Revian looked past him as he paced his hands along the walls, the eerily sharp creaks in the wood slowing.
"Hey, don't just ignore me, bone boy!" He yelled, a combination of spit and sweat flying out in Revian's direction.
His eyes adjusting, Revian looked back towards the man drenched with sweat. He'd been holding himself up with both arms to perform what were presumably pushups.
His triceps were bulging, the veins stretching all throughout his arms pulsing in synchronization with his heartbeat.
Revian was taken aback by the man's build, his shirt barely containing the mass of his chest and abdomen muscles.
But yet, Revian looked forward past him anyway, again searching for lights.
"Oh, so you're a person of few words. That's fine, but still, you shouldn't ignore the man who will certainly be your blood brother--"
"Where are the lights?"
Revian didn't even acknowledge the words, his voice cutting through with mounting frustration.
The man was silent for a few moments, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Ha ha ha ha ha!" He laughed, the wood almost giving way as he propped himself up off the ground. "Lights...? Are you talking about those fancy fires that ignite on their own? This is Class F, you'd be lucky to find a restroom in this dump--including the wilderness. Be grateful you have a place to sleep at all."
Revian groaned, turning toward a small section of the room that was blocked off by a single rickety door.
"Oh, tired are you? Come on, the night has only begun! Work out with me, brother!"
Ignoring the man's calls, he slipped into the bed that was laying in the corner, its sheets riddled with holes and ragged stains.
He closed his eyes, his face profuse with sweat from the hot summer night.
Drifting off, his mind instantly gave way, the afterglow of a long and resentful day finally dissipating into the back of his mind.
...
The shining light from a day's new dawn cutting into his retinas, Revian rubbed his eyes.
"-vian."
His momentary stupor was immediately interrupted by the hand waving above his face, hovering towards his nose.
"Hey, Revian! Revian!" The man yelled, squeezing Revian's nose.
Revian's teeth straightened, his eyes gaping as he quickly snatched the man's outreaching hand, jumping out of bed and somersaulting past him to carry his momentum.
With a loud thud, Revian slammed him into the floor, its hard wood splintering from the energy and leaving behind a cavern of hard stone six feet beneath it.
"Don't ever touch me like that again!" He barked, stomping his foot with enough force to send cracks through the wooden floor.
Moments later, the tension in Revian's body released, looking down on the man who'd been rubbing his head since getting hit.
"Wow, you're nimble and fast. That small body of yours deceived me." He mused quietly. "I didn't mean to piss you off, brother, I just needed to wake you up. The first batch of classes are starting, and I don't know which one you have."
The crumbling of paper could be heard as Revian released his schedule from his pocket.
The man caught Revian off guard, snatching the paper from his hands and raising it high up in the air to thwart Revian's attempts to grab it back.
"Hm... hm..."
Revian resigned to his fate, staring blankly as the man continued to scout his schedule.
"Damn, well isn't this something? We share all the same classes."
Revian didn't flinch, snatching the paper back into his hands.
"Just great." He muttered sarcastically. "Spending the whole day with you."
"Isn't it?" He smiled, arm hovering over Revian's shoulder.
Remembering Revian's words, he pulled his arm back, pumping his fist into the air.
"You and I are destined to be together, Silent Knight!"
Revian's face tightened, his fists gripped tight.
"How do you know that nickname?"
"How do I know it...? Brother, how wouldn't I know it? You're the highest ranking in our entire year!"
Revian paused, his eyes focused on the man's face. He couldn't talk, his lips sealed.
"Wait, don't tell me you don't know who I am... Garron Blaze, ranked third in swordsmanship--hold on, why are you looking at me like that!"
Revian looked him up and down one last time, shaking his head.
"Let's just get this over with."
They stepped outside into the blinding morning sun, a wave of humidity clinging to their skin like damp cloth. Garron carried nothing but a pair of rusted gauntlets slung over his shoulder, as if that alone was enough for class. Revian, meanwhile, adjusted the loose straps of his bag, not particularly looking forward to spending the day in a classroom, let alone multiple, with Garron glued to his side.
The path to their first class building was cracked and faded. The brickwork on the outer walls was inconsistent--some polished, some burned, some utterly missing. A moss-covered plaque at the entrance read: "Fundamentals of Magic Application."
They stepped inside to a room with only two windows and a number of crude stone desks carved out of blocks. The ceiling was partially caved in.
Revian squinted. "This is a classroom?"
Before Garron could answer, the door slammed shut behind them with a mighty bang.
A towering figure emerged from the back. Bald, with shoulders like cliff faces and a jaw that could cleave iron, the man wore no robe--just armor made from stitched-together beast hide. Scars danced across his arms.
"You're late," he growled.
Revian instinctively took a step back. Garron took one forward.
"Whoa, now that's a presence. Are you the instructor?"
The man glared. "Name's Varek. Just Varek. I run every damn class in this dump, so get used to this face."
Revian's stomach sank. Garron's fist pumped.
"Perfect! Now that's what I call consistency."
Varek pointed to two seats near the front. "Sit. Speak when spoken to. Disobey and I'll have you building new dorms with your bare hands."
They obeyed.
The class started with a dry, gravelly monologue about mana flow and the absence of elemental affinity in Class F students. No exercises. No demonstration. Just theory. Garron snored at one point and got a thrown chalk shard to the temple for it.
As the bell rang, Varek barked, "Room next door for your next class. I'm teaching that too."
Revian blinked. "You're teaching mana channeling as well?"
Varek didn't answer. He simply stomped through the wall into the next room. Literally through the wall.
Garron laughed. "This guy's the best."
By the third class, Combat Conditioning, Varek was still there--wearing the same stitched hide, barking the same tone. The same thing happened for Practical Incantation. And Rune Studies. And Theoretical Ethics of Power.
By the end of the day, as they dragged their aching bodies out the door, Revian stopped dead in his tracks.
"He's... he's every instructor. Every single one."
Garron beamed. "Of course he is! That's Varek. He's our everything."
Revian sighed, placing a hand on his temple.
"Just my luck."
And with that, Class F's long, miserable academic journey had officially begun.