Tyrus walked out of the commons at a slow gait. The satchel bounced off his hip, the bottles inside clinking at each step. It was a bit annoying listening to the sound of glass, and he hoped they wouldn't break that easily. Head Healer Vaerlyn's silence on the matter of handling them led him to believe they were not easily damaged.
Then again, glass was glass. It wouldn't hurt to be extra careful. At the moment, the bottles of Care-oh, Karoo... whatever it was called, were the only thing standing between him and another collapse.
The commons door swung shut behind him, the cool evening air brushing against his face. Tyrus shifted the satchel, adjusting the strap so it didn’t dig into his shoulder, and started down the stone stairs. He didn’t even make it halfway before Igneal's and Kylis' colorful hair entered his view.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, Igneal was exactly as expected. Arms crossed, chin tilted just high enough to look down on everyone without actually needing to, but there was no proper bite behind it. Not for the past few months, that is. Beside him, Kylis stood with her arms loosely at her sides, her expression neutral as ever, though her sharp eyes flicked straight to the bag hanging off his hip.
“Took you long enough,” Igneal said, his tone caught between impatience and something that almost resembled concern. “You didn’t keel over, so that’s a good sign. What’d they say? Are you dying or not?”
“Not dying,” Tyrus said, his voice flat. “But it’s not good.”
Kylis’ gaze lingered on his face. “What does ‘not good’ mean, exactly?”
At the bottom step, Tyrus paused, considering downplaying his injury; maybe it was nothing, a small problem that would resolve itself in a couple of days. But the weight of the satchel, the dull ache still burning under his ribs, and the healer’s warning rang too loud in his mind.
So, he told them.
“Mana heart damage.” The words felt heavy in his mouth, like saying them made them more real. “My pathways are messed up. They’ve probably been like that for a while. I just didn’t notice until everything caught up with me after overexerting myself.”
Neither of them reacted right away. Kylis’ brow twitched, but her expression stayed calm, her mind clearly already processing the implications. Igneal, however, stared at him, arms slowly uncrossing.
“How severe is the damage?” Kylis finally asked.
Tyrus shifted the satchel again and gave it a quick pat. “Bad enough that they gave me these potions for emergencies. If the pathways start to constrict again, I have to take three sips to stop them from rupturing. I can still use the elements and augmentation, but I have to be careful of not overdoing it. Head Healer Vaerlyn says my body needs time to grow in order for my mana heart and pathways to return to normal."
“So, you nearly burned yourself out,” Igneal said. “Figured you were pushing too hard. Didn’t expect you to actually break something.”
Tyrus gave him a flat look. “Thanks for the sympathy. This doesn't mean I’m going to stop training. I just… have to figure out how to do it without pushing myself too far.”
When those words left his mouth, a bell rang throughout the courtyard. The bell’s echo lingered in the air as students began drifting toward the academy’s main halls, gathering for their last class of the day. The sun hung low but not yet touching the horizon, bathing the courtyard in warm gold.
Tyrus adjusted the strap of his satchel, giving Igneal and Kylis a nod. “I’ll catch you both later.”
"I trust your recovery will be immediate," Igneal remarked, already departing for the residence halls. “A shame you've grown frail. There is no joy or merit in surpassing the weak."
Before Tyrus could retort, Igneal was already strolling away, hands in his pockets. Kylis took one final glance at the satchel and bid Tyrus farewell before returning to the commons. Now alone, Tyrus sighed, shifting his gaze to the academy building. He took a slower route, weaving through clusters of students until he reached the main building. It didn't take long to find the classroom for Ethics and Law of the Sorcerer World, as it was just a few doors down from the entrance.
Like the rest of the school, the classroom was large and open, using the same layout as Beast and Elemental Spirit Science classroom. It was already half-filled, students settling into creaky wooden desks worn smooth by years of restless hands.
He slid into a seat near the back, resting the satchel beside his chair. His ribs still ached faintly beneath his shirt, but it was dull now, a reminder rather than a threat. Even so, every time his hand brushed the strap of the satchel, he felt the weight of those potions—his safety line, and a constant reminder of just how thin the line had become.
