CHAPTER 1
Astronomy
A graduate once famously said that the main task of a first-year Kimberly student was to get all the crying and screaming out of their system.
“And that’s how you handle magical silkworms. Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t get it, first-years.”
This class might well be on the curriculum for that sole purpose. Vanessa Aldiss, magical biology instructor, was smirking at her first-year pupils over the ashes of an insect’s corpse. Every student present gulped.
The silkworm had seemed so friendly. Then the cocoon had turned black, and a hideous winged monster had emerged—only to be dispatched by Vanessa’s spell. Every step was exactly as it had been for Oliver’s group the year before.
“Let’s get started. You successfully make five outta ten of these things cocoon, you pass. Easy!” Vanessa barked. “I doubt anyone here’s this dumb, but if you mess it up, don’t try and peel off the cocoon. One dipshit nearly got her hand eaten last year. Can’t stand having more than one of those kids per decade.”
And with her shrug as the signal, the pressure was on. The task before these first-years was less a matter of skill than of keeping the mind steady as you weathered the storm. Quite a few of them looked down at their box of silkworms and failed to make the first move.
“…You okay, Dean?” Peter Cornish asked, concerned for his old friend.
“…Huh? Wh-why wouldn’t I be? I got this!” Dean Travers spluttered, finally springing to life. He drew his white wand from his hip and pointed it at a silkworm—then froze up a second time, unable to picture himself succeeding.
“…Hmph.”
Across the table from him, a much smaller girl was making short work of things, spending barely a second on each silkworm. Nine of them formed proper white cocoons, but one went black, like the demonstration.
The tall girl next to her—Rita Appleton—looked surprised. “…Wait—Teresa? You’re already done?”
“Not worth wasting time on. Flamma.”
Her voice its usual monotone, Teresa Carste swiftly burned the failure. Rita was still gaping at her, so she gave the girl a blank look.
“Get it over with. Waiting is tedious.”
“I’d—I’d like to, but…my nerves…”
“Don’t take it that seriously. Failure just means death.”
“I’m gonna die?!”
“You? The silkworms, of course.”
Rita was shaking like a leaf, but Teresa remained unmoved. Peter looked really impressed.
“You don’t flinch easy, huh? You’re really good at this, Teresa.”
“I-it’s not that hard! I can do this, too!”
Competition pushed Dean into motion, and he pointed his wand at a silkworm. He was clearly leaning way too far forward.
“H-hold on, Dean,” Peter said, worried. “If you’re that tense—”
But his warning went in one ear and out the other. Far too much magic shot out of Dean’s wand, and the result—seconds later, the silkworm formed a black cocoon before bursting out of it.
“Ahhhhh!”
“Augh, I knew it!”
Peter wailed as the bug attacked his friend. Dean was waving his wand around and chanting fire spells but barely aiming—and the target was small and swift. Seeing it flying circles around him, Peter raised his athame.
“Duck, Dean! I can’t aim like this!”
“Sh-shut up! Stay back! I can handle— Gah!”
Despite his protests, before he could even fire off another spell—the bug’s mandibles sank into his wrist. The pain made him drop his wand, and students swarmed around him.
Vanessa glanced toward the uproar from the sidelines. “Another year, another kid got bit. The annual idiot.”
“Dean…!” Rita jumped in to help, but the insect came after her. She fired off a spell only to catch air, and its mandibles closed in on her throat.
But right before her eyes, the insect—split into two.
“…Huh…?”
Rita stood stunned, her athame raised.
The two halves of the bug fell to the ground, and the small girl behind it—Teresa—sheathed her athame. Nobody else had even seen her move. She’d drawn and sliced with practiced ease.
“…What are you doing?”
“…Uh…”
Teresa’s eyes had turned on Dean, where he sat clutching his wrist. No scorn or contempt, just genuine bafflement, as in: How was this outcome even possible?
“We were taught how to handle them. Spell or blade, if you have an athame, you can dispatch it. At the very least, you can dodge.”
Apparently can’t wasn’t part of her vernacular. She’d been raised to handle these things like any basic function. That much, Dean got—and it unnerved him. Teresa watched fear flicker across his face before clapping her hands together as if she’d just worked it out.
“Oh, I see. That makes sense—you’re inept.”
She nodded, then seemed to lose all interest, moving away. The cold, hard insult—she didn’t mean it as one, but an insult it was—left Dean’s lips moving wordlessly.
A second later, anger caught up with him.
“Wha…?! Say that again!”
The words shot out of him like a geyser.
“…What are they fighting about this time?”
Oliver was watching them from the window of a large room on the second story. Dean yelling, Teresa with her back to him, Peter and Rita scrambling to talk them down—clearly, the first two were to blame.
“Hah!”
With Oliver’s attention elsewhere, Pete rushed at him with his athame in hand to take full advantage of his friend’s lapse. But Oliver had kept enough wits about him to respond, deflecting the blow away from his chest, and with Pete off-balance, he kicked the boy’s legs out from under him. Pete landed on his backside.
“Too eager, Pete.”
“W-well, you weren’t even looking!”
Pete was soon back on his feet, fuming. Oliver forgot about the view outside, fully focusing on the bespectacled boy.
“Sorry. I just noticed the new kids making trouble. Won’t happen again.”
He hit his stance once more. His distraction had been a slap in the face, an insult to Pete’s dedication, and he owed it to him to remain focused.
“Nope. You need a new teacher.”
“Oh?”
Someone picked Pete up by his collar, easily supporting his full weight with one arm.
“Mr. Albright?” Oliver said, taken aback.
This arrogant interloper had been a tough opponent during the first-years’ battle royal.
“I’ve been watching,” he said with a snort. “You’re too gentle. He’s not a toddler.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“If you don’t, that’s even worse.”
Albright didn’t let him finish. He turned on his heel, hauling Pete away.
“Come, Pete Reston. I’m not letting anyone whose name I learned stay a nobody forever. I’m gonna train you myself.”
“L-let me down first!”
Dangling at Albright’s arm’s length, Pete flailed about in protest and was soon dropped on the ground. Pete glared up at him—then his eyes started flitting to Oliver and back.
“…Okay,” he said. “Let’s give this a shot, Mr. Albright.”
“Pete?!” Oliver gasped, unable to believe his ears.
Pete took a few steps closer, pointing right at his face.
“Just you watch,” he said. “When I get back, I’m gonna land a hit on you.”
And with that, he spun around and ran after Albright. Oliver had no words.
Then a hand patted him on the shoulder.
“Ah-ha-ha! You ’ave lost your precious pupil. Fret not, Oliver! I would be ’onored to take ’is place.”
“……”
This tall smiler was Tullio Rossi. Another opponent in the battle royal, but Oliver was long past caring about that history. The only thing in his mind was the sight of his stolen student training at the hands of another teacher. They were already starting.
“First question,” said Albright. “Why are you weak?”
“…My techniques aren’t polished,” Pete replied, looking sullen already.
Albright rolled his eyes, like he was dealing with an amateur.
