Ranvir’s next few hours passed in a haze as the adrenaline crash intensified. He and the others were escorted back to the square. A teacher was already waiting for the students. Upon seeing their group’s muddied and bloody uniforms, he strode toward them and Grev reported the events with some help from Sansir. Their blond friend was a little unsteady on his feet and had needed help from Sansir to keep a decent pace. At least his nose had stopped bleeding. While they talked, Ranvir and Es walked away, giving them some space.

The girl left at some point and Ranvir didn’t realize until much later that he never thanked her, nor got her name.

Ranvir blinked as the teacher waved Grev and Sansir back to their group and he took a few steps away from. As they walked, Ranvir noticed the sound changing. During the day, while they’d been playing chess, it had rained. It was a powerful shower, despite only lasting maybe half an hour. As they walked, the sound of their boots splashing in water changed to the crackling through ice.

Grev and Sansir hurried themselves, Grev almost falling multiple times before they got out of the Master’s range. By the time they reached the Ranvir and Esmund, they were shivering and ice had formed on the wet parts of their uniform.

The wind rolling out from the center of the plaza and the Master had turned from balmy summer air, to an icy mist that licked along their shins.

The plaza snapped as all water within a fifty meter range of the Master abruptly froze solid and mist formed all around him. Ranvir gaped, blindingly white numbness overtaking all his emotions. Despite being unable to see him, Ranvir could sense frost, like the deepest centers of the world, in the heart of the mist dome.

All the frozen air was dragged inwards until it filled less than a fifth of its previous space. Ranvir’s hair whipped violently and his open jacket flapped loudly in the draft caused by the movement of such vast amounts of air. The mist shot hundreds of meters into the sky like the spires from the Winternight stories.

The freezing sense disappeared from Ranvir and felt some of the tension leave him as the Master appeared from the base of the spire made of mist. Ranvir couldn’t help but marvel at the frozen wings embroidered on his back after such a display.

“How did you do that?” He asked, unable to stop himself. “Are you trained in the Discipline of Piercer, too?”

The Master shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I don’t need the reach of a Piercer. Once I got it in motion, it’ll continue all on its own.” He wasn’t even out of breath, nor looking strained.

Over the next five minutes, the towering spire of mist dispersed in the wind, but it had done its job. Soon after it was raised, a woman appeared in a flash of light to talk with the Master. A short while later, a Master from the academy appeared with a group of fifth-years following behind.

They talked for a few long minutes before dispersing through the city, gathering the rest of the students visiting up. An hour later, they were all headed back. It was a little earlier than intended, but Ranvir was thankful.

Ranvir woke up the next day ready to put the assault behind him, so he was, for once, happy to jump into physical. Physical had largely remained the same for the last four weeks, and the beginning of week five was no different.

They started with an early morning run, then into a variety of workouts focused more on strength and finally returning to sprint training. Ranvir preferred the runs and the strength training over sprinting. Partially because he wasn’t quick but also because he didn’t seem to grow any quicker.

From there, Ranvir was headed to obsidian class. He was a little curious about obsidian, especially after the girl from last evening. He didn’t know her element, but something about her made him think of obsidian.

Finding the field, as noted on his schedule, was pretty easy at this point. Gone were the days of him getting lost in the dormitory building, or stumbling through the fields searching for the right one.

As he reached the obsidian class, he noticed just how much larger it was than the one he’d been to previously. There were closer to forty students within the field, which was also much larger than normal. It had been littered with smaller pieces of obsidian, the black glass-like stones glittering underneath the mid-summer sun.

I guess this is the right field. He thought, waiting for the bell’s toll to wash over the academy. With so many students in the field, inevitably, they’d notice Ranvir. But they didn’t recognize him, at least most of them didn’t. The familiar nickname was soon whispered throughout the class, ‘Cold-front’. He even saw a few of them grip their noses as they talked about him.

To Ranvir’s surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as before. Cold-front had haunted him since his second week at the academy, yet he didn’t feel the red simmering anger or dark purple-red embarrassment as intensely. He’d turned it around yesterday. He’d used what he learned from that experience, and he’d used it well.

