"You need to hide," Kael hissed, grabbing my arm. "Right now. We'll say we don't know where you are—"
"That won't work," I said, watching the Void Knight through the window. "They can probably sense me. That armor has detection runes woven into its structure. Pre-Cataclysm work was very thorough about tracking capabilities."
"How do you know that?" Lyris demanded.
"I read a lot?"
"Nobody reads THAT much about ancient armor!"
The Void Knight took one step forward, and the Academy's defensive wards screamed in protest. Reality itself seemed to bend away from them, like water refusing to touch oil.
"QAFTZI'EL AIGLE," the voice boomed again. "I WILL NOT ASK AGAIN."
"Well," I said, "I suppose I should go say hello. Would be rude to keep them waiting."
"Are you insane?" Mira grabbed my other arm. "That thing wants to tear the Academy apart looking for you! You can't just walk out there!"
"Why not? They asked politely. Sort of. The threat was implied but the request was clear."
"They're going to kill you!"
"Probably not. If they wanted me dead, they would have simply attacked without announcing themselves. The fact that they're asking for me specifically suggests conversation rather than immediate violence."
"That's not reassuring!" Kael said.
"It's a little reassuring. Slightly. Marginally."
Around the library, students were panicking. Some were trying to flee toward the exits. Others were preparing combat magic despite the instructors' orders to remain calm. A few were crying.
I gently extracted myself from Kael and Mira's grip.
"Stay here," I told my team. "All of you. This isn't your fight."
"Like hell it isn't," Lyris said, lightning dancing up both arms. "We're a team. We face things together."
"That's lovely, but this particular thing specifically wants me. No reason for everyone to be in danger."
"Qaftzi'el—" Brick started.
"Please," I said, and something in my voice made them all pause. "Trust me. I'll be fine. And if I'm not fine, your presence won't change that—it'll just put you at risk too."
They looked at each other, having one of those silent conversations that teams develop.
Finally Kael nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But if you die, I'm going to be very annoyed at having to find a new moral support specialist."
"I'll do my best not to die then. Wouldn't want to cause administrative inconvenience."
I walked toward the library exit, leaving my team behind. Other students moved out of my way like I was carrying something contagious. Which, in a sense, I was—I was carrying the attention of something very old and very dangerous.
The corridors were chaos. Students running despite instructions. Instructors trying to maintain order while preparing for combat. Guards taking defensive positions at windows and doorways.
I walked through it all, heading toward the main entrance.
"Student!" A guard tried to stop me. "You need to return to—"
He looked at my face and the words died. Something in my expression, something I hadn't bothered hiding, told him that stopping me would be both futile and unwise.
He stepped aside.
I walked out the main doors into the courtyard.
The evening air was cool, pleasant even, completely at odds with the tension saturating the atmosphere. The Void Knight stood exactly where they had been, perfectly still, watching me approach.
Up close, they were even more impressive. The armor was a masterwork—each piece fitted with precision that suggested either incredible craftsmanship or magical shaping. The void-crystal material seemed to exist slightly outside normal space, making it difficult to focus on directly.
"Hello," I said, stopping about ten feet away. "I'm Qaftzi'el. You were looking for me?"
The Void Knight was silent for a long moment.
Then they reached up and removed their helmet.
The face beneath was... unexpected.
Female, probably mid-twenties in appearance, with pale skin and eyes that were completely silver—no pupil, no iris, just pure silver that reflected light like mirrors. Her hair was white, cut short and practical.
And she looked exhausted. Not physically tired, but existentially weary, like someone who'd been carrying an impossible burden for far too long.
"You," she said, her voice normal now, without the dimensional amplification, "are not what I expected."
"I get that a lot. What did you expect?"
"Something... older. More obvious. You look like a child."
"I chose this appearance for school. Seemed appropriate for the student aesthetic."
She studied me with those silver eyes, seeing past the surface, reading the reality beneath. "You're really him. The one from before."
"Before what?"
