Ryan almost stepped on a slime on his way back to the table. He lifted his legs and arms unnecessarily high and glanced around for its owner. The tiny blue ball rolled on to its destination.
Saga.
Sorry, she mouthed in the distance.
“Not in the middle of the cafeteria!” he called, unsure if she had heard him, and slipped back onto the bench. He promptly started ripping the extra roll he’d gotten in half and then to shreds.
One glance at Lisa and he asked, “What are you doing?”
She slurped soup from the rim of her bowl and looked up. “Hm?” Between her fingers, electricity crackled. She waggled them, clenched and unclenched her fist, and splayed her hand before doing it again.
“That. What are you doing?” With the shreds of bread, he began to clean up his own bowl.
“Nothing.”
“It’s clearly something. A new spell? Nervous tick? Just showing off to someone again?”
Ryan glanced around, but couldn’t see anyone paying attention. He did see more signs of magic. The school had become a magical wasteland ever since Ms. Denner had relaxed some of the traditional rules surrounding it during assembly a month ago. Out of nowhere. Based on some of the teachers’ comments, he was pretty sure they were going to go back on some of it, but until then people did whatever they wanted. That involved tiny messenger monsters running around everywhere with gossip.
“I’m just brushing up on the basics.”
“Why?”
Micah was too immersed in his textbook to notice. Ryan had to ask the questions for once.
“Because. None of your business.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “‘Just asking.”
“Oh, yeah? When’s the last time you practiced your fire spell?”
He scowled because they both knew the answer to that. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “with the archery club and stuff.”
‘Stuff’ being finding a job, having to buy books for his finalized Classes, and actually study for them again. Micah had it even worse than him, in some ways. In others … well, he was spared of having to do too much thanks to his injury. Ryan was hesitant to call it a blessing in disguise. It wasn’t often that he saw Micah angry. These last few weeks, before the cast had come off, there had definitely been more of it. And now that it was off, nothing had changed.
“Archery,” Lisa asked. “How’s that going? Fun?”
“No,” Ryan started, “not fun. Continuously missing my target and having everyone else wait and stare until I finish so we can collect our arrows is not the definition of fun in my books.”
“That bad?”
“Isn’t Alex also in your club?” Micah asked. Because of course, he joined the conversation then.
“Alex sucks.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“You seem grumpy,” Lisa pointed out.
“I am grumpy.” Once he’d acknowledged it, Ryan began to aggressively stuff his food in his face.
“Why?”
“Dingetmuchsleep,” he grumbled between bites. It was the first answer that came to mind. He doubted it was the only one.
“So? That hasn’t bothered you before.”
“When have you seen me lose sleep before?”
Micah’s face lit up. “Oh, is it because of your new roommate?”
“He also sucks.”
“New roommate—?” Lisa began.
“What about you?” he interrupted, because he would really rather not. He glanced at them. “How are you with a bow?”
Micah blinked. “I have never … practiced archery in my life.”
“That’s not good. What if you pick a weapon course someday and they want you to fire some arrows at a target and fail?”
Micah did a rare thing and scowled. His eyes flickered down to his textbook. Last night had been the fourth time he’d slept over while studying. Fourth time to sleep in, at least, even if he claimed otherwise.
Ryan knew why and he wasn’t helping.
Shit.
He took a deep breath and curbed his frustration a bit. Turning to Lisa, he spoke more calmly, “And you?”
“Not signing up for any weapon courses like that,” she said. “It’s literally half the reason why I came here.”
Right. He poked Micah with the leftover half a loaf and pointed at his soup. His food was basically untouched. Ryan dunked the bread inside and said, “Eat. Breakfast is almost over soon and you need it, now more than ever.” Micah frowned at his soup. “And listen, you can drop by the archery range any time you want. I can show you the basics, even if I suck.”
That got a smile out of him. He carefully got the loaf out, but what he said was, “I doubt I’ll have time.”
True, Ryan thought.
“Don’t tell me you’re grumpy, too,” Lisa said, sounding like she was genuinely unhappy for him. She had to be in a good mood. Had something happened? “I thought you would be happy about getting back into shape?”
“But I’m not,” Micah said. There was still some bite in his voice, but none of it was directed at them. “I’m— I finally got the cast off but I’m so busy studying all the time I have almost no time to train. Half my teachers are on my case for not keeping up in class. Others couldn’t answer the questions either, but they don’t get called on because they didn’t skip two grades.”
“Oh.”
For once, Lisa didn’t have something to say.
Ryan struggled to find anything, either.
Micah must have noticed because he quickly backpedaled, “Not that it’s so bad. This will definitely help with exams in December. I just need to brush up on some things again. Like you said, the basics.”
So he had been listening. He gave them a reassuring smile. “I just need to study some more for History on Wednesday. Then I can go jogging with— Oh.” He stopped, noticing his mistake.
“Maybe in December?” Ryan offered.
“What?” Lisa asked. “What am I missing?” She seemed to remember the answer right away because she added, “Oh, right. You’re doing waste collecting now. Is that why you’re so grum—”
“No,” Ryan interrupted. “It’s actually pretty great to be doing something. And Micah had Mason make me something for the smell, so that’s fine. Just not when you get woken up in the middle of the night by some weirdo with a rat tail.”
The moment he said it, both Micah and he winced. Poor choice of words. Even worse memories.
“I meant the hairstyle.”
“And I meant because you can’t jog with Saga,” Lisa said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gave him a taunting grin.
“It’s just two more weeks,” he told her, “and we don’t ‘jog’ together anyway. We run at different speeds.”
The city had some waste piled up from the Tower incident and only recently gotten enough people together to get to the right floors. Even less than schools, companies that claimed they could escort workers couldn’t afford to have them separate through the portal, so they had to be sure. It wasn’t like the workers themselves could go climbing to get that access.
Now, they wanted to get rid of the extra waste, but that meant extra shifts and they needed hands in other places. Ryan had a strength Skill and was used to waking up early. Those were basically the only two requirements for the type of work he was doing.
“Does Alex really suck?” Micah asked.
Ryan needed a moment to backtrack. “In general? No. With a bow and arrow? Also, no.”
“Wivvy?” Micah said, munching on soup-dunked bread.
Really?
Ryan nodded. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had an [Archer] Class.”
“Which Classes does he have?”
Ryan shrugged. Hell as if he knew.