“Already wrong. What you think are techniques are forms. You’re just rehearsing memorized choreography like some sort of puppet.”
“…I am…?”
“Forms become techniques when they’re a seamless part of the fight. What you need now is to learn how that feels. To start, show me the move you think you’re best at.”
Pete thought for a second, then raised his dominant left hand, taking the mid-tier Rizett-style lightning stance. From there, he lunged forward, unleashing a series of thrusts. As he did, he smacked the floor with his right hand, using that force to push himself back into his original stance. The swift recovery showed that despite the lack of polish, he was controlling his center of gravity well. Albright narrowed his eyes.
“Rizett’s Hero’s Charge? As a form, not bad.”
“How does that become technique?”
“On its own, it’s nothing but a gamble. To make it decisive, you need to put together a battle plan.”
Pete put his hand to his chin, thinking.
“Picture it,” Albright said. “It’s one thing when you just started, but you’ve got a year’s worth of experience under your robe. You’ve watched top fighters go at it up close. Traded blows with them in practice. If your eyes can see, you’ve started to figure out how a sword art fight works.”
As prompted, Pete ran several of these fights through his mind’s eye. With the Hero’s Charge as his finisher, he went back through the fight leading up to that. A number of patterns he’d personally experienced came to mind, and he picked one with solid odds that he felt capable of reproducing. A moment later, he found himself in a stance. His athame at eye level, held vertically. The Lanoff high stance.
“Exactly. A tad obvious, but it works. Pull your foe’s attention upward. The crux of Hero’s Charge is the vertical motion and the shift in range. Get your opponent used to trading blows above chest height, wait for them to fire a spell at your chest—that’s the perfect moment to unleash your technique.”
Pete had passed his test and earned a trace of a smile.
“If it lands, you’ve won, but if it fails, you’ll pay for it—true for any lunging move. But you’ve already got the nerves. That alone I’ll praise you for.”
“…Coming from you, it feels wrong.”
“Hmph. So whose praise do you want?”
Albright clearly knew the answer. Pete stiffened. He managed to keep himself from looking toward the person he had in mind, but he nonetheless felt his cheeks burning.
“You’re an open book.” Albright chuckled. “Fair enough. Oliver’s attention is a prize.”
“…Shut up…!”
To hide how much that rattled him, Pete turned back, still in the high stance, ready to test it. Albright responded, calmly drawing his own athame.
“Good intensity. Take that blade and make me shut up.”
Meanwhile, Oliver was trading blows with Rossi, keeping one eye on Pete’s training.
“…What are they talking about…?”
“You are wide open, Oliver!”
Rossi took that as an opportunity to attack. A tricky move, well off the beaten path—but in the year since his defeat at Oliver’s hands, he’d melded it to Koutz-style techniques, making it even harder to deal with. Unreadable footwork, Flash Wisp to blind you and move where you least expected him to be.
“Oof—?!”
But a heel slammed into his plexus. A counterblow, doubling the impact—and Rossi was on his knees. Realizing he’d hit too hard, Oliver quickly came over.
“Sorry, Rossi. Overextended a bit.”
“Urghhh… Be ’onest, you are working through some issues!”
He sounded as peeved as he was frustrated. Not only had Oliver been clearly distracted, he’d still easily handled the attack. The difference in their abilities was all too clear. While Rossi had been rebuilding himself, Oliver had charged on ahead.
“…And ’ere I am, eating dust.”
Clutching his stomach, Rossi was grinning through the pain. This was what he wanted. What good was a goal that neither changed nor adapted?
“Seiiiiii!”
A bellow echoed through the room, grabbing both boys’ attention. In the corner opposite the pair, an Azian girl was furiously trading blows with the sword arts instructor, Garland.
Seeing Oliver’s eyes glued to the exchange, Rossi sighed. “…Now it is ’er turn? You do not lack for distractions, Oliver.”
“Okay, I admit it. But how can you not look? You’re doing the same thing.”
“Ha-ha, that I am! Nanao is a sight to behold! ’Er blows grow sharper by the hour.”
Rossi took his place by Oliver, hand on chin, in full observation mode. Sparks flew from Nanao’s blade as she took a wide step in. Garland dodged by a hairbreadth, his athame caressing the girl’s arm.
The sword arts instructor had flawlessly handled her assault, and as they regrouped, he said, “That big step was careless. Don’t confuse courage with recklessness. Once more!”
“Understood!”
Taking instruction with her characteristic alacrity, Nanao was soon cheerfully squaring off against the master again. As Oliver watched, enraptured, Chela approached him.
“He’s not holding back with her anymore. I’m sure he sees her potential.”
“Yes.” Oliver nodded. “The best student with the best teacher. She’s bound to get even better.”
An instant later, they all jumped—at the sound of a voice from above.
“Enjoying yourself, Luther? If you like her that much, why not officially take her as an apprentice?”
This man had the same hairstyle as Chela but was standing upside down, his feet on the ceiling. As the students jumped and looked up, Garland smiled—like he’d known this man was here the whole time.
“She’s only in her second year, Theodore. The time for trying a bit of everything, not narrowing your focus.”
“No rush to pin her down, then? You couldn’t be less like Darius there. Naturally, I mean that as a compliment.”
It was obvious from their tone that they were old friends. But while their exchange was breezy, Oliver’s expression was guarded—and Chela glanced at both him and Theodore, raising an eyebrow.
“……”
“…Sigh…”
“? What is it?” Rossi asked. “You two look like you ’ave just bitten a lemon.”
They both ignored him, and as they watched in silence, Garland spoke again.
“If you’re here, why not help teach? Show these kids your Rizett style.”
“I can hardly refuse a request for the blade master himself! Especially with my beloved daughter’s eyes on me. By all means, let me strut.”
Winking at Chela, Theodore flipped down to the floor. He took Nanao’s place, facing Garland at one-step, one-spell range, and drew his athame.
“We’re no longer students, so be gentle.”
“Droll. What’s it been, two years?” Garland was clearly looking forward to this.
Meanwhile, as Pete—like every student here—gulped at the sight, Albright whispered, “A match between masters. Watch and learn, Pete Reston.”
“Yeah…”
“Though you may not catch much of it.”
“That’s just mean!”
But even as he protested, the teachers sprang into action. It started surprisingly slow, but with each clash, their strikes grew faster, harder. Soon the air between them was filled with sparks. No longer able to follow the flow of battle with his eyes, Pete forgot to breathe.
“…?! …?! ……?!”
“I figured you weren’t there yet. Don’t worry, I’ll—”
“I’ll explain, Pete.”
Before Albright could deliver a word of exposition, he was interrupted. He turned to find Oliver standing on Pete’s other side.
“He’s in my hands right now.”
“When you’re directly instructing him, yes. Doesn’t apply to observation.”
“Bullshit logic. Shut up and let me handle this.”
Albright grabbed Pete’s shoulder and pulled, but Oliver grabbed the other one, and leaned in, whispering in his ear.