Instructor Paltise, a balding man who spoke in a high-pitched voice that made him seem younger than he was, strode into the room. He had a habit of rambling when he walked, and the more he talked, the higher his voice went.
In that squeaky voice of his, he droned on about the importance of ethics—more specifically, a few of Lethos law—regarding sorcerers and the unblessed. Because of the stark power difference, a set of laws in Lethos had been put in place to make sure the sorcerers didn't abuse their superiority over the unblessed.
A special section was created by the Imperial Court of the Second Emperor, called the Six Codes. The Second Emperor inherited a fragmented empire shortly after the Grand Conquest. Though the First Emperor had relied on powerful sorcerers and noble bloodlines to secure his rule, it led to unchecked magical abuse. Sorcerers levied taxes, destroyed villages that disrespected them, and formed sorcerer enclaves where non-sorcerers were treated as disposable labor.
Thus, these codes were deemed necessary in the aftermath of the Grand Conquest, a period during which the newly established Imperial Court had to swiftly lay the groundwork for the emerging society. Among the most vital ones discussed by the instructor were the Code of Honor, Code of Imperial Duty, Code of Responsibility, and the Code of the Forbidden.
While Tyrus mind was mostly occupied with his problem, he still tried his hardest to pay attention to the lecture. It wasn't anything fun like the other classes, but it was interesting nonetheless, especially about the last code.
Apparently, the Code of the Forbidden was formed because of the rise of cults and rogue sorcerers experimenting with forbidden arts, causing public panic and destabilized regions. To no one’s surprise, the dark element was at the center of most of these scandals, the element forever linked to taboo practices in the minds of the unblessed. And the one who further degraded the element to infamy was none other than the one called the Mad Sorcerer.
If Tyrus was understanding this right, a lot of problems arose after the formation of the Lethos Empire, and it was the Second Emperor of Lethos that put an end to the chaos and corruption. It was even said that if it weren't for him, it wouldn't have taken long for the newly established empire to crumble from the inside despite their strong military.
So, to rein in the inevitable ego of sorcerers and lessen the chances of rogues rising again, the Second Emperor established the Ten Codes — a strict set of laws meant to draw a clear line between acceptable magic and dangerous abuse. These codes didn’t just govern how sorcerers interacted with the unblessed, but also how they interacted with each other, the state, and even magic itself.
Again and again, Tyrus's thoughts were pulled back to his connection with lightning, followed closely by darkness. It was in his blood, part of him no matter how much he pushed it down. He had done nothing forbidden, hadn’t even been tempted… but hearing it laid out so plainly made him wonder if being too good at the affinity was a bad thing to express. Tyrus felt a bit sorry for those unfortunate for sorcerers whose primary affinity was dark.
The rest of the class slid past in a haze, the instructor’s voice blending into the background noise of his own swirling thoughts. Notes were jotted down; half-legible reminders of laws, dates, and edicts, but Tyrus knew he’d have to review them later if he wanted any of it to stick.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
When the lecture ended, Tyrus gathered his things and headed back to his dorm. The hallways were quieter now; the day winding down. His satchel hung heavier on his shoulder than usual, the vials inside clinking softly with each step. Once inside his room, he placed them carefully on his desk, lining them up neatly. A small, bitter part of him wondered if this was his life now. Counting doses, monitoring his own strength like a fragile old man.
He washed up, brushed off the grime from the day, and went through the motions of preparing for sleep. His body was tired, but his mind wasn’t. He lay awake longer than he meant to, staring at the ceiling, before exhaustion finally dragged him under.
***
The next morning came too soon, dawn light cutting across the room in a thin slant. Tyrus stretched, feeling the familiar ache in his ribs. Duller now, but still there. A quick peek to the side revealed the bottles standing upright.
Yesterday was no dream, no fleeting nightmare his mind had conjured up. The satchel, the potions, and the words of Head Healer Vaerlyn were all very much real. Tyrus let out a slow breath, sitting up and rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiffness that had settled in overnight. There was no time to dwell on it, not with the day already creeping forward.
