Trenton let the tension leave his shoulders as soon as his class was over. The usual number of students was hard enough. Today he had to teach both his own students and Lance's students, in addition to having to deal with the troublesome Travis. Lunch should be a time for eating and relief but as he walked past the many benches and sat down with the other instructors, his will to continue as the head instructor of the first years dwindled. He placed one of dozens of guns, given to him by General Alexander, smack dab in the middle of the table only for all the other instructors to turn their heads away like children who didn't want to eat their vegetables.

"Are you insisting on completing this project?" One of the instructors asked. "I am busy working with my students, and this black powder, as you call, it is too far from my specialty. I am afraid it would only hinder your progress if I tried my hand at helping."

Trenton went down the line, finding that each of the three instructors had their own, uncreative excuse for slacking off on the project. "I say instead, we focus on our disciples," The last instructor, Finny, had said. His pale face was obscured by the purple hood of his robe but no one could mistake his dry voice, as pleasant as rocks grinding against one another.

"Yesterday my own little prodigy had picked up the wind element all on his own." Finny tilted his head, revealing a dry-lipped smile commonly known to desperate salesman. "Say Trenton, we all have a lot of time to complete this project. Surely the growth of our students is a far more important priority, especially in this time of disorder." He looked over at the students, who were all sitting up straight and patiently waiting for food to be passed out. "Say, what's it like down there?"

"Excuse me?" Trenton asked, feeling another bit of his will shrivel away at this predicable, seemingly minor challenge to his authority.

"Mage's Shadow." Finny continued. "I hear that it's been different ever since the newest disciple. The ghostly chill turned icy. Now with the event yesterday with a student going out of line, I wonder if something happened down there."

"I'm sure you are all just imagining it," Trenton pulled up his hood over his face. "Surely the instructors of the academy wouldn't feel fear while down there."

"You are right head instructor," Hanlan, another instructor, said. His voice was plain as his brown robes. The others always made room for this man not because of position, nor his small stature, but the dirty smell that always seemed to linger around him. "But even the War Monks, back when they were still friends of the Kingdom, wouldn't go down there for long. I remember we had asked them to perform one of their little exorcisms but they wouldn't do it. Maybe this Cerlius person was affected by something down there. I'm sure a little investigation wouldn't hurt."

"Please," Trenton coughed, glad he put his hood over his face. "You guys aren't even able to take on the gun issue. What will you do about a type of magic that none of you specialize in? Lance is dealing with it." He glanced at the sun, wanting to make it go across the sky faster.

The doors to the lunchroom open, and the Demis walked in with plates of the usual food, fish. It was always that same, boring meal, even for the instructors. The mess hall's air, on the other hand, grew tense. The students tensed up and looked away from the Demis. Some even covered their mouths so they wouldn't make the same mistake as Cerlius.

"Would you look at this?" The last instructor, a man known as Jesirn who always seemed to hide under his heavily worn, discolored robe said. "If Lance were here, I'm sure he'd be glad to know that everyone is following the rules. Though, I'm glad he's not here. We can finally talk without mention of said rules."

Everyone nodded, everyone but Trenton, who was glaring at Olpi at the far side of the room. "I guess it's about time." He turned back to the instructors. "Since no harm was done to the order of the academy, I ask that you stop overthinking this matter. I have faith that Lance will stop Cerlius from his outbursts."

"By boring him to death," Hanlan chuckled.

Out the lunchroom, down the hallway, and emerging at the stairway, Trenton thought about Cerlius and Lance the entire time. He let out a long sigh as he descended the rickety stairs leading to the dimmer. The torch in his hand flickered, illuminating the many statues' blank eyes, which seemed to bore into him.

'Good thing these aren't like the Watchmen above,' he thought. 'Because if they move, I'll sprint right back up. Damn it, why does this one student have to be trouble so soon? That spell should have worked. Lance isn't one to make that mistake. Cerlius is going to get us killed, so how do I get rid of the brat without any backlash on us?'

Reaching the base of the stairs, distant voices brushed against his ears, angry and loud. He tightened his grip on the torch and quickened his pace. 'This is all because of the Von Trike family. Next time that they contact me, I'll ask for a pay increase.' He carefully moved past each hallway, the voices growing steadily louder.

He could still picture how the room had blackened while he had carried the new recruit on the opposite end of the Mage's Shadow, the part where mana actually worked, or it was supposed to anyway.

It was only when he arrived at his destination that he determined the voices belonged to Lance and Cerlius, their words muffled by the thickness of the Dimmer's thick stone door. He rolled up his sleeve and the Allpass fell off his wrist, the bracelet-like artifact weakened by Mage's Shadow's disorganizing effect on magic. He cursed and forced the Allpass into the first of the four locks. The lock clicked open, allowing the voices to better reach his ears.

The two were much louder than he initially thought, caught up in some kind of argument. Click. Another lock undone. Several thuds rang out from inside. 'Lance, you trusting idiot, what if he does something to you in there?' Click. He moved the Allpass into the fourth lock. "Come on," Trenton muttered. Click. He pulled the heavy door open and readied a spell only to be struck dumb at what was in front of him.

Papers had been laid out everywhere on the obsidian floor. Amongst this organized chaos were various tools. Some of the tools had been improvised out of common materials, and others were regular instruments of measure. The gun Trenton had lent to Lance was in pieces neatly sorted amidst the tools and paper next to three distinct piles of powder.

Standing over this mess were two sleep-deprived individuals: Cerlius and Lance. Their hands were dirtied by black powder and ink. Their eyes had bags under them. "I know that we found out the correct ratio of the compound…" Cerlius argued, unaware of Trenton's arrival, "And we are able to reproduce it but something is amiss."

"Oh here we go again!" Lance yelled.

'What the f