Micah frowned. “We shared Classes first night, my roommates and I. I wonder which ones your new one has. You, Lisa?”
“My roommate alternates between acting like I don’t exist and wanting to strangle me in my sleep.”
“Mm.” He munched on some bread. “Angey.”
Angry.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“More—” He started, then thankfully swallowed. “More angry now that you get to summon Sam?”
“Not really, no.” She splayed her hand again and lightning arced. There was definitely something up with that. Maybe preliminary exams? Either way, she seemed busy. They all were. Exams were at the beginning of December, not that far away.
In a way, it was good they had something to do. On the other hand, sleep was key to appreciation and Ryan hadn't gotten much of it.
He pressed the butts of his hands into his eyes and applied enough pressure to see spots, trying to stifle a yawn. When he dropped them, he motioned to get more food and remembered he had given the last half to Micah. Lisa was finishing up her food—there was nothing to steal there. And Micah really needed all the food he could get right now.
Great. Another trip to the counter and basket of rolls it was. They didn’t have that long before class. Already, the cafeteria looked almost empty around them, with more and more people walking out.
Ryan pushed up at the same time as one of those stepped aside to approach their table.
“Hey, you’re Ryan Payne, right?”
A guy. Short, light-brown hair and freckles. About Alex’s height. While Ryan’s capacity for remembering names might have been shit, he was pretty sure he had never seen him before.
Another new student?
“Uh.”
Ryan gripped his tray.
“Oh, are you leaving?”
That depends on if you want to talk to me, was his knee-jerk reaction. In truth, he was lagging behind. Micah had already probably made two-dozen friends by now and Ryan had—
Did his roommates count as friends? He doubted it. He also felt like strangling some of them sometimes. Alex was the best of them and he had really gotten on Ryan’s nerves last night.
Maybe Saga?
Connor … no.
When he didn’t answer, the guy asked, “Can I sit?”
Ryan smiled. “Sur—”
He’d already sat.
“I’m Eliot,” he said, revealing white teeth. “You’re Ryan?”
“I’m Micah,” Micah threw in, but it came out as a mumble instead of his usual cheer. He and Lisa both were frowning at the newcomer like one of their magic puzzles. Ryan glanced at them, then Eliot, and belatedly added a frown of his own. Why? Was something off about him? He sniffed, but he smelled alright.
“Sure,” Eliot brushed Micah off without looking.
Oh, not this again, Ryan thought. His patience evaporated. What was it with people who approached others but had no patience for their friends? It was just an insult by proxy and made him think something was wrong with them.
“You’re the guy who can mimic animals, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. He wasn’t really paying attention. He wondered what Eliot would do if he just got up and left. Ryan did want to grab something else to eat before class. He only had so much time.
“And monsters?”
“Mm.”
“And you get Skills from it? Like a [Blue Mage], then?” he sounded vaguely excited.
“Yeah?”
“Join my team.”
Wait, what? Ryan looked at him.
“Do you have a team already?”
That Ryan could answer. “Yes.” He wanted him to slow down for a moment, but Eliot was quicker.
“But have you done the paperwork for it yet?”
He frowned. “No?”
“Great. Then quit them and join me.” He beamed. “I’m a [Blue Mage], too. I want to make a team entirely comprised out of people who mimic monsters. We could call ourselves the Demihumans, or Team Blue, or—”
“Wait, what are you on about?” Ryan interrupted him.
“Blue magic,” he said. “Not the color magic, though. Nothing against [Color Mages], but there are a few others who are actual [Blue Mages] at the school, like this girl called Myra and—”
“Yeah, I know her, but—”
“Oh you, do? Awesome,” he just went on, “but I heard there are also a few who mimic monsters in others ways. Like you? I’m not sure if you are a [Blue Mage] or [Fighter]. Either is fine—”
“I—”
“But if you started as the later and become one, or if you still are, we could really use some melee combatants.”
“We?”
“Not that we would need to shore up with other Classes, because [Blue Mages] can do everything, because monsters can do everything. If we need to cover one of the requirements for the Tower exam, we can just have—”
It was hopeless, Ryan realized. Eliot was just rambling. Had the other two realized he was a nutcase right away? Was that why they were trying to bore through his skull? Ryan tried to catch their eyes and failed.
“—have each member focus on mimicking a different one and then collect all the skills,” he was saying, “but still, having someone with actual frontline Skills would be useful and—”
“Are you wearing makeup?” Micah asked.
That did the trick. Ryan could have hugged him for finding something to interrupt the lunatic with, because he shut up and looked at Micah for the first time since approaching the table.
Ryan did a double-take and leaned closer. Was he wearing makeup? Not that he could see.
“No,” Lisa said. “A spell, fueled in part by excess. Cameleon-based? Octopus? Altered too much with a color spell to tell, to mimic appearances … I thought you people preferred cosmetics?”
Eliot’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m impressed. Are you also a—”
Micah blinked and asked, “What are you?”
That seemed like a strange question to ask, with a lot of connotations.
Eliot shut up, which, based on Ryan’s minute interaction with him, seemed like a miracle. He sighed and seemed to lose the manic energy. So he could act like a normal human being after all.
With a blink, he widened his eyes and looked at Micah as if to show him something.
At the same time, Lisa said, “Vat.”
His irises were a light shade of purple.
Greedy, manipulative, patient.
Ryan thought back to a hundred different plays and stories. An eager smile on untouched cardboard cutouts—because they hadn’t needed to paint them or used colored papers to get the skin and hair tones right. They always had a black-dripping pen and contract in hand.
Greedy, manipulative, patient, but most importantly: Immortal.
“Half,” Eliot said.
“Oh.” Lisa lowered her voice. “My condolences.”
He shrugged.
“Condolences?” Micah asked. “Why that?”
“Wait,” Ryan interrupted, heart beating a thousand times a second, “are we skipping over that there’s an actual vat sitting at our table? If you are an actual vat?” Was this Lisa’s idea of a prank?
She hadn’t seemed to know him, though.
“Half,” Eliot stressed.
“And what does that mean?”
“That he’s better than you,” Lisa said.
“Your words,” he said and answered Ryan, “And it means the other half is human, obviously.”
“Still, you look awfully old to be here,” Lisa said.
Right, Ryan thought. He looked like a fifteen-year-old but he could actually be three hundred years old for all they knew.
“How old are you? Twenty-two? ‘Three?”
