“I hope you know what you're doing.” Thrace sighed, slowly shaking her head, finding them alone within the chamber and left to stare up at the remains of that god. A thing of calamity and destruction, unable to be truly removed from the world without threatening the fabric of it. “For all of our sakes, or at least... That of my children, I suppose you'll simply leave when the inevitable comes for us. Do you really think he can save us? He may be of your kin, but he was raised a human, Red, and if the rumors I've heard are true...”

“Save us?” Abaddon laughed heartily at that. “Tyr Faeron bears the curse but none of the blessing, he is nothing more than a catalyst in the grand scheme of things. An unliving avatar free to traverse the world and force the others to action, to awaken those around him.”

“What of the fog?”

“When things are ripped away into the dream, they don't die.” Abaddon shrugged. “Chaos is not destruction, just as order is not creation. This world is the one, the seraphim believe that allowing it to be destroyed will spell doom for the entire tree of existence. That this is the meeting point by which destiny is decided, the keystone of all. I'm not so sure, but frankly, I'm just doing this because it's fun.”

“I see what you mean.” Thrace hummed, working her way over to a decanter of that liquid she drank – calling it 'liquid light'. Abaddon didn't trust it, it smelled like blood from a creature even he'd never seen before. Taking a delicate sip of the stuff, her eyes met his own. “I want him.”

“Then take him.”

“Truly?”

“I see no reason to stop you, as long as you do not break him in the process.” Abaddon said. “But he can't bear children with you. And you know very well who his mother is, it might be best not to.”

“Hmm...” Thrace replied, falling into deep contemplation. Tyr had come to this world many times, and every time they killed him he would always return again. Rising up from the nim alongside the others, Lazarus' great project ensuring he was weaker now than ever before. But there was something different, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. As if starting weak had given him the ability to absorb far more than his previous iterations.

Hell...

One of those iterations was nailed to the wall right beside her.

Noru the Mad Titan, the Walking Storm.

Tyr Faeron was no chosen one, he was a calamity on two legs that existed in the old legends as one of the greatest villains to ever live. Lazarus had did something terrible by binding those children in the way that he had, a series of breeding experiments to ensure they were given the best possible vessels by which to grow and prosper. But the Destroyer, if he could be called such anymore, was twisted and beaten into a form that was wholly unrecognizable to her eye.

Weapons bred into the human populace in a bid to prepare for the inevitable... More nephilim, the humans had lost their right to awaken freely and a select few were attempting to reverse this change and throw their race into a world war. Only the strongest of which would survive the conclusion, but they would be stronger. The fog would slow, saving them all, and awakened humanity would become the norm again. As foul as targeted genocide was... The Guardians didn't act against it, it served to benefit them – or notably the planet they worshiped as their one and only god.

The reason the Guardians existed at all was to end Tyr when he reincarnated, and yet here they were. Helping him, even if they didn't know it – but the others did not know his name. They hadn't smelled him like Thrace had, thinking him only a primus – but all nim were eternal. More were not created, their number was finite in a way biological races were not – only a certain amount of them could exist in the universe at one time.

They were all part of something else, even Noru had been but a speck of the thing that someone like Tyr came from. And so many others, shardlings beyond the recent eras popping up all over the place and beginning to manifest, a crawling doom just beneath the surface with only one explanation as to why. Now, of all times.

Noru came to break worlds, to destroy them when the ordering declared them unfit to continue existing – a god sent to purify quarantined planets.

“You want them, all of them, to achieve their full potential?” Thrace had come to the realization some time ago, but needed confirmation. And in way of answer, Abaddon nodded curtly. “Then why not let him drink my blood? Or yours, for that matter? It would advance him far beyond what progression his petty actions have.”

“Because he is pure of wholesale external influence, and he has never been so free.” Abaddon replied quietly. “Eventually, the gods will come – and he'll be presented with a choice. Regardless of which he decides on, it doesn't matter. This isn't some grand plan, White, it's just amusing. A spot of distraction before the world is torn apart and sent into the astral. I sincerely doubt we can stop it, whether it be by his hand or that of the fog. As of right now, Tyr Faeron is no threat, and therefore he is allowed to exist – but given his nature... Suffice it to say that my clan would've destroyed him again should we have considered him like the others, I believe his humanity has made him into a much better version of himself. A weaker one, but he understands black from white – not so insane anymore. I've tried to break him many times, as has his own father, and the boy managed to get through it – despite being a repository of repressed memories and trauma.”

