn’t entirely greed causing hesitation. Saying I can create a disk with the same ease as the tubes would be suspicious.

“It will probably take me fifty percent more work.” I decide, cutting the difference.

“Quick, too. I’ll give you two silver per disk. No reason not to add a raise.”

“Can’t disagree with that.”

“Yes, it would certainly be foolish.”

“Thank you, High mage Crucus.” I nudge, eliciting a smirk.

The class is disappointing in that I won’t be learning anything new. I had considered this a possible outcome after my advance. Mage Crucus is a good enough person, but he doesn’t truly respect me. A silver lining in the coming days: I retain access to the workshop and extra coins for resources or even as components. An excuse to keep popping in on Crucus gives me a peek at his work. So far, I can’t make heads or tails of the thing, except that it deals with an absurd amount of mana. And even this is a leap based on the thickness of the transference runes.

There are other classes to look forward to. Creation magic would go deeper into healing magic, and destruction would delve into absorption. On top of that are my hopes for the dueling class. But before, I must go to the bizarre and sign up for these classes. The walk home is peaceful, the sanctum’s mage quarters empty in the name of lavish vacations. People still walk about, but if only briefly, the world is more subdued. A figure appears in my path, standing with their arms crossed.

The figure is approximately my height with a broader build in a stance indicating a willingness to draw weapons. I slow my pace, registering people exiting from side streets to surround me. I am a block from my dorm with three attackers directly in my way and two behind. I stop, controlling my rising temper. Ambushes suck, the odds are never in my favor. My mind spins to find an appropriate defensive posture.

“You have some intentions here?” I call out.

“We have a warning.” A familiar voice sneers in a mocking tone.

“Ominous. So I shouldn’t kill you?”

“The same rules that protect you protect us,” one of the figures shouts.

“Your swords would not kill me, and I can not kill you.” The familiar voice clarifies, revealing Little Gallah from my destruction magic class.

“So you have come here to do what? Warn me?”

“Do not take advanced destruction magic.”

“How thoughtful of you, but what if I don’t heed your warning?”

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“We will be making the message clear.” Little Gallah threatens, cracking his knuckle for emphasis.

“So you beat me up, then what? If I take the class anyway, will the beatings continue?”

“Basically.” Little Gallah grunts, pausing his bravado.

“Hmm… But neither of us can kill each other because of the laws protecting the initiates.”

“Yes, the protections disallow destroying even you, Pleb.”

“You have miscalculated a few key points. Chiefly among them is my lack of aversion to pain.”

I finish my blustering with a lunging punch towards my nearest attacker. Time slows before the collision, and I land the right cross squarely to a jaw. The impact has me shaking my hand while the initiate thuds on the ground. I leap over the body and run to the side street. I need to be faster to lose the other person behind; they’re likely also an enhancer. The other three are slightly back, while the fifth is rising.

With the forward momentum of running, I shift on my lead foot and throw a kick at my pursuer as we turn. The attack meets a block, and I stumble to reorient after the spin. Upon blocking me, they duck their head and attempt a tackle. Using my stumbling step to disguise my hips, I successfully juke, helping the idiot into a brick wall head first. I stop in the alley, facing my assailant as they slow down.

The alley I guard provides two essential things. First is a reduced radius from which I can expect attacks to come. Also, a getaway route lies behind me. I can make a stand here and get a shot at Little Gallah. How did he think something so petty would sway my decision? It will be a boon to get risk-free hand-to-hand sparring practice.

I still find this attempt annoying, even without danger or thought. Not because my knuckles ache after the sixth punch lands or because there is some dishonor in him attempting to belittle me. No, my fury is born of the petulant audacity with which this idiocy operates. It reveals a life of ignorance and privilege. I see greedy pigs scarfing down all the decency left in haimanity. My heart aches for those who cannot stand and fight against this bullshit, but I wasn’t one of them. I probably can't win, but I can stand and fight.

My hand-to-hand fighting skills are subpar, but I have a lifetime of Jer handing me my ass, so I stand my ground and receive a hook to the face. Before long, I shift entirely to defense, as their increasing coordination takes from me the occasional jab. All the world is three meters around my body, and it's my world. The fluids in my muscles increase the strain as the fibers stretch and tear.