“Sixteen,” Eliot answered. Lisa looked surprised, and he shrugged. “Everyone else was aging—”
“So you did, too?”
“It’s just a few years. It’s not like I’m going to live out my entire lifespan. Nobody does.”
Lisa smiled. “Tell that to your parent.”
“‘Would, if they were around.”
Her smile fell.
Eliot turned to Ryan. Only a trace of his earlier excitement showed, but he could see so much more now beyond that now. “Look, I just want to start an adventuring team full of [Blue Mages]. I always have, as long as I can remember. I think it would be awesome. But not everyone can or wants to do it, for whatever reason. They lack the affinity. If you want to join, come talk to me? I’m going to try to convince Myra in the meantime.”
“Good luck,” Micah said. He sounded like he meant it.
The cafeteria was almost empty, with only a handful of students scattered at tables. Eliot looked about ready to leave, his hand pressed against the table and the other gripping his tray.
“Thank you for the offer,” Ryan said in a stilted, polite voice. He still unsure how to react because that was a freaking vat. Right in front of him. In the flesh. Even if he was only half, or no—especially because of it. There weren’t many of his kind. How was he even supposed to act? Were there any things he wasn’t allowed to say or do? He didn’t want to offend him. “But I doubt I will accept it. I already have a team. And I’m a [Fighter] who copies mostly passive Skills, not a [Blue Mage].”
Eliot sighed and finished standing up. “Your loss. But I tried.”
“And your secret?” Micah asked.
He shrugged. “Not really a secret, but you can treat it like one if you would like. It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too,” came a chorus of replies.
Ryan felt the irrational urge to jump up, run after him, and ask a billion questions. A freaking vat.
The moment Eliot was out of earshot, Micah spun on Lisa. “What did you mean with condolences?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because he’s only half.”
“So?”
“Half the benefits and twice the complications. Can’t have children, for one. Actually, that’s the biggest.”
“Like, at all?”
“Highly unlikely. Like a mule, you know? Half human, half vat, but not really part of either.”
“What about with another half-vat?”
“More likely, but still highly unlikely. With a chance of more complications.”
“Aw.”
“Exactly.”
Eliot stepped out of the cafeteria.
“Ryan.”
A prompt.
“Mm?”
“Ryan, you’re staring,” Lisa said.
“Huh?” He turned back to them.
She smiled. “Are you going to ask him for an autograph, too?”
“What? No,” he scoffed and stood up. He couldn’t stop himself from blushing. “Shut up. ‘Just surprised, is all. A half-vat going to our school. Half-human, too, I suppose.”
“Mm, makes you wonder which four corners Ameryth scratched the new students from,” Lisa said as she joined him.
Micah began scarfing down the rest of his food and hurried up after them. They dropped their trays off in a box and headed back for their belongings. Backpacks. Gym bags. Lisa’s staff.
Ryan had a thought as he slipped his bag out from under the table and held it up for Micah to see.
“Excited?” he asked.
“Hm?” Micah noticed the bag, looked surprised, hesitated, and only then nodded. “Definitely.” The cast was off and he had recovered enough. Today was the first time he would get to participate in combat training.
----------------------------------------
“You know the drill,” Mr. Sundberg said and headed toward the equipment shed with a jingling band of keys.
Micah didn’t, but followed the herd anyway. A thin sheen of sweat made his skin itch in the weirdest places, like his cheek or knuckles—where scratching was less than satisfying—and he was still trying to catch his breath from the warm-up laps.
He’d tried to keep up with a fit-looking guy at random instead of Ryan, because Ryan ran slow on purpose. Despite everything, he still hadn’t shaken his habit of helping others with small gestures, specifically ones that inconvenienced himself more than anything. Micah tried to balance the scales in his mind, emotionally, but it just seemed like another kind of lie.
The metal doors of the locker rattled. A ball rolled off a shelf. Sundberg tapped it with his foot and the nearest student plucked it out of the air, then headed off. Nine more were passed around before the crowd scattered. Outside, a small few were busy taking down two of the nets, Ryan included.
Lost, Micah shuffled up to him.
“Myra and Thomas pick one of the teams,” Mr. Sundberg called. The two pushed off their benches. “Stephanie and … Nick pick the others. Lady’s first.”
“What’s happening?”
“Dodgeball. To warm up,” Ryan said. “Like Jo’s training. Sundberg thinks we’ll slack off if we don’t do it.”
“Ah.”
That wasn’t so bad, right? Micah had been great at agility training during Bootcamp. He literally had a Skill for it. But he still felt queasy. If he sucked now when he had used to be great …
“We do this every session?”
Ryan nodded. “Or something similar. Though he hasn’t had us do much yet. Basic equipment training, fall exercises, self-defense techniques, practice matches, and general lessons in-between.”
Mrya snatching up Thea while voting. Thomas picked Vladi of all people. Maybe they knew each other?
“Micah.”
He looked up. “Huh?”
Stephanie beamed at him and waved him over. Why had she picked him? “Welcome back,” she said when he walked to her. “You finally got your cast off?”
“Uhm, yeah. Thanks.”
So she was just being nice, like always. The scale shifted.
“Ryan,” Myra called.
No.
The guy looked like he was grumbling something in the back of his throat as he stalked over to stand by her. They were separated by one of the nets, then. Maybe that was for the best?
Both the guys tried to pick someone at the same time and glared at each other.
“Thomas goes first,” Sundberg said. “One by one, people. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
There were close to forty people in the course so they formed two groups—four teams—and split. The hall would have been big enough for three dodgeball matches at the same time.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
It was obvious Stephanie was just picking whoever she liked instead of the ones who were fit, against all common sense. Micah was in a team full of chatting friends or friends-of-friends.
Myra did the same, but the people she liked were those who were physically fit. Thea, Ryan, Lisa. She seemed to prefer girls, just like the other two preferred guys, and snatched up the best. She tried to pick Sarah, but apparently Thea and she didn’t like each other.
“I don’t want to play with that dyke. Pick Lea instead. Oh, or Lukas.”
Mean.
Micah was a little glad he was on Stephanie’s team of smiles. He supposed Myra wouldn’t have picked him anyway. But as the crowd thinned and their group grew, he grew more and more anxious as he imagined disappointing those smiles. They would still want to win.
“Fine, Lea,” Myra said. She put her index finger and thumb together and pulled them back as if actually plucking her from the crowd.