“That's cruel.”

Abaddon didn't disagree, pursing his lips and standing. “It's necessary, loss and pain will make him consider consequences. Otherwise, he'd begin devouring everything around him – already he is beginning to shape perceptive reality in his proximity. A very interesting ability that I wish to study further, I've never seen it in a nephilim before.”

“I see.” Thrace nodded slowly, approaching 'Red' and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Stay with me?”

Abaddon snorted, raising an eyebrow up at the gryphon, they'd known one another for nigh on two millennia now and she never tired of making passes on him. A pure, angelic figure in appearance, but sadistic and domineering inside. Always looking for that next clutch, playing with biology and breeding with whoever caught her eye in a bid to create more powerful children. Not for any complex reason, only to see what would come of them, it had been her who had taught Solomon the many secrets which had ruined him as a man. A walking calamity herself, truth be told, but she was kind and gentle, only with consent would she act.

And as before, he would give her no satisfaction, not even bothering to reply to the woman as his spirit vanished and left her scowling and alone beneath the titanic figure plastering the...

Thrace's head whipped around, staring up at the eyes of the giant. For just the briefest moment, she could've sworn the sewn mouth of Noru had twitched...

–

Sigi and Alex both observed him, always. For many reasons. Some obvious, and some not so much. Tyr ate alone, taught alone, studied alone, and slept alone. All of his free time was spent about some completely mundane task. Still solitary, but far more normal than before, becoming an instant hit among the female student body if rumors were true.

In the morning he would leave early. They'd have called it 'rising', but Tyr didn't seem to sleep much, same as before. He would leave his quarters, engage in a robust series of exercises – meditate for an hour, a tea break in between sessions. After that, he would dance in the glade of spruce beyond the forging hall. Just... Dance. Sometimes, a dark haired woman would come to greet him and they would talk for a bit – but she never stayed long. When she did, she would simply sit off to the side and observe him as he went about an altered fire dance. Okami greeted her as a friend, and the presence of the wolf was a sure sign that Tyr knew they were watching him. But he never said anything about it.

Neither could divine the relationship between this woman and Tyr. At first, Alex suspected what she was wont to suspect. Another woman. Only unacceptable because he might've been trying to hide it from them. But it was clear that it didn't swing in a romantic direction. She argued not with, but at Tyr, hitting him a lot and very passionate in the exclamation. If they were even on friendly terms, it was one sided, she looked more like a handler or employer than a friend. And nothing about their routine seemed clandestine, he could be seen from the academy windows if someone wanted to watch for whatever reason.

Tyr would leave, bathe himself, and stare out of the window for a long while in quiet contemplation. Rarely breaking from this routine, and if he did, it was only to visit the library and rapidly flick through pages at a speed that made it look like he was searching for something. But not actually reading...

Then, class would begin. Tyr had a class at 8am, another at 9:30am, 11:00am, and that was all for his teaching cycle. On odd days, it was 9:00am and 10:30am. His afternoons were free and he'd spend time taking notes in the library, alternating between that and visiting the forging hall and conversing with Valkan. Working on some sort of project it seemed, but that wasn't abnormal for him – he seemed to really enjoy the hobby. And then, on the odd days specifically, he would disappear abruptly for a dozen hours at a time, sometimes he'd be gone until the next morning. He moved too quickly to observe, and when questioned claimed he was 'visiting a brothel' or 'taking a nip with the lads'.

Whatever that meant.

But both of them knew he would never do such a thing. Tyr was not a profligate, and never had been – he always was about some business even if it was ridiculous. Jura was proof that the man didn't do things by half measures, and Alex knew him well enough to be aware of his intimacy issues. From his abusive childhood most likely, while he insisted he'd never experienced such a thing.

But she was gone as was Ayla, on their work study programs in Kriegstad of all places. There were placement courses for non-humans in the academy who used a magic different than what was taught at the Red Dragon, and since Tyr had officially referred them – the headmaster seemed all too eager to comply. Tyr had developed a great deal, that much was obvious, he commanded a presence among the faculty and showed no bashfulness in ordering Lernin about like some kind of flunkie. A born manipulator – and that wasn't all that different from who he'd used to be in retrospect.

