The single drop of crimson slid across the sprawling map of Yardrad, winding eastward like a serpent before reaching the map's ragged edge. There, it trembled—and dripped off into empty air. Alvin let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Looks like he's not on Yardrad," he muttered, brushing blue hair from his eyes. "Too bad we don't have a bigger map."
Eryndor's eyes narrowed, his voice calm and deliberate. "Where might we acquire one?"
Alvin shrugged, rolling his eyes as he rose to his feet. "We can't. This is the biggest map there is."
A flicker of incredulity crossed Eryndor's features. "How can that be?" he demanded, each word edged with disbelief. "I am fully cognisant that Yardrad is merely one of numerous continents. How can there exist no more comprehensive cartography?"
Alvin grabbed an old broom, sweeping the scattered remnants of red powder into a neat pile. "There just isn't," he said bluntly. "We don't know anything about the other continents—not even what they look like."
He paused, resting the broom handle on his shoulder, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "I don't think you grasp the sheer scale of Yardrad. People don't travel to other continents. They can't. First, they'd have to survive No Man's Land—and then there's the ocean itself." Alvin shuddered theatrically. "The waters separating the continents? They're worse than No Man's Land."
Eryndor's eyes gleamed like polished ice. "I have read extensively of the myriad horrors lurking beyond civilized borders," he intoned, voice low and regal, "and yet… civilization here appears to thrive nonetheless."
Alvin smirked, sweeping the last of the red powder into a brass spade. "That's thanks to some very powerful mages," he said. "And raiders. They keep the monsters at bay so we can sit around bickering like this."
Eryndor rose, his silhouette tall and commanding in the flickering lamplight. His voice dropped to a resonant hush. "I must locate my brother," he said, each word heavy with quiet determination.
Alvin snorted a laugh, leaning the broom against the cluttered wall. "You just said it yourself—there are dangers beyond imagining out there, and you still plan to go running into them?" His eyes glittered with incredulous amusement. "You wouldn't even know what killed you."
He added with a lazy wave of his hand, "And let's not forget: it would take you at least two years by carriage just to reach the edge of Yardrad."
Eryndor's jaw tightened. I had momentarily forgotten the vast immensity of this world, he thought grimly. It appears I shall have no alternative but to enlist Pungence's aid.
Alvin's eyes narrowed in focus. He lifted a single finger, and a delicate droplet of Eryndor's blood rose from the bottle, shimmering like a ruby in the dim light. It twisted in the air, sculpting itself into a slender arrow before settling gently into a small, transparent, compass-like container. With a quiet chant, the blood froze instantly into a crimson shard of ice.
He held the container close, breathing a final enchantment over it before tossing it underhand to Eryndor.
Eryndor caught it easily, the cold, humming artifact fitting perfectly between his long fingers. Alvin's grin flashed. "That'll point straight to your brother—wherever he is."
Eryndor studied the delicate compass, his voice a smooth blend of suspicion and admiration. "It continues to astonish me," he murmured, "that you practice the dark arts so brazenly within these hallowed halls—utterly undetected."
Alvin spread his hands in a grand flourish, eyes dancing with pride. "What can I say?" he crowed. "I'm a genius."
---
In the Augmenters' building, the air still crackled with the memory of the earlier confrontation. Steven sat slumped on a bench, a cold pack pressed against the swelling on his cheek. His gaze was distant, unfocused.
"Steven… what happened back there?" Rachel asked gently, settling beside him.
Steven's eyes flicked to her, stormy with confusion. "Who was he?" he demanded, voice low.
Rachel blinked. "He's the new student, remember?"
Steven let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Of course I know he's the new student. I mean—who is he really?"
Rachel's lips twisted into a sympathetic smile as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "He really did a number on your pride, didn't he?"
A nearby student couldn't resist a dig, calling out with a smirk, "Steven just got his ass handed to him by a caster!"
Rachel shot the student a sharp glare, then turned back to Steven. "Why did you attack him like that? He's a caster—you could have killed him."
Steven exhaled shakily, rubbing his temples. "I had it in mind he was a caster when I threw the first punch, so I only used a bit of my strength. But that bastard saw it coming—he dodged cleanly. No caster should've been able to do that. That's when I realized… he wasn't ordinary. So I put more power in the second punch—but he dodged that too."
Rachel's eyes widened. "What? I thought you only attacked him twice!"