Stephanie looked nervous. The moment it was her turn, she grinned and called, “Lukas!”
The lanky giant walked over, two heads taller than both of them, and got one of the balls. Two to each team. Mr. Sundberg stood on a bench between the fields and held up the last pair. “Game starts the moment they hit the ground,” he said and unceremoniously threw them in a high arc toward the center of each field—the exact center, Micah witnessed. It was a subtle reminder of his level.
A few headed forward to try and snatch them up. The rest backed up to the corners, himself included. The balls hit the sand and—
Three dodgeballs hit the ground—misses. The guy next to Micah got hit and groaned as he walked off the court. Micah didn’t even see who’d thrown. He scrambled away from its rebound, then rushed forward to pluck it from the air. He hadn’t been the only one. He stole it from two teammates, then half-limped, half-ran forward to the line to throw it at the nearest enemy.
Too soft, too slow. They dodged and the person behind them caught the ball. Luckily, they threw in the opposite corner with a vengeance.
Wait, did that mean Micah was out? His opponent had caught the ball. He didn’t know which rules they were playing by. Nobody said anything. Somebody even herded him back to safety. He stayed and danced half a meter away from the divider since he didn’t know if indirect hits would count.
For the most part, the opponents ignored him. Stephanie got hit and took it with a smile, but jokingly made them swear vengeance on her way out. So people couldn’t get back in, then. The first four collected balls out-of-bounds and brought them back to Mr. Sundberg, who threw them to the centers. Those were up for grabs from the start. Each side had an advantage. Opportunity versus vector. Someone on his team tried to jump and catch a ball before it landed and immediately got hit in the air. He still smacked the ball down into their field.
One of the two rolled in front of Micah and he snatched it up. When he had the chance to throw, he took too long to aim and doubts welled up. He tossed it to his left, to Lukas instead, who immediately planted it in someone’s helmet.
“Nice pass!”
Yeah. Sure.
The scale tipped.
Somebody threw a ball at Micah in retaliation. He barely dodged, but their teammate next to them had another. They were grouping up—
The ball smacked against his shoulder. Micah fell. He needed a second to realize what had happened. Somebody was offering him a hand with a smile and an eye on their opponents.
“You okay?”
He slapped the hand away and scrambled up. There was sand in his ear and sand in his armor. It itched. Everything itched. It had for the past five weeks and no amount of scratching helped. Sometimes, it still itched beneath his skin. The ball had come to a stop next to him and he kicked it away.
“Dammit!”
It bounced off the divider and onto the other field, weak enough that somebody could catch it. They thanked him with a grin.
“Language!” Sundberg called. “And no kicking! Get off the field!”
Micah stomped away. The sixth person out, just a few minutes into the game, and he had fallen on his ass from flinching. He sat on a bench and sulked. No doubt, Lisa and Ryan were winning theirs.
“Your leg still hasn’t recovered?” Stephanie asked as she ran by with one of the balls.
He shrugged.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she added a moment later.
He ignored her.
It wasn’t just that he hadn’t had time to train yet—which he hadn’t—it was that he was weak. Even with physical therapy, which had picked up after his finger cast had come off, Micah still felt like he had to strain to do anything. Like he had just gotten out of a long training session and had to go back into one again, but none of his muscles were warm and they refused to get warm.
There was no way he had been this weak when he’d first started with Ryan. No way. Micah felt like he was the wrong size, the wrong shape. Everything he did was uncomfortable. His right side felt slower than his left. He kept on having to adjust to the dissonance, make sure he didn’t embarrass himself with a limp.
He’d imagined running around like an idiot when the casts came off, wanting to do somersaults, or follow Ryan up the wall to the ledge when he did his traction training. But if he tried to do any of that now, he’d just end up with his face in a wall or his ass on the ground.
It sucked.
He sucked.
It didn’t take long for the groups to thin into survivors. Ryan didn’t join him on the bench. Mr. Sundberg turned to the losers and told them to run more laps as sitting around wouldn’t help.
Micah reluctantly got up and ran. After just one lap of trying to keep up with someone, he gave up and went at his own speed—he’d already failed, what did it matter? All the while, he wished he had a short-cut to get to the front, where he had been back before he’d poisoned a man.
Then the games ended and the matches began.
Ten groups of four, two of three, and poles were put up to hang more nets from to bisect the fields. Five became ten. His group was one of the ones with just three people. Stephanie and Myra were his opponents of all people, after Mr. Sundberg had made them count numbers. They were supposed to spar round-robin style, everyone fighting each other once. That meant they only had two matches while everyone else had three. Or three versus six in total.
Micah was pretty sure they were both [Mages]. And a mage’s most common weapon was fire.
Ryan must have noticed because he approached Mr. Sundberg as the class split up to get their gear. “Sir, could I switch with uh … Micah’s group?”
Micah only noticed because he heard his name. The scales were gone—kicked to the ground along with the ball earlier—and every single helpful gesture from Ryan in the past just made him angier.
What the hell did he think he was doing?
Micah didn’t know how to react, so he ended up glaring. It wasn’t like he could just cut into a conversation with a teacher to tell somebody to shut up. Did he want them to know?
“No switching,” Sundberg said.
“But they only have three—”
“And does your group have five?” he interrupted him, dismissive. “No. It doesn’t solve anything. We’re two students short for a perfect split. Why, did you want to spar with Mr. Stranya?”
Ryan looked over at Micah, noticed he was watching, and passed the question along. Did he?
For a second, Micah felt like nodding. Sure. He wanted to fight somebody. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. Then all his frustration scrambled back into a corner in his mind like a rushing ebb. He could feel the way his fist met Ryan’s jawbone. He frantically shook his head.
No.
Some things weren’t meant to be broken. Besides, he would only have embarrassed himself.
“No,” Ryan said. “No, but I meant like, switch?”
Micah frowned and glanced at Ryan’s field. Two people with practice spears, one with a sword, and two had shields. [Fighters]?
“Stranya’s group only has three members,” Mr. Sundberg said. “It’ll be good to ease him into this, don’t you think?”
He sighed and hung his head. “Yes, sir.” He gave Micah one last look and held his fist out, fingers to him. He tapped his ring finger. Micah nodded. He was wearing it. That seemed to reassure him as he left.
Micah turned to his own group. Stephanie had just jogged back, now with a heavy block attached to her side. Myra was doing basic stretches for her upper body with a practice sword.