“Pete, don’t try and see all of it. Just break down what you can see. First, what stances are they using?”
This query forced Pete to focus his attention. Both teachers were moving too fast to see, but he could just about make out the gist of things based on their body language.
“…Lanoff mid?” he asked, not too sure. “And Rizett mid…I think.”
“Exactly. They’re both sticking to the fundamentals. Deliberately, so that we can compare and contrast. Nearly every technique they’re using is something we’ve been taught.”
“I-it is?”
And here Pete was, not following 80 percent of it. Not about to let his charge get stolen away, Albright took a turn, pulling the bespectacled boy’s shoulder his way.
“Watch Instructor McFarlane’s footwork. Constant pressure, crushing the gap, never lets his opponent make a lateral move. The fundamentals of Rizett positioning. Keep your opponent where your strengths lie, and the scales of victory will tilt toward you.”
“But don’t miss Instructor Garland’s response. It might look like he’s trapped in defensive mode, but he’s squeezing in well-timed counters to keep his opponent from dominating. Withstanding the onslaught, and when the flurry dies down and the pressure eases, he seizes the chance. A lunge forward when his opponent steps back—”
“Um, uh, so…”
“Oh, do calm down,” Chela said. “You’re making Pete’s head spin.”
Too much information from both sides at once. Chela’s intervention silenced both Oliver and Albright, but by this time, the faculty match was wrapping up. They’d exchanged a hundred blows in mere minutes, never leaving that one-step, one-spell distance.
Theodore dropped his stance, sighing. “You ought to let your elders shine a little, Luther.”
“Oh, please.” Garland chuckled. “I have never once even considered holding back against you.”
His athame sheathed, the ringlet instructor’s gaze raked the student audience.
“Did that help at all? Then I’ll be taking my leave. Farewell, Chela, my darling child.”
“Yes, yes, I know, just go.”
He blew her a kiss, and she rolled her eyes. Theodore sauntered away looking thoroughly pleased, and Garland wasted no time getting the students paired up for another match.
Screaming and crying might be a first-year’s job, but the later years had their share of trials, too. The only difference—a year of practice and training made it that much harder to reduce them to tears.
“You all came back! Heh. I’ve got a fun one for you today!”
Vanessa Aldiss licked her lips, seeing her magical biology students looking that much sturdier than the year before. There was a fenced-off area behind her, with a number of strange foal-sized creatures within. Wings and heads were like birds of prey, but the sinewy muscles and bone structure of their lower halves were clearly feline.
Katie took one look at them and whispered, “Griffins.”
“Babies. Hatched a month ago. Wings have grown in, and they’re just starting to look like the real thing.”
These griffins were far too imposing to call babies, but Vanessa was clearly in a particularly good mood today.
“Your task is to train ’em. Turn ’em into animals that do what mages say,” she said, turning toward the enclosure. “Don’t care how you do it, but it ain’t gonna be easy. In their natural environment, these things are king of the magical ecosystem. They feed on everything else. They don’t have it in ’em to bow their heads to other creatures.”
She moved closer to the fence, and the nearest griffin chomped down on her shoulder. The students gasped, but Vanessa just grinned, not even trying to pry the beak off.
“Ha, see? They got spirit. Wouldn’t be worth training ’em otherwise!”
Her right arm bulged unnaturally, then transformed into a set of giant claws. She wrapped this bulk round the griffin’s neck, hauling it bodily into the air. Its limbs thrashed helplessly, and it let out an earsplitting shriek.
“C’mon, show yer belly. Wag your damn tail at me. Or else.”
The griffin might not understand words, but that was all it took; the moment Vanessa grabbed the creature, it was clear who was stronger. The griffin went limp, demonstrating it was unwilling to resist, and wagged its tail, pleading for mercy. Once she saw that, Vanessa released her prey. The griffin hit the ground and fled to the far side of the enclosure.
“That’s basically it. Prove you’re stronger, make ’em submit. That’s how you make livestock outta wild beasts,” she said, turning back to the students. “If you blow it, they’ll kill ya. And since I can’t watch out for all of you at once, we’ve got some upperclassmen here to help. Come on down!”
The older students who’d been waiting at the back stepped forward to answer her call. Twenty-odd students in years four through seven, and Katie spotted a familiar face among them.
“Ms. Miligan!” she said, her face lighting up.
“Hello, everyone. I knew this class would be Katie’s personal hell and decided I should swing by for moral support.”
As Miligan reached Katie’s side, Chela spoke up.
“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t see this ending well.”
Once each student team had an upperclassman in tow, a sixth-year girl raised her white wand high.
“Okay, okay! Eyes here! There are several ways to tame a magical beast, but fundamentally, it all comes down to the carrot and the stick. And at this stage, the stick is most important. Right now, these griffins think you’re all jokes.”
As she spoke, she opened the gate and led a griffin out. All second-year eyes on her, she faced the fledging griffin down. Vanessa getting bitten was fresh in their minds; they were stressing this far more than the sixth-year.
“Pain is a good way to sap their desire to fight, but if you wound them, then you’ve gotta waste time healing it. That’s where pain spells come in. Manavian physiques aren’t that different from humans, so once you get the hang of it, it’s easy. You there! Sit.”
She waved her wand, barking orders at the griffin. It turned its head, contemptuous. It obviously knew what she wanted but had no intention of obeying.
“Ignore me, huh? Fine. Dolor.”
Clearly exactly what she expected, the girl wasted no time casting a spell. Light left her wand, and when it reached the griffin, the beast shuddered.
“KYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The griffin let out a shrill cry, writhing on the ground. Katie clenched her fists. Next to her, Oliver was starting to sweat, afraid she’d jump in to stop it.
“See? In the words of sadly missing Instructor Darius, pain is the great leveler, affecting sages and fools alike. Give them an order, and if they resist or ignore you, that’s where a pain spell comes in. Rinse and repeat until they reluctantly start to listen. Then you bring in the carrot. Give them the meat they like and shower them in praise.”
She pointed at the trays of raw meat lying on a nearby worktable.
Vanessa grabbed a hunk and took a bite—or rather, swallowed it whole. “Let me remind you, a griffin egg ain’t gonna go for less than two million belc. Nowhere but Kimberly are you gonna get these in class. Once they’re grown, it’s nigh impossible to tame ’em, and if your attempts here fail, the money spent on ’em gets flushed right down the drain. They’re gonna end up as snacks to go with my booze.”
That added a new layer of pressure. Pleased by the tense looks, she sat down on the worktable, swinging her legs.
“Do your worst. I’m happy to eat ’em for you, but you don’t want us sending a sky-high bill to your folks, do you? Begin!”
Not even giving them time to collect themselves, the assignment began. Like throwing them into the wild. As the other teams started working, Oliver and his friends exchanged looks.
“…………What now?”
“…I’m sure it’s useless to ask, but is the method we just saw—?”
“Don’t. You. Dare!” Katie didn’t even let him finish.