Steven's gaze darkened. "No. It was three times. After he dodged the second, I lost it—I hit him with everything I had."
Rachel's voice rose sharply. "Are you insane? You could've killed him! If he hadn't survived, you'd be out of Festitude on the spot!"
Steven let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Survived? Rachel, I hit a caster with my full strength—and all he got was a bloody nose."
He stood abruptly, the ice pack dropping from his hand. "Looks like I need to reevaluate myself," he muttered, striding off without another word.
Rachel watched him go, heart pounding. He beat Steven without even using mana… she thought, awe mingling with fear. I have to know what he did.
---
Later, in the Casters' Department, Rachel wove through groups of students chatting between classes, scanning every face. She stopped one boy engrossed in a floating rune puzzle.
"Excuse me—have you seen the new kid? The really short one?" she asked urgently.
The boy looked up, blinking. "Oh, you mean the one who's always with that weirdo Alvin?"
Rachel's brows furrowed. "Where can I find him?"
The boy shrugged. "I dunno where he is right now, but Alvin's private study is upstairs. Go up, turn right, and it's at the end of the hall."
Rachel blinked. "He has a private study?"
"Yeah," the student said, returning to his puzzle. "He's the son of a Duke. They pulled strings. That guy's got privileges."
"Thanks," Rachel said, already moving.
---
In Alvin's cluttered study, the air buzzed with residual magic. Alvin and Eryndor sat across from each other, the silence heavy between them as the enchanted compass rested on the table, pointing steadily.
A knock at the door echoed through the room.
Alvin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No one ever knocks on my door," he muttered, voice tight with apprehension.
Eryndor opened the door with a composed expression, revealing Rachel standing tall at 9 feet 5 inches, her presence almost filling the cramped entryway. She regarded him with a cool, appraising look, then arched an eyebrow.
"Just the person I wanted to see," she said smoothly, voice edged with curiosity. "May I come in?"
Eryndor's gaze flicked over her, his eyes sharp and unflinching. "And you are?" he asked, his tone precise, every syllable clipped with quiet authority.
She placed a hand on her hip. "I'm Rachel," she replied, her voice softening just a touch. He stepped aside with a courteous nod.
"Then by all means, please enter. I must apologize for the lamentable state of this chamber."
Rachel stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over the clutter of towering books, scattered scrolls, and bubbling flasks. "Wow… it's…" she began delicately.
"A mess?" Alvin finished for her from across the room, his feet propped on a chair. "Yes, we're painfully aware. Now, why are you here?"
Rachel ignored Alvin, taking a seat with the effortless poise of someone used to being in command. She crossed her long legs, resting her elbows on her knees, and fixed Eryndor with a sharp, inquisitive gaze. "I'm here for him," she declared, nodding at Eryndor. "I want to know how you did it."
Eryndor tilted his head ever so slightly. "Did what, precisely?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost disinterested.
"How you defeated Steven," Rachel replied bluntly. Her eyes searched his face for the slightest crack in his composure.
Alvin leaned back with a smirk. "My esteemed companion here is no ordinary Aurellian. He's a prodigy among prodigies—he only began learning magic a month ago."
Rachel let out a short, incredulous laugh, her eyes darting between the two of them. "You're joking, right?"
Alvin's smile vanished, his expression growing serious. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
She stared at him, reading the certainty in his eyes. Her own eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "You're… not joking," she whispered.
Eryndor exhaled softly, his voice a patient reprimand. "Alvin, that will suffice."
He turned his piercing gaze on Rachel, his words calm but edged with finality. "I perceive no necessity in divulging matters that pertain exclusively to myself."
Rachel's lips curled into a sly smile. "Oh, come on," she coaxed, leaning forward until they were nearly eye-to-eye despite their height difference. "If it's a secret, I'm very good at keeping secrets. Besides, you're interesting."
"There are some truths best left unexplored," Eryndor replied coolly, his diction deliberate and refined. "And some curiosities best left unsatisfied."
Rachel arched an eyebrow, undeterred. "So it is a secret, then," she said, her tone teasing. "Is it a family technique? Or maybe something you discovered on your own?"
Eryndor's expression remained impassive. "I have neither the inclination nor the obligation to satiate your inquisitiveness," he said, each word a measured blade. "I would suggest you abandon this line of questioning."
Rachel's smile only widened, eyes glinting with mischief. "I've never met a caster like you," she said, voice soft and dangerous. "You know, I won't stop until I find out."