“Lady Alexis Goldmane.” Astrid giggled. “What say you in regard to the reports that Tyr was being observed by a score of nubile maidens during his shirtless dance on academy premises? Rumor has it that he is quite chiseled these days, cutting a mighty figure.”

Alex wasn't in the mood to rise to her attempt at 'humor'. She'd purposely stolen Jura from him, a woman he had a far more positive relationship with – and she felt remorse over being so petty. Jealousy wasn't primary in her mind anymore. “He just... It's too normal. Too regular, he keeps to the same schedule every day and almost never changes. I'm bored of watching him, to be honest, which seems strange because before...”

“I get what you mean.” Sigi grunted. “Tyr was more fun to watch when we were younger, he hasn't even gotten into any fights.”

“He and Professor Kael spar sometimes.” Astrid shrugged. “It's not a secret.”

“I wish you'd stop talking about him entirely.” Brenn huffed. “The world does not revolve around your prince. There was a war in both the north and south of Varia. One of which he directly started. The republic is still struggling against the dungeon breaks, Kriegstad is hosting the platinum qualifiers, and the Saorsan's just attacked the Telurian navy. Hells, it's autumn which means the landing is about to start. Can't we talk about anything else? Nobody wants to hear a daily treatise on the behavior of our professor Tyr.”

“I do!” Micah's two pence entered the battle.

“Shut up, Micah.”

“Okay...”

“You're grumpy this morning.” Sigi frowned. Speaking the words she found necessary but not any she believed herself. Tyr was doing someone that he shouldn't be, the reason he'd come here certainly wasn't to teach. She wanted to know what it was. “But you're right, I think it's high time we stopped this nonsense and returned to normalcy. Those in favor?”

Everyone raised their hand except for Micah. Too loyal for that.

–

CRACK.

“What is the purpose of this course?” Tyr asked. He was burning with dull golden flames, smothering the man below him. Cirdan, again. That man was quite the fellow – so full of pride that he refused to submit to pain or discomfort. Tyr would heal him as best he could, which wasn't much – but it removed the pain after a few seconds, at least. On the ground and bleeding, bruised and sore all over. It was a good thing there were real healers on standby for these eventualities. Even with his face flattened by Tyr's boot, he managed to respond.

“To prepare us for a worst case scenario!” Cirdan repeated with a bit of a slur. His head was spinning but he had great respect for Tyr. And he, unlike most of the others, saw the point in these lessons. It was plainly evident that 9/10 mages were totally unsuitable for getting into a fight, many of the advanced level battlemages even... Were completely worthless. Tyr wasn't known for his complex magical ability, but he stomped them flat with very little difficulty.

To the point where finding entertaining opponents was getting harder by the day. Another lesson, that progression was bittersweet, Tyr was getting too strong to enjoy the things he used to.

“Professor!” Someone raised their hand. Tyr couldn't bother remembering all of their names, so he usually just bluffed his way through it. The game.

“My lady.” He smiled, and the women swooned. Alex hated that the most, and she could tell even Astrid wasn't pleased by it, though for different reasons. Meanwhile, Micah looked like he was fit to burst with either pride, supportive praise, or swoon himself. It was hard to tell. “I am so pleased to find you with a question. Go ahead, speak up. And remember to call me Tyr.” He winked, and it had the desired effect. Her face became as red as any tomato he'd ever seen.

“E-er... I-I... Well... Oh gods...” She choked on her own question, fanning her beet red neck with a hand. This suited Tyr, but what didn't suit him was the fact that these kind of questions were spread around through the student base. Some of them were too proud or to fearful of him to question it. He'd made it all a competition and Cirdan was his constant patsy as 'the best'. Which was most certainly a lie, but the mans big body ensured he did well enough that it wasn't a lie easily seen through.

From the standpoint of wards, however, ambient magic shields and mana constructs – Cirdan was an incredible talent. Tyr had ignored all array related magic because he couldn't cast it himself, but it gave him some ideas for new artifacts.

“Everyone wants to know why we can't use magic.” Alex proposed in the young woman's place. “This is an academy of magic, for what reason are you making us go through these tests without it?”