Chela patted her shoulders. “I rather thought so. But we can’t just ignore the assignment. Our team will have to find a means of completing it without the use of pain spells.”
“Heh-heh-heh. That’s where the fruits of our research come in!” Miligan said, smiling. Her eyes caught Katie’s. “Interspecies communication studies. An academic discipline specifically created for just this situation. Isn’t that right, Katie?”
“Absolutely, Ms. Miligan!”
These two were clearly on the same page here, while the others were rather taken aback.
“Listen close,” the Snake-Eyed Witch said. “There is some individual variance, but pain spell training has a nasty side effect—it makes the target hate you. Since time immemorial, accidents have been caused when the beast’s emotions burst forth! However! If you apply the interspecies communication principle of mutual understanding, it is possible to forge relationships with magical beings at a much more elevated level! As we will soon prove.”
While she spoke, she approached the fence and used her white wand to lead a griffin out. She brought it over to the others and spoke again.
“To forge a positive connection, you begin by getting to know each other! This, I have already done! I know everything there is to know about griffins—how they eat and live, what environments they prefer, where their organs lie, and where to stab if I need to kill them in a single blow! Fear not, griffin! I am your greatest advocate!”
Oliver nearly pointed out the flaws in this logic, but he saw the same look on Katie’s face and held his tongue. An upperclassman was attempting to help them. No reason to be a wet blanket.
“Sadly, griffins lack language. But they are social creatures and have concepts of friendship and cooperation! As I will now demonstrate. Plumare!”
Casting off her robe, Miligan enchanted herself. Griffin-like feathers sprouted from her shoulders and arms, and a large beak formed on her face. She crossed her new wings in front of that beak.
“Putting your wings together like so is an in-group signal that you are not hostile! Rather than forcing our ways on them, we adapt to theirs! This humility is the greatest achievement of interspecies communication studies! Those accustomed to existing training techniques may well find it roundabout, but observe! The beast is already less wary!”
Keeping a close eye on the griffin through her feathers, Miligan snapped her beak together, calling to it. Oliver took a good look at the griffin; it did seem to be slightly less openly hostile. But it was hard to tell if it had actually registered the friendly overture or was simply confused.
“Now for the second phase! Having established that we two griffins do not mean each other harm, we take the next step, rubbing our beaks together in a gesture of friendship! Accomplishing this means we’re as good as BFFs!”
Slowly, yet with total confidence, Miligan approached the fledgling. She leaned forward, pointing her beak toward it like a human reaching out for a handshake. The crowd watching gulped. After a moment, the griffin moved its beak next to hers…
“KYOOOOOOOOOOO!”
…and screamed right in her ear. Blood gushed out of both Miligan’s ears, and she collapsed in a heap.
“Mil—”
“Ms. Miligan—?!”
Guy and Katie both yelped, and the friends raced over to her, using their athames to keep the griffin at bay as they pulled her to safety.
“Ha-ha-ha, it got me good!” Miligan cried, not the least bit discouraged. “A close-range sound wave attack! Mm? Sorry, Katie, I can’t make out a word you’re saying. And was the sky always this purple?”
“Both drums and the inner ears are damaged!”
“Possible cerebral hemorrhaging! Heal her quick!”
Oliver and Chela were already treating her injuries. Meanwhile, the other groups were going back to their own assignments, clearly deeming this outcome inevitable. Vanessa was doubled over laughing. That was extremely grating, but given what had just happened, Oliver was disinclined to protest.
“…My turn.”
Katie stood up, leaving Miligan’s side. Guy heard what she’d said, blinked a second, then realized what it meant. He grabbed her wrist.
“Wha—?! Have you lost your mind? I can’t let you! You saw how it turned out!”
“So what?! Interspecies communication isn’t easy! Of course it’s not going to work the first time!”
Katie shook Guy off. He started to follow her, but Oliver grabbed his shoulder. Nothing they said would stop her now.
“Hello, griffin,” she said. “My name’s Katie Aalto. Would you like to be friends with me?”
She left a few steps between her and the fledgling, speaking softly to it. The griffin answered with a shake of its wings—and the wind elementals dwelling within them created a strong wind, rejecting Katie, pushing her away. Given the creature’s age, the force was not substantial—but this was the same ability the garuda had.
“…Mm, sorry, let me rephrase,” Katie said. “We will be friends. Whether you like it or not.”
Even with the wind buffeting her, Katie did not yield a single step. Her voice did not waver. A pang shot through Oliver’s heart. She could not have said this last year. This was a mage’s strength—an arrogance indistinguishable from madness.
“KYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
She stepped forward, pushing against the gale, and was hit with the same sound attack that had downed Miligan. The shrill echoes ringing in his ears, Guy went pale—Katie was directly within the attack’s line of fire.
“I will defend myself. I’m not making you my slave, but neither am I your food,” Katie told the fledgling. “Throw anything you want at me. Attack till you’re satisfied. I’ll face it with everything I’ve got!”
She took another step closer. The manavian retreated a step, unnerved.
“Hmph.” Vanessa snorted from across the room. “Trying new things ain’t bad, little lady Aalto. But if you can’t wrap this up before time runs out, your whole team fails with you. You really think this is gonna work?”
Harsh truths to lay on anyone striving for an ideal. Katie heard them loud and clear, her fists balling up.
Without glancing over her shoulder, she asked her five friends, “…How long will you give me?”
She requested more time: as much as this classroom period allowed her.
“Be honest with me. You all know I’m not doing this because I want to—I just don’t want to let this poor thing die.”
Any griffins that failed to be tamed were eliminated. Since Katie was the one rejecting the most successful approach, this griffin’s fate lay on her shoulders. As much as it hurt to do so, she had to draw the line. She was painfully aware that her own shortcomings left her unable to guarantee the survival of the life before her eyes.
Fully aware of what she was going through, Chela and Oliver glanced at each other.
“…Leave us half an hour. That’ll be enough, right?”
“…Yeah,” Oliver said. “With that much time, we can get the minimal training in.”
They looked at Guy and Pete, who both nodded. Trusting their decision.
Grateful for her friends’ trust, Katie focused her heart and soul on the trial before her.
“Thank you. Till then, I’ve gotta try.”
Time passed…but no miracles occurred.
“…Haah…haah…!”
Katie was breathing heavily, the feathers on her shoulders torn up by the griffin’s fierce resistance; countless scrapes and scratches riddled her body, and her throat was parched from the number of spells she’d cast. She’d tried sounds, gestures, expressions, mana waves—every means of communication except violence, and they’d all been flicked aside.
“……”
Oliver had seen this coming. This was far more difficult than the rapport Nanao had built with the demon ape on the labyrinth’s second layer, on their way to rescue Pete. All she’d had to do was prove they meant no harm—Katie, on the other hand, had to make friends. And the griffin had no interest, making the task virtually impossible.
“…Yo, should we?”
“No. Let her have the full time.”