"Before everything. Before structure. Before causality." She knelt, armor clanking against stone. "I've been searching for you for three thousand years."
"That's dedication. Why?"
"Because I need your help. Because reality is failing in ways that nobody else understands. Because I'm a Void Knight, one of the last, and we were created specifically to find you when the universe needed you."
I blinked. "Created to find me?"
"Yes. The Architect—the one who designed the failsafes for this universe iteration—they left instructions. If certain degradation patterns emerged, if reality began unraveling in specific ways, a Void Knight was to locate you and request aid."
"Huh. I don't remember authorizing that."
"You wouldn't. It happened long after you... moved on. After you stopped actively managing reality and let it self-sustain."
She stood, replacing her helmet. When she spoke again, her voice carried that dimensional resonance.
"The universe is dying. Not immediately. Not obviously. But the foundations are crumbling. The same problems you fixed in the labyrinth are manifesting everywhere, on scales too large for local repairs. Without intervention, everything ends in approximately twelve thousand years."
"That's faster than the estimate the Reality Patch gave me," I said thoughtfully.
"The degradation is accelerating. Each repair creates new stress points. It's like—" she searched for a metaphor "—like trying to fix a ship by patching holes, but each patch makes the hull more rigid, more likely to crack elsewhere."
"You need a systemic solution, not piecemeal repairs."
"Yes. And according to the Architect's records, only you have the knowledge and capability to implement that."
Behind me, I could sense the Academy's forces gathering. Archmages preparing their most powerful spells. Guards positioning for coordinated attacks. Defensive wards charging to maximum capacity.
They were about to do something very stupid.
"Everyone needs to calm down," I called out, not turning around. "This is a conversation, not an invasion."
"That armored figure threatened our Academy!" Archmage Celethine's voice rang out. "Surrender them or face consequences!"
The Void Knight's hand moved toward her sword.
"Don't," I said quietly. "They're frightened. Frightened people make poor decisions."
"They're also preparing a coordinated assault that will fail but might damage the local reality structure in the attempt."
"Which would be inconvenient for everyone. Give me a moment."
I turned to face the assembled Academy defenders. Thirty guards, seven Archmages, and approximately two hundred students who'd ignored evacuation orders to watch the confrontation.
"Archmage Celethine," I called out, "may I propose an alternative to violence?"
Celethine stood at the front of the group, her black eyes blazing with power. "You're harboring something that threatened our institution."
"I'm not harboring anyone. I'm talking to someone who asked to speak with me. There's a difference."
"They said they'd tear the Academy apart!"
"That was hyperbole. A rhetorical device meant to ensure prompt attention. Nobody actually plans to tear anything apart."
The Void Knight remained silent, which I chose to interpret as agreement.
"Mr. Aigle," Celethine said, her voice dangerously soft, "you have been an anomaly since you arrived. Impossible entrance exam results. Inexplicable labyrinth performance. And now, ancient entities specifically seeking you out. I think it's time you explained exactly what you are."
The crowd grew silent, everyone waiting for my response.
I could lie. Could deflect. Could make another joke and hope the situation defused itself.
But I was tired of pretending.
Just for tonight.
"I'm someone very old," I said clearly, my voice carrying across the courtyard without amplification. "Older than this Academy. Older than this civilization. Older than most things you'd consider ancient. I came here to experience mortality, to understand what it means to be temporary, to learn from beings whose existence has meaning precisely because it's limited."
"That's not an answer," Celethine said.
"It's the only answer I can give without causing problems. Some truths are too large to speak without breaking things."
"Then let me break something smaller," she said, and power gathered around her. "You will submit to examination, or you will be detained by force."
"I'd really rather not."
"That's not your choice."
She attacked.
Not physically—Celethine was too sophisticated for crude violence. Instead, she cast a binding spell, reality itself weaving into chains designed to paralyze and contain.
The spell was genuinely impressive. Seventeen-dimensional binding matrices, with failsafes and redundancies, capable of holding even demigods temporarily.