An echoing wave of sound pressed against him as the bell rung, signaling that class was about to begin. Not long after, a Master could be seen heading towards their group. The murmurs from the rest of the class died down, and all of his classmates lined up. After what Ranvir’d seen yesterday, he couldn’t help but feel a shiver of indeterminable color run through him. Was he afraid? Or excited? He couldn’t tell. The Master was text book military. Short hair, clean shaven, with a jaw as sharp as the dagger on his belt. His uniform had the perfectly fitted look that the magically augmented uniforms most students used couldn’t quite match.

To pull it all together was the clear air of a no-nonsense attitude he’d drawn about himself, like a knight draw around him his cloak. He didn’t greet the students. Simply saluting them, which they returned promptly, and pulled out a similar candle and container contraption to what Master Svenar was using in his class. He lit the candle and sat it on the grass next to him. The rest of the students followed. It appeared class had begun.

Ranvir didn’t know how long they were supposed to be meditating on their tether. When they’d passed the quarter hour mark, he’d expected the Master to say something, instead he kept sitting there. Ranvir jumped back into tether-space. He didn’t want to disturb the class on his first day, so he avoided tampering with it or embracing the pressure.

It was only by the half hour mark the Master finally moved. “Students! On your feet!”

Ranvir broke from his tether. A needling yellow worry told him he better act quick. Jumping to his feet, he noticed most of the others were slower to disengage, though a few were already standing by the time he’d gotten out.

They must’ve been resting between dives. As the thought struck him, he noticed the how they were shaking their hands out and shifting on their feet, trying to put some strength back in their bones. In the beginning, they’d all tired before the first onset of over-expression, but now they were reaching the point where even meditating could put them in a minor state of exhaustion.

“Students! Today we’re going to be practicing our throws.”

“Yes, sir!”

Ranvir startled at the sudden roar from the class. The Master turned and together they walked the short distance to the field that always accompanied a class area. A range with dummies.

The master had all the students line up on the range, all the lanes had a sizeable chunk of obsidian on them. Ranvir realized this class must all be obsidian manipulators. He watched as the students tore small chunks off the much larger stone. Despite knowing they were all tethered, he still felt a moment of dysphoria watching people rip out chunks from solid stone. Obsidian throwing was a lot less dramatic than Ranvir had hoped for. It was also a lot more literal.

Ranvir waited for a few moments, but the Master never turned towards him. In fact, he never took his eyes off his students. He was quick to correct them if they pulled off a too large, or too small piece, or if their throw was bad.

During a break where no students needed help, Ranvir approached the teacher. “Master…” He realized then he didn’t know the Teacher’s name. “I was wondering if you could help me answer a few questions?”

The man didn’t react, just kept staring at the students. After another few seconds, Ranvir turned to the students, too. Maybe there’s something he wants me to see. Ranvir thought, but he already had a nagging dark blue cloudy feeling in his stomach.

He realized none of the students could break more than a few little pieces off the larger stones. Even then, they tired swiftly, despite the relatively long time between using their power.

Ranvir thought most of the students weren’t a lot stronger than the ones he’d seen in light two weeks ago. And they weren’t even using their ability to fight, they were literally just throwing stones.

“Master, shouldn’t they be working on their abilities more?” Ranvir asked. He might as well have been talking to the wind, or an actual brick of obsidian, for all that the Master reacted. “Are you ignoring me?”

The Master stepped forwards towards a student who’d sat down to recover their strength. He forcefully heaved them to their feet and reprimanded them for not sitting properly. He was loud enough that the entire class could hear it.

Biting his lip, Ranvir looked around. He had a genuinely dark feeling about this class. The Master lifted a hand as if to backhand the now crying student, causing the much smaller boy to flinch. Ranvir almost lurched forwards before stopping himself. What could he do against a Master? An abusive one at that.

He shot another look around before turning to the Master’s tower. Maybe I could get… His thoughts paused as he saw one building between him and the tower. Administration.