There wasn’t much of that left. Guy was nearing the end of his rope, but Oliver was stubbornly holding him back. If Katie’s shoulders had betrayed the slightest sign of defeat, he wouldn’t be, but…
“Look close, Guy. This is Katie’s fight. She’s up against reality as we know it—always has been, always will be.”
She never gave up. Even now, she was so focused on the griffin’s motions she’d forgotten the pain she was in. She observed each move it made, searching for a way to earn its trust. Oliver couldn’t stand to stop her. Any mage would respect Katie’s efforts.
But the time Katie had was finite. Chela glanced down at her pocket watch again and called it.
“Time’s up, Katie… I’m sorry.”
“…Nn…!”
Her shoulders shook. Chela stepped forward and put her hands on them.
“You did your best,” she said. “Step back. And feel free to cover your ears if you want.”
“No! I don’t want to!” Katie rasped. Large tears streamed down her cheeks. “This little one’s fate is my fault. I won’t just turn my back on it… Not ever…!”
She still had her eyes locked on the griffin, not budging an inch. And if she’d made her choice, no one would argue with it. Chela and Oliver gritted their teeth and took a step toward the manavian.
“…Huh?” Katie squeaked.
A pale finger had brushed the tears from her face.
“You’re sweet…”
A gentle voice in her ears made Katie turn. An older girl stood behind her, both arms around Katie. Pale-blond hair and a soft smile that made Katie’s heart melt.
“You’re here?” Oliver said, surprised to see his sister.
Shannon Sherwood smiled at him. As she did, the solemn sounds of a stringed instrument rang out. Recognizing that timbre, Oliver wheeled toward it—and found an older boy playing a viola with a modified white wand.
“Both of you…?!”
Gwyn Sherwood glanced once at his brother but said not a word, letting his instrument speak for him. Mana-laced sounds filled the room, and everyone sharing that space couldn’t help but listen. Not just the people—even the griffins, who’d likely never heard music before, stopped in their tracks, feeling the melody wash over them.
“This girl is trying…to save you.”
As the music played, Shannon walked quietly toward the griffin, not even drawing her wand. She didn’t hesitate to stroke its beak, speaking softly to it as if she were cajoling a small child.
“…Mm… Mm… Good griffin… Now you. Come join us.”
Shannon turned, beckoning Katie to her. Thoroughly confused, the curly-haired girl stepped up to the manavian.
“Try…asking for something,” Shannon urged. “I know…it’ll listen.”
Strangely, Katie didn’t doubt her. She nodded and gestured.
“Can you…spread your wings wide for me?”
She demonstrated, holding her own arms all the way out. It stared at her for a good long moment—and then there was a gust of wind, and the manavian’s wings unfurled. Katie gulped.
“It obeyed her,” Gwyn said. “The assignment’s complete.”
The viola stopped.
Vanessa had been watching in silence, but now she jumped down off the worktable, stomping over.
“Wait a goddamn minute! You need to butt the hell out, Sherwoods! You did the whole assignment for ’em! This is a second-year class, y’know!”
“All we contributed was a performance to soothe its nerves and the final mediation. Well within the range of permissible support, Ms. Aldiss.”
Gwyn’s tone was peaceful, but he wasn’t backing down. Vanessa scowled at him…only to start laughing.
“…Ha! I get it. If I can’t explain what you did, then I can shut my pie hole—is that it?”
The magical biology teacher was referring to an unwritten Kimberly rule. No one, not even a teacher, could argue with the results of a spell they could not understand. If she wanted to overturn the results of the Sherwoods’ interference, she’d first have to uncover the trick behind it.
“Fair enough. Okay, you get a passing grade today. But there’s more griffin training to come. Here’s hoping you didn’t just delay the inevitable.”
And with that, the bell rang. The students began leading their griffins back into the pen, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected his cousins to bail him out in public.
“Er, um…! Thank you!” Katie said, running over before they could leave. Shannon and Gwyn turned back to find her cheeks flushed. “Can I ask…what you did? You…connected to it—emotionally—right?”
She was looking from the griffin to the Sherwoods and back again. Shannon smiled uncomfortably.
“…My sister’s not great at explanations,” Gwyn said, “so let me. Eighty percent of that was your doing, Ms. Aalto. Shannon just added a little push. We can’t tell you exactly how, and even if we did—you couldn’t copy it. It’s something only she can do.”
He was very firm, and Katie had nothing else to say. The pair turned to leave.
“You’re walking a thorny path,” Gwyn added. “But it does lead somewhere. That’s all we can really tell you.”
With their morning classes over, the six friends gathered for lunch in the Fellowship, but they didn’t chatter much that day—because Katie inhaled her oatmeal.
“Done! Going to see the griffin! Later!”
Wiping her lips on her napkin, she jumped up and ran off toward the exit. She’d managed to negotiate permission to train the griffin outside of class time, and the rest of lunch break was going to be spent furthering her connection to the creature. The rest of the group wished her luck.
“…I’ll be in the library,” Pete said upon finishing a light meal.
He often left early to hit up the stacks, but today there was a surprise turn of events. Guy shoved the last of his toast in his mouth and ran after him.
“Yo, wait up, Pete. I’m coming with.”
“You are?!” Pete gaped at him. The other three were equally shocked. Seeing eight eyes on him, Guy looked deeply uncomfortable.
“D-don’t act like I grew another head! I read sometimes! Walker mentioned a survival book I should check out.”
That explained it. Everyone knew Guy was a learn-by-doing type, but maybe what the Survivor was teaching him had started to change that. Like Pete and Katie, Guy was always trying to improve.
Perhaps spurred by his motivated demeanor, Nanao put her fork down and rose to her feet.
“The pursuit of letters is a valuable discipline. Allow me to join you gentlemen.”
“Of all people…,” Pete grumbled. “I mean, fine, but we’re really just going to read! If you nod off in there, the librarians get pissed.”
“Don’t worry, already been through it. Didn’t need to sic a hoolibook on me, though…”
Guy rubbed the back of his head, remembering the pain. Nanao caught up and glanced back toward the table.
“Oliver, Chela, will you not join us?”
“Mm…”
Oliver made to rise, but Chela spoke first.
“Nanao, you go on ahead. We’ll catch up in ten.”
He sat back down. Nanao nodded and turned to go. When the three of them had left the room, Chela spoke again.
“I hope I wasn’t being too presumptuous. But I felt we should speak.”
This was clearly something serious—and Oliver had an idea what.
“…This about Instructor Theodore?”
“…I’m afraid so. Today was bad enough, but the Galatea incident cannot be overlooked.”
She was referring to the time her father had manipulated Nanao into fighting a back-alley slasher. Oliver had told her about that immediately. Reflecting again on the events of that night, Oliver went right to the question at the heart of it.
“What is it he wants from Nanao? That’s what I have to know. I can tell he’s got high hopes for her but not where those lead. He brought her here from Yamatsu, is training her as a mage…to what end?”
“Honestly, I can’t begin to fathom it myself. He’s always been an enigma, and that side of him is especially strong where Nanao is concerned. Having said that—call it a daughter’s intuition, perhaps, but something is telling me this is no ordinary obsession.”
