“Kinda strange, isn't it?” Micah groaned, compared to the others he was so... Lacking in talent. Sure, his grades were good and he was a fair hand with magic, but... Even Brenn was so far ahead of him.

They were in their final year in general studies and at no point had he managed to bridge that gap. Brenn was Brenn, though. Still relatively human in capability, with his position as an official paladin to explain the rest – paladins were very often stronger than normal people – their reward for devout service to a god.

And then there was Alex, Astrid, and Sigi. Hell, even Magnus. Each and every one of them was like a celebrity in their school. Four 'once in a generation' talents, all together. Micah felt lucky just to know them, Tythas too of course. The man talented enough to get noticed by several archmages, some of which had requested him directly as an apprentice. He'd refused them all, though.

“Shush. If I have to hear you whine about the surprise course one more time, I'm fit to knock you about the head.” Brenn growled. The others, all seated near one another, chuckled. He was serious, too, it was all Micah had been doing lately. Having made the grave error of taking too heavy a course-load only for another class to be foisted upon him. It didn't even have a name, mandatory for all class years, even the children in their primary education. Ten minutes had passed into the course, and yet still – no professor arrived.

“What is this?” Someone complained. “Is this a joke? I was just on the verge of a breakthrough in my warding workshop when I was told that I had to attend this farce of a lecture!”

“It's a practical, fool.” Sigi said, turning around and facing the man. Another member of the Red Dragon blitzball team, a man with wide shoulders and a famously thick skull. Or at least a thin consideration of common sense. Professors did this in the later years, toyed with their students to see what they'd do or how they'd act when unobserved. “Why don't you do us all a favor and shut your mouth, Cirdan?”

“Yeah, Cirdan!?” Someone cried from even further back. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“How's about both of you come up here and say that to my--” Cirdan's voice froze in his throat. The door slammed open and a cloaked figure stalked into the hall, drawing back his hood to reveal long white hair. Every step he took was like the slamming of a judges gavel declaring someone guilty. He had bright blue eyes and a handsome face, pale skin and a tyrannical aura about him. He planted himself in front of the class, throwing his cloak onto the desk and staring back at them.

Just standing there... Menacingly. And not a single student in the room wouldn't recognize the man for who he was, even by reputation alone.

“Holy shit...” Micah's cheeked reddened, shaking and looking fit to burst into cheers at any moment. He was always such a fanboy... Sigi slapped him gently, but he continued to act like a child regardless of what she did. “It's the Winter Knight!”

“Winter Knight!”

“Oi, the Winter Knight is our professor! I can't believe it!”

“Silence.” Rafael boomed. He spoke, didn't yell, but his words carried. A man well used to fighting. One who hadn't performed to expectation in the ascendancy, but it was common knowledge that great adventurers might not. Some were too good at fighting monsters and not the same for humanoids, something people could easily accept. “I am not your professor. I am your proctor and teaching aide, and many of you know who I am. You may call me Rafael, guild master, or whatever else you'd like so long as it pleases me. Understood?”

“YES SIR!”

“Sir works. I am a knight, a real one, so that's as appropriate a title as any. In any event, I am here to observe your behavior, your frame of mind. This is a mandatory class, but it is not graded in the traditional sense. Everything is up to you. Your attitude, your attentiveness, and ability to heed command. Should you fail this class, you will be required to retake it regardless of your status as a graduate. I will not be making attendance mandatory, sleep through it if you'd like to. Understood?”

“...” Many shivered. There were no classes in the fourth year that were 'mandatory'. They were all specialized electives and open research periods. The first two years were the hardest, where the wheat was cut from the chaff. People were expelled all the time. The general way of things was that if they made it through those years, it'd be smooth sailing from then on.

Leaving more time for personal development and less time in lectures or workshops. It wasn't easier, necessarily, but the talented few that remained to pursue studies beyond those years were typically regarded as good enough to be given the respect of a simple graduation without undue inconvenience. Magic study didn't end in structured education, it was a lifelong pursuit to anyone with a lick of ambition. Alumni were a very common sight in the halls and libraries, decades after they'd graduated.

“Don't make me repeat myself.” Rafael said. His voice was smooth, but there were cool undertones of violence in it as well. Enough to cow the students, a group of mages almost universally inexperienced in any kind of combat.

“YES SIR!”

“Good.” Rafael said. “Please do not mind me. If you wish to converse with me or say hello in the halls, that is fine – but I would prefer if you ignore my presence here in the classroom. Some days, I won't be here at all, as I have my own duties to attend to.” He finished up with a respectful nod to the classroom before taking the first empty desk in the front row of the room. Kicking his feet up, head cradled in hands held behind his neck, and staring at the front of the room.

