The air was thick with the fumes from alchemical experiments. Potions leftovers dripped off of spiraling condenser tubes onto the desks. Beakers, vials, and other instruments lied dirty and in disarray. The servants usually cleaned everything as soon as the last class was finished. Unless, of course, two of the professors decided to occupy it. The servants were probably waiting for the classroom to be vacated so they could be done with their duties for the day.

Professor Cedrik leaned over a counter as he reviewed the notes from previous sessions. His sister sat on a stool, arms crossed below her large chest and a frown on her face.

Jon smiled sheepishly, a vain attempt at acting like all was normal. The elation from advancing hadn’t yet subsided, but he had to contain it somewhat. At least while in front of Professor Willow. At the end of Practical Combat earlier in the day, Jon was surprised to discover the back of his tunic soaked in blood. His wounds had reopened. Turns out it was called mending for a reason.

“I have half-a-mind to leave you as you are,” he recalled her words before she mended his wounds again. “Light magic can’t heal, you fool. That’s reserved for hydromancy. Mending is the equivalent of stitching an open wound, hence the name. It will accelerate the healing, but the injury is still there.”

Broken bones followed the same principle, with the magic keeping the fragments in place. She told him while reattaching the broken bone in his forearm. This explained why mending didn’t get rid of the pain.

“So,” Jon said, hoping to break the awkward silence, “what will we be doing tonight?”

Willow said nothing, her placid blue eyes matching her frosty expression.

Cedrik glanced away from his notes only long enough to say, “Nothing too different from the usual,” and then turned back.

“We’re nearing the end of what we can gather from simple mage spells,” said Willow, something Jon would have feared before today.

His only source of income came from aiding in their research. Used to, at least. Now that it was being retained to pay for the absurdly expensive book, he had very little incentive to continue. He had until the end of his academic life to pay back the debt. In the last case scenario, he’d just borrow some gold from Deon.

A pause on the research would offer Jon more time to train and prepare for the Winter’s Tourney. And the recent cultivation improvement would work wonders towards a spot given that it came with an award of ten academy points. Just one of the ways the academy encouraged students to improve.

“We’ll resume it once I become an Archmage,” Jon said matter-of-factly, already set on asking for the Kollion’s Concoction as a boon from the Winter’s Tourney.

“Hopefully,” said Cedrik after finishing with the notes. “But your chances of doing so will be significantly lower if you keep getting into brawls with other students. Especially noble ones.”

“They attacked me.”

“Perhaps. They are certainly at fault for getting defeated by a single opponent of similar cultivation, regardless of who instigated it. But at the end of the day, you were the only one to be punished. Being in the right means very little when the one in the wrong is more powerful.”

Cedrik certainly had a way of deflating Jon’s happiness.

Jon pulled himself a stool and began chanting the incantation for Mage Light. He had lost count of how many times he had cast the same spell throughout their research. Be it tired or fresh, ten times in a row or just once. Willow didn’t exaggerate when she said they were nearing the end of what could be done with simple mage spells.

He cast the spell thrice, and then three more times for the Shadow Tendril.

“That’s good enough for today,” Cedrik said, not bothering to write anything down on his roll of parchment. “The results are consistent with the previous times.”

Usually, this would be Jon’s cue to leave, but things had changed. So instead, he stood and asked, “Professor Willow, will you be heading to the feasting hall?” Receiving a nod as a response, he then asked, “Would you mind if I followed along? After everything that happened, I don’t think it’s safe for me to walk around on my own.”

“At least you’re not completely oblivious to your own well-being,” she remarked, not denying his request. She walked towards the door, Jon following closely. Cedrik stayed behind to continue working, as he usually did. Willow had similar tendencies, though to a lesser extent.

Jon followed her out of the potions room, and then out of the Sunrise Building, none of them saying a word. He knew she was still angry. “I’m sorry for ignoring your orders and coming to classes anyway.”

“Are you, though?” she asked bluntly, not turning to look at him.

“Let me rephrase myself,” he said, not wanting to lie to her. “I’m sorry for upsetting you when you were just looking after me. It was never my intention. But I’m actually glad about my decision, even if it meant getting my wounds reopened and everything. It allowed me to advance my cultivation, and that is my only objective while here at the academy.”

Professor Willow continued walking, the silence broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the buzzing of cicadas. They went like that for a long minute until she finally decided to break the silence. “At least you’re honest. And before you ask, no, this doesn’t mean that I’m no longer angry at you.”

“That’s fair. Can I ask you a question, though?”

“Sure.”

“Yesterday, you and Cedrik were arguing. It was because of me, right?”

Willow nodded, not trying to hide it. “He wanted to see how the extreme stress would affect your spells. After getting flog— after everything that happened, I told him you required rest instead.”

Somehow, Jon wasn’t surprised. Neither by Cedrik nor by Willow.

“Don’t hold it against him,” she continued. “He just has this bad habit of focusing too much on work to the detriment of everything else.”

“Don’t worry, I have no grudges against him. Though this does makes me wonder. I advanced today after exerting myself quite a bit in class. Yesterday, had I done as Cedrik wanted and cast a bunch of spells, would I instead have broken through to become an Archmage? Maybe I should get myself flogged again to find out,” Jon joked.

“I’m starting to believe what people say about halfbreeds. You are insane.”

“It was just a joke. I would never want to get flogged again.”

“Was it, though? Because I have the feeling that you would do it in a heartbeat if you thought it could work.”

“Fine, let me rephrase myself,” Jon said with a smile.

The professor shook her head in disapproval. “That obsession with getting stronger will be the death of you, mark my words.”

The feasting hall soon appeared in the distance, its glass walls and bright lights impossible to miss. Most students were already inside, having their last meal of the day.

“Will you manage to return to the dormitory safely?” Willow asked as they approached the east entrance.

Jon nodded. “My roommates are waiting for me inside. I’ll just go back with them.”

“Good.” She brought a hand inside her robe, producing a single platinum coin. “Here,” she said before flicking it to Jon, who caught the coin in the air. “Our sessions together will soon be coming to an end, so consider this a parting gift.”

“Didn’t the headmaster prohibit me from receiving any more payments?”

“Yes, so don’t tell anyone about it.”

A smile took over Jon’s face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I know this might fall on deaf ears, but I’ll say it anyway. Please try to heed my advice. At this pace, you’ll be working yourself into an early grave.”

“I promise,” he said.

Willow smiled, patting him on the shoulder before turning back and leaving.

Jon sighed. He stored the platinum coin inside his pocket and raised a hand towards his pendant. He promised to heed Willow’s advice. He couldn’t promise he’d follow it, though.