Oliver folded his arms, considering this.
Chela swirled the liquid in her teacup, adding, “And when a mage of his skills grows obsessed, it is a powerful curse. I can promise you it’s not mere malice, but…that is hardly a comfort.”
“Yeah… Frankly, Miligan was never particularly malicious, either.”
And she’d still kidnapped Katie. Oliver nodded. He knew that much himself. Malicious or not, a mage’s actions could easily be life-threatening.
“At the very least, it’s not related to any McFarlane sorcery. I think. If it was—as his heir, I would be able to fathom it, perceive its nature. I suspect this is something else… A fixation derived from his personal affairs.”
“…A personal fixation?”
And if that was how his own daughter saw things, the man’s motives were even murkier. If only they had a clue—but as Oliver drifted into thought, Chela shifted to another topic.
“Have you heard the name Chloe Halford?”
And for Oliver… Well, that was one of the most unnerving questions he’d heard at Kimberly.
He forgot to breathe. His pulse skyrocketed; his mana grew agitated. In the blink of an eye, he forced it all back to normal and answered.
“…I’ve heard stories. She’s one of our most famous graduates.”
“Indeed. Chloe Two-Blade, said to be the strongest Gnostic Hunter we’ve ever had.”
Chela was nodding. Didn’t look like he’d aroused her suspicions. That was a relief. Her eyes had been on her hands, not him. He didn’t know where she was going with this, but it seemed safe to assume she wasn’t trying to gauge his reactions.
“I met her once, when I was very young.”
That sent further echoes rippling through Oliver. He’d known Theodore McFarlane was in the same year at Kimberly as his mother, but…to the point where he’d introduced her to his daughter?
“She was a friend of my father’s, apparently. I remember they seemed very close. She wasn’t…like anyone I’d met, in a way that’s hard to describe.”
Chela pulled herself out of the memory, changing tacks.
“The broom Nanao matched with—she’s named it Amatsukaze, but…you’re aware it once belonged to Chloe Halford? It returned to Kimberly on its own, not long after her death.”
He was aware. More than anyone else. Had her broom been in her hand that night—that was a thought he kept coming back to. And it begged the question—why had his mother been broomless in a situation that dire?
“I’m sure you’re aware of this as well, but Chloe Halford’s death is the subject of many sinister rumors.”
“……Mm.”
“She was a flag bearer for civil rights groups. I’ve heard she never once identified herself as one of them, but between her character and actions, it was only natural that people treated her as such. And with her history as a legendary Gnostic Hunter—well, I’m sure she had no end of enemies or allies.”
At this point, Oliver raised a hand, cutting her off. This was ill-advised. Talking about her was a taboo at this school.
“…Considering where we are, perhaps that’s enough.”
“I appreciate the concern. But…some things must not be swept under the rug,” Chela said. “If my memory serves correctly, my father’s demeanor changed greatly around the time of Ms. Halford’s death.”
She was keeping one foot firmly in that no-fly zone. Oliver gulped. Chela had chosen to make this statement in public—at least partly as an attempt to rein her father in.
“He’s always been prone to his excursions. But their frequency increased dramatically. Like he was driven by something. And soon, no distance was too great for those excursions of his.”
“……”
“Yet, as his classroom visit today suggested, lately he’s stuck to countries within the Union. And most of those were missions ordered by the school itself. His wanderlust is clearly diminished… And I trust you know what that means.”
“…Because he already found Nanao.”
This point had not been lost on him. Conscious of the ears around them, Oliver put it in words.
“Instructor Theodore’s fixation with Nanao is related to Chloe Halford’s death. Is that what you’re saying?”
Chela’s silence signaled agreement. She took a sip of her long-since-cold tea.
“…Mere conjecture, of course,” she said. “But no mage would be wise to ignore their intuition. Regardless of whether I’m right, I felt you should hear it.”
Oliver nodded, saying nothing. If Chela herself chose to voice the theory, then it wasn’t one he could afford to dismiss.
“…Right,” he said. “Nanao isn’t the kind of person who can act naturally while sounding someone out. We’ll have to handle that for her.”
“Precisely. My father saved her life on the battlefield, and she feels indebted to him. If—and I do mean if—he intends to use her for some purpose of his own, she will likely go along with that willingly. That is her nature.”
For a moment, Chela’s eyes swam with sadness. But then they took on a steely quality, and she caught his gaze.
“And that’s why we must protect her. My father isn’t the kind of man who’ll spill the beans at his daughter’s behest, but I am still heir to the main McFarlane line. I do have a voice. And I will stake my pride on ensuring he does not have his way with Nanao.”
Protecting her friend even from her own father. Her words a vow. Warmth rose up within Oliver, and he found himself smiling at her.
“Thank you, Chela. I’ll keep an eye on her myself. I’ll make sure we’ll be able to notice if Instructor Theodore starts meddling with her. And I’ll make sure she hears what she needs to.”
“I should be thanking you. This is a matter that by all rights should be handled within the family. Yet, here you both are, mixed up in it. I assure you, I’m suitably chagrined.”
Ashamed of her own shortcomings, Chela bit her lip, eyes downcast. Oliver knew this was a product of her perfectionist nature—he had to shake his head.
“That’s hardly fair, Chela.”
“Oh?”
“You know perfectly well an issue affecting any member of the Sword Roses affects us all. Yet, you always try to draw a line when something’s bothering you. Our friendship keeps us on equal footing, so that’s simply unfair.”
He smiled ruefully.
“If anyone else was in trouble, you’d help. Even if you had to force it. Even if they rejected it.”
This statement made her turn bright red, all the way to the ears. Belatedly, Oliver realized his blunder. Any mention of forced intervention from him would naturally remind her of what had happened in the Lily of the Valley on their weekend in Galatea.
“…I have no words,” she managed.
“Wait, Chela! Don’t…go there. That wasn’t what I—”
She had her head all the way down now. Oliver tried to salvage things—but there were at least two pairs of eyes on them: Chela’s half sister, Stacy Cornwallis, and her servant, Fay Willock.
“…Clearly, something happened between them.”
“Curious?” Fay asked.
“No!” Stacy snapped, stabbing her pear tart with a fork. But even as she ate, her eyes never left her sister’s face.
Fay sighed. As always, he was convinced being honest with herself would make things far easier for Stacy, but he had long since discovered saying that aloud would get him nowhere.
The last class of the day was astronomy. Like curses, this was a new subject for second-years, and it was the first class on the topic for Oliver and his friends.
As the bell rang, a man in his prime appeared, clad in old-fashioned, baggy robes. Even as he stepped through the door, he was giving orders.
“Open your books to page eight.”
Drawing his white wand, he walked straight past the podium to the blackboard, quickly filling it with manascript.
“Er, um…,” a student said, raising a hand. “Will we be skipping the class rundown and introductions?”
The man at the board went perfectly still. Like the words were a new concept to him.