Block a high kick, half step back on the right to avoid a jab— Hands up. A whole step back left dodges another high kick, and a block leaves me open to a nose adjustment. Jab is better than kick, so I take the jab; the hit fuzzies the edges before magic warms my blood. I am losing ground because their pushes and punches are slipping through, each adding to the growing sections of my body numbing in warmth. The injuries further hamper my reactions, especially the swelling working to close my left eye. My body is not my own. It is a thing I only associate with, by which means meet ends.

Pain is a faint friend who merely indicates areas I should guard better. The limit of my body is the only border. I use persistence as my defense, taking advantage of any hesitation to throw any attack. Yet they are wearing into me quicker as each landed strike surges through my body. My forearms have done most of the blocking, and one will fracture soon enough.

With the narrowness of the alley, they can only attack me two at a time. I can use one of my new inventions, but that will tip my hand. I can still run, the fight progresses, and running becomes my best option. I disengage, turning on my heel after a block and taking off. Right, left, then another right while I struggle to grab my catalysts and keep my feet under me. Hardly any mana has regenerated, but I suck it up. Creation magic circulates through me, instinctual at this point, especially now that I know the magic is present throughout my body. One step begins, a heel to a toe, and off to the next. Steps trample into order, cutting the buzz in my ears and silencing my heart.

I have almost made it back, been clever and resourceful enough to avoid being beaten, and nearly resisted disgrace. I halt for the second time tonight. I chose to fight instead of running while the two still-conscious attackers circled with a pincer to reduce my choices.

I have but one choice: I can play a defensive position, hoping they will wear out before I do, or I can play offense. I could ignore the need for self-preservation to send a message. I could communicate through the things they believed enough to dissuade me. I will hurt and break Little Gallah. Above all else, he will feel the pain he was to wield.

I race with a shadow of intention, and that intention flickers behind me, holding the eyes of my assailants as I pounce. Pain bursts into my mind as I strike out, yet it doesn't tamper my fury. The blows that land on me add to the ferocity I unleash upon the greedy child. Nothing matters outside of my revenge on that petulance that has cost the world so much. The arrogant little stain on my moral fibers. The ignorance of entitlement and exceptionalism that this farce wears as a badge of honor. He will know the fury of those who refuse to yield, those who refuse to fear.

I awaken back into consciousness with a hand on my shoulder. The fight leaves my body beaten, but the lotus silk calms me. I lost grasp of my enemy a while ago and have been unable to collect myself since then. I don't like that side, that state of furious disregard. Even now that it's over, I am justifying the rage with a lie to wrap up my ego. My assailants hadn’t kept up the attacks once they removed me from their friend. Or their employer.

“Are you hurt?” Shannai coos.

“Nothing I can’t patch up.”

“Are you ready to come up to the dorm?”

“Yes, it is probably safe. If you can help me stand.”

“Sure.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Shannai broaches after a moment.

“Some initiates from my destruction class don't want to see me in the advanced class.”

“That is so crass. Was it a fair fight?”

“Five to one, so pretty fair.”

“That is far past what is traditional. There is an atmosphere to cultivate competition between initiates. It isn’t even strange to get some fighting as long as no one uses offensive magic. But to jump you like that? So crass.”

“I thought it was a pretty stupid plan.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I don’t want to get my ass kicked daily, but if I don’t die, what is the real harm?”

“Uh. Yeah…”

“You don’t agree.”

“Getting your ass kicked isn’t so great.”

“Don’t I know it,” I grunt, lying on my bed.

“Are you going to take a combat-oriented elective?”

“Probably dueling.”

“I’m down, but stick to my hip.”

“On it. Do you know where I can get some poison, preferably powder?”

“I don't think the protections will let you poison the other initiates.”

“Not for them, for an amalgamation. If you have heard of it, I am looking for something like bitter root.”

“I haven’t, but I can look into it.”

“Thank you.”

“Were you going to take advanced destruction magic?”

“I was on the fence before, but now I think I have to.”

“Of course,” Shannai huffs, rolling over.

I am up before Shannai. I idle by delving into the newest tome from the knowledge orb. It contains a list of interkingdom treaties in the last two hundred thousand years. At first, this elicits panic as I consider the implications. Books on something other than runes will only hurt. My anxiety calms as the book focuses on the runes used in the contracts and the contract tubes instead of history.