Tyr resisted the urge to shout at her. What an idiot she was. Alex was an incredibly sharp genius of a woman, all of them were. So gifted and so talented, yet they missed such an obvious point. If Tyr had half of her natural ability he'd be a god on any battlefield, an opponent that few enemies could match.

He was given the opportunity to interpret this as he saw fit. 'Crisis preparation' – but Tyr had named it the 'combat workshop' instead. Whoever had ratified the 'crisis' name was clearly an idiot as well. Yes, let us tell all of our young students, some as young as eight years old, that we are preparing for a crisis... Big brain, surely.

“You are free to use infusion magic.” Tyr shrugged. “You'll notice that I'm only using Cirdan here as a practical example. Why? Because Cirdan and I are good friends, aren't we?”

“Yes sir! Best friends!”

“Quite...” Tyr smiled in his predatory way. “What else am I doing Cirdan?”

“Ensuring there is no pain, sir! And I thank you for it!”

“Fifteen points for the first response.” Tyr nodded, emulating a face of pride. “Negative fifteen points for the second. There is pain, there is always pain in combat but I am unfortunately not authorized to actually hurt you.”

“Literally nobody knows what you're going on about.” Alex cursed. “You know well how difficult infusion magic is for a normal mage.”

“I am an empath. Therefore I can sense your frustration, see? I am very wise.” Tyr said, smiling at them all. It was a twitchy, half smile, but his handsomeness and their perception of it made it mostly... A good one? They thought? “An extro-empath, to be precise. Does anyone know what that means? Yes, please go ahead – brother Micah.”

“It means you can steal emotions from others!” Micah replied energetically. Tyr had thought he'd get to the point a lot sooner, he was quite intelligent himself. Unfortunately all he'd done is make all the others even more nervous than before. “Or reflect your own back onto them!”

“Great answer! Fifteen points, but negative fifteen points because I told you to cut your hair and you seem to have refused.” Tyr beamed brightly, showing all of his inhuman looking teeth. There were moments like that, when Brenn could see – and the others could not. Like the eyes of a snake, just a flicker before they were human again, moments where he seemed to be larger than he actually was. A monster.

“Steal isn't how I'd phrase it. After all, you need to be consensual in your giving to an empath for someone like me to do that. Therefore, it's not stealing.” That was a lie, but Tyr disliked the power enough to avoid ever attempting that in the first place. Therefore, the claim of 'someone like me' made it the truth. “To cut to the chase, I am taking my friend Cirdan's pain away before it becomes unbearable, and feeling it myself. Actually, I've been doing it for all of you – throughout all of our lessons.”

Naturally, the whole point of going on this run of banter and all of those artificial smiles had a point to it all. Sort of... 'Look the part of a hero at all times. Change your personality, become your own image of 'charming', even if it kills you.' Both Lina and Alexandros alike had said that to him.

They knew more than he did about this mission, and that agitated him a great deal. But he'd bend to it, because he had an idea why.

That was part of the job, and Tyr had never failed a contract. It was a point of pride for him at this point. Like father, like daughter, he supposed, though he had no idea why he was being forced to be kind to people like this... It was incredibly exhausting to smile all of the time and wave at students whenever they greeted him.

“You feel our pain...?” Someone asked.

“That's right! I barely felt anything even when Lady Sigi broke my arm! Doesn't it hurt, professor!?”

“Thank you for your concern. There are times when your magic will fail you.” Tyr said. “I know this is a hard concept to grasp here in a magic academy, but it's true. In battle, there is no telling what might happen, but I can tell you this. Magic is not a catch-all button for victory. There is not a single one amongst you who could beat me in a fight. You're all talented, and I know it. I've seen it, I've watched you. But none of you could beat me. Why? Because I cannot die. Do you know who else cannot die? Anybody?”

Nobody had an answer for that question. Who on this world was immune to the finality of death? A primus? Surely, but when would they fight a primus? Never, they might as well just lay down and die. They understood by now that mana phenomena had its downsides, over reliance on it was corrected in some workshops, but Tyr had asked a very odd question regardless.

“Hastur Casterling.” Tyr frowned, and they finally understood his words. “Magic is a crutch that will ruin you and make you weak. I've seen it. I know it. It is a muscle within you that must be trained like any other. This is an exercise on reflex and decision making in a struggle. I might not look like much, but I was trained by a Sicario mage hunter and he said the exact same thing that I'm saying to you once upon a time. Follow me, if you want to, and live. If you don't want to – that's fine. But I would be sad if you died. Bad things are coming, and I'm here to prepare you for them, I expect that you'll be the most important group I'm instructing and I'm already proud of you.”

