"My name is Dorian Borne. You may call me Dorian or Dory."
His smile was absurdly exaggerated.
So were his movements.
Everything the runes professor did came with far too much flourish, as though stillness itself offended him.
"We are all equal beneath the Language of Origins, so there is no need for etiquette."
He clapped his hands once.
"So then—what are runes?"
Quin and Will raised their hands, but Dorian did not so much as glance at them.
"No one knows?"
"Uh—" Quin began, only to be cut off at once.
"Well! I shall keep it simple."
"Runes are imbued intent. At the beginning of class, you saw darkness wash over you, correct?"
A few nods passed through the room.
"My affinities are darkness and fire. I cast a spell—Pitch Black. The rune's command was simple: spread darkness across the room for a split second. And when it sensed my darkness, it obeyed."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"The same applies to the fireworks. I cast Flare. The rune I inscribed carried the command: preserve the sparks, not the fire, for three seconds."
His grin widened.
"You may be noticing a pattern in both commands."
"They are awfully specific."
"I will explain why later. For now, I only want you to notice. Understanding may come after."
He turned and tapped the board behind him with one finger.
"Rune ranks range from S to F. A person capable of carving F-rank runes is known as a Tier One Runesmith. That scale continues all the way to Tier Seven."
"I am a Tier Five."
"That means I can inscribe B-rank runes."
A brief silence followed.
Then Dorian's smile remained, but something in his eyes dimmed.
"For those unaware, a Tier Seven runesmith is unheard of."
"Even among the other species."
"A Tier Six... I have had the honour of meeting one."
His gaze drifted for half a second.
"He was an elf."
The students' eyes widened as understanding slowly settled over the room.
"Humans possess only around ten Tier Five runesmiths."
"And no known Tier Six."
"So yes—"
He raised both hands and curled two fingers in mocking quotation marks.
"—we are rarer than S-ranks, and therefore a 'rare commodity.'"
The class laughed nervously.
Dorian did not.
"This is how difficult this subject is."
His voice remained warm.
His eyes did not.
"So I suggest that anyone lacking resolve leave now, before embarking upon a path they are not suited for."
For the first time, the room fell truly silent.
Then Quin inhaled sharply and rose to his feet.
"I will take my leave, sir."
He offered no excuse. No explanation.
He simply left.
Dorian nodded once in approval.
Aeron's thoughts remained tangled, split between Lyra and the professor's words.
'So he left.'
'This is even more difficult than I imagined.'
'But I'll need it in the future.'
'And it smells like money.'
His eyes drifted from Dorian's striped suit to the purple hair before him.
Then back again.
'I might as well let it go.'
'It's just a rank.'
'It shouldn't change that much... probably.'
Aeron was trying to cope.
He was doing a poor job of it.
Because he knew.
He knew Lyra was supposed to be different by now.
Not completely changed, but softer around the edges. Less cold. Less distant.
And most importantly—
this was not supposed to happen yet.
It was meant to happen next month.
During the outing with Xavier.
Aeron dragged a hand through his hair in frustration.
He had no way of knowing what this one change would affect.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe far too much.
'Yeah, no. I'm leaving it.'
He had no right, as an extra, to interfere.
But for some reason, that thought did not reassure him at all.
"Okay, great!"
"We have six students in attendance, and one other who is absent."
'One other?'
Aeron frowned.
'Who?'
Dorian clasped his hands behind his back and rocked lightly on his heels.
"For those of you wondering, she is not from Spades, so none of you would know her."
"Ah, yes. Before we end today's lesson, there is one final thing you must understand."
"The price of inscribing runes."
The room grew quieter.
Dorian's smile remained, but the exaggerated brightness of it had dulled.
"To inscribe a rune, mana alone is not enough."
"We know runes are shaped by intent."
"But intent is not free."
He raised a finger.
"Just as a mage builds their mana core over time, a runesmith builds something else."
"Clarity."
The word hung in the air.
"It is your precision. Your internal definition. Your ability to hold intent sharply enough for reality to obey."
His eyes swept across the class.
"That is why I do not inscribe runes above my level."
"If I force a command beyond what my Clarity can support, the rune may still form."
He paused.
"But I would begin to lose myself."
His smile softened.
"Little by little, the edges blur."
"Thought."
"Emotion."
"Intent."
"And if you push far enough..."
He tapped the board once.
"You drift."
.
"Away."
.
"Into oblivion."
For a moment, no one moved.
There was a faint glint in his eye now, and something buried beneath his voice that made the room feel colder than before.
Then, just as suddenly, the brightness returned.
"ANYWAY!"
He clapped his hands once.
"Class ends early today. Your homework is simple—memorise the runic language."
"See you all next time."
Darkness washed over the room once more.
And when it cleared, Dorian was gone.
.
The moment the darkness lifted, the classroom stirred back to life.
Books shut. Chairs scraped. Bags were gathered in hurried silence.
Yet even as they left, their eyes kept returning to Lyra.
Briefly.
Uneasily.
As though looking too long might invite something unwanted.
They filed out with the news already on their tongues.
If Quin had not spread it first.
Soon, only Aeron and Lyra remained.
