YEAR 2: THE WOLF AND THE ARMOR
The second year at Arcanum Bellator began with the cold autumn air. It rattled the stained-glass windows of the academy and stripped the trees of the Silverpine Forest, leaving them like skeletal fingers scratching at the gray sky.
Phantsin Dawnfire stepped through the main doors, his trunk in one hand.
He felt different now, heavier somehow. On his right index finger, the Star Iron ring felt cold and tight. It was a constant weight, a physical anchor that seemed to pull at his very veins.
"Careful," a second-year student muttered as Phantsin passed by. "The Mad Dog is back."
The students stepped aside, giving him a wide berth. They watched him with a mixture of caution and morbid curiosity. The story of the duel with Vlad and his collapse during the final exams had morphed over the summer into a legend of instability.
Phantsin ignored them. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, his face a mask of stone. Find your armor, Seamo had said. Silence was a good start.
Phantsin pushed open the door to his room in The Forge, the dormitory of the Ignis faction.
Just like the previous year, the room remained empty. He hadn't been assigned a roommate. His reputation as the unstable "Mad Dog" guaranteed his isolation.
He set his trunk on the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked at his right hand.
The Star Iron ring on his finger felt like a shackle. He could feel the cold of the metal seeping into his bones, numbing his arcane senses. The constant, vibrant connection he used to have with mana had drastically diminished. The Void monster was locked away, yes, but Phantsin felt incomplete and weak.
He needed to get out. He needed to see a familiar face to convince himself that the sacrifice had been worth it.
He thought about looking for Korbin at the forges, or perhaps Lyla in the greenhouses, but his feet carried him aimlessly through the stone corridors of the Academy.
He ended up near the border of The Veil, the semi-subterranean, labyrinthine dormitories of the Umbra faction. It was a sparsely traveled area, full of elongated shadows and blind corners.
"Where do you think you're going, mutt?"
A voice, dripping with the unmistakable disdain of high nobility, shattered the silence.
Phantsin stopped and peeked from behind a stone archway.
In a dead-end formed by two retaining walls, three second-year students from the Aether faction had a girl cornered.
Phantsin narrowed his eyes, assessing the situation.
The cornered girl was small, barely five feet tall, but her build was far from fragile. She was athletic and wiry, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
She wore the basic Academy uniform, though modified, and somewhat dirty.
She had discarded the vest bearing her faction's stripes, and the sleeves of her white shirt were rolled up to her elbows, revealing forearms wrapped in worn combat bandages.
She wore the regulation gray skirt, but underneath, tight black leather shorts peeked out, clearly designed to allow her to deliver kicks without restriction. Her calves were also bandaged. A deep purple sash, the emblem of Umbra, encircled her waist.
Her hair was dark gray, short and unevenly chopped, as if she had cut it herself with a knife.
At first glance, she looked human: pale skin, a smudge of dirt on her cheeks. But from her head sprouted two expressive wolf ears, currently flattened against her skull in a display of forced submission. Beneath her skirt, a bushy, gray wolf tail was tucked between her legs, trembling.
She was a Beastkin demi-human. A wolf girl.
"Smells like wet dog and garbage," said the leader of the nobles, a tall boy bearing a viscounty crest on his chest. "They should ban animals from wearing the uniform. You soil the Academy's colors."
The wolf girl didn't reply. She leaned against the wall. On her calves, exposed between her boots and skirt, Phantsin noticed a prominent, old burn scar on her left leg, shining pale against her skin. Her eyes, a striking golden-amber, gleamed in the dim light with pupils dilated by fear.
But Phantsin, who was intimately acquainted with violence, noticed something else.
His hands hovered near his boots., where Phantsin was certain she kept hidden weapons. Her stance, grounded in those soft-soled, silent leather boots, was primed for killing.
So why doesn't she attack? Is it because they're nobles? Is it authority?
One of the nobles raised his wand, tracing blue Aether runes in the air.