Still, it could be more helpful. I can give Shannai a mana contact, but if I am that worried, I should reconsider who I am going with. For now, the information fits in a bookshelf for all the stuff that is either indiscernible at my level or not immediately useful.

“We gotta get up, sleepy head.”

“I am up.” I bluster.

“We should probably hit the Bizarre before things get hectic.”

“But it’s cold.” I whimper.

“Tough.” Shannai taunts.

I pull myself from underneath the covers, embracing the world's cold as I scurry to grab my robes. They can go another day before washing. I throw them on and meet Shannai in the foyer. She had already gotten us some tea by the time I finished getting ready. The subtle hints of orange wafting from my earl gray pep up my step. I settle after the first good sip, ready to start conversing with other people.

“You have it all decided, right?” Shannai begins the walk with an accompanying banter.

“I do.”

“Still set on annoying as many people as possible while being in the only class where they can get reprisal?”

“Too bold?”

“It is your choice. Should we grab breakfast before?”

“I mean, if you're buying…”

“Yes, we can go to that trendy biscuit place.”

“Spicy gravy.” I cheer.

“I think I’ll try the applewood smoked biscuits.”

The hearty breakfast warms a chill morning's woes. It's a sore body in my case, though the bruising is receding quickly. Little Gallah will likely have more flunkies with another fight in a day or so. I should have some backup of my own. The question subdues as I savor the next buttery bite of biscuits with spicy peppermill gravy.

“So, why have the stall at the fair if you still sign up at the bizarre?”

“The stalls are mostly there for prestige, but they do offer brochures on their affinity, just some basic stuff and directions to certain booths in the Bizarre.”

“Can I sign up for any class?”

“You can because you have the requisite magic training. But everyone else has a much more limited pool of choices.”

Our talking quiets as we enter the foyer of the largest building in Grav’Haim. The central Sanctum towers above the capital city. Maybe I can experiment while I am here. The two-hundred square meter foyer is overflowing with booths and initiates in robes of varying colors. The varying affinities coalesce around their respective stalls, making fields of colors that mingle but don’t integrate. We first walk to advanced creation magic, finding a younger mage attending the stand.

“Good morning.”

“Blessings, young ones. Which tier of creation magic are you here to sign up for today?”

“Advanced, here are my qualification papers.”

“Ninety-eight percent proficiency can be difficult in creation magic, with all those bones and vessels to memorize.”

“Thank you.” I automatically reply, feeling confused at the compliment.

“Do you have a preferred instructor?”

“I had mage Saria last bi-mester.”

“No problem. Here is your class schedule and your keys to your Athenary room.”

“An Athenary room?”

“Advanced tier students and up get a private room due to the sensitive nature of the information.”

“I see. Thank you.” I thank taking both.

Next is destruction magic since mage Crucus won't have a stand, leaving dueling for the end. We approach, and a familiar face turns to us: that of the lead attacker last night. I stride to the table and nearly shoulder the putz before addressing the attendant.

“I am here to sign up for advanced destruction magic. Here is my qualification.”

“Yes, yes.” The older destruction mage tuts at the misinterpreted impatience. “Here are your things.”

“Thank you.”

“You are going to regret that. You think I'll cow to you just because you're prancing with high nobility.” They ruffle and grab my robes.

“Vesh won't have time to get a piece of you,” Shannai interjects, appearing between the two of us.

“I have no problem with you.”

“Speak of me in such a manner again, and you will be spitting blood.”

“I shall consider myself assuaged.” They mock, moving out of Shannai’s reach.

“Forget them.”

“I can’t believe Gallah sent his son after you,” she huffs as we move to the exit, “They consider themselves the next best thing to high nobility. I think they call themselves mage royalty.”

“That is another thing. Aren’t you all royalty?”

“Correct. Nobility isn’t royalty, but all royals are nobles.”

“Are you worried?”

“About little Gallah? No way, he is harmless.”

“I am getting uncomfortable with how nonchalant you sound about this.”

“They want to bend the rules, then let's bend them.”

The booth for the dueling class is near the other combat electives, by the entrance opposite the one we came in. Usually, we’d have received an appointment with a dueling instructor in the Colosseum. However, Shannai and I qualified for this class with our performance in the tournament. We both receive a syllabus and skip out of the building, spirits lifting atop the prospects.