Silence pressed heavily over the room, though the coldness had lessened ever so slightly.
His trait noticed it at once.
"You stare a lot."
Aeron's mouth moved before his thoughts caught up.
"You sat in front of me."
Her back remained to him as she closed her book with quiet precision, ignoring the excuse entirely.
Aeron cleared his throat.
"Did you take Rune Studies for control?"
Lyra stopped.
Not fully.
Just enough for the room to feel it.
From where she stood, Aeron could see the slight tilt of her head.
"Control?" she repeated.
Her voice was light.
Too light.
Aeron kept his expression flat.
"You paid attention when he spoke about Clarity."
A pause.
Then Lyra turned just enough for him to see one eye.
Cold violet.
Unreadable.
"That is an observant thing to say."
Aeron already regretted opening his mouth.
"I notice things."
"So I've seen."
His thoughts hitched slightly.
'She actually stopped to reply.'
"Did you?" he asked again, quieter this time.
"Take this class for control?"
She was silent long enough that he almost thought she would leave.
Then—
"That depends."
Her gaze rested on him, still and sharp.
"Did you?"
Aeron felt the question settle into him like something small and pointed.
He had wanted information.
Instead, somehow, he was the one being measured.
"I plan to use it in the future for..."
His voice lowered.
"Personal reasons."
Lyra's expression did not change.
"Personal."
She repeated it as though answering his earlier question in turn.
Aeron said nothing.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Lyra looked away.
"There are things power does," she said quietly, "and things it reveals."
Her fingers tightened once around the books in her arms.
"Not everyone survives learning the difference."
Before Aeron could decide whether that had been a warning, an answer, or both, she turned to face him fully.
The books rested lightly in her arms.
Her purple hair fell across part of her face, softening nothing, only drawing sharper attention to the perfect lines beneath. The faint scent of lavender reached him as she stood over him in the dim classroom.
Aeron looked up into her eyes.
And for one unguarded second, the first word that came to mind was—
'Unfair.'
He expected another cold remark.
But for the first time since entering the room, something in her seemed to loosen.
The cold haze in her eyes thinned.
Not gone.
Just... parted.
For one fleeting second, she looked almost uncertain.
Almost human.
"...Thank you."
The words were soft.
Unguarded.
And so unlike her usual tone that Aeron felt himself go still.
Then the moment closed.
Her face emptied. The cold returned, seamless and absolute, as though that brief fracture had never existed at all.
Without another word, she walked away.
The door shut quietly behind her.
Aeron remained seated, staring at it.
'What?'
His brows drew together.
'For what?'
That brief break in her voice lingered in his mind.
'What was that?'
He did not know what unsettled him more—
the fact that she had thanked him,
or the fact that, for a second, she had sounded like she meant it.
To his left, a rift tore itself into existence.
A voice came from the other side.
"Food."
Aeron's face blanked, and he sighed.
'I'll just leave her be.'
.
.
Will POV
'Wow... she's already C-rank.'
'I wish I were more like her.'
'Or like Xavier.'
Will thought back to the dungeon.
To the sight of Xavier's back as he stood at the very front alone, bearing the weight of everyone else's burdens as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Apart from the handshake Xavier had given him on the first day, Will had not really spoken to anyone.
Not properly.
He avoided eye contact when he could and rarely started conversations, but his eyes noticed things others did not.
Now, having just left Rune Studies, he found himself walking toward the pod where Xavier was resting.
The closer he got, the more voices he began to hear.
Whispers of Lyra reaching C-rank were already spreading from mouth to mouth.
By the time he reached the room, Luke, Scarlett, and Ruth were standing outside it, talking in low voices.
Will immediately stepped off to the side.
'What are they going to think if I just walk in there?'
The thoughts came quickly.
'A weirdo?'
'A creep?'
'...A deranged psychopath?'
Then a groan sounded from inside the room.
The three of them rushed in at once.
"Brother, you're awake!" Luke's voice rang out.
"Wow, our Lightbearer's light nearly got dimmed. Isn't that funny?" Scarlett remarked.
"Hey, Scarlett, don't say that!"
"Yo, Xavier, what's good? Looks like you've seen better days," Ruth said with a grin.
Xavier's voice was rough when he answered.
"Yeah."
"Yes, that I have."
A relieved silence settled over the room at once.
Then Xavier asked, "Did we all make it?"
Scarlett folded her arms.
"Stop worrying about everyone else, doofus. Look at yourself."
Ruth shook his head.
"What she means is, yeah, we're all okay. No casualties."
He paused.
"Other than your pride, maybe."
Luke nodded quickly.
"Yes, brother, you should focus on recovering. Having a human torch scream at you the moment you wake up is probably not healthy."
"Human torch?" Scarlett snapped.
Then the arguing began.
Again.
Their voices overlapped as they bickered back and forth until, eventually, Ruth dragged both Scarlett and Luke out of the room, leaving the space quiet once more.
Will remained where he was, half-hidden near the doorway.
His fingers tightened slightly at his sides.
'Should I go in?'
'...Why am I even here?'
And yet, despite that, he had not turned around.
His arm rose to knock on the door—
then stopped halfway.