Intent to join them in waiting, by the looks of it.

“What the...” Micah frowned. It wasn't how he'd expected such a famous adventurer to act. Kael was the Bringer of Ash, people loved that guy and still went on about it to this day. But he was retired. Rafael, the 'Winter Knight' was still active, having just participated in one of the largest documented operations in Lyran history. And here he was, fit to take a nap in their classroom.

“Professor... Er... Sir Rafael!” Micah called out.

“Yes?” Rafael didn't turn, but it was obvious who he was addressing.

“I'm a huge fan!” Micah blurted out. “I've watched all of your reels on the mirage--”

“Stop before you embarrass us all.” Sigi hissed, actually slapping him about the back of the head this time. “Sir Rafael, I think my friend here is wondering who our actual professor is.”

“He's been here the entire time. You lack the awareness to have noticed the obvious, and that is a weakness that we will burn out of you.” Rafael replied, and that was all he'd say. The classroom fell silent, people began looking all around at their neighbors, discussing the revelation in hushed whispers.

One of the 'students' in the back row rose to his feet. He was incredibly tall by human standards, and would've dwarfed the relatively long frame of Rafael should they have stood beside one another. His hair was similarly white, but there was no confusing his identity either.

He marched slowly down the stairs splitting the bays of seats. Not so long in the hair today, short on the sides and shaggy at the top – well manicured and precise with his movements. People gaped. That was natural. Rafael had a reputation of being tremendously friendly to his fans, a nice – heroic figure. This man was nothing of the sort. But he did have fans, some people were into that sort of thing, romanticizing literal serial killers. He was well familiar with his most fervent supporter in the room, stopping his march to face the center of the room.

The professor locked eyes with the 'crippled orphan' immune from their bullying by way of Sigi and Alex, two women of great influence they were all terrified of.

“Hello Micah.” Tyr smiled. There was that sense that he had. Maybe it was love, he couldn't really tell anymore, it just varied too much by person. But Micah was burning like a bonfire, staring at him open mouthed. He was bold, though. Bolder than people gave him credit for, brave and strong in the way that only someone living under such an infirmity could be.

“Hello Tyr.” Micah recovered, smiling and flushed in the cheeks. “I am also a big fan of the White Wolf. We are very lucky to have you with us.”

Tyr bowed towards them all respectfully, in a way that combatants might bow before a duel. “It is my absolute pleasure to be given the opportunity to teach and learn from my dearest of friends.”

Alex cringed. What was happening? That Tyr, the glaring one with the low eyebrows and the shrugs, the tilting neck... Always spitting on the ground and violent toward others. Ready for a fight and relishing them when they'd come. His eyes were creased in melancholy, his bow sincere. His smile was dazzlingly handsome beyond belief, so much so that even the men in the room began muttering both curses and praise. He looked...

Happy? Had Tyr ever really been happy in his entire life?

He was so quick to frown, always. It was like looking into a picture of the Tyr that could've been, if things hadn't turned out the way that they had. And to her chagrin, she felt her heart quake at the sight of this 'incredible man'. This angel. This magnanimous, heroic picture of charm and chivalry. Who was this man? Because it certainly wasn't Tyr, it was the Tyr she had wanted but never the one she'd gotten. Not since he'd been taken away from her. She'd remembered, the thing inside of Tyr that had spoken to her had made it so, to try to give her context and perhaps justify the monster he'd become.

“Oi! What a minute, wasn't this guy a second year drop out?”

“Yeah, that's true... How can you be our professor? No disrespect, savvy? I just want to know! Please don't kill me, I'll accept anything as an answer!”

“What is wrong with you? Show some backbone! You're a...! Never mind! I think this guy is great! Are you going to teach us to kill monsters!?”

“Introduce me to an orc that looks like Jura!”

“...”

“I want to make one thing clear.” Tyr cleared his throat, ignoring all of the whispers – many of which were not very kind. “I know some of you, like Cirdan.” Tyr nodded toward the blitzball player. To be honest, he had no idea who that guy was in the least. He'd just heard Sigi use his name, making it a point of commonality. Manipulation. All part of that bastards plan, but it was a good one if he actually knew what he was talking about.

“...The White Wolf knows my name...” Cirdan gaped, making an odd huffing sound and breathing rapidly. Like a gorilla... “Oi! The White Wolf knows my name!”