“Is that a … spellbook?” Micah asked.
She glanced down. “Yeah. It’s my family’s, not my own.” She undid a heavy latch and lifted it up to page through.
Just glimpsing it stung Micah’s eyes. The pages deceived him. The writing on it seemed to move—because it did. Spellbooks were made of writing on multiple pages, he knew, which fused to become visually one. It was a way of giving the drawings depth and movement to go through the spells.
He looked away. Stephanie was just a centimeter taller than him, so talking to her was easier than most. She was still two years older than him. “Have you made any progress with that?” She hung out the workshop sometimes with Delilah to work on a spellbook project.
“A little, actually,” she said and began leafing through. “Though Saga and Delilah disagree. I just want a spellbook for me, that I can make without having to pay ridiculous sums for mana crystals, you know? Do you know they haven’t even found any yet, in the new Tower?”
He shook his head.
“Well, they want spellbooks for everyone. Saga even insists on them being used without mana if you can believe it. They’re true revolutionaries. I’m … pretty sure I want to become a [Wizard] or something. A [Pictomancer], maybe. And there’s a bunch of research for that already.”
Micah smiled. “That’s great.”
“Yep.”
“Are you two done or can we get started?” Myra asked.
“Just a second,” Stephanie said and began to leaf more quickly. Freshening up on her options?
Micah slipped the training shortsword from the sheath and hefted it, getting used to the weight in his hand. His heartbeat was too fast imagining what was about to happen. He undid the latch on his knife—he doubted it would slip out—and checked the straps on his shield. Everything was ready. He was wearing the ring. This was just sparring. This was just sparring.
“Do you want me to go first?” Myra asked.
“No! No, I can go,” Stephanie said. She slapped her book shut and hung it back on her waist. Aside from it, her equipment matched his, even the knife. Standard set, he assumed.
“Do you want to fight Micah?”
“Sure.” She smiled at him. “Sure?”
Micah smiled back and headed to the opposite end of the field. With the distance halved, they only had a few meters between them unlike Ryan and Lisa when they sparred. Barely any distance at all.
They needed to wait a few more seconds until Mr. Sundberg announced the matches. Three rounds. Two minutes each. He timed them. Whoever had the most points at the end won. The rules had been discussed earlier and in previous sessions, some of which Micah had missed. There would even be an exam on them, which they would have to write on the benches. He was still pretty confident he knew them all.
As soon as the round began, Micah hesitated with his sword drawn, then went on the offensive.
Stephanie slapped her spellbook with her shield arm and a distortion rippled like the surface of a pond. She cast, “[Swath of Flames].” Where she dragged her hand, a wave of ripplings flames spread out toward him. Like a rippling tablecloth in the wind flooding toward him.
Micah froze up, but the flames didn’t reach. They were just a distraction. He realized too late. He tried to move his shield, but Stephanie’s sword smacked him on the side of the head and he stumbled right.
Dead.
He went with the force and stumbled away to the corner of the field. She pursued and he blocked two strikes before getting a glancing strike of his own in at her side—and her book.
“Shit—”
“It’s alright,” she interrupted and kept up the offense. She slowly built up pressure while talking. “It’s in a protective case. It’s meant for Tower climbing.” She was still smiling, like always.
He was heaving. “Right.” He deflected another strike—almost right into his neck instead of his chest—and had to stumble away from it, tripped, and almost fell out-of-bounds. He ran the momentum off down the edge of the field and retreated.
Stephanie paused, giving him a moment’s respite. “You … really haven’t recovered, have you? You’re out of breath already.”
Recovered. She thought it was because of the physical exertion. He nodded and changed topics, “Nice trick. The flames.”
A river of flames coming toward him—
Not now.
She moved around and thrust a testing jab at him. “Thanks. It usually gets me a hit in.”
“Three to one,” Myra reminded them, shutting up their chatter.
Stephanie tried a few more strikes before she repeated the same motion as earlier. She slapped her book and said, “[Swath of—”
Micah readied himself to run, but she broke off halfway through and ran at him. She fought even dirtier than him. Using his moment’s distraction, she struck.
He shoved the sword aside and tried to get on her left side, put her weapon out of reach and get an advantage. His right leg—leading leg—lagged too much and she turned. He still struck. She parried and punched a [Firebolt] right into his rib. It slipped just past his shield.
Ryan’s dead.
Micah backed off as quick he could. “Are you left-handed?” he asked, actually wheezing from exertion. The hit to the lungs didn’t help. Had she hidden the [Firebolt] behind her shield? Normally, those took a moment to prepare, even for people casting them as a Skill.
“I am! How did you know?”
“Just a guess.”
Way too dexterous to be non-dominant.
“Five-one—” Myra started.
“Round!” Mr. Sundberg called.
Micah nodded and caught his breath. He really did suck. Stephanie was too kind to go easy on him.
“So your book,” he started during the break. “How does it work?”
“Mm, it’s sort of like a learning help? I know some of the spells in it—as Skills, you know?—but looking through it beforehand helps me cast the others more quickly. Even without knowing them. And I have two Skills that make casting in general easier with items, one of which is part of the ‘progress’ I told you about.”
So targeting it was a lesser priority. He’d hoped she might be casting the spells through the book.
“A level up?”
She shook her head. “Path.”
“Still, congratulations.”
She grinned. “Thanks.”
“To your positions!” Mr. Sundberg called a moment later. “Come on now, don’t lag behind. Round Two!”
He went on the offense again as the cogs started turning. Even with Skills and a spellbook, she was still a [Mage]. Ryan was on the upper end of mana for his age. Thirty-seven. Or maybe it was more now. A [Firebolt] cost between four and seven mana on average? [Swathe of Flames] … Easily twice or three times that. She still had to fight Myra after this or treat the fights as if she had to fight three opponents. Even adding on her mana regeneration, she couldn’t keep this up.
A trick. That really was what it had been. Especially the feint. The [Firebolt] an opportunity taken. If he were her, he’d assess the round before deciding how to spend his mana next time.
He was right, as it turned out. She stuck to parrying him and traditional sword-fighting as they fought. He was wary of any sudden [Firebolts] being punched past his defenses and kept an eye on her shield hand, but none came.
Still, he was slower and weaker. He was out of practice. Using every advantage he could, he could only close the distance by one point. Eight to four. He tried his best and after the round, was covered in sweat.
