The carriage ride from Arcanum Bellator to the Manor passed in the blink of an eye, shrouded in a deathly silence.
Phantsin didn't even look out the window. He spent the journey staring at his own hands, wrapped in ointment-stained bandages. Every time he closed his eyes, he only saw how incompetent he had been.
When the carriage finally rolled to a stop in the manor's gravel courtyard, Phantsin stepped down heavily. He looked like a soldier returning from a lost war, not a student on his summer vacation.
Ellie was waiting for him at the door. The elven maid stifled a gasp of dismay at the sight of his condition: his bruised face, his scorched Ignis robes, his slumped posture.
"Young Master!" Ellie ran down the steps and reached out to examine his wounds.
Phantsin recoiled sharply, pulling away from her touch.
"Don't come closer, Ellie," he said, his voice hoarse and hollow. "I'm unstable. I could... I could hurt you."
Ellie's amethyst eyes filled with sorrow, understanding that the boy's worst wounds lay far deeper than his skin.
"Flower is sleeping," Ellie said softly. "She has been asking for you for weeks."
"Let her sleep. I don't want her to see me like this." Phantsin looked toward the great oak doors. "Is the Master in his study?"
Ellie nodded. "He is expecting you."
Phantsin crossed the foyer and climbed the grand staircase. The ticking of Seamo's hundreds of clocks grew louder with every step, sounding like a judge marking the rhythm toward an execution.
He walked straight in without knocking.
The study was dimly lit. Master Seamo sat behind his immense mahogany desk, reviewing some scrolls by the light of an Aetheric Lamp. He wore his usual dark glasses, impassive and inscrutable.
Seamo didn't look up immediately. He let the silence stretch out, weighing heavily on Phantsin for a moment, until he finally set his quill aside.
"The report from the Academy arrived yesterday morning, delivered by an express raven from the headmaster's office," Seamo began, his tone conversational yet clinical. "'Catastrophic lack of control. Extreme risk to allies. Possible expulsion pending council review.'"
Phantsin lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Master. I failed."
"Yes, you did."
The cutting response made Phantsin look up.
"I lost control," Phantsin tried to explain, feeling a knot in his throat. "That girl, Viperthorn... she got into my head. She undid the filters. The Void tried to get out, and I had to drown it with my own fire. I hurt Eliana. I almost burned Zephyr. I... I'm not cut out for this. I'm a danger."
"Empathy is a tactical luxury you cannot afford, Phantsin," Seamo interrupted him, pouring himself a glass of dark wine. "I don't care if you singed a demi-human's feathers or dented a noble's armor. In war, there are friendly casualties. What I care about is inefficiency."
Seamo stood up and walked around the desk until he stood in front of the boy.
"I gave you a simple directive: hide the darkness with Ignis fire. Instead, you panicked and detonated your own core like a suicide bomber." The Master pointed at Phantsin's chest. "You are a glass cannon, Phantsin. A sword without a hilt. You have absolute power, yes, but you slice your own hands every time you try to wield it. Next year, find your armor or you will shatter into pieces. And if you shatter, your sister will be left completely alone."
The mention of Flower was a harsh blow to Phantsin, who felt his legs tremble.
Seamo was right. If he couldn't control it, the Inquisition would kill him, or worse, the Void would consume him completely. And Flower would be left alone.
"I don't know how to control it," Phantsin confessed, his voice breaking, reduced to a desperate whisper. "The beast is too strong. It fights me all the time."
Seamo observed him for a long moment. Then, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small object. He held it out to Phantsin.
It was a ring. Forged from Star Iron, it was thick, heavy, and pitch black. The metal's surface was etched with containment micro-runes from the Aether faction.
"What is this?" Phantsin asked.
"It is a high-grade flow limiter," Seamo said. "Once you put it on your finger, the Star Iron will react with your core. It will form a physical and magical barrier that will chain the Void deep within your being. You will no longer have to mentally fight it every second of the day."
Phantsin looked at the ring as if it were the Holy Grail.
Peace? Silence in his head?
He reached out to take it, but Seamo closed his fist, holding it back.
"Listen closely, boy. All magic comes with a price. The ring does not distinguish between the corrupt energy of the Void and your own Ignis spark. It will chain both." Seamo leaned in, ensuring Phantsin understood the gravity of his words. "If you put this on, your fire will become weak. Your magical potential will drop below the Academy's average. It will take you twice the effort to light a simple candle. You will be slow. You will be magically clumsy. You will have to rely on your physical strength and your pain tolerance to survive combat, because your magic will no longer save you."
Phantsin looked at the black ring in Seamo's hand.
To be weak. To be the laughingstock of Vlad and the nobles. To lose the advantage of the overwhelming strength that had saved him from the Troll in the dungeons.
But in exchange... Her team would no longer suffer because of her. The Void wouldn't be able to break out and hurt Flower.
For Phantsin, it wasn't a difficult choice.
"Give it to me."
Seamo opened his hand.
Phantsin took the heavy Star Iron ring, cold as ice, and without hesitation, slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand.
The effect was instantaneous and brutal.
Phantsin stifled a scream and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. It felt as if liquid lead had been injected into his veins. The constant, scorching connection he had with his own mana was drastically severed, like a hose crushed beneath an iron boot.
In the back of his mind, the constant roar of the Void turned into a distant, muffled hiss, locked behind impenetrable steel doors.
But along with the monster, the heat vanished too.
Phantsin was left panting on the rug, feeling a hollow cold inside him.
He looked at his right hand. He tried to summon a small flame. It took immense effort, cold sweat beading on his forehead. Until finally, a spark flickered in his palm for a brief moment before dying instantly.
He had become, in every sense, the weakest mage in Arcanum Bellator.
"The leash is on," Seamo said from above, looking down at the kneeling boy. "Enjoy your summer, Phantsin. Your Second Year begins in the fall, and without your brute strength, the Crucible is going to chew you up alive."
Phantsin clenched his right fist, feeling the dead weight of the ring.
"I will survive," she whispered with newfound determination
The First Year was over.
The Knight had chosen his chains, sacrificing his own fire to protect others from his shadows.
[END OF THE FIRST YEAR]