“Of course I do.” Tyr smiled. There was a badge on his chest displaying him as a member of the athletics team, and another for his rank within the school of his choosing. Warding, in this case. Some students had four, some had two, some just had one. Cirdan was fairly well ranked within the warding workshop, marking him as someone of talent if not for his apparently lack of brains. “How could I not know one of the most talented warders in our academy? Shit, and excuse my language young man, but I've watched every single one of your matches. You could even say I'm a fan.”

...Young man?

“They are called games here...” Cirdan choked under Tyr's gaze. “But that's like, that's totally sick, man! I knew you were the real deal when you were a student! Seriously!”

“Excellent. I have great respect for the Bianchi merchant family, and don't want to presume. Gods, but I can remember just yesterday visiting your mothers inn in Milano. I was remiss in giving her my complements, it was to die for – she is a very talented woman. You'll do me the favor of providing her with my sincerest thanks, yes?”

“Of course!” Cirdan shouted. “We're friends, aren't we!? My mother will be so excited to hear you you enjoy your stay.”

Tyr had actually eaten at a Bianchi establishment. He never would have known Cirdan belonged to that family if not for the fact that the idiot had gone so far as to embroider his own family name on the shoulder of his uniform.

Tyr had thought it was shit, in all actuality. Utter trash. Pigs food, and for someone who wasn't picky in the slightest to say that... It wasn't a good sign, if he were to frame his own consideration from a third party perspective. Their bread was really good though, Tyr mostly just had a problem with the thick red sauce they put on everything, either that or way too much cheese to cover up the low quality product beneath.

But it worked, the lie. When he made this into a game, it wasn't so bad. The heat he felt in those rare moment, little sparks, were motivation enough to accept Alexandros' bizarre plan for him.

“Oh! I had no idea Cirdan was so well connected!”

“Ha! I also love Bianchi's too! It's so good! Trust me! Ha!”

“Damn! Be my friend too, Professor Tyr! I think you'll be a great professor!”

“We sure are, Cirdan.” Tyr smiled. So bright, radiant, unrealistic in his beauty. Iscari had always been the crowd favorite among all the years of students. He was gone now, graduating and leaving the place – but he visited often. The most handsome boy that had ever attended the academy, or so they said. Tyr could never equal him, but he rivaled his fellow prince with rugged charm and fame as an adventurer. None of those who actually knew him could believe it, not even Micah who was full of love and faith for all of his friends, Tyr included. “Let me ask you another question Cirdan. Do you mind?”

“Of course, brother!”

Tyr's face froze. Rafael's head nudged in his direction, watching the young man's eye twitch at the hearing of that word. But to his credit, nothing else happened. Surprising even, Rafael never would've pegged Tyr for someone who had any restraint at all. He remembered how reverent he had been towards the boy before growing so comfortable, wondering what his past self would've thought. Seeing his future self lounging disrespectfully in a class about to be taught be a primus...

“Do you want to die, Cirdan?” Tyr asked, his glare sharper than any razor blade.

Yup... Rafael thought. There it is. Classic Tyr. The former adjusting his position of rest to be ready for the inevitable, whatever form it would take.

“Er... I'm not sure I understand the question, friend.” Cirdan frowned, flinching back to the point where he was nearly sprawling over the desk behind him. “P-professor?” Tyr's nose was nary an inch from his and Cirdan had nowhere to go. “Have I offended you? Allow me to express my deepest—”

“No, friend Cirdan.” Tyr smiled, grabbing the mans hand and straightening him. Cirdan was a very large man, standing just over six feet tall and a behemoth on the field, the tight academy uniform did his well honed body justice. Mages with a musculature like that were incredibly rare. Usually in exchange for brains, they said, but Cirdan was talented as well. An exceptional warder and favorite of professor Wilhelm. “It's a simple question and I'd like you to answer it. Do you want to die? Do you want to feel your guts pulled out of your torso and feasted upon while your dimming mind is fully aware of what's happening? Have you ever had your bones broken, skin peeled and burned from your flesh? Your heart plucked out of your chest, torn away from you? Have you ever felt the pain of dying a thousand times while simultaneously not being allowed to actually die? Have you ever witnessed someone you loved be torn apart just seconds after embracing you?”

“No sir... To, uh... No to all the questions, sir professor.” Cirdan whispered, completely oblivious as to how things had devolved into such a bizarre confrontation.

“For those of you who could not hear.” Tyr called out. “He does not want to die. If you were curious. I don't want you to die either, Cirdan. We're friends, aren't we?”

