The remaining hours of the school day passed without incident. Bart had been dismissed from the headmaster's office ahead of Lowell and, although he had every intention to stay behind to wait, he was unceremoniously ushered off to his first period class by the headmaster's assistant Alesandra.

  Lowell had spent the rest of the day trying to maintain his usual routine: arriving to classes just before the bell, sitting in the back of classrooms, keeping his head down during discussions.

  It wasn't the first time Lowell had had a run-in with the headmaster, and he knew better than to expect it to be the last. But this time was different. Something had shifted. The whispers and stares that followed him carried a different weight to them now. Students who had previously ignored his existence now cast furtive glances in his direction, their curiosity piqued by whatever rumors had spread about the incident in the park this morning and both his and Bart's confrontation with Headmaster Byron.

  The academy itself seemed to press down on him with renewed intensity. Orus Guild Academy had stood since the early days of the Guild Marches, though it was now a shadow of its former glory. Everyone knew that its stone walls had seen countless generations of students, some among them had become leaders of renowned guilds while others served the Guild Marches as representatives of the people or as ambassadors. Its halls echoed with stories of what once was and now wasn't. There was something almost oppressive about that history, the way it demanded respect and conformity from everyone who walked its grounds.

  The buildings of the campus were a testament to this storied past, and in some ways to the ever-changing world around them. The weathered granite and marble of the original buildings contrasted sharply with the steel and glass of newer wings that had been built to accommodate studies in magic, science, and politics. It was a visual representation of the academy's internal struggle: the proud, unyielding stone of tradition standing alongside the sleek, modern structures that represented progress and change.

  Lowell could feel that tension more acutely now that his carefully maintained routine had been disrupted. The academy was caught between living in the past and forging a new future, between the comfort of tradition and the discomfort of change. It was a place that remembered when it mattered, when its approval could make or break a guild's reputation, when its graduates were sought after by the most prestigious organizations in the realm.

  Now, it was just another academy, struggling to maintain its relevance in a world that had found other ways to train its leaders and heroes. Other academies like Arclan had risen to prominence, offering modern approaches that left Orus behind. And Lowell was caught in that same struggle, forced to navigate an institution that demanded conformity while he fought to maintain his independence, expected to embrace traditions that felt foreign and constraining to someone who had learned to survive outside the system.

  Lowell had always felt like an outsider here, but now he felt exposed. The academy's age and tradition seemed to mock his attempts at anonymity, as if the very stones were aware of his presence and disapproved of his reluctance to conform.

  The academy had its classrooms spread across four buildings and five floors. As a second-year student, most of Lowell's classes were on the third floor. Several stairwells afforded students easy access to the upper and lower floors. Lowell was the last to emerge from his final lecture of the day, bag slung over his shoulder, hoping to slip away unnoticed as he always did.

  But as he turned toward the stairs, he spotted Bart waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall with that familiar grin plastered across his face. Lowell's shoulders tensed. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid: the kind of attention that came with having someone who insisted on being friendly, who seemed determined to drag him into the social fabric of the academy whether he wanted to be there or not.

  He wondered if he could pivot and take another path that avoided Bart. There was none, unless he chose to go through one of the classroom windows. The fantasy of escape was short-lived though, as Bart had also seen him.

  Bart's presence felt like a spotlight, drawing the attention of the few remaining students in the hallway. Lowell could see them watching, could feel their curiosity like a physical weight. This was what happened when you let someone get too familiar. They became a reason for others to notice you when you'd spent months perfecting the art of being invisible.

  The worst part was that Bart was completely oblivious to the effect he was having. He was just standing there, waiting, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if they were old friends who met up after class every day. As if Lowell hadn't spent the entire day trying to pretend that this morning had never happened, that their shared experience in the park and their verbal sparring with the headmaster were just temporary aberrations in his carefully constructed routine of solitude.

  But they weren't aberrations. All he'd wanted was to be left alone, and that was no longer an option.

  "Hey, Brandt!"

  "Bartholomew Allston." Lowell's greeting was dry, though he'd been hoping for a different outcome. He lifted a hand in response, but wasn't sure why.

  "So you do know who I am." Bart grinned, matching pace with Lowell, as the two navigated around straggling students who had not left for home, to their dormitories, or to some after-school club or other activity.

  "Of course." Lowell shrugged, beginning to descend the stairs toward the first floor. "I would imagine just about everyone at Orus knows who the Allstons are."

  Bart laughed uncomfortably. "Well, they know my father... and my sister, of course. I don't think I've made much of a name for myself."