“Rundown… Introductions… Oh, right. You do need those,” he said. “Pardon me, I spend most of my time in the library, and it makes it hard to keep my bearings.”
He swung around, sighing. Eyes glowing with boundless intellect swept over the students.
“I am Demitrio Aristides, and I teach astronomy,” he said solemnly. “Let me offer a word of caution—when you address me, use a name. Doesn’t matter which. But if you simply say Instructor, I won’t perceive that as a term of address.”
Quite a thing to lead with; the students were already looking baffled. Oliver took this as a discrepancy in cognitive density—mages with particularly vast knowledge stores often had difficulty communicating with those less informed, and this man seemed to be one of those.
“As for the core concepts of astronomy, the term itself means ‘the laws of the stars.’ We read the positions of the celestial bodies and estimate their influence on the world, predicting events to come. It is an extremely urgent and practical science.”
This last line was extra forceful. But Demitrio didn’t even pause to let it sink in.
“Why is observing the stars such a pressing matter? I doubt you need that explained, but as it is fundamental to the conceit, I shall do so: Because every little light in the night sky is a world distinct from our own—a tír.”
Here, Demitrio chanted a spell and waved his wand at the classroom ceiling. The room went dark, and countless stars appeared above the astonished students’ heads. Those armed with prior knowledge recognized their placements—this was a planetarium, accurately mimicking the night sky.
“What is a tír? It is a world that operates on different principles and physics than our own. They have different environments and ecosystems, perhaps even cultures born of different intelligence. And many of them are controlled by the god of that tír. Like the ancient kings ruled over lands in human history.”
The stars above their heads shone in many different colors, the sight every bit as beautiful as it was bewitching. There was a compelling force to it, one the heart found hard to resist. Every student gulped. That feeling was not wrong in the slightest.
“Meanwhile, the world we live in has no god. In astronomical terms, we call this an atheosphere. Rights of dominion over atheospheres are divided; thus, we mages came to exist. In other words, the art we call magic was originally the authority invested in a god.” He went on. “Looked at another way, it is what remains of the god this world once had. We rebelled against its control, slew god with our own hands, and robbed it of its authority. This happened fifty thousand years ago, before the development of our current civilization. Thus, the age of divinity ended, and the dawn of our modern-day magical world arrived.”
Having reached the dawn of history, Demitrio paused. And beneath the bewitching gleam of the stars, one student’s hand shot up.
“May I ask a question, Instructor Aristides?”
“I’ll allow it. Ask away, Katie Aalto.”
The curly-haired girl stood up in the darkness. She spent several seconds choosing her words.
“…I’ve heard the rebellion against god was carried out by a band of all demi species that existed at the time. And that the heart of it was a species long since extinct, known as the progenitor demis.”
“That is the prevailing theory. What of it?”
“Why were we unable to stay united?”
A very direct question, and he answered without a trace of hesitation.
“Flip your question, Katie Aalto. Ask not why they couldn’t stay united but how they were able to come together in the first place. The answer—they shared a common enemy in god. In the face of an overwhelming threat, all other conflicts cease to matter. That led to the ancient alliance, a battle for their very survival—but the moment their common foe was slain, the alliance splintered. Simple, really.”
Indeed, it was so simple it left Katie speechless. Demitrio’s theory held that conflict was the default state of being. Unable to argue with that stance, she clenched her jaw in frustration. Essentially, he had implied that her ceaseless quest for interspecies harmony was but another survival strategy.
“Another popular theory is the impressive leadership by the progenitor demis you mentioned. They do seem to have excelled at bridging the gaps between different life-forms. We believe they were every bit as intelligent as humans, elves, dwarves, and centaurs. We will go into this in detail later, but while the god still controlled our world, these five progenitor demis were what we call clergy species, serving under that god. Anything further would be outside the domain of astronomy. Study your magical history, Katie Aalto.”
“…I will. Thank you.”
Hardly pleased with what she’d heard, she nonetheless thanked him and sat down.
Demitrio waved his white wand again, and the stars began to change. Complex shifts in their positions, dim little stars growing brighter, and big bright stars growing dim.
“Every star in the sky is a glimpse of a tír, but the locations relative to this world vary per star. Generally speaking, the brighter the star, the closer the range. Here that word refers not to physical distance but the composite difficultly of passage between the two worlds. Every tír is on a constant cycle, drawing closer to our world and then moving farther away again.” He then added, “I can’t imagine anyone here is unaware of this, but the sun and moon are not tírs. Those two objects were placed in the sky by god during the creation of the world. They are a part of this world. So they have no direct bearing on the subject at hand.”
He waggled his wand at the false sky again, extinguishing the light of the moon. The sun had never been there to begin with, so all remaining stars were tír.
“Our concern lies with these other stars—countless other worlds with fundamentally different life-forms born of alien gods. Eight of these are on a consistent cycle that brings them into direct contact with our world. These are our primary threat. Specifically:
“Marcurius, the Fragrant Water’s Shore.
“Venasgorn, the Brooding Golden Mountains.
“Luftmarz, the Ravaging Inferno’s Kiln.
“Hadiaiupitre, the Imperious Green Garden.
“Ganosatun, the Beast’s Terrain.
“Uranischegar, the Judgmental Heavens.
“Ayrioneptu, the Rotting Sea’s Shoals.
“And Vanato, the Chthonic Retreat.”
He rattled off this list of bizarre names and forged ahead into the next phase of his lecture.
“The first threat these offer is the occasional migration of tír creatures. Invasions from entirely discrete ecosystems cause major damage to local ones. This sort of disruption occurs between our own world’s ecosystems as well, but assume the results are far more dramatic,” Demitrio explained. “But I should say that modern magical ecosystems have occasionally thrived despite these invasions. Several of the magical creatures you know are descended from tír ancestors. These successful invaders often fill a key niche within the resulting ecosystem, so it would be a mistake to assume all such migrations are dire. There are entire fields of research studying the potential benefits therein.”
Oliver could see Katie’s arms folded, her lips pursed. She had boundless love for all creatures from slugs to behemoths, but she had never come in direct contact with any migrations. She had enough on her plate facing the magical ecosystems of this world; how could she find room to add in lives from outside that framework? She’d yet to make up her mind.
“Depending on what migrates, that alone can cause disasters; but if we observe them carefully, determine their natures, and deal with them appropriately, we can minimize casualties. The act of coming from their world to ours means they can’t make full use of their powers. Essentially, a random monster popping over is unlikely to end the world. The problem lies with the things that join the migrations with intent and purpose. Scouts for the tír gods—we call them apostles. We can afford no mistakes handling them.”
Demitrio was sounding grimmer by the minute. The whole class knew this was the meat of the subject.
“What do these apostles do here? Exactly what it sounds like. They spread the word. They teach people about the gods of their world, preach the allure of their control, and gather followers to their cause. The specific approaches vary by the apostle’s characteristics and the nature of the god they serve, but there is a tendency to target species of higher intelligence. Smarter creatures are more likely to be unhappy with their lot in life and are more susceptible to religious persuasions. This creates intelligent species that worship tír gods. And naturally, in our world, humans and several types of demis are prime targets.”