Why not let Lisa die while you’re at it? his mind told him.
He shook his head. He needed something to drink. Too lazy to go back to the benches to get his bottle, he just cast [Condense Water] over his open mouth and wondered if he could use it in the fight.
“Handy, that,” Stephanie said.
Micah tried to look to her, coughed, and broke the spell off. Some of it splashed over his face and onto his clothes. It wasn’t bad. After he caught his breath, he asked, “You don’t know it?”
“Not yet.”
“Took me ages to learn it,” he grumbled. “All because of a simple mistake.”
“I know the feeling. You don’t have to learn a spell as a Skill, though, you know?” she said and stretched. “I mean, some spells are just easier to cast free. And there are other options besides. Spellbooks, component casting, crystals … It’s just handy and looks great on paper.”
“Well, yeah,” Micah said, “but …”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
“I think learning mana manipulation is better than rigid spellcasting. Gives you more options.”
He shrugged. It wasn’t like he was a [Mage].
When Mr. Sundberg called round three, Stephanie began with a [Firebolt] to his chest.
Micah barely managed to block over the short distance. The heat washed over the wood and she went on the offensive, pushing her advantage. He couldn’t keep up. She even tried to give him tips in-between trades before he stopped her.
“Don’t,” he gasped.
“I just—”
“No, I know. But I have a combat Path. I know what to do, I’m just not fast enough to do it.”
Not physically or mentally.
“Oh.”
“This is already helping,” he assured her.
She nodded and didn’t hold back.
In the end, he lost. Twelve to seven. The moment Mr. Sundberg called time, he dropped his stance.
“You want to take a break?” she asked. “I can go up against Myra first. Or maybe we could all take a break. We have fewer matches than—”
“You just want to regenerate,” Myra cut in.
Stephanie smiled at her. “No?” Her tone didn’t fool anyone. “I just … want to be more of a challenge to you?”
That almost seemed to convince Myra, but she shook her head. “Maybe after the third, for the sixth.”
“Sure.”
They idled. Stephanie headed over to the net to talk with a friend one field over. Myra didn’t really seem talkative. The break between matches was longer than those between rounds.
Micah was glad to give her the next match because he needed to catch his breath. He headed for the benches and sat down to drink something properly, then wrenched his glove off to itch his knuckles with a grimace. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, turning the scales.
They were just sparring, he knew, they still had eight weeks to prepare, and they wouldn’t even be allowed on a floor half as dangerous as the one Ryan and he had survived, but Micah still felt like it didn’t matter. They would improve, too, the other students. Everyone would. And teams would be sorted relative that to that curve. If they were allowed on the floors one to four, the best teams that could go to nine would be sorted to four. Everyone else would be sorted beneath them. Micah didn’t want to let his team down. He didn’t want to get hit when every hit could mean another injury like the one he had just spent seven weeks recovering from. And still wasn’t over. Especially if it meant having to force someone to save him again. That first strike from Stephanie, if it had come from the Hermit or Maria, would have taken his head clean off. Then Ryan would have had to fight on his own.
Micah wanted to be better, but …
He did stretches while his group fought. Exercises. He pushed his body to be warm. Nobody bothered him, thankfully. He tried to push as far he could, but not so much that it could hurt. He didn’t want to damage his body right after being allowed to participate, he just needed to feel like he was getting back to where he once was. If an extra push-up or two could get him there quicker, he would do three more on top of that.
After the first round, he felt a little better, a little more awake, “warm,” and opted to keep an eye on his future opponents instead. Stephanie didn’t seem to have any troubles with mana. This would be her last match, he supposed. Myra seemed to fight cautiously—she deflected more spells than she cast. The way she avoided the other, they barely got any hits in.
Micah tried to learn vicariously from them as he often did with Lisa, Ryan, and his [Savagery].
Before long, Myra won by a single point in a match that barely had any points at all and Stephanie headed off.
“I’m going to annoy Lea,” she said, “good luck.”
“Thanks.”
It would be his turn next.
Myra looked at him from her starting position five minutes later. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“I know.”
He wouldn’t want it any other way.
The moment the match began, Micah had his shield up and was ready to block whatever she threw at him. Easier than dodging, right now. Instead, she got a wooden carving out of her pocket and head it toward him.
“[Rat’s Appraisal].”
It was a small carving of a rat’s head. A Sewer Rat, actually. The eyes were hollow enough that they might be filled with something, but flashed with an almost imperceptible filthy yellow. He felt a shiver of something on him, the sensation of being seen. It passed just as quickly and Myra put the carving away again.
“Hm.”
Micah lowered his shield a fraction and complained, “Hey! You can’t just appraise someone like that.”
She looked at him and shrugged.
Rude.
She didn’t have a shield—apparently, she preferred to cast spells with movements—so Micah went on the offense. What had she found out about him? What did [Rat’s Appraisal] even do?
Before he could reach her, she started walking back and placed her free hand flat on her stomach. She brought it up along her sternum, wiggled its fingers over her throat, and formed a ring in her fist in front of her mouth.
Based on the motion alone, Micah could guess what it was.
Oh, no.
“[Fire Breath].”
A flood off flames filled half their field in a cone and washed over him. Twice the size of Stephanie’s swathe, three times the speed. Micah hid behind his shield, but it barely covered his head and upper chest, let alone the rest of his body. He took frantic steps back to get away from it. The heat became too much. His entire body was sweating. He tripped, slipped in the sand, and landed on his ass. Too afraid to move, he huddled up and only noticed too late that she had stopped.
Then Myra was standing there with her training sword to his neck and had him beaten.
Others were staring. A jumble of faces. Micah quickly looked away and tried to compose his own.
“Myra!” Mr. Sundberg yelled, genuinely angry “What the hell did I tell you just twenty minutes ago?”
For more dangerous spells and combat, like when they were higher level, they had to bring other personnel in to supervise. [Mages] to cast wards and [Healers] for first aid. Maybe even enchanted items.
Micah remembered a flash of yellow, a Sewer Rat running off with one of his crystals, and Ryan’s warning in the sewers.
“He has a fire resistance ring!” Myra called back, only loud enough to be heard. At least, he knew what her spell did.
“I don’t care. You’re penalized for this round and I don’t want to see anything like that again, do you hear me? I hope you’re happy with having wasted your mana like that.”
She glared at the man and looked ready to storm back to her starting position.