Alvin gave a low whistle. "She's persistent, I'll give her that," he drawled.
Eryndor's gaze sharpened. "I would entreat you to redirect your tenacity elsewhere," he said, voice velvet-smooth yet edged with quiet menace. "There is nothing here for you but disappointment."
Rachel's eyes narrowed playfully. "That's where you're wrong," she said, standing slowly, her imposing figure looming over him. "Because I think there's a lot more to you than you're letting on, and I fully intend to uncover it."
She turned on her heel, pausing at the door. "I'll be seeing you, Eryndor," she called over her shoulder, voice low and confident.
The door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the room ringing like an echo.
Alvin let out a low laugh, glancing sidelong at Eryndor. "Well," he said lightly, "I think she likes you."
Eryndor wiped a stray drop of blood from his upper lip, his expression as serene as a winter lake. "Your deductions, Alvin," he said dryly, "are as subtle as a falling mountain."
---
Night settled gently over the pristine campus, the grand dormitory of Festitude Academy glowing softly beneath the pale silver of the moons. The building itself stood regal and serene, its tall walls painted in a graceful interplay of white and deep blue, trimmed with delicate filigrees of gold that shimmered like starlight in the lamplight. Ornate arches and elegant spires crowned the roofline, giving the structure a quiet, noble dignity.
Eryndor's room occupied a corner on the third floor, and inside, it rivaled the chambers of lesser nobility. The ceiling rose high above polished wooden floors, while walls bore dark wainscoting carved with intricate patterns. Heavy velvet drapes framed tall windows that offered a commanding view of the moonlit courtyards below. The two beds were spacious and covered with soft, navy bedding embroidered with golden thread. A marble-topped writing desk stood beside a wardrobe of dark oak, and crystal sconces along the walls bathed the room in warm, ambient light.
Eryndor stood near his bed, unbuttoning his shirt with meticulous precision. He peeled it away, revealing a slim, almost delicate frame—his body carried the unassuming build of a normal eighteen-year-old, neither bulky nor chiseled. Only his trousers remained.
Across the room, Alvin sprawled lazily on his bed, propped up on his elbows, eyes wide with unabashed fascination as he watched the strange green birthmark on Eryndor's abdomen, a sinuous rune that curled with impossible intricacy, like a symbol carved by an artist beyond mortal skill. Its fine lines shimmered faintly, almost alive in the lamplight.
"Damn," Alvin muttered, voice thick with wonder. "No matter how many times I see it, I just can't get my eyes off it. Are you sure that's not a tattoo?"
Eryndor glanced over, a cool glint in his eye, and pointed to his right shoulder. "I once attempted to have a tattoo etched here," he replied calmly.
Alvin blinked. "And?"
Eryndor's lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile. "The needle proved wholly ineffectual; it failed to so much as breach the integrity of my skin."
Alvin sat up straight, mouth agape. "Wait—so you've always been like that?"
Eryndor exhaled softly, unfastening his belt before stepping out of his trousers, leaving only finely woven black undergarments. "Yes," he said with measured grace. "Since the earliest days I can recall."
Alvin's voice fell to a reverent whisper. "Are… your siblings like that too?"
Eryndor nodded once, eyes distant. "Indeed. Yet, among us three, my body has always possessed the greatest resilience."
A sudden voice shattered the quiet, sharp and ringing from below the dormitory window. "Eryndor! Eryndor! Eryndor!" It was high-pitched, insistent, and unmistakable.
Alvin sighed dramatically. "That's her, isn't it?"
Eryndor pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation flashing across his features. "Unfortunately, yes," he murmured.
He crossed the room with measured steps and swung open the window, a cool night breeze spilling in. Far below, Ziraiah stood on the paved walkway, black hair with vivid green streaks shining beneath the moonlight. She cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, voice echoing across the campus. "Get your ass out here! Time to go home—Aunty Ann is here!"
Eryndor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly before leaning out the window. His voice was low, refined, and edged with biting sarcasm. "Must you be so deafeningly loud? Have you no sense of decorum?"
Ziraiah planted her hands on her hips, eyes flashing. "Couldn't you just answer your strek like a normal person?"
Eryndor scowled faintly. "You know perfectly well I don't carry that infernal device."
Ziraiah threw her hands up dramatically. "Exactly! Which is why I have to resort to this!"
---
To Be Continued...