  Lowell shrugged. "Maybe you have now." He pointed at two first-year students who were whispering to each other, looking in the direction of Bart and Lowell on the stairs. When Bart followed Lowell's gesture, the first-years noticed and fled in embarrassment.

  "Eh..." Bart looked skeptical as they scattered. "I'm not sure. I think they might have just been afraid of you."

  "Whatever," Lowell continued down the stairs, his bag slung over his shoulder.

  As they reached the first floor, Lowell felt a brief moment of relief. The stairwell had provided a temporary buffer from the curious stares of other students, and for a few seconds, he could almost pretend he was back to his normal routine, just another student heading home after class, invisible and unnoticed.

  But the illusion shattered the moment they stepped into the main hallway. Headmaster Byron was waiting for them, his presence like a physical barrier blocking their path to the exit. Lowell's shoulders tensed again, reflexively. Just as above, there was no escape here either.

  "Ah, Brandt and Allston, I see you're both eager and available to start your newly assigned task." The headmaster was barely able to disguise his glee, as if he'd been anticipating this moment. He handed them each a broom, mostly symbolic as the basement was more cluttered than the headmaster's office. The headmaster wasn't above the pettiness of the act, and Lowell could see the satisfaction in his eyes as he watched them accept their punishment.

  Bart's eyes widened in surprise. "Cleaning? Today?"

  "Yes, unless you'd like to recant any aspect of your earlier story," the words were venomous. "It is a necessary task," Headmaster Byron said sternly. "The academy needs to be maintained, and that includes the basement. You should be thankful I did not issue a more severe punishment."

  Lowell nodded. "We'll get started then."

  Bart groaned. "Great. Just what I always wanted: cleaning up after everyone else."

  Lowell rolled his eyes. "Come on, Allston. Let's just get this over with."

  As they turned to head to the basement, a large, muted explosion reverberated through the halls of the academy. Lowell's head immediately pivoted to look in the direction of the sound, searching for the source. His hand instinctively went to reach for his sword, forgetting he was no longer carrying it. He cursed quietly under his breath. The explosion had taken the headmaster by surprise as well.

  "Mille!" Byron called out in anger as he forgot all about Bart and Lowell, a new source of trouble for him to focus on.

  Byron stampeded off to the training arena situated between the two back buildings of the academy.

  "Don't worry about it." Bart said reassuringly. "It's just PAAR."

  "PAAR?" Lowell asked, curiosity piqued.

  "'Practical Applications of Aetheric Resonance', the student club that experiments with magic?" Bart looked expectantly at Lowell. "You know, like, when you use magic in combat applications? Like... wind lance!" Bart made a whooshing sound accompanied by a motion with his arm and hand mimicking the straight-forward thrust of a spear.

  The training arena was a large indoor gymnasium with stadium seating and a dirt pit for martial instruction. After hours, sometimes one or more of the school's clubs used it. Practical Applications of Aetheric Resonance, or PAAR, according to Bart's continued explanation, had been given special permission to use the space for magical studies, despite the academy's usual policy of limiting such research to the arcane laboratories; those facilities offered greater protections against "incidents" due to their wards and built-in defenses.

  "Honestly," Bart shrugged, glancing back once more toward the gymnasium where more sounds of energy discharge were occurring before moving on, "Helena was able to convince Headmaster Byron and Professor Mille that they needed the space and, through that Oxford charm, she managed to get what she wanted."

  "Helena? Helena Oxford?" Lowell stopped in his tracks.

  "That's right, Helena Oxford," Bart confirmed, nodding as if imparting valuable information to a particularly dense student. He then halted, a near stumble, as he looked sharply at Lowell, shocked. "Wait, do you know her? I didn't think you had any friends here."

  Lowell shook his head. "No, not really. And she's not a friend. I met her once, a long time ago."

  The pair turned away from Draeven Hall and continued down the colonnade. Affectionately called "Draeven's Crucible", the building housed the gymnasium and many other training facilities the students used daily. Named after Grandmaster Varian Draeven, who served as headmaster after Irving Orus and became one of the academy's most celebrated leaders, Draeven Hall was the second building constructed on campus.

  As they crossed the quad toward the main building, Irving Hall, Bart paused at another statue of Irving Orus. "I always wondered why we needed two. Do other academies have multiple statues of their founder?"

  Lowell didn't have an answer, nor did he really care. The sooner they were done with this task, the better.

  Irving Hall, the oldest of the four structures, housed the academy's staff offices, including the headmaster's. One of the two original buildings constructed when Orus Guild Academy was first formed, it also contained many of the school's major scholarly facilities, including the guild's archives, laboratories, and arcane workshops.