Micah coughed. He’d tried to say something, found his voice, and tried again, “It’s fine, sir!”
“Excuse me?”
Myra paused.
“Uh … It’s fine?” He tried. “I mean, I do have a good fire resistance ring. She can cast the spell if she wants. It’s …” She had even used a spell to make sure first. He raised his voice and barely managed to force a smile out. He hoped it wasn’t trembling. “It’s good training! ‘Seems like something a Kobold might throw at me.”
Mr. Sundberg frowned from his place on the benches. “If your ring breaks—”
“It’s my fault,” Micah said. “I know.”
“Suit yourself.” Half the class was still paying attention to one of their own being chewed out. He yelled at them. “Back to training! Your round is almost over. Fifteen seconds left.”
They shifted and rushed to get a last good hit in.
Micah had the suspicion Sundberg had made the number up on the spot, but Myra didn’t try to attack him. She went back to her starting position, so he only stood up and dusted himself off. He was itching all over from the heat and sand, and his arms were shaking.
“How much is that?” he asked.
“Hm?”
“Points?”
“Oh. Five or three, depending …” She frowned and said, “I’ll take the three.”
Micah nodded. “Alright.”
After a moment, Myra asked, “Is your ring alright?”
He supposed it was her way of apologizing.
“Oh, yeah. It’s powerful,” he said. He took his glove off just to be sure, but he was pretty confident. “It protected me from an explosion Lisa caused right next to me once. It was the only time I ever felt it strain. Afterward, it only had a hairline fracture in one of the scales, too.”
Instead of a single flaw, the ring now had two. Ryan claimed he couldn’t feel either, but Micah could. He ran his thumb over it with his eyes closed and counted, but didn’t find any more damage.
“My appraisal felt as much. It rated it as something highly worth stealing. How expensive was it? I would be interested in getting one of my own to tide me over until I get a resistance or mastery Skill.”
“Nothing,” he said. “We found it in one of the collapsed Salamander’s Den chests. During the Kobolds, but before the changes. First floor?”
“Ah. Those. Lucky.”
“Yeah.”
For a brief few months, there had been a treasure hunt on the collapsed floor, Micah remembered, because the chests there gave loot more appropriate for the fourth floor and up. The three of them had searched for one of those, another of the new Kobolds, or Ryan’s lost wristband, but only found the first of the three, which might have even been a normal chest. Micah knew not finding the other two sucked for Ryan and Lisa, but he was still glad for the ring.
He turned it back until it faced “up” in his mind and put his glove back on, then stood ready until the next round began. He avoided looking beyond his field, at what others might think of him.
The moment Mr. Sundberg said go, Myra repeated her spellcast at twice the speed. He was taken off-guard. She was already casting it again? Of course, she was betting on that, and Micah was sick and tired of being too slow.
She wiggled her fingers up like licking fire in front of her throat and Micah pushed off toward her.
A ring with her fist. “[Fire Breath].”
He ducked low and hid behind his shield, but didn’t stop charging. Instead, he slipped his sword in its sheath, and once he was close enough, cast a spell of his own, “[Condense Water].”
He twisted the opening of the funnel toward her and the movement of the spiral shot a flimsy puff of steam in her face before the heat pushed it back at him. He’d realized his mistake too late.
[Condense Water]. Not [Summon Water].
She simply turned her head and the flames followed him, ridiculously hot up close. Micah threw himself to his right and planted a kick in the side of her leg. She stumbled. In the momentary respite from the flames, he tried again and reached high up to cast the spell over her breath.
The cool formed. He stared at it and sucked in a deep breath. A wisp of heat essence filled his lungs at the same time as he gave the cold and water more room on the surface. The spell worked. His lungs felt warm.
Yes!
“[Condense Water].”
A half cup of water hit her flames and she turned and threw herself away from the steam. Some of it hit her and she fell to the ground.
She kicked him back while he tried to chase after her, but he pulled his sword and got his strike in at her side. She blocked two more with her own sword, got up on one knee and tried to get a hit in herself. He managed to hit the side of her shoulder. She stood and pushed back.
Micah quickly realized she must have some kind of formal training because his hand stung where she struck it and she had two hits in before he knew what was happening. Her stance was better than his. She fought too quickly. He focused on blocking and she pressed the advantage.
Mr. Sundberg called the round, saving him from a final strike.
He heaved. “Score?”
“Seven to four.”
He nodded. An equal round. He could live with that. It was nine to four if he counted her victory in the first round, but … it was also four to four if he accepted Mr. Sundberg’s penalty.
Micah’s hand still shook. He headed to the benches for a quick sip. Mrya split off to the do the same. As he drank, it wouldn’t stop. Part of him couldn’t wait for class to be over and leave, to find somewhere where he could breathe and calm down, but part also really wanted to manage a win.
He glanced at her drinking and wondered just how. She was better than him at almost everything—spells, range, speed, even melee combat. The only advantage he had was a shield, but it would be like trying to win against Ryan with his spear. She could find her way past it.
Micah frowned. Ryan.
He headed to his starting position and undid the strap on his shield a little, then pulled his knife halfway out of its sheath. Subtly. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. She headed to her end and he hoped she couldn’t see through him.
The moment Mr. Sundberg announced the final round, Micah roared and charged at her like an idiot.
She seemed momentarily taken aback, but then stood sideways with her sword out in front of her.
Micah slipped his knife out and threw it at her, did the same with his sword—sideways—and both projectiles caught her attention. She tried to strike the knife from the air, failed, and just stepped out of the way of both instead.
The moment he reached her, he caught her strike, shoved her sword aside, and the shield at her shoulder. The blade still slipped past him and hit him in the chest, but then he was tackling her to the ground and they went down.
She kneed in him the stomach and pushed him off. He dodged and got her arm with both hands. She tried to stand up and Micah remembered what Lisa had done during this part, but he didn’t have any lightning spells.
So he cast [Condense Water] over her face instead, making it as cold as she could manage.
She sputtered against the stream and looked at him incredulously, like she wanted to slap him, then actually tried. He ducked down and the distraction bought him enough time to reposition.
He moved, twisted her arm, and put one leg over her hip. She pushed and he almost fell on his ass, but held on, then twisted again, replicating the same hold Lisa had used on Ryan during their first sparring session. She was one of the few people he had seen win against Ryan.
After a little bit of adjusting and struggling, and another almost slap-to-the-face, Mr. Sundberg called the round.
