Whatever Bari whispered to Azreon after healing him caused him to pale and say nothing more of the incident. The rest of the class passed without drama, but no one’s heart was in it. They learned the basics of riding horses while armed and armoured and steering them with their knees. Given their giant-blood, Shaya and Bri got to ride Jhagsdales, a rare breed of giant horse said to have been domesticated by Astoria Herself – the only person capable of overcoming their bloodthirst. Bari avoided Shaya the entire class, so the young woman gave her space and decided to save her questions for later.

Her thoughts were occupied with how close she came to letting her rage drive her to doing something stupid.

And how the rage felt different this time around.

Caused by it aligning with the target of my own anger?

Or perhaps because I didn’t actively oppose it? Can it be directed?

She thought back to Kredig’s words, his uncontrollable rage, and she shuddered.

Seeing her brooding, Bri and Ralus offered words of encouragement when they parted ways, which washed over Shaya in her state. She was emotionally drained and looking forward to finishing her last class of the day – Introduction to Abjuration – in peace and get home, but the gods clearly had something else in store for her.

It turned out Azreon was an Amber mage, just like her.

The class took place in the same location as Foundations, but the atmosphere was very different without Auric. A dozen students stood at rigid attention in a single line, hands clasped behind their backs. When Shaya asked how they were intended to take notes that way, the professor shot her a withering glare.

“Magic is dangerous,” Captain Basillo Tallasoth rumbled, big arms crossed in front of him. He was a tall, broad nephilim, descended from Astoria, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Azreon. “As such, it is your duty as the Lance’s Amber mage to protect them from it, which is why we are here today.

“In this class, I will teach you the Seeds required to shrug off enemy magics,” he continued, walking up and down the line of students. His eyes narrowed at Shaya as he passed by her, “each of the six Spectrums has a Seed tied to warding off its magic. Given their penchant for destruction, we will first be learning how to conjure wards against Ruby and Amethyst magic.

“I do not believe in wasting time on theory,” he said, returning to a central location, “or notes,” he shot another glare at Shaya, “the Seeds are simple, so we will begin by employing them immediately.”

Using a wooden sword, he traced a Seed into the sand before the class.

“By default, a warding Seed will project a circle – a closed cylinder, really – around you that absorbs hostile magic of the aligned colour,” he said, tapping his sandy sketch, “mastering the basics of this Seed is integral: a sloppy circuit won’t be able to absorb the magic, tax you more than the enemy mage, or fail to protect a sufficient area.

“By the mid-term, you will be expected to have all six of the basic wards mastered,” there were audible gasps from some of the students. Shaya just barely restrained her own. Biomancy only tested three Seeds for the mid-term, and Conjuration only two – though granted one of those was a ritual spell. “No complaining – lives are riding on your abilities! Amber mages form the core of their Lance – without you, enemy mages and Titan-spawn will slaughter your comrades.”

Basillo rose back to his full height, resting his wooden sword on a shoulder like a war hero, then gestured to the side of the arena where two blue cloaks stood. One of them advanced to stand next to Basillo, another Astorian nephilim with chiseled features. “This is a friend of mine. She is going to throw fireballs at you. Who would like to volunteer?”

Azreon strode forward, earning him an approving nod from the professor. “That’s what I like to see. Take a minute to study the Seed and think about the invocation your esper will want to hear to shape the circuit.”

The haughty noble nodded and Shaya realized his white clothing and armour were bereft of the grass and mud stains he had earned from his frightened tumble to the ground. He had either changed into spare clothes or had his original clothing cleaned in the short time between classes.

Then he invoked his Esper: “Serra Mikaelix, Radiant Angel!”

Shaya’s jaw dropped.

The Esper that appeared looked just like the heroic statue she had seen a week earlier, except that the short, armoured and robed woman bore six feathered wings of luminescent white. She held a slender greatsword with two hands, the flat of the silvery blade touching her forehead.

Shaya looked on in horror and awe as the First Knight of the Empire floated before her.

How could she bond with someone like him?

What does he even know of dedication? Of honour?

And why does she have six wings!?

I need to ask Amaurea how sure she is that saints can’t become angels...

Can belief change her form that much?

Oh gods, I can’t believe this bastard hates me...

By the time Shaya shook off the storm in her mind, she missed Azreon’s invocation and watched a fireball explode over him. Golden energy flared around him, absorbing the raging fire without showing any strain from doing so. Even the blue cloak that threw the fireball looked impressed.

“Very well done!” Basillo said, his weathered face actually breaking into a grin, “I haven’t seen someone pick up the spell that quickly in my centuries teaching this course.”

Azreon nodded with humility, and went to move back into line. He stopped when Basillo raised a hand, “You stay there.”

Basillo turned to Shaya, eyes narrowing again, “You’re up next, recruit.”