  In addition to Irving and Draeven Halls, there were two shallow L-shaped buildings that served to complete the rectangular shape of the academy's grounds. These buildings housed the classrooms and lecture halls where educators taught academy students important lessons in philosophy, history, literature, language and other subjects.

  The colonnade, a series of covered, open-air walkways, ran between the buildings. In the interior of the campus' quad was a small recreation area. Part of the recreation area was open, with a few small bushes and shrubs expertly placed. Nearer to the main building the small park had more trees and an inviting, meandering path that wound its way from the main office toward the rest of the quad.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The entrance to the basement Lowell and Bart were tasked to clean was off one of the side corridors, leading back into one of the academic wings. Bart sighed and pushed open the door, entering the building.

  "Man, this sucks. Hey, Brandt..." he looked up only to see that Lowell hadn't followed him through the door. He rushed back to the door and stuck his head out.

  Lowell had turned, heading back in the direction they had come from, his footsteps echoing on the slate floor. Away from the basement, and toward the academy's exit.

  "Hey, Brandt! The basement's this way." Bart pointed.

  Lowell stopped. He was only a few paces beyond the door. "Yeah?"

  "You... weren't planning on ditching, were you?"

  Lowell sighed. That was exactly what I was planning. He looked up to see Headmaster Byron staring at him as he returned from the gymnasium, red-faced. The headmaster's pace had quickened, hoping to catch Lowell in another act of delinquency. Damn it, what is up with that guy?

  "No, not ditching." Lowell called back, loudly, to Bart without turning to face him. He made sure to project his voice and make it carry to where the headmaster was standing. "I just wanted to let the Headmaster know how grateful we are for this wonderful chance to learn from our mistakes." He did nothing to try and hide the sarcasm as he waved to the headmaster. "Thank you, Headmaster!"

  He turned, grumbling to himself as he rejoined Bart.

  #

  The basement was poorly lit, a single flickering bulb and a few dim bands of late-afternoon light provided the scant illumination there was in the subterranean cellar. The bulb itself was wholly unreliable. Bulbs like these were powered by aetheric energy, newer products were longer-lived but older globes—like the one installed in this basement—used a filament that would eventually burn out. And, as they neared the end of their short lifespan they would dim and flicker until eventually they failed completely.

  Each step down the stairs kicked up plumes of dust as Bart and Lowell descended. The dim lighting provided enough visibility to assess the state of the basement. The boxes stored here were stacked as high as their heads and everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, seemingly untouched for an eternity.

  "Look at all this," Bart said, awe and dismay in equal parts, standing at the base of the stairs. "What are we supposed to do with it all?"

  Lowell had taken a few steps further into the basement to look around. He brushed off the side of one of the crates. Dried ink stamped the side of it, labeled "Protective Gear". Wiping the cobwebs and dust off another box, the ink indicated it contained student records from decades before.

  Lowell lifted the note they had found pinned to the door and read it aloud: "Organize the boxes by category; clean and remove all dust and cobwebs; bring damaged goods to caretaker's office for disposal."

  Lowell began to wander the front half of the basement, to get a better sense of the scope and scale of the effort before them.

  Bart, likewise, stepped off the stairs and followed him. "Do you think there are," he swallowed nervously, "spiders down here?"

  He eyed each crate he passed warily, as if he expected a giant spider to come crawling over its edge at any moment.

  "I don't do well with bugs," Bart continued, "or things that look like bugs. Or really anything that lurks in the shadows." He hoped that speaking aloud would either drive away any spiders or, at least, keep his mind off the prospect of their almost certain proximity.

  Bart had stopped by one crate and brushed aside some of the dust. The cloud caught him somewhat by surprise, causing him to begin coughing. As he looked up, Bart noticed Lowell had stopped and was looking back at him. As he recovered from his coughing fit, Bart waved away the rest of the dust in the air. "Brandt, what does the headmaster have against you, anyway?"

  "I'm not sure, really." Lowell replied with a shrug.

  "Well you must have done something to get on his bad side." Bart looked at Lowell skeptically.

  "I didn't do anything." Lowell protested, mildly annoyed. "He's been like this ever since Schwartz enrolled me here."

  "Schwartz?" Bart scratched the back of his head as he was wont to do when he was confused.

  "Ulster Schwartz. My guild master." Lowell paused, then corrected himself. "Former guild master."

  "Whoa, wait. You were in a guild already?" Bart took a few hurried steps over to Lowell, as if to examine him as some sort of lab specimen. "For real? How old are you?"

  Lowell pushed Bart away, the contact sharper than he'd intended. "I grew up in the Black Boars," he said, flatly, but something trembled just beneath the surface—a fissure threatening to crack wide open. "Until they didn't want me anymore."