It touched me and... stopped.
Not shattered. Not deflected. Just stopped, like trying to bind empty space.
"Please don't do that again," I said calmly. "I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by demonstrating how ineffective it is."
Six other Archmages joined the assault.
Elemental magic. Spatial manipulation. Temporal distortion. Reality warping. Soul binding. Conceptual erasure.
A coordinated attack that would overwhelm almost any entity.
I stood in the center of it all, completely unaffected, like a rock in a river of power.
"This is getting silly," I said.
I didn't cast a spell. Didn't channel mana. Didn't perform any recognizable magical technique.
I just... suggested that everyone calm down.
And reality agreed.
The spells dissolved. The power dispersed. Every Archmage found themselves suddenly too tired to continue, their mana reserves mysteriously depleted.
The courtyard fell silent.
"How?" Celethine whispered.
"I asked politely," I said. "Reality is surprisingly cooperative when you remember to be courteous."
Behind me, the Void Knight made a sound that might have been laughter.
"You haven't changed," she said. "Even after all this time, you still prefer the gentle approach."
"Violence is boring," I said. "And messy. And it rarely solves the actual problems."
Celethine stared at me, her black eyes wide. "What are you?"
"I told you. Someone old. Someone who'd rather attend classes and draw cats than demonstrate power. Someone who really, really hopes we can all move past this awkward moment and return to normal."
"Normal," she repeated faintly.
"Yes. Normal. Where I'm just a peculiar student, and the Void Knight is a visiting dignitary, and nobody tries to bind or detain anyone."
"You... neutralized seven Archmages simultaneously."
"I suggested they stop. There's a difference."
"That's not—" She struggled for words. "That's beyond anything we can measure. Beyond any classification."
"Classifications are limitations," I said. "I prefer not to be limited."
The Void Knight stepped forward, removing her helmet again. "Archmage Celethine. I apologize for my dramatic entrance. I've been searching for Qaftzi'el for millennia, and when I finally located him, urgency overrode diplomacy."
"You're a Void Knight," Celethine said, recognition dawning. "From the old texts. Pre-Cataclysm defenders. I thought you were extinct."
"Nearly. I'm one of three remaining. We've been searching for him across reality itself." She gestured to me. "He's the only one who can fix what's breaking."
"Fix what?"
"Everything," I said. "Reality has bugs. Fundamental flaws that will eventually cause systemic collapse. The Void Knights were apparently created as a contingency to find me when the problems became critical."
"You can fix reality itself?" Celethine asked.
"I can edit the foundations, yes. It's complicated and requires extensive work, but theoretically possible."
"Why are you here then? Why attend an Academy instead of fixing the universe?"
I smiled. "Because I wanted to. Because experiencing temporary, limited existence seemed more interesting than cosmic maintenance. Because sometimes even the oldest beings need to remember why existence matters before they try to save it."
Silence.
Then, surprisingly, Celethine laughed. Not hysterically—genuinely, with real amusement.
"You're attending our Academy for entertainment," she said.
"And education! I'm learning a lot about contemporary magical theory."
"Our magical theory must seem incredibly primitive to you."
"Not primitive. Different. Evolved from different starting assumptions. It's fascinating seeing how civilizations reinvent magic from limited information."
She shook her head, still smiling. "You're absolutely insane."
"I've been told that."
"And you really want to just... continue being a student?"
"If possible, yes. Though I understand if my cover is somewhat compromised now."
Celethine looked at the assembled crowd—students and staff who'd just witnessed something impossible. Then she raised her voice, power amplifying it across the courtyard.
"Tonight's events are classified at the highest level. What you witnessed was an advanced magical demonstration between visiting dignitaries. Nothing more. Anyone spreading alternative stories will face academic sanctions."
Murmurs of confusion, but nods of agreement.
"As for you, Mr. Aigle—" Celethine turned back to me "—you will continue your studies. But you will also meet with me weekly to discuss certain... matters... relevant to your unique perspective."