"Let's teach you a little obedience, bitch."
Phantsin felt his blood boil. He tried to summon his mana, but the iron ring strangled the magic in his throat. He couldn't cast a spell quickly.
Fine. He didn't need to anyway.
Phantsin stepped out from the shadows, his heavy military boots echoing against the stone.
"Put the stick down, idiot."
The three nobles spun around, startled. Upon recognizing Phantsin's crimson red hair and hardened gaze, they took a step back.
"Dawnfire," the leader hissed, his voice trembling slightly. Everyone remembered the crater he had left in the Valley of Scars. "This is none of your business, Ignis. Go back to your kennel. This scum disrespected us."
Phantsin didn't stop until he stood right in front of them, placing himself between the nobles and the wolf girl. At six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he towered over them. And even though he couldn't use magic, his reputation for lethal instability was a weapon in its own right.
"I said, put it down," Phantsin repeated, his voice low, cold, and laden with absolute threat. "Unless you want to find out if I learned to control my explosions this year. Because I swear to you, if you make me so much as sneeze, there won't even be ashes left of you."
The nobles paled. They exchanged uneasy glances. None of them wanted to be the 'Mad Dog's' guinea pig.
"You're crazy," the leader muttered, lowering his wand and backing away. "Let's go. The animal stench clings."
The three hurried away down the corridor, glancing over their shoulders until they vanished around the bend.
Phantsin let out a sigh and turned toward the wolf girl.
She stood frozen, staring at him with those amber eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Her fangs, slightly pronounced, peeked through her parted lips.
Her nose twitched. She was sniffing the air.
Beneath the metallic scent of the restrictive ring and the Academy soap, the girl perceived something else. A scent of smoke, of ash, and the warmth of freshly baked bread stolen from a bakery. It was a scent from years ago. A scent she had revered ever since she was a terrified little girl in an alley of the Meat Market.
Suddenly, her bushy gray tail uncurled and began to wag frantically from side to side. Immediately, the girl grabbed her tail with both hands, trying to hold it still to maintain her tough facade, but her ears were perked up, pointing directly at him.
"Are you okay?" Phantsin asked.
She nodded quickly.
"Why didn't you defend yourself?" he asked, frowning and pointing at her bandaged hands. "I know you could have torn them apart before they finished that spell. You look trained."
The girl looked down, ashamed.
"They're nobles. If a stray bites a noble... they put it down."
Phantsin felt a pang of sorrow. He understood that feeling all too well. Being judged by your blood, by your origins, instead of who you truly are.
He stepped a little closer.
"You're not a stray here," Phantsin said, his voice steady, the same unwavering tone he used to comfort his little sister. "You're a student of Arcanum Bellator. You earned that right by fighting."
She looked up, her golden pupils dilated by the intensity of his words.
"The rules that made you bow your head in the slums don't exist on the battlefield," Phantsin continued. "A wolf shouldn't bow to lapdogs just because they wear silk. Next time, bare your teeth."
The wolf girl felt the world click back into place. He didn't recognize her, but he was still exactly the same person from back then.
The boy who stood in front of the bullies so she wouldn't have to. The boy who had given her the courage to become a gladiator and fight for her life.
Her ears twitched forward.
"Yes..." she whispered. A low growl of determination rose in her throat. "Yes, I'll bare my teeth."
Phantsin nodded, satisfied. He turned to leave.
"I'm Rikka."
Phantsin stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
"Phantsin Dawnfire."
"Phantsin," Rikka repeated. Her golden eyes no longer held any fear. They held a fierce devotion, the absolute loyalty of a wolf who had found, once again, her leader. "Alpha."
Phantsin frowned at the strange title but said nothing. He resumed his walk toward the dormitories.
Behind him, amidst the shadows of The Veil, Rikka smiled. She slid her hands down toward the daggers hidden in her boots.
Her fear of the nobles had evaporated. Her savior had returned, and this time, she was strong enough to be his shadow.