  For a moment, silence hung between them, thick and suffocating. Bart's easy grin faltered, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Man, what did you do?"

  Lowell's jaw clenched. "Nothing."

  "Seriously? Headmaster Byron's a bit of a hard-ass, but he's generally understanding. You pissed him off, and before that you were removed from a guild without knowing what you did in both cases." Bart shook his head and caught Lowell's eyes. The guild was apparently a sore subject and, having seen how Lowell fought, Bart chose to look for a different topic.

  As Bart continued to chatter, trying to lighten the mood, Lowell's thoughts spiraled inward. The words he'd just spoken echoed hollowly in his mind. Until they didn't want me anymore. Simple, blunt, but they carried the weight of everything he couldn't say out loud.

  The Black Boars weren't just a guild to him. They had been his family when his real one was torn from him. After his parents died in Jehk, Ulster Schwartz took him in. Schwartz wasn't just a guild master, he was the closest thing to an uncle Lowell had ever known. The other members became his brothers and sisters, their camaraderie forged in battle and quiet moments alike. He had shared meals with them, trained alongside them, laughed and bled with them. The guild hall had been more of a home than any place since his parents' deaths.

  And then, one day, without explanation, they were gone. No warnings. No goodbyes. Just an empty space where his family used to be.

  Lowell could still remember the moment Schwartz had looked at him, not with anger, not even disappointment, but with something far worse: indifference. That look had burrowed deep under his skin, festering like an old wound that refused to heal. The question of why haunted him every day. What had he done wrong? What flaw had they seen in him that made him unworthy of their trust, their brotherhood?

  He'd asked himself these questions over and over, but there were never any answers. Only silence.

  "Ahaha, anyway, the past is the past, right?" Bart's voice broke through his thoughts, too loud, too bright for the darkness in Lowell's mind. "We've got a whole future of boxes ahead of us!"

  Lowell rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind the gesture. He knew Bart meant well, but he wasn't ready, not yet, to laugh about the Black Boars. Maybe someday, the sting would fade. Maybe.

  But now? The wound was still raw and it was one he couldn't ignore.

  One day he had a family. The next, he was alone.

  Lowell shifted his bag on his shoulder and turned to the task ahead, forcing the memories back into the recesses of his mind. The boxes, the dust, the basement. They were a distraction, and for now, that was enough.

  "We should probably get more light down here, to see what we're dealing with." Lowell suggested. He could see Bart relax a little bit.

  "Yeah, probably..." Bart sounded a little defeated. His earlier spirited commitment having waned given the task at hand. Lighting the basement would give them a better idea of the work they had ahead of them, but it would also mean that they had no excuses. Bart wondered if maybe Lowell hadn't had the right idea at first when he seemed to plan on skipping out on the detention. "I haven't seen any replacement filaments for the aetheric lamps."

  "We don't necessarily need the filament." Lowell drew a dark purple crystalline pendant out from underneath his shirt. Lightly holding it in one hand and stretching his other out before him, he concentrated. He began to mouth a few words before speaking a single, one-word command: "Lux".

  As the word formed on his lips, Lowell felt the familiar pull of latent aether from the surrounding environment. The invisible energies began to coalesce, sparking and igniting as they fused together above his outstretched palm. Tiny crackles of blue-white energy danced through the air, converging into a brilliant sphere of pure magic that pulsed with inner light.

  The fusion of aetheric energies brought with it a crisp, almost sterile scent that briefly replaced the stale, dusty air of the basement. The magical plasma defied reality itself, warping the space around it as it settled into a soft, even glow that illuminated their immediate surroundings.

  Bart's eyes widened with wonder. "That's... that's incredible," he breathed, mesmerized by the dancing energies that seemed to bend the very air around Lowell's hand.

  Bart then furrowed his brow, as if suddenly grappling with the reality that certain things in life just weren't fair. "You're a spellcaster, Brandt?" he asked, in disbelief. "I thought you were a swordsman?"

  Lowell turned to face him, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something, perhaps annoyance or amusement. "Can I only be one or the other?" he replied, a subtle edge to his response.

  Bart scratched his head, his face contorted in thought as if he were genuinely wrestling with the question. "I guess not," he conceded finally, though he didn't sound fully convinced. "But I've never met someone as talented a fighter as you, who could also manipulate aether so easily."

  Lowell nodded, but as he tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt, a shadow crossed his face. The pendant's cool weight against his chest was a constant reminder of his limitations. A reminder of his mother, who, unlike Lowell, had an exceptional talent at wielding magic.

