Weeks passed.
The Academy swallowed them both like a whale swallowing fish—effortlessly, indifferently, with barely a ripple. Finn attended classes. Lucian attended Finn. That was the arrangement. The council had agreed, reluctantly, after three more meetings and two more demonstrations. Lucian could come. Lucian could stay. Lucian could teach. But he couldn't interfere with Academy business.
He didn't interfere. He observed. And while he observed, he learned.
The library became his second home. Not the public sections—the restricted ones, the ones the council had grudgingly granted Finn access to. Lucian read everything. History. Theory. Spellcraft. Artifact analysis. He read books that hadn't been opened in centuries, their pages brittle, their bindings cracked. He read journals written by mages long dead, their handwriting shaky, their conclusions sometimes wrong.
He corrected them silently. Made notes. Moved on.