"Come in."
Will drew in a sharp breath.
'Just breathe, Will.'
'It's Xavier.'
That should have helped.
It didn't.
He stepped inside.
There Xavier lay in patient clothing, pale beneath the sheets. Even his azure eyes seemed dimmer than usual, as though he had not slept in days.
'Well... he hasn't.'
Will knew that better than anyone else here.
"Oh," Xavier said, turning his head slightly. "It's Will, right?"
Will's back straightened at once.
"Y-y-yes."
'Pathetic.'
Then Xavier smiled.
Not out of politeness.
Not because he had to.
His whole expression brightened with it.
"Wait—you're the one who made the wolves miss, right?" he asked. "You were making them trip somehow."
Will nodded quickly.
'He remembered.'
Xavier let out a breath, almost like a laugh.
"Damn. That's a really cool ability, Will."
Will went still.
For a second, he did not understand what he had heard.
Cool?
His?
Someone had noticed.
Not by accident.
Not because they had been forced to.
Actually noticed.
Something twisted low in his chest.
A strange, aching feeling.
Recognition.
"But are you okay?" Xavier asked. "An ability like that must've taken a lot out of you."
Will's eyes lifted before he could stop them.
From beneath the black curtain of his bangs, his golden gaze met Xavier's.
And for once—
he forgot to look away.
'He asked if I was okay?'
The thought struck something brittle inside him.
Not what had he done wrong.
Not why was he here.
Not why couldn't he be more useful.
Just—
was he okay.
His throat tightened.
Because people did not usually ask that.
Not when it came to him.
He was the one left behind in conversations.
The one spoken over.
The one people forgot was standing there unless they needed something awkward done.
At home, he had long since become something quieter than a disappointment.
A burden was at least something people noticed.
Will had become smaller than that.
Something invisible.
Xavier was still waiting.
Patiently.
As though Will's answer mattered.
"Yes," Will said softly.
The word nearly caught on the way out.
"I'm okay."
It was a lie.
A small one.
A tired one.
But Xavier smiled anyway, as though accepting it for what it was.
"That's a relief."
That was the first word Will thought of.
Warm.
Not the kind that hid scorn behind it.
Not the kind that changed the moment you turned your back.
Not the kind that smiled first and cut after.
Just warmth.
And it was directed at him.
Something inside Will shifted painfully.
He did not want that smile to change.
He wanted it to remain as close to the truth as possible—
without ever becoming a mask.
'I know what he went through.'
'Perhaps I'm the only one who does.'
'Xavier—'
"Are you okay?"
The question left the room softly.
Xavier blinked.
As though he had not expected it.
Then he laughed once, faintly and tiredly.
"I think so," he said.
But something in the answer felt uncertain.
Will looked at him quietly.
Xavier was smiling again.
Still kind.
But now Will could see it.
The strain beneath it.
The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against the blanket, as though some part of the pain had never really left.
And for some reason, that made Will's chest ache.
Because Xavier was the kind of person everyone would look at and think:
He'll be fine.
Will knew better.
He kept his eyes on him, waiting.
Xavier noticed.
His gaze shifted toward the ceiling.
"For a second," he said, his voice softer now, "I thought I might break."
Will stayed silent.
Xavier let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"It hurt more than I expected."
His smile remained, but it no longer reached quite as far.
"But... everyone made it."
As though that alone was enough to make it worth it.
Will's fingers curled slightly at his sides.
That answer did not surprise him.
'It's so Xavier.'
Of course he would weigh his own pain against everyone else's safety and find the trade acceptable.
That was the kind of person he was.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because Xavier meant it.
"You shouldn't have had to do that alone," Will said.
A faint trace of bitterness slipped into the words before he could stop it.
'Why would you save those who hurt others?'
Xavier turned his head.
Will met his eyes.
A brief silence passed between them.
Then Xavier smiled again.
Smaller this time.
Realer.
"I wasn't alone," he said.
Will's breath caught.
Xavier's eyes were tired, but steady.
"You were there too."
A beat passed.
"You all were."
The room went still.
Will's breath caught again.
'No.'
'We were there to hold you back.'
'You were the one carrying it.'
'We just made sure you broke a little slower.'
It was not the same.
It should not have felt the same.
But the warmth in his chest kept blooming anyway.
Quiet.
Stubborn.
Almost cruel in the way it refused to listen to reason.
Will lowered his head at last, not out of shame this time, but because he did not know what to do with the feeling rising in his throat.
'What is this?'
It felt warm.
And painful.
And far too big for someone like him.
"I see," he murmured.
It was the only thing he could say.
Xavier's voice softened.
"Get some rest too, okay?"
Will gave a small nod.
Then he turned and walked toward the door, each step quieter than the last.
His hand rested against the handle for a moment.
He did not look back.
But his thoughts did.
'He remembered.'
'He meant it.'
Will stepped out into the hallway and closed the door gently behind him.
The corridor was quiet now.
The whispers had moved elsewhere.
But something inside him had not settled.
It had steadied.
A small warmth remained in his chest, stubborn and unfamiliar.
And for the first time in a long while, Will felt as though something in him had chosen not to retreat.