  "Manipulate aether easily?" The words echoed in his mind, bitter and ironic. Bart didn't know the half of it. Lowell could manage simple cantrips, basic light spells like the one he'd just used, minor tricks that any first-year could perform with little effort. But anything more complex slipped through his fingers like water. Magic had never come naturally to him, no matter how hard he tried. What Bart mistook for talent was little more than a well-practiced facade, bolstered by tools and magitech.

  His strength lay in martial combat. A sword in his hand felt like an extension of his body, fluid and instinctive in a way magic never was. It was the blade that had saved him time and again, not spells. But people saw a pendant, a spark of light, and they assumed power. Bart included.

  "Come on," Lowell said, shaking off his thoughts as he turned back to the dusty crates. "Let's get this over with."

  Bart nodded, oblivious to the storm of reflection that had passed behind Lowell's eyes, and together they returned to their task, the dim light of the spell casting long shadows on the basement walls.

  "What is that? It's not the right color for aethryte." Bart asked. "Aethryte is normally a white-blue color. That's dark purple. Or, black?"

  "Black." Lowell lifted it to look at it. "Black cinnabar. I'm not sure, really. It was my mother's. Schwartz told me she wanted me to have it if anything ever happened to her. This, and that sword, are the only two items I have to remind me of my parents..."

  Bart nodded slowly, not really sure what to say. He had wanted to avoid painful and awkward subjects with Lowell. Somehow he had stumbled into yet another one.

  While Bart searched for something to say, Lowell lifted down a crate and placed it into a small space that was cleared, one of the few in the basement. He dusted off the top of it and proceeded to crack it open. Inside were several bottles of spirits, carefully packed and likely still potable.

  Lowell lifted one of the bottles and read the label, "Allston Vintners?" He looked to Bart.

  Bart shrugged. "My family has been in a lot of trades over the years."

  Lowell placed the bottle back and closed the crate.

  Bart and Lowell submitted to their appointed duty and began to clean and organize the basement. They hadn't been in the basement for long when Lowell took a step and his foot missed where it should have landed, a dizzying misjudgment that sent the world spinning around him.

  Lowell caught his balance with the broom he had taken up and a nearby crate.

  He stumbled. Something was wrong.

  "Brandt, you OK?" Bart looked up, watching his partner with growing concern.

  There was an intense pain in Lowell's chest—sudden, searing, like a blade of white-hot fire had been driven straight through his heart. As much as he tried, he couldn't draw in enough breath to respond to Bart. The pain had started as a slow burn, as if a fire were consuming him from the inside, but without warning, that pain had intensified and now shot through him like a white-hot lance, radiating outward in waves of agony.

  Lowell collapsed to his knees, grabbing at his chest as his heart felt like it was about to explode. Bart dropped his broom immediately, his face paling as he rushed toward Lowell. "Lowell! Lowell, what's wrong?" His voice cracked with panic as he knelt beside him, hands hovering uncertainly over Lowell's shoulders.

  While Lowell gasped and struggled for breath, the pain disappeared as quickly as it began, leaving him shaken and confused. Bart remained crouched beside him, his eyes wide with fear.

  "Are you OK?" Bart asked again, this time barely above a whisper.

  "Yeah..." Lowell swallowed hard and responded with labored breaths. He could taste blood from where he'd bitten his cheek. He forced himself to stand despite the lingering weakness in his limbs. His own thoughts raced, matching the concern Bart was showing outwardly, but refusing to reveal his own panic at what had just happened. What the hell was that? That wasn't normal. That wasn't right.

  Before either Lowell or Bart could react further to what had just happened, a loud crash followed by a scream from the campus courtyard above pierced the silence of the basement. Still kneeling, Lowell immediately looked up and around, trying to ignore the lingering tightness in his chest as he attempted to gauge where in the courtyard it came from.

  A second scream suggested it was close to the back of the quad, near the hall leading to the basement and the training arena.

  Lowell could still feel warmth emanating from his chest. Instinctively, he reached for the amulet and withdrew it, holding it out to examine. The pendant was warm and seemed to pulse ever so slightly, in sync with a slow, rhythmic beat like a heartbeat. It had never done this before. As he peered closer, he noticed its dark purple hue had shifted to a deep crimson red, the way an aethryte crystal might when something unnatural and dangerous was near.

  "Brandt..." the earlier panic in Bart's voice had been replaced by a primal fear as he observed the crystal.

  Lowell forced himself to stand, leaning on the broom for support and using a crate as leverage to pull himself up. He stood quickly, the motion dizzying him again before he shook it off. "Come on, we've got to do something."