Frankly, Tyr had no idea what he was doing, which made the experience even more baffling. For both him, and the others who were familiar with the prince.

–

“This was an uh... Interesting spot to meet.” They were all here, except for Magnus, but he was gone a lot these days. An understudy battlemage working as an adventurer for credits, he lived a busy life. Here being the operative word, many wondering why they were all crammed together into this tiny tea cart well beyond its capacity. “This tea tastes awful. I never liked tea, literal mud water. Right Brenn?”

Brenn shrugged with a belated whisper of apology, his sturdy shoulders nearly jostling Micah off of his stool. “Tea is a godly drink, but this is not very good. Why here is a great question, though.”

The girls weren't the only ones who'd 'filled out' over the last few years. He was a truly massive man, thick in the arms and broad of shoulders. Build like an ox with sharp brows, his right split by a scar that curled down to his cheekbone. Earned in Varia – one he'd opted not to have healed.

Micah constantly thought about the inequity of this world. A scar like that should've marred him but all it did was make him even more handsome, just visible enough to be a pale line crossing his eye. Added to his height of 6'8'', even taller than Tyr...

Brenn had always been handsome and strong, but this was a little much, it made it impossible to talk to girls! They were always giggling and looking over at the bigger man while Micah tried to make his move. At least Brenn didn't seem interested, that was a good thing, always talking about how Vestia had shown him his one true love – and there'd be no others.

In any case, he dwarfed Tythas and Micah, barely fitting in the cart itself. But it was his ass that got the most attention from the woman, and that was truly something to behold. The best cheeks this side of the span, they said, and not the ones on his face.

As far as the academy was concerned, that was Amistad's ass.

Brenn was strong, dark, rugged, and manly. With a gentle demeanor to top it all of. He spoke clearly, honestly, and would freely give advice even to strangers. Not shy in the least, he had a real talent for making friends – or at least acquaintances. He seemed to prefer solitude in most situations, living his life in pursuit of whatever strange tasks were required of a paladin.

A fair hand with earth magic and within the top ten of all students academically, the 'whole package'. He'd grown tall, but never really changed. He was still an amazing friend and had taken the initiative to become Micah's roommate in their second year when their floors changed. Micah hadn't been sure why back then, Brenn and Tythas had been much closer – but it was almost embarrassing, the real reason. They'd never spoken about it, but Brenn would lace Micah up into his braces every morning and carry him around when necessary. Micah was jealous of him always, but he could never not love such an incredible man.

Tythas on the other hand was almost the complete opposite. His hair was straight and glossy black compared to Brenn's wavy locks, though his features were similarly dark. Effeminate in the face, with perfect skin and a youthful look. Most of the time. Sometimes he would look the part of the middle aged man Micah had thought him to be on their first meeting. Behavior wise, he was a bit clingy and seemed to have some major mommy issues with how closely attached at the hip to the girls he was. His grades were third only to Alex and Astrid, and his darkness magic had become a sight to behold.

Some even called him the next Hastur, which... Seemed like an odd thing to say, really.

“I'm just happy to be here.” Tythas smiled, a bit sad but he always seemed to be that way. Still full of an angst he never communicated aloud. Beautiful, effeminate, and ephemeral in a haunting sort of way in the face.

And then there was Micah. Just... Average in all respects. Plain enough in the face, rather short, and of course there was the issue of him being a cripple. And yet nobody ever said anything about it, they all helped him and while he appreciated it, it only exacerbated his feeling of impotence. “Me too, Tythas. Thank you all for being my--”

“I swear on the divines that if I have to hear you sniveling like that again I'm going to punch you in the mouth.” Sigi growled at him. “You're as talented as anyone else, we all think you're handsome, and you're one of the best spatial mages the academy has seen in decades. Everyone knows it. I hate a man with no confidence, pull your head out of your ass.”

“But I still can't summon a gate...”

“I don't care.” Sigi said, significantly softer in tone, not bothering to turn while she lay a hand on his shoulder. Another amazing friend, to add to the list of all the others that Micah didn't deserve. “I know you've got my back in a scrap and you're as good as any in our class with arcane magic. So we'll keep you around.”