Tyrus bathed and dressed leisurely, pulling on his uniform with practiced motions. He walked over to the bottles and stored a bottle in his ring for emergencies.
Leaving the rest in his room was better than keeping it all in one place. Not only was there a limited amount of space within the Scourge ring, but keeping all his lifelines in one spot felt reckless. If something happened—if the ring was damaged, or if he lost it—at least the rest would be safe in his room. That was the logic he clung to as he stepped out of his room and made his way to the hall's dining area for a quick breakfast.
Once his belly was full of fruit and buttered bread, Tyrus headed out of the hall and into a crisp morning air. The sky was a soft gray, with streaks of pale sunlight cutting through the lingering mist. The back of Tyrus neck tingled whenever a breeze brushed past, and he wished he had brought his cloak with him as he hurried over to the training grounds for his two combat classes.
When he walked into the tower for Sorcerer Combat I, he was met with the usual scene of a crowd hanging around Igneal like moths to a flame. They made eye contact with each other, but Igneal just gave him a brief glance before looking away, chatting away with his little entourage, most likely fabricating stories and whatnot about how he single-handedly defeated some beast or something.
Tyrus rolled his eyes and leaned against a wall, waiting patiently for the rest of the class to arrive. To kill some time, he brought out the book about wild beasts and flipped to the section related to the lesser hound.
He hadn't forgotten that today was the day that the Beast and Elemental Spirit Science class was scheduled to interact with a lesser hound. To many, it would be an exciting and new experience, but Tyrus had his fair share of encounters with their kind. In fact, he even wrestled one before, so meeting one up close wouldn't necessarily get his blood pumping.
His excitement wasn’t particularly high or low. Just somewhere in the middle, like waiting for rain you knew was coming but didn’t care too much about. He was just reading the book beforehand to study in case Instructor Rock decided to test them on their knowledge. Better to be safe than sorry.
It didn't take long for the rest to arrive, each one coming in with dropped shoulders and half-closed eyes. Once Mister Chimp did a quick head count, he proceeded on. The instructor never wasted time on pleasantries, instead launching straight into another grueling review of river stance, one of the foundational stances every sorcerer in the Combat and Sorcery Department was expected to master.
Mister Chimp had them cycle through the stance until their limbs felt like lead, and even then, he demanded more like fluid pivots and to stop tensing up to decrease the energy burn. Every slip, every moment of hesitation earned a scowl or a clipped correction, though Tyrus noticed that his own mistakes seemed to draw longer, more withering stares. It was as if the man was just waiting for him to stumble. What was even more appalling was the fact that he was one of the few who actually held experience with the form, so the amount of mistakes compared to the rest was night and day.
To Tyrus, river stance was one of the easier and suitable stances to use. He was always quick on his feet, dodging and weaving through beast attacks and even the occasional human. The flowing, adaptable nature of the river stance came naturally to him.
It was less about brute strength and more about anticipating movement, letting the body shift and flow without resistance. But under Mister Chimp's watch, even his competence felt like a flaw. The instructor’s eyes drilled into him, searching for the slightest fault to latch onto, and when none appeared, no praise arose. Just the same cold scrutiny, as if Tyrus were guilty of something simply by existing.
By far, he was the worst instructor Tyrus had the displeasure of learning from, personality wise. On the other hand, Mister Chimp knew the material and was pretty darn good at it. So, in the end, they balanced each other out, neither of them happy with the situation but working through it the best they could.
Once the endless cycle of footwork and form corrections concluded, the class moved into motion drills and redirection sparring. This segment forced them to apply the fluidity of river stance under pressure and adapt to incoming attacks without freezing up or falling into predictable patterns. Partners would strike at each other with dulled training weapons or basic elemental spells, while the defender’s job was to pivot, slip past, or guide the attack away with minimal exertion.
Tyrus had no trouble with the drills themselves. Slithering around, pivoting just enough to let a blow glance off his forearm or slide past his side, it all came naturally. His body remembered the movements better than his mind did, senses honed from years spent dodging snapping jaws and clubbing paws.
