The halls of Austramore buzzed with the usual morning chatter as Soya, Draven, Davonte, Tiana, and Kalsei made their way toward their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The air was cool, a hint of the ocean breeze slipping through the open stone corridors, but their conversation was warm and lively—mostly thanks to Davonte, who never let a conversation settle into silence for too long.

“I’m just saying,” Davonte was insisting, waving a hand animatedly, “if we are doing this whole cosplay thing, I should definitely get a sword.”

“You don’t need a sword,” Draven replied, not even looking up from the book he was reading as they walked. “You have a wand. A far more practical weapon.”

Davonte scoffed. “A wand is great, obviously, but a sword? That’s how you make an entrance.”

Kalsei grinned,bouncing slightly as he stepped beside Davonte. “Maybe if you train hard enough, you could dual-wield. A wand in one hand, a sword in the other.”

Davonte’s eyes widened. “You’re a genius.”

“Or an enabler,” Tiana muttered.

Soya, who had been largely quiet, just shook his head. He didn’t have the energy to argue over Davonte’s ongoing obsession with dramatic flair.

As they turned the last corner toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, their conversation slowed. Other students were already filing in, but as they stepped inside, the sight at the front of the class made all of them pause.

Soya frowned slightly. “Is that—?”

“It is,” Draven confirmed.

Seikan Blackthorn, their Potions professor, stood at the head of the room. He was as still and composed as ever, his piercing emerald eyes scanning the students as they entered. His long, dark robes, etched with subtle runic embroidery, contrasted sharply with the usual battle-ready stance of Professor Marilla. He looked perfectly at home, yet entirely out of place.

The murmurs of the students reflected their confusion.

Seikan, however, wasted no time addressing it.

“I will be filling in for Professor Marilla while she recovers,” he stated plainly, his voice crisp and unwavering.

The room immediately quieted.

Soya exchanged a glance with Davonte. While Seikan was undeniably brilliant, the idea of him teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts was... unexpected.

Seikan took a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back as his sharp gaze swept over the class. “Some of you may believe that spellwork alone will protect you in a fight.” His voice was as steady and composed as ever. “That is incorrect.”

The students shifted slightly.

Seikan continued. “Magic is a tool. A powerful one, certainly. But it is not everything. When facing an opponent, you must consider all elements of battle—including your surroundings.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Seikan turned toward the class. “One of you. Attack me.”

The students froze.

Davonte blinked. “Wait—what?”

Seikan remained completely unfazed. “Someone cast a spell at me. Now.”

The students exchanged uneasy glances.

Soya frowned slightly. He had seen Seikan fight Salsiar—he knew how powerful the man was. So why was he asking a first-year to try and hit him?

Finally, one student hesitantly lifted their wand. “Um… Flipendo?”

The spell shot forward—direct, precise.

Seikan moved so effortlessly that it barely looked like a decision.

He picked up a chair.

And used it to block the spell.

The spell collided with the wooden surface, dispersing harmlessly. The room was dead silent.

Seikan set the chair back down with careful precision. Then, in the same calm, deliberate tone, he said:

“Most magic requires contact to be effective.” He swept his gaze across the room. “You all rely too much on your wands.”

Soya’s fingers tightened slightly around his own wand, a slow realization settling over him.

Seikan continued. “A duel is not just about spellwork. It is about control.” His gaze was sharp. “You are not just wizards. You are fighters.” He tilted his head slightly. “Or at least, you should be.”

The students were silent.

Then, finally, Davonte—because of course it would be Davonte—let out a quiet, impressed:

“...Okay. That was kinda cool.”

The silence following Seikan’s demonstration stretched long enough that the weight of his words settled over the class like a smothering blanket. Even Davonte, usually the first to break tension with some kind of quip, seemed to be momentarily at a loss.

Soya’s mind worked quickly, replaying what had just happened. Most magic needs contact to be effective. It was something so obvious, yet none of them had ever thought to approach spellwork this way.