“A bit more blunt than I would've put it.” Astrid smiled, laying her hand on Micah's own. He blushed fiercely, turning his head to the side and pretending to drink the muddy leaf water. “Even though you're constantly staring at us with those beetle eyes of yours, we are happy to be your friend as well.”

Alex made a shushing sound and flicked her eyes to the side. They'd all been curious why they were bundled up with cloaks. It had been a hot summer, and autumn continued to trend in that direction. Cicadas could be heard in the air, their overlong stay, chirping away under the scorching sun.

“Ah...” Brenn groaned. “So that's why. Come on lads, we're leaving.” He stood to depart, but it was more of a hunched lurch given the limited space he had to work with. “I told you not to get us involved in your sordid marital drama. Handle him yourself, this is embarrassing – I thought you were better than this.”

Tyr stood out. Always had.

And Brenn had been completely serious, what he'd said before. He'd never hate the man, the thought of it hadn't crossed his mind. It was the fact that Tyr had acted dishonorably that had him displeased the most. A knight should confront their mistakes and always seek to be better. The world was in a state of constant conflict and all they could think about was this individual. A man who had, even if by accident, started a war in Varia that had led to thousands of deaths. Maybe even tens of thousands. A man who did all that and did not bow his head in shame...

Brenn had thought more highly of Tyr than that, too. Once upon a time. Iscari had tried to cover it up, but Brenn was sure he was the only one who knew that Tyr was responsible for the mycelian threat.

“We need you.” Alex said, and that was the truth. “This isn't about confronting him or starting some kerfuffle over my ego. I believe he needs to be stopped before he does something terrible.”

“...It's not?” Tythas didn't seem convinced, earning himself a scathing glare in exchange. “Relax, man, I've got your back – but I mean c'mon.”

“It's not.” Sigi frowned. “We want to know why he's here. It doesn't make sense to find him here again, and Tyr isn't the type to do things this way. It's clear to be that he doesn't much care for educating, and yet he is trying his best at it. Why? Tyr only ever does what Tyr himself wants to do. He is too selfish to relocate himself to Amistad and bury himself in work like this. Something is off and I don't like it, we've communicate our thoughts to the headmaster and he won't answer directly.”

“You think he's a threat to the academy?” Tythas frowned. “Or Amistad?”

“Both.” Alex replied softly. “Three days ago, a warehouse full of men was found in the old town, left in a pretty grisly state. I won't articulate on it, but it was bad – 83 individuals hanging from the rafters with a hand print branded into their chests.”

“That's true, I did hear about that but the chapels won't allow us to investigate the rumors of a cult budding in Amistad.” Brenn nodded in solidarity with the claim. “So you want us to watch your backs in the event that this turns violent? Why not just... Ask him? I highly doubt he would harm any of you, or us for that matter.”

“Sort of.” Alex said. “I have asked him a dozen times and he avoids the question. Tyr is a bad liar and he knows I'll see right through it should he try. I don't think he'll hurt us either – he's not that kind of person – but whoever he is working for might take issue. My father has been watching Amistad on the primus' behalf, while Jartor is watching over his new son. He says more strange things are happenings in and around the city. People are disappearing and they are finding corpses all over the northern forest. Torn and burnt to the point where they can't even be identified.”

“That sounds more in character.”

“But what if he's mad at us? Should we be following him? I don't want to do this...” Micah asked nervously. “I appreciate you being so honest, but I'm not going to attack him no matter what happens.”

“He'll never thank you for that.” Sigi said. And Micah, for all his faith in Tyr, would've been surprise if the man had. He might be sincere but he'd always been selfish in the strangest ways, emotionally most of all. “But I don't need you to attack him, I am confident I can handle that myself. I need you and Brenn to restrain him, or his associates when necessary. There is a strong chance that the Winter Knight is in on this as well, alongside the blackguard. That is a fight I am not confident in winning, so for now we just investigate.”

“They suspect...” Astrid accentuated the 'they'. “That Tyr might be working for another kingdom, or contracted to assassinate academy personnel. Possibly working in tandem with Hastur, the black hand is his symbol – and that would be bad if that were the case.”

“Protection then. Fine.” Brenn said, hood low over his face as he waddled out of the crowded confines of the tea cart.