Whenever he was paired with another, they would grow frustrated whenever Tyrus was on the defensive, complaining that it was like trying to catch smoke or punch water. Not a single strike landed cleanly, no matter how fast or forceful the attack was. Tyrus didn’t block with brute strength or meet their blows head-on. Every lunge, swipe, or thrust was either sidestepped at the last moment or redirected with the barest touch, sending their own momentum careening off course.
A handful muttered that he was cheating somehow, though none could explain how. Tyrus ignored them the same way he ignored Mister Chimp's thinly veiled contempt. It didn’t matter if they were frustrated, confused, or outright angry; so long as they couldn’t land a hit, Tyrus counted it as a win. They were furious, but Tyrus found it hilarious watching them get all stressed out.
Igneal was the only peer that he considered the real challenge to beat. They have only sparred once, and it ended with the Lockhart's victory. Unlike the others, Igneal didn’t waste energy on wild swings or overextended lunges. He always aimed to limit Tyrus’ room to maneuver, knowing full well how he operated. That was a given, being that they have at each other's throats the most often, but that didn't stop Tyrus from admiring Igneal's skills.
By the end of class, Mister Chimp gave his usual clipped dismissal and shooed his students off after the bell. Tyrus more than obliged and hurried off for Augmentation Mastery I, where Instructor Geroth happily greeted him with a forceful pat on the back.
After everyone arrived, they were soon put to work with the restriction rings once again, conducting excruciating full-body warm-ups that left no joint or muscle untouched. His limbs felt submerged in syrup, every step requiring twice the effort, every stretch turning into a battle against invisible chains.
The man barked encouragement and corrections in equal measure, thumping shoulders or clapping hands in approval whenever someone pushed through a particularly grueling set. Instructor Geroths' and Mister Chimps' teaching methods were similar, though their personalities were night and day. What Mister Chimp would consider a failure, Instructor Geroth considered it steps to success. Where corrections came laced with disappointment or thinly veiled contempt, booming laughter or a grin sharp enough to split stone filled the void. Nowadays, Tyrus questioned how Grant and his father's personalities could be so alike, yet so different.
The final stretch of class arrived where they focused on augmentation. Everyone had gotten the hang of augmenting multiple limbs for short periods of time, restriction rings included. Mana infusion into multiple body parts became easy for Tyrus. He could augment his left arm and right foot simultaneously, or focus on just one limb and increase the power and speed of that limb.
Of course, he tried to be extra careful of not going overboard, knowing full well of his condition. In the middle of class, he already gave Instructor Geroth the gist of the situation. The man's demeanor changed when he heard of the news and immediately went on a speech about protecting the body's limits and taking care not to overdo it. He even told Tyrus to take a break once his chest started feeling tight. Tyrus simply thanked him for his concern and soothed the man's fears with promises of self-restraint.
After another hour passed of grueling lessons, the end of class arrived. At the bell, the students crawled off the ground, legs shaking as they used the tower wall for support. Instructor Geroth cackled and wished everyone a good day. As the students staggered out of the tower, Elias approached Tyrus.
"Hey, you doing alright? I left the infirmary after being treated, but you seemed worse off. You seemed very pale."
Tyrus chuckled. "Yeah, I'm fine. Head Healer Vaerlyn fixed me up just fine. She gave me some potions and said I'd recover soon. Nothing serious."
"Oh, that's great to hear," Elias said. "I'm glad you're okay. And... what you saw yesterday, can you please keep what I did a secret? I'd be seen as a loser if word got out I lost to a beast less than half my size. Pretty please?"
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone as long as you tell me what happened."
Elias cringed, but he sighed. "Alright, I'll tell you the story. But promise me you won't laugh."
"I promise," Tyrus said. "We can talk about it over lunch, my treat."
Elias eyes sparkled. "Really? You're the best, Tyrus! I've been craving the food they gave us back at the entrance ceremony! Nowadays, all I can eat now is hard bread and bland meat because of my standing. I owe you big time."
Elias sprinted out of the tower, no longer relying on the wall to hold him up.