Seikan let the silence linger for another moment before speaking again. “What you have just witnessed,” he stated, “is a fundamental principle of combat. It is not simply about casting spells faster than your opponent. It is about understanding the nature of magic itself.”

His sharp emerald gaze swept over the students. “Your wands are extensions of you. They are not your only means of defense.”

A few students exchanged glances.

Davonte finally found his voice. “So… you’re saying if someone throws a spell at us, we should just start grabbing furniture?”

A flicker of something almost amused crossed Seikan’s face. “If it works.”

A few muffled laughs rippled through the room, though no one was entirely sure if he was joking.

Seikan continued, stepping around the chair he had just used. “Many of you will make the mistake of thinking that if an opponent attacks, you must counter with equal force. This is inefficient.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “A more efficient approach is to deny them the opportunity entirely.”

Soya listened carefully, his grip on his wand tightening.

Seikan turned to the class again. “Defense is not simply about shielding yourself. It is about control. Control of the fight. Control of your opponent. Control of yourself.”

He lifted a single hand, snapping his fingers. “Vareen.”

Soya stiffened.

Seikan tilted his head slightly. “Attack me.”

Soya hesitated.

He had seen Seikan fight. The man had battled a demon and survived. There was no reality where a first-year student, let alone Soya, could actually land a hit on him.

Still, he wasn’t about to refuse.

He adjusted his stance, exhaled slowly, and lifted his wand.

“Depulso!”

The force spell shot forward, sharp and precise—

And Seikan simply stepped aside.

The spell soared past him, striking the stone wall harmlessly.

Soya barely had time to react before Seikan’s wand flicked.

“Expulsum Infernalis.”

Soya moved on instinct, diving to the side just as the spell struck where he had been standing. The impact sent a small shockwave through the floor, rattling desks and knocking over an inkpot.

The class collectively flinched.

Soya scrambled back to his feet, heart pounding.

Seikan lowered his wand. “That was better.”

Soya let out a breath. “Better?”

Seikan nodded. “You moved. You adapted. That is survival.” He turned back to the rest of the class. “If you rely solely on shields and counterspells, you will lose to someone faster than you. If you rely solely on attacking, you will lose to someone smarter than you.”

His expression remained unreadable. “Do both.”

The room was silent again, but this time, the energy had shifted. The students were listening.

Seikan let his words settle before stepping back toward the center of the room. “We will spend the rest of today’s lesson focusing on movement and defense. By the end of this class, you will not just cast spells—you will control the battlefield.”

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Soya straightened slightly.

Seikan wasn’t like other professors. He wasn’t teaching them to pass a test.

He was teaching them to survive.

Soya exhaled slowly, steadying himself after dodging Seikan’s spell. His pulse was still racing from the near miss. He had moved instinctively, without thinking—and that was the part that unsettled him most.

Beside him, Davonte let out a low whistle. “Damn, mate. You’re lucky you dodged that.”

Soya glanced at him. “Yeah. I felt that.”

Davonte rubbed his chin. “That was Expulsum Infernalis, yeah? That spell Marilla taught us a few weeks ago?”

Soya frowned slightly. He remembered that lesson well. The spell had been introduced as an advanced technique, something they were allowed to practice but warned not to use carelessly.

Davonte continued, voice dropping slightly. “I’ve been thinking about it, you know? Back then, Marilla—” He hesitated. “Or, well… Salsiar, probably. I reckon he was already controlling her by that point.”

Soya’s stomach turned slightly.

It made sense.

Expulsum Infernalis wasn’t a standard first-year spell. It wasn’t even a common spell. It was an aggressive, incapacitating technique designed to overwhelm an opponent with sheer concussive force.

If Salsiar had been in control of Marilla then, it meant he had been planting dangerous knowledge into their lessons from the start.

Soya clenched his jaw.

Seikan, who had been allowing the murmurs to linger, suddenly spoke again.

“Your movements will dictate the flow of battle,” he said, his voice crisp, dragging them back into the lesson. “Footwork, positioning, spatial awareness—these matter just as much as your spellwork.”