Ranvir took off, limiting himself to a brisk walk. He didn’t want to be winded about what was to come. He needed to be eloquent, not desperate. Desperate was for two minutes ago, when the student was still cowering and crying.

The Master had set himself up at a different place to stand watch over the students. There was a distinctly eerie feeling to his stance, like a black and gray cloud surrounded him. It was that same strict sense Ranvir’d sensed earlier, but knocked all the way up and then twisted to something worse.

Clenching his teeth, Ranvir quickened his pace slightly. He didn’t need to be that eloquent. If there was something to be proud of today, then it would go against that Master. Ranvir could tell he wasn’t producing results, even from just his short time at the class.

Opening the door to the administration building, Ranvir immediately headed for the desk, relieved to see Himir sitting awaiting students and masters alike.

“Himir.” Ranvir greeted, swallowing his frown.

“Student Ranvir.” Himir said. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I’m not sure anybody should be in that class.” Ranvir said, his face turning grim once more. “I don’t know if you know which teacher I’m supposed to be studying under, or if you can find out for me, but I would appreciate it.”

“Sure, we keep a copy of student’s schedules.” Himir pulled out a drawer from his desk and started going through it. “Let’s see here.” He pulled out a piece of paper with a flourish of his wrist, like Grevor would draw his sword. “You are in obsidian this week, correct?”

Ranvir nodded.

“That would be Master Grimar, then.” He paused for a long moment. “Master of Wings, manipulator, if I’m not mistaken. Shouldn’t you know this already?”

“I don’t think he intended for me to.” Ranvir said, clearing his throat as sick yellow flutters swished through his stomach. “He’s been ignoring me all throughout the class.”

“That’s-“

“There’s more. I don’t know if he’s actually hit his students, but within the short time I was there I saw him, at the very least, threaten one.”

“I’m not sure I could do anything about it, Ranvir.” Himir said. “But I’ll call Pashar in and you can talk to her.”

Ranvir nodded his agreement.

“I’ll go then.”

Himir was scarcely gone a couple of minutes before returning. “She’ll see you when she’s ready.” He didn’t sit down in his chair, though. “In the meantime, I actually have something for you.” He pulled a starched white envelope and handed it to Ranvir. “This letter has come to you.”

Ranvir cocked his head, slight blue curiosity pushing a little of the nauseous yellow fear away. It was addressed to ‘Space Manipulator Ranvir’, from ‘The Fimbul-Oak Family’.

He’d never heard of the Fimbul-Oaks, but judging from their names and the huge rime oak on their wax seal, he could guess a little about them.

He flicked it twice with his finger. It was made of dense paper with a smooth feel. There were no obvious lumps of anything inside the envelope. Is this an offer to join their family? Ranvir let the thought simmer for a while. Or at least go on retainer for their family. Probably more likely.

Part of him wanted to throw it out, part of him absolutely wanted to look inside. Before he could decide, the door behind Himir opened and Pashar appeared on the threshold.

“Follow me please, Student Ranvir.”

Ranvir nodded and folded the envelope in half before stuffing it into his pocket. He followed Pashar into some sort of lounge with a few other grownups inside. He recognized several of them as librarians, but others he’d never seen before.

They continued until they reached a door with ‘Pashar’ written on a bronze plaque on it. She pushed it open, revealing a small, neatly kept office space. If Ranvir was to guess, though, it was rarely used, judging from the layer of dust on the desk and the ‘too’ empty set up. Things piled up where people spent a lot of time.

Pashar sat down behind the desk and gestured for Ranvir to take a seat opposite. He noticed how she seemed to search for both ink and quill for a while before finding the right drawer, a stifled a surge of self-satisfied yellow.

She noticed his look and spoke up. “I prefer working in the communal office. I like a bit of noise around me as I work.”

Ranvir nodded, but said nothing. He noticed that she’d brought in paper to write on, along with a group of files temporarily gathered in a cloth folder.

“You say you have some complaints about Master Grimar,” she asked, uncorking the ink. “Is that correct?”