The stars wheeling overhead began flashing, as if each had a mind of its own, calling out to the students, begging them to cross over.
“Alien teachings wind their way into their minds, reducing them to pawns of these tír gods. We call these beings—Gnostics.”
A silence settled over the room. The stars’ tumult had subsided, and the false sky was calm again. The astronomy teacher’s soft voice echoed once more amid the darkness.
“No matter which god they serve, the ultimate goal of every Gnostic is the same. Summon the god they worship here. Destroy the order and dominion of our world and remake it according to the unnatural rules of the god’s tír. Whatever the outcome, to us it is pure devastation. Thus,” he continued, “we must stop them. Without compromise or concession, every Gnostic must be pruned. Allowing them to proliferate spells this world’s doom. We have come this close to succumbing to such threats more times than I have fingers on my hands.”
As Demitrio put it, the history of mages was the history of Gnostic wars. From ancient times to the modern day, the battles raged on.
“The direct extermination missions are carried out by the elite Gnostic Hunters you’re familiar with. Teams composed of mages who excel at combat are out there protecting our world this very minute. I’ve been on my share of missions and have seen more than my fair share of hell. Each fight I survived left countless comrades’ bodies piled behind—a sight some of you will likely witness for yourselves one day.”
They all knew that time was not that far off. Gnostic hunting was a major post-graduation career path.
“The battle against Gnostics is a duty to every citizen of this world—not just the hunters. To prevail in combat, you must know your enemy. This is why I teach astronomy. Which tír will be within range when, and what kind of threats does it bring? Obtaining this knowledge now will directly prepare you to resist the Gnostic threat,” he said before finishing with “And that’s what this class is all about. Any questions?”
Demitrio waved his white wand again, returning the afternoon light to the classroom. The stars twinkling above were snuffed out. But every student present knew full well they were still up there, staring down at them.
After a moment’s thought, Pete raised his hand.
“…If I may, Instructor Aristides?”
Demitrio flicked his gaze upon him. “You may speak, Pete Reston.”
“Thank you. I guess what I don’t understand is…why do these people think it’s a good idea to summon tír gods?”
Given the lecture so far, that seemed like a key thing to ask. Once again, the astronomy teacher had the answer ready.
“Their hearts are weak. They are unable to accept that this world is the way it should be.”
“…He’s different from the other teachers, somehow,” Guy said in the hall after class.
The others had formed similar impressions.
“He seemed very conscious of a mage’s responsibilities,” Chela said, nodding. “Given his experiences on Gnostic Hunter missions, perhaps it’s only natural.”
“But he’s hardly the only one,” Oliver added. “Most of the Kimberly faculty have served on the front lines. And that’s definitely had a big impact on the way this school does things.”
Kimberly’s brutal curriculum meant it was often derided as a Gnostic Hunter vocational school. While there was some variation, anyone who survived their time here did learn how to fight.
As the group chatted, they reached an intersection, and Chela paused.
“…Well, then. Ms. Miligan asked Katie to meet up before dinner, and I wanted to thank her for the griffin help, so I’ll be joining them. Anyone else coming?”
“…Yeah, I’m in.”
“Oh? Really, Guy? I thought you had a Labyrinth Gourmet Club meeting?”
“No big deal if I miss one. And you’re gonna check out the griffin again before you eat, right?”
“Yes, but… Wait, are you worried?” Katie asked.
“Uh, yeah?” Guy said, exasperated. “When am I not worried about you?”
Katie made a face. “Sorry,” she said.
Oliver smiled at the sight, and Nanao suddenly tugged his arm.
“Then Oliver and I must show ourselves at the broomriding arena.”
“Oh? Me too?”
“Naturally. A rider and her catcher are inseparable.”
She had both hands on his sleeve and was not letting go. Oliver gave up the fight and let himself be dragged away. Katie’s trio turned left, and Oliver and Nanao glanced straight ahead—and then back at Pete, the odd man out. The bespectacled boy shrugged and turned right.
“I’ve got plans of my own. I won’t be around for dinner.”
“Okay, then, Pete. See you back at our room tonight.”
Each went their separate ways. But three minutes later, Oliver suddenly stopped.
“Wait… Where was Pete going?”
Nanao blinked at him. “? I rather assumed the library.”
“That’s in the other direction. It’d be much faster if he joined us. I could see Guy or Katie making a wrong turn, but Pete practically lives at the library.”
He mulled it over. Maybe he was overthinking this. There were plenty of things Pete might need to do other than visit the library. But things that would keep him from dinner? Something he was sure would last that long?
“…It’s bugging me. Sorry, Nanao!”
“Mm!”
She asked for no explanation. Both turned and raced back. They reached the intersection and took the right-hand turn after Pete. Oliver drew his white wand and the tip glowed, reacting to the scent of Pete’s uniform—the same method he’d used to track Katie when Miligan had kidnapped her.
“…This way.”
It led him in a classroom door—and just as he’d feared, he found Pete looking up in surprise—and the mad old man with him.
“Oh? Some unexpected guests!”
“Wh-what are you guys doing here?”
“…Instructor Enrico,” Oliver whispered.
Even today, the magical engineering teacher had subjected his students to whatever terrors he saw fit. That same man—Enrico Forghieri—stood by Pete’s side, a painting of a lake before them—a well-known labyrinth entrance. They’d been about to dive in.
“As promised in class before, I am about to show Mr. Reston my laboratory. Did you have pressing business with him?”
Enrico’s question forced Oliver to think a second. How best to handle the man?
He decided the direct approach was the right one. He straightened up and replied, “If I may be so bold—could we attend this laboratory visit as well?”
“Huh? No, wait, what?” Pete spluttered.
“Please,” Oliver said, speaking over him.
He couldn’t let the mad old man get Pete alone. Within the school building was one thing, but in Enrico’s personal workshop? Even if there was no direct physical threat, this laboratory was without a doubt home to all manner of unspeakable horrors.
“Hmm… Hmm…… Hmm?”
Enrico was tilting his head from one side to the other, eyeing Oliver with great curiosity. Even with glasses on, his gaze was making the boy’s skin crawl. That cheery gleam to his eye was more terrifying than any beast Oliver had fought. It made him feel like a fragile toy about to be picked up by a rambunctious child.
“I have only invited Mr. Reston…but I will admit you both did quite well in the last class. Your conquest of the liquid golem was magnificent!” Enrico nodded. “Very well! In honor of your achievements, I shall give you a chance.”
Grinning, he spun around—and nabbed Pete bodily beneath one arm. Pete yelped, but by then he was already halfway inside the painting.
“You may join us—if you can keep up! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
With a peal of laughter, Enrico left the classroom for the labyrinth. Oliver drew his athame.
“After them, Nanao!”
“On it!”
The Azian girl matched his stride. The two of them plunged into the labyrinth in pursuit of the mad old man.
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