Ranvir’s footsteps clicked hollow against the floorboards. The school was quiet and darkness had settled. The glyph-lights were running out of power, the hallways dimming. He sensed all the life within the school’s area, yet heard no less than heavy breathing. Somewhere, one student was reading a book, the rustle of pages reaching his ears distantly.

Ayvir’s spirit stirred slightly as Ranvir passed outside, his breathing growing a little shallower. Passing Pashar’s, she came fully awake. Though tension quickly left her as he passed and she soon was sleeping once more. Es stirred not at all and Kirs’ soul still felt heavy. Dovar was so tired, Ranvir didn’t think he could have woken the man up. Commander Tulaiha was still sticking around, though she had quarters with the students.

Kasos stirred not at all, yet Ranvir sensed his tether-sense brushing against him. There was something intense, yet subconscious, about it. Awareness without consciousness. Certainly, someone skilled enough could sneak past his senses without waking the old man. Yet, ninety percent of all three worlds couldn’t have passed even his most sluggish senses, let alone get inside his room without notice.

Amalia didn’t live at the school, instead returning to Elpir’s orphanage each night. Not that Ranvir had ever voluntarily slept at the school, either. Given the option of returning to his home with his children or staying, it was no contest.

Finally, the passages broadened as he reached the more traveled areas. The light had been given more power, and the hallways were better lit. Still, his footsteps disturbed only the quiet. In a few brief moments, he stepped outside.

The first bites of something sharper than autumn hovered in the air. Sharp against his skin, prickling bumps shivered up his arms. Turning around, he stepped back to look at the school. Perception helped him see, even in the darkness. The facade, once decrepit and worn, had been repaired fresh, yet had now stood for long enough to show the slightest signs of wear.

Nothing any reasonable person might attempt to fix, rather it gave the place a more lived-in feel than something freshly built could ever hold. At the same time, it felt almost abandoned looking at it now. With all the shutters closed, the house appeared abandoned. No light escaping even around the seams of the door.

A swelling lightness took hold of him. A sphere at the center of bright white clouds, strong blues and yellows rippled through it. Pride burgeoning in his chest. The whole place had come so far.

If not for the issues with the Purists, he would look into gathering a second power for each of the students. Just living in Korfyi and reaching a certain age was enough, yet the classes had progressed far enough to visit and instinctively reject Amanaris’ approach. A few of his friends claimed to not even noticing it.

Dovar especially had made it far. In just the last two weeks, since the Commander arrived. Giving him something he had both skill, natural talent, and interest in had massively raised his confidence. This new self-certainty showed in his small class of students. They were learning faster than ever and he showed little hesitation about demonstrating even subjects he couldn’t manage every time.

The effect was remarkable. Ranvir roved the area with his senses. His spatial sense, once so dull he could barely sense another person, now registered the slight divots and templates Kirs had dug across a hundred meters.

Her rituals bordered between the genius and the insane. She intended to siphon mana through the bridges built at the heart of the school. This neatly avoided the issue of most tethered being able to manipulate the results. Rituals greatest weakness was the lack of natural presence within them. You couldn’t infuse them with part of yourself. It made them very difficult to detect even when working, yet easy to disturb once found.

Ranvir was surprised to find himself excited to see where she would go with them. Her shield that covered the entire capital held more mana than Ranvir could properly fathom. Whenever he caught ripples of the effort of filling the basin, his head started thundering.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

A dozen masters, at least a hundred second-stage ice tethered, all pumping their full power into it for nearly an hour. Luckily for them, second-stage tethered reached the point where they couldn’t exhaust themselves as easily as the first- and pre-stages. Then again, that was mostly a function of a weaker soul.

He didn’t know the limits of that shield, but breaking through it would take serious force. Guessing was difficult since it hadn’t been employed at full-scale and he could only guess at efficiency. Master Ayvir might carve a hole in decent time, especially after his alignment.

He’d spent the first many days readjusting to the new intensity of his mana. The sheer volume he could push through was astounding. Enough so that it put Ranvir’s mind in doubt about Saleema.

After the events of the convocation at the Queen’s summer estates, multiple tethered had come out calling her a fourth-stage tethered. But seeing Ayvir’s incredulous feeling regarding his own power, Ranvir wasn’t certain. Maybe she’d just spiritually aligned. He had seen her eyes crack, revealing purple like his beneath.

Sighing, Ranvir turned away from the school. Shadows, indistinct dark colors, fell over the swell of pride. The emotion smothered beneath his worry. Every day, he attempted to gaze the Lines and examine what he could of Saleema. Every day, his worries grew darker and heavier.

How strong was she, actually? Every now and then, he’d glimpse her power, but she truly used it only briefly. The flares of power were vast, but not impossible for Ayvir to achieve. Maybe. But she always used it the same way. Throwing people into pocket-space.

With a warp-sword and full control over the area, she had all that was needed to win every fight. She was definitely powerful, but fourth-stage implied a leap Ranvir wasn’t sure he could entertain.

The jump to first-stage was proportionally enormous, yet the leap to second-stage was bigger still. The gap to the third-stage was the greatest yet. If that trend followed, fourth-stage would outclass Kyriake and then some in raw power. Ranvir wasn’t sure he could entertain this possibility.

But could he afford not to? If she was even close to that strong and he had to fight her. Best to wait until Kyriake returned from the Arkrotasia summit. If the world allowed him that treat.

And again, the very existence of Kyriake worried him. Braced who were blatantly stronger than third-stages. Even Ayvir couldn’t match up to her, Ranvir didn’t think. Getting an accurate understanding of both people's capabilities was difficult. Ayvir’s light carried more heat than normal, which made him more dangerous than others of his element. Yet Kyriake’s Abilities were high-leveled and powerful. The sheer physical prowess of her enhancement Ability might give her the win.

But then, where did Saleema fall on that scale? Ayvir- and Kyriake’s powers had clear combat potential sharpened to an obsidian’s edge. The strength of the spirit was determined by experiences and stresses. Saleema was at least four- or five-hundred years old, possibly closer to eight.

A fourth-stage tethered with signs of spiritual alignment with most of a millennium behind her. Anyone would dread fighting her. And yet, she was just a space-generator. Sure, she wielded a sword wrapped in warp mana, but Ranvir could block the weapon, and space had little offensive potential.

So was she a threat or not?

Ranvir shook his head. Uncertainty shimmered across the worry. A curtain blurring the colors, yet pulling out features in the murk he did not like.

He dumped a cloth pad on the cold grass. The wind swept over his form, tugging at his clothes, pulling against his wings. For a moment, his breath plumed pale in the night, as he sat staring into empty darkness.

For a moment, his lap felt strange and oddly light. Like something was missing. Sitting out at night, attempting to working on a strange mystery. Frija, a little toddler with no more than a few tufts of red hair, should be cozied up in his lap. Instead, he was alone, and he wasn’t puzzling over his tether, but something more worrisome still.

He couldn’t hold on to the illusion that he was a kid again, and it shattered before him. Ranvir couldn’t afford to let delusion fool him now. There was too much at stake. Closing his eyes, he sent his tether-sense forth.

Burrowing into the patterns of mana on Vednar, he forced his interpretation on the world. Branching away from the school, he sensed echoes of that morning’s training. Digging deeper revealed older sessions still.

Soon, he sensed the initial construction of the school, and he was properly enmeshed in the Lines. Each event, every use of mana spread outwards like ripples in a pond. The bigger the event, the bigger the ripple. The older the echo, the fainter it was. Ranvir was looking back far more than five years.