Shaya shushed her raging thoughts and studied the Seed, then moved to where Basillo pointed her to go. Well, good thing Krebo started teaching this to me before I left...though I wish I had practiced it before the CInwolves now like he suggested.

“Amber requires one simple thing from you: confidence,” Basillo lectured, “without it, you will not be able to draw the aether you need to keep yourself and others alive. But,” he paused, the smile he gave Shaya lacked all the warmth he showed Azreon, “the battlefield is a hectic place. You must learn to ignore those doubts.”

He turned back to Azreon, “Ensure your companion is distracted – hurl whatever insults you would at her.”

“Captain Basillo,” Azreon said, “I am not sure I feel comfortable insulting one of my peers.”

You lying piece of-

“Very noble of you,” Basillo nodded, “but you would do her a disservice by holding back. Again – lives will depend on her ability to draw and channel Amber even under duress.”

“I understand Captain,” Azreon nodded, “I will do as you ask.”

He turned his back on the rest of the class to face Shaya, and smirked at her.

She snorted. Bring it, you up-jumped arse.

“Phaedra!” She invoked. She thought a few weeks back to Krebo’s invocation, then cursed when she remembered he didn’t use one. “Ward me against destructive magic!”

Shaya set aside her doubts and began to draw in Amber, feeling its comforting strength.

“Your gryphlet is dead.”

Panic spiked into her, and the Amber recoiled from it in her moment of weakness.

That’s not true, don’t listen to him. She went back to drawing in the aether she needed for the spell.

“I had it put down for being feral.”

Her blood boiled at the insult to Quill.

“You really should have trained it better, but I guess that might be too much to ask of a barbarian.”

She embraced Amber’s influence, letting the sense of invincibility reinforce her and pull her away from reality.

“It might have been worth sparing if it wasn’t crippled.”

She felt rage rising at the back of her mind.

Destroy him.

No, not right now damn it.

Trust me, you stupid blood, I want to harm him as much as you do.

Destroy him.

Later!

Amber began to slip through her grasp again, feeding her frustration and making it worse.

“Shame you weren’t strong enough to protect it,” Azreon continued, “or its parents, I presume?”

Guilt slammed into her, draining her spell.

“Throw the fireball,” Basillo instructed.

“Sir, her spell’s not ready.”

“We have a healer on standby.”

“But-”

“I said throw the spell!” He growled.

The blue cloak launched the fireball at her, eyes wide with shock as if the spell misfired without prompting.

With the spell out of reach, Shaya’s survival instincts kicked in and she dove out of the fireball’s blast radius, rolling back up to her feet and wheeling. Basillo stormed towards her, face red.

“Your squad is dead because of you!” He screamed, walking right up to her and standing on his tip toes to get closer to eye level with her. Spittle hit her face as he continued, “An Amber mage always stands their ground!”

He walked forward, expecting her to back away from his tirade, but he simply bounced off her as she stood her ground. Basillo’s surprised expression sated the rage in her somewhat, but her eyes still narrowed at him. They stood that way in silence for a few seconds, the professor’s face reddening as Shaya did everything she could to avoid punching him and then doing her best to murder Azreon, who still smirked at her.

Perhaps seeing the promise of violence in her eyes, Basillo took a step back, but his frowned deepened. “Did you hear me recruit? You don’t want me to repeat myself.”

Stop provoking everyone, she told herself, your anger has already caused too much damage.

Finally, she nodded. “I hear you profes-”

“Captain,” he corrected.

She bit back her annoyance and injected her words with as much sincerity as she could muster: “I understand, Captain Basillo. I’ll study harder next time and be ready.”

“Good,” he snapped, seeming satisfied with the face saved, “Now get back in line. Next!”

“I can’t believe you provoked him,” Oraeus said, sitting across the dinner table. His obsidian fingers were steepled in front of him as he spoke, mimicking his Esper’s favoured position. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“Are you telling me you or Samorn would have just turned the other cheek?” Shaya retorted.

“Yes,” He said, spreading his arms, “you lot might blindly lump us all together, but we don’t wield nearly as much political power as Azreon.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Bri snapped, “you’re not the one being harassed for no reason.”

“Don’t talk to me about harassment,” Oraeus said, eyes narrowing as he looked at Bri, “You may call me ‘high born’ and think me something special, but I’m from a kingdom that lost the last succession war. You don’t see me assaulting anyone when they call me a traitor or back stabber.”

“Some reputations are well earned,” she responded with a growl.

“Regardless,” Shaya interjected, not wanting to create a rift when everyone at the table had to depend on each other to succeed – and survive their deployments, “we need to figure out how to deal with this situation.”

“There is no dealing with him, Shaya,” Samorn said, sounding pained as she broke her silence. She hung her head, eyes on her half-eaten meal as she spoke, “Azreon is...just too powerful.”

“Fine,” Shaya crossed her arms, “I’ll keep my head down and just endure it. It’s just going to make things worse though – that's how thugs work.”