He turned, stepping toward the center of the room. “Everyone, wands down.”

A pause.

Then the students hesitantly obeyed, tucking their wands away.

Seikan’s expression remained unreadable. “You will not cast spells until I say otherwise. Right now, I will teach you how to avoid them.”

Some students shifted uncomfortably.

Seikan continued, unfazed. “Step forward.”

The class did as they were told, forming a loose semi-circle around him.

Seikan lifted a hand, gesturing to the room. “When you are under attack, your first instinct may be to counter.” His gaze sharpened. “That is not always the best course of action.”

His emerald eyes flicked toward Soya. “Vareen. Again.”

Soya straightened slightly, cautious. “Again?”

Seikan tilted his head. “Attack me.”

Soya inhaled, hesitated just a moment, then moved.

“Depulso!”

The spell shot forward—

And Seikan simply stepped to the side.

Effortless. Precise.

The spell shot harmlessly past him, colliding with the far wall.

Seikan clasped his hands behind his back. “That,” he said, “was footwork.”

Soya swallowed.

Seikan continued. “A spell does not seek its target. It moves in a straight path. If you move first, the spell misses. Simple.”

Davonte, watching closely, huffed. “Yeah, well, easier said than done.”

Seikan raised a single brow. “Then do it.”

Davonte blinked. “Wait, what?”

Seikan’s wand flicked.

“Flipendo.”

Davonte yelped and barely managed to dive to the side before the spell shot past him.

The students gasped.

Seikan’s expression remained composed. “Faster.”

Davonte scrambled to his feet, eyes wide. “What the hell?!”

Seikan ignored him, turning back to the rest of the class. “Each of you will learn how to evade before you ever attempt a counterattack. Do not think. Do not hesitate. Move.”

A sharp crack of his wand against his palm, and suddenly, the students realized—

This wasn’t a lesson.

This was training.

And Seikan Blackthorn did not believe in making things easy.

The energy in the room had shifted.

This wasn’t an ordinary Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Seikan Blackthorn wasn’t teaching them in the way they were used to. He wasn’t lecturing. He wasn’t walking them through spell theory or textbook defenses.

He was training them.

The distinction was subtle, but it was there. Training was something you did to survive.

And Seikan Blackthorn was a survivor.

"Again," Seikan said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

He flicked his wand.

"Depulso."

A student tried to dodge—too slow. The spell clipped their shoulder, sending them stumbling back into a desk with a thud.

"Too predictable," Seikan said. "You moved after the spell was cast. Move first."

Another flick of his wand.

"Flipendo."

Another student yelped, diving aside, barely avoiding the hex as it struck the floor beside them. They landed awkwardly, but they landed.

"Better," Seikan said. His gaze flicked to another student. "Again."

One by one, he targeted them at random, his movements fluid and controlled. His spells were precise—not lethal, but relentless.

The students weren’t being given time to think. That was the point.

They had to react.

They had to survive.

Soya felt his heart hammering in his chest. His turn would come again soon—he knew it. He had dodged once, but that was instinct. If Seikan turned his wand on him again, would he be able to do it twice?

"Depulso."

Soya tensed, but the spell wasn’t aimed at him.

It was aimed at Davonte.

Davonte, in true Davonte fashion, had been smirking just seconds before—right up until the spell hit him square in the chest and sent him flying backwards through a row of desks.

The room went silent, the enter class seemed to be collectively holding their breath.

A moment later, a groan came from the wreckage. Davonte’s hand weakly lifted from behind an overturned chair. “...I hate this class.”

Seikan didn’t even blink. "Pain is an excellent teacher," he said.

Davonte groaned again.

Tiana, despite herself, snorted.

Seikan turned back to the class, expression unreadable. "Magic is not a shield against reality," he stated. "Your wands will not save you if your mind is too slow. Your body will not survive if you hesitate."

His gaze swept over them, sharp and cold. "Survival is what matters. Not your grades. Not your pride. If you cannot keep up, you will not last when it truly counts."

The room was utterly still.