Micah let go and sat on the sand, smiling. “Score?”
“Ten to nine,” she said, rolling her arm as she stood up. She took her glove off and wiped some water out of her face, then combed back her soaked red hair.
“Yes!” He pumped a fist and let himself fall back with a grin. He’d lost.
“Lunatic,” Mrya said. She was smiling.
“I tried.”
It was twelve to nine if he accepted her win and seven to nine if he accepted the penalty. He’d lost in-between, in the middle ground. But only just barely. By one point. Micah could do this.
He could catch up again.
Still, his entire body was sore. He was glad he was in one of the groups with only three members.
“There are penalties for losing your weapons, you know?” Stephanie said as he joined them on the field. “And probably also for treating them like that, during the real matches. You can’t just throw your sword at someone. But it was still fun to watch.”
“You saw?”
“Yep.”
Micah groaned.
“Maybe I should pick you next time instead of Lea,” Myra mused. “Or we could spar again, when you’ve recovered more.”
Micah frowned. “Maybe you should pick Sarah instead. She won against your team, right?”
She nodded. “Of course. I’m already picking her instead of Thea, if given the chance.”
Micah paused, then sat up. “What? Isn’t she your friend?”
“What’s to stop Sarah from becoming my friend?”
“Thea?”
“Her issues are her own.”
“Your friends’ issues are your issues,” Micah disagreed and started getting up. He didn’t know why, but something about Myra’s attitude frustrated him. Not much, but always a little. The way she based her opinions of people on how well they did, or how much they could help her—it just seemed elitist.
“So I’m not supposed to like someone just because my friend doesn’t?” she asked, completely missing the point.
“Yes,” he said, then faltered. “No, I mean— can’t you get them to get along with each other?”
Can’t you get along with people, either way?
“Cute.”
“Don’t be condescending.” He scowled.
“Why not? I won.”
She had a tone in her voice, like she was smiling even though she wasn’t. Goading him. “You just want me to spar with you again,” he realized. But even as he said it, he doubted it.
Maybe both?
She did smile, then. “Yes. But only when you’ve recovered a bit more. It’s fun sparring with people when you don’t have to hold back. You seem like you can take a punch.”
Micah opened his mouth, stopped, then gave up and stormed off the field. Stupid Myra, deflecting a discussion with compliments. But he did have [Lesser Resilience] and his fire resistance ring …
Stephanie wrapped her up in a discussion about her spells and how they worked. He listened with half an ear. Apparently, her [Rat’s Appraisal] literally came from the Sewer Rats of the first floor and was one of the first and allegedly most useful spells she had learned after switching to blue magic.
Mr. Sundberg checked in on him like teachers had tended to do these last six weeks and Micah assured him everything was alright. He was just recovering. Afterward, he watched the other matches.
After the fifth, Ryan showed up and asked if everything was alright, like he had tended to do these last six weeks, more often than everyone else combined. Stephanie and Myra were sparring.
“Yep.” Micah smiled, even though his ear still itched and his leg felt tired. “Sorry for letting all my frustrations out on you.”
He frowned. “When did you do that?”
“I did it in my mind.”
“Oh?”
“Again, sorry.”
He shrugged, but looked like it bothered him a little. Maybe mentioning had been a mistake.
When the matches finished, their teacher sorted them into study groups in which they were supposed to give each other feedback on their fights, which … didn’t work as intended considering they were students. Half didn’t give feedback—full stop. Half the losers were bitter and half the winners came off as gloating. The groups disbanded into cliques where people had an easier time venting to friends or thinking of ways to improve. Theirs was the same.
“I kind of want more reach, you know?” Ryan said. He had lost one match to another spear fighter who was more experienced than him.
“You fight with a spear,” Lisa said, “how much more reach do you want?”
“Bow and arrow?” Micah tried.
“More like [Firebolt],” he mumbled, probably still sore about how much he sucked with them.
His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
Ryan shrugged. “It sucks when I want to use fire in combat and it’s always the worse option. I might as well punch someone instead of putting the effort into making a tiny flame, you know?”
Micah could see that. “But what about your other spell?” he asked. “Have you learned it, yet?” He remembered Stephanie’s advice, but he doubted a perfectionist like Ryan would give up halfway.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I should probably learn it first. It might even make learning any other fire spells easier, if I decide to do that someday.”
“Why not both?” Lisa offered, one corner of her lip raised up to a smile.
Ryan groaned and leaned back against the bench row behind him. “Because I just want more reach.”
Micah frowned, thinking of something he saw every morning and evening lying around in his room without purpose. “If it’s reach you want … I still have that Kobold’s staff in my closet?”
He had thought of selling it, but this was better.
Ryan frowned and sat back up. “I don’t see myself fighting with a mage’s staff.”
He shook his head. “Not a mage’s staff. Can’t you just … have somebody carve it into a spear? You could channel mana through the wood.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Lisa said.
Ryan seemed to agree, but his eyebrows sunk down. “I can’t, Micah. It’s yours—”
“I got the ring, remember?” He slipped his glove off. “And we lost Clay. Plus, It’ll help our pre-assessment for the exam if we have better gear. Better assessment means we get to go to a higher floor, which means we can get better loot. Please?”
Anything Micah could do to repay him.
Eventually, Ryan gave in. “Thanks. Really. Can I pick it up today? I think I know someone I can ask.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “Great.”
“And you’re really okay?” Ryan asked him.
No. Not really, Micah thought. But he was going to be, soon, so he said, “Yeah.” He looked over the gym and noticed two [Mages] demonstrating a spell to each other. One was having troubles. Elsewhere, three people were practicing blocking and dodging [Firebolts] with two shooting at the third. They were the standard projectile you wanted to be able to fight around, about the same speed as most other low-floor ones like the Archertoad’s spit or something jumping at you.
Micah still felt like he was trembling, even though he suspected nobody noticed. Or it was entirely in his head. Idly, he turned the ring on his finger and added, “But I really want to leave.”
“That’s alright,” Ryan said, no judgment in his tone. “Just five more minutes before class ends, I think.”
He nodded. He could spar. He was alright with facing Myra’s fire breath head-on. He could fight a Kobold and dozen Salamanders on his own and was actually looking forward to going back to their floor with a team to get some loot. Ingredients. But he didn’t want to do any of it any longer than he had to. And as long as it worked out or nobody complained, that was alright with him.