“Y-yes sir...?”

“In fact.” Tyr concluded, patting Cirdan on the chest. A little harder than necessary, but the man before him was a meathead. Interpreting it the wrong, but also the right way...? Puffing his chest and smiling back at Tyr, recovering from the intimidation psycho-babble quite well, in any case. “I don't want any of you to die. Sure, I was sent away on business and might not be familiar with most of you – but I think you're all very talented at magic. More talented than I am. But let me ask you this, is there anyone in this room who thinks they could beat me in a fight?”

Silence.

“For all your vain pride and ego.” Tyr chuckled. “I thought at least one of you would have risen. Granted, I can see our very own Alexis Faeron holding down Sigi Faeron. I understand – and I deserve that. I'm sure many of you know that we are married and I haven't been the best husband. But that is not what I'm worried about.”

“You are a rat bastard. A worm. A slug on a leaf and I hold the salt, ready to pour at but a moments notice.” Sigi growled. Everyone heard it, and Tyr had to address that as well. The nails behind his eyes again. Gods but he hated this, even with the pulsing thrum of all that made him warm inside. He understood how Alexandros must feel, except Tyr didn't even know what caused the pain, which made it impossible to stop unless he was alone.

“That's... Descriptive.” Tyr continued to smile at her as brightly as he could, which seemed to infuriate her even more. “I have only ever been good at one thing. Well...” He chuckled. “Two things. Not dying, and beating things to death.”

Silence again. People nervously exchanged glances, but for some reason Cirdan was nodding energetically and throwing him a supportive 'thumbs up'. That was a man with a fast sense of recovery, not bashful at all after the perceived conflict between them.

“To be honest, I expected a laugh. I am very skilled in humor and comedy, and this comes as a bit of a disappointment.” Tyr sighed. “Anyways... I'm not here to teach you magic. Most, if not all of you, are better at that than I am, I repeat myself. I respect you, you have no need to call me professor or defer to anything but common sense requests from your educator. I'm here to teach you how to fight, as is Rafael. Typically, mages are not forced into combat roles, but times have changed and I'm sure you all understand that.”

An exchange of glances happened again. This time it was people with their lips puckered and turned to the side, nods of agreement. There had been a great deal of criticism levied against Amistad regarding the deaths of two students during Hastur's attack. What an absolute joke that was. Two students, and they blamed the academy rather than the madman who did it.

But it was self evident that they were not prepared in the slightest to defend themselves let alone handle another horde. Even the professors had been pressured to the point where they'd failed to protect some of the more arrogant battlemages. Mages might be able to point their finger and blow something up, but a crossbow bolt would still kill them, as would an axe, sword, or otherwise. They were still human.

“Tyr.” Micah raised his hand, which seemed pointless considering the fact that he didn't wait to be called upon. “Is something bad going to happen to us? Is he going to attack again?”

“I don't know.” Tyr shrugged, and this time he was mostly honest. “But regardless of what happens, I am here to provide you with the knowledge and experience you need to at least defend yourself. Escape if you need to. No matter what happens, I will protect you, that is why I am here, I am your knight in shining armor. I asked Cirdan those questions not to alarm or threaten him, but because I have felt those things. I have died a thousand times, maybe even more than that – it all gets muddied over time. Work together with me, to become stronger, to reach for your highest potential. What's the worst that could happen? You get better, and the city stays quiet?”

“I think Hastur coming again to steal children from their beds is quite possible.” Rafael said, still facing forward. “What will you do if that happens, professor?”

The game.

“I didn't ask for this job, my friends – I really didn't, but I do believe it's necessary. Would you help me out by at least trying? Give me that, and I give you my sincere oath that I will give my life in protection of you so long as you stick with me.”

The mage academies were dominated by arrogance and ego. Narcissism was rampant and despite Lernin's egalitarian policies regarding background, it could never be perfect.

Old families and new families alike trying to paddle the life rafts that were their houses. Making mountains out of molehills over the slightest 'disrespect' to their legacies. But the vast majority of admitted mages did not belong to these families. They belongs to common, random people. Humble people. Offering his own life in an oath to them was a bargain without cost to Tyr, but it meant the world to many of them.

At least he hoped so, he wasn't the type to remain patient with a group of people who'd done nothing, seen nothing, killed nothing – but insisted they knew best.

Tyr the professor of combat doctrine for Amistad's very own Red Dragon. Somewhere along the line, he was intimately aware, his life had gone off the rails.

At least he was getting paid for it.