Seikan let his words settle before nodding slightly. "Again."

And the training continued.

The lesson finally ended.

Not with a neat conclusion, nor with any parting words of encouragement—Seikan Blackthorn wasn’t the type for that. Instead, he had simply flicked his wand one last time, dismissing them all with a simple, "You may go."

No praise. No final remarks. Just the quiet understanding that they had survived another hour of his brutal, no-nonsense training.

Soya was exhausted.

Not physically—his body was fine—but mentally? His brain felt like it had been put through a wringer. His nerves were still wired from dodging spells, his thoughts racing through everything Seikan had said, trying to process it all.

Next to him, Davonte groaned as he stretched his arms, still clearly sore from being launched into a row of desks. "Man, I am never gonna recover from that class."

"You’ll live," Draven said dryly, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.

"I dunno, mate. I think my soul took damage."

Kalsei grinned, from behind him. "On the bright side, you did get some valuable combat experience."

Davonte scoffed. "Experience? I got flung across the classroom like a bloody ragdoll!"

Tiana smirked. "And yet, you still kept running your mouth. Fascinating."

They continued walking toward their common room, the usual post-class banter keeping their spirits light—until they rounded a corner.

And froze.

A truly unexpected sight greeted them.

Grundle Strang, their half-giant classmate, was standing towering over someone much, much smaller.

Sage Blackthorn.

The two were standing in the middle of the corridor, and while Sage normally had a presence that made people wary, it was utterly dwarfed by Grundle’s sheer size.

The five of them stopped walking, watching with fascination.

Grundle tilted his head down, his warm amber eyes filled with something deeply sincere.

"You look like you need a hug," he said simply.

Sage stiffened instantly, his expression turning into a scowl. "What?"

Grundle, unfazed, nodded thoughtfully. "Yep. You look like you really need a hug."

Sage took a slow step back, his body tense. "I don’t—"

Grundle scooped him up.

Effortlessly.

Like lifting a kitten.

"Put me down," Sage snapped, his voice caught somewhere between fury and outright horror.

Grundle gave him a soft pat on the back, holding him with the kind of gentle strength that defied reason. "Shhh," he rumbled. "It’s okay."

Sage’s entire body went rigid. "I swear, if you don’t—"

Grundle gave him another gentle squeeze. "There, there."

Soya, Draven, Davonte, Kalsei, and Tiana stood there, completely frozen, watching this unfold in utter disbelief.

Sage Blackthorn. The cold, calculating, ruthless student who barely showed an ounce of warmth to anyone… was currently being cuddled like an upset toddler in the arms of the kindest half-giant in Austramore.

Sage struggled, but it was pointless.

Grundle was Grundle.

"You’re fighting the inevitable," Grundle said cheerfully, patting him again.

Sage let out an actual snarl. "Put. Me. Down."

Grundle finally relented, setting him carefully back onto the ground.

Sage stumbled, his face caught between rage and humiliation.

Grundle just smiled warmly down at him. "See? Bet you feel better already."

Sage’s expression suggested he wanted to commit several violent crimes.

The five of them watching were barely containing themselves.

Davonte leaned over to Kalsei, whispering, "This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life."

Kalsei nodded fervently.

Sage, regaining his composure, glared up at Grundle. His voice was low, seething. "Never do that again."

Grundle just gave him a thumbs up. "Okay!"

Sage stormed off, robes billowing, his entire existence vibrating with fury.

The moment he was out of sight, the five of them lost it.

Davonte was doubled over, wheezing with laughter. Kalsei had to physically support himself against a wall. Tiana, normally composed, was grinning into her sleeve. Even Draven looked mildly amused.

Soya just stood there, still trying to process what had just happened.

Grundle turned back to them, smiling warmly. "That was nice."

Davonte wiped a tear from his eye. "Mate. You’re a legend."

Grundle beamed. "Thanks!"

And with that, the half-giant wandered off, completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t just traumatized one of the most dangerous students in Austramore with sheer affection.

Soya let out a breath.

Austramore was insane.