"That seems fair."
"And your friend—" she nodded to the Void Knight "—she may stay as a guest of the Academy while you discuss whatever universe-saving plans you're developing."
"Thank you," the Void Knight said.
"Don't thank me. I'm just trying to prevent another reality-warping incident on Academy grounds." Celethine rubbed her temples. "Dismiss everyone. Return to your dormitories. Classes resume normally tomorrow, and anyone who doesn't pretend tonight was completely ordinary will regret it."
The crowd slowly dispersed, students whispering furiously despite the threats.
Once the courtyard had mostly cleared, my team approached cautiously.
"So," Kael said carefully, "that was intense."
"A bit," I agreed.
"You casually neutralized seven Archmages."
"I asked them to stop."
"That's not asking, that's reality manipulation on a terrifying scale."
"Is there a difference?"
"YES!"
The Void Knight watched this exchange with interest. "These are your companions?"
"My team. My friends. Kael, Lyris, Mira, and Brick."
"Friends," she repeated, like the word was foreign. "You made friends."
"Of course. What else would I do at school?"
"Save the universe, apparently," Lyris muttered.
"That's more of a side project. Friendship is the main curriculum."
The Void Knight extended a hand to Kael. "I'm Seris. Void Knight, universe guardian, and apparently bearer of inconvenient cosmic news."
Kael shook her hand hesitantly. "You've been looking for him for three thousand years?"
"Yes."
"That's dedicated."
"It's my purpose. I was literally created to find him when needed."
"Created how?" Mira asked.
"The Architect—the entity who designed this universe's failsafes—used a fragment of void-essence and shaped it into consciousness with one directive: locate Qaftzi'el Aigle if reality degradation exceeds critical thresholds."
"So you're basically a cosmic emergency beacon," I said.
"Essentially."
"That seems lonely."
She looked surprised. "It is. Most beings are either frightened of me or try to use me. You're the first who's expressed concern about my emotional state."
"Well, being created for a single purpose doesn't mean you don't have feelings. Even tools deserve consideration."
"I'm not sure I'm more than a tool."
"Everyone's more than their purpose," I said firmly. "You've been searching for three thousand years. What did you do during that time? Between searching?"
She considered. "I... observed. Watched civilizations rise and fall. Studied their magic, their philosophy, their art. Tried to understand why beings with such brief existences fought so hard to matter."
"And what did you conclude?"
"That temporary existence creates urgency. That knowing you'll end makes every moment significant. That..." She paused. "That I envied them."
"Then maybe," I said gently, "while we're fixing reality, you should also experience some of what you've envied. Learn what it means to be more than your purpose."
Seris stared at me. "You want me to attend classes with you?"
"Why not? You're already staying at the Academy. Might as well be educated while you're here."
"I'm a three-thousand-year-old construct designed for cosmic emergency response."
"Perfect! You'll bring a unique perspective to classroom discussions."
"This is insane."
"It's practical," I corrected. "And potentially enjoyable. When was the last time you did something just because it seemed interesting?"
She couldn't answer that.
"Exactly," I said. "You'll attend classes. Make friends. Experience normal Academy life. And in your spare time, we'll save the universe. Efficient multitasking."
"I don't think that's how universe-saving works."
"Sure it is. I've done it before. The key is proper time management."
Seris looked at my team. "Is he always like this?"
"Yes," they chorused.
"Does it get less disorienting?"
"No," they chorused again.
"But," Mira added, "it does get more endearing."
"Somehow," Kael said.
Seris shook her head but removed her armor, revealing practical clothing underneath. Without the void-crystal shell, she looked almost normal. Almost.
"Fine," she said. "I'll try your insane plan. But if reality collapses while we're attending introduction to magical theory, I'm going to be very disappointed."
"Deal," I said, extending my hand.
She shook it, and I felt the void-essence in her construction—ancient, powerful, lonely.
Yes, she definitely needed friends as much as the universe needed saving.
Possibly more.