“Oh, how tragic, how short.” Anohal theatrically threw his head back. “For me to be united with the angel of our god whose well-meaning decision created this cascade of events, only to be ripped away again by duty.”

Aclysia pressed her lips together. “I shall never apologize for having advocated for life.”

“And neither should you!” the actor priest assured her boisterously. “It is a mark of all great plays and all great stories that the moral decision may not be correct and vice versa. Does it not excite the mind to imagine what would have happened that day, had the decision been different? How many thousands would be alive and who would instead play the role of the villain?” Anohal glanced over to Apexus and continued, in a deep masculine voice. “There is always a villain.”

“Do we truly serve the same father?” Aclysia had to ask.

“The symbol of the theatre is two masks and so is that of our patron, god, or father,” Anohal responded, cheerful again. “Us followers of the Great Actor are known for three characters. Those that perform, those that memorize scripts, and those with two faces. It’s clear which you are, dear Aclysia.” He got even closer and whispered into her ear. Now his voice sounded soft and feminine. “Being a representative of the Great Actor requires something that you lack. He may be your father, but do not bind yourself to his path. Good fathers want happy daughters, not shackled ones. Our god will always aim to be a positive archetype.”

“Are you telling me to seek the paths of other gods?”

“I’m telling you to do as you should and memorize scripts. Find one that resonates, then act it out. Plays are condensed truth that is truer than truth. No mathematical equation may ever approach the value of a third act.” The androgynous man pat her on the shoulder and then stepped backwards. “Lord Inquisitor! I would be ready now!”

“Finally,” the impatient zealot growled. He glanced at Maltos. “You I can trust, Divine Hand. Make sure to prepare with us in mind, but do not expect us to bring too much.”

“I have the utmost respect for your capability, representative of the Church,” Maltos assured him, stroking his beard. “Although I fear that Elomerstir will not approve of your actions.”

Rapidly, Anohal got between them. “Oh, let that be my worry, wise mentor,” he stated. “Let it be yours to survive the curtain fall.”

The old monk was as patient as always. Not even the antics of the actor priest could shake him. In his time, Maltos had met a few priests and other followers of Hashahin, even a paladin of the faith. They were all oddballs, yet far from the worst to speak to. All one had to do was speak their metaphors. “We will see what archetype I embody, if any at all.”

“A wise man such as you knows it is impossible to not embody anything. Creativeness is too vast not to encompass all categories of character,” Anohal danced backwards. “Regardless, it has been an honour to meet you all. We shall aim to be the reliable force. Maybe we shall become the knights in shining armour.”

“Every second counts.”

“Indeed, well then Lord Inquisitor, shall we?” Anohal led the way and Lars closely followed. With some confusion, Mehily looked between them, waved goodbye, and began to follow them, only for Maltos to stop her.

“What an eccentric entourage that brought you here,” the old monk said, more amused than disapproving. “We exchanged a few quick words while you continued catching up with our troubled trio.”

Said trio (quartet nowadays), was standing together and watching the scenes unfold with little comment. The past half an hour, the time since Anohal had started his greeting, had been an emotional up and down. By design of the actor priest, as he would have and did admitted directly. Aclysia was always prone to watching, as was Apexus, Reysha was just exhausted after her reunion with Mehily, and Korith felt a bit awkward about all of these things going on around her that she was only tangentially related to.

“The summary is that you are to train with Pronthin until their return.”

“The irony is not lost on me,” the faithless priest spoke into Mehily’s stunned silence. “An Inquisitor delivering one who has his kind’s eyes but not their zealotry into the arms of a heretic. In any case, I have much to teach you.”

“I… really?” Mehily sounded as doubtful as she was. The man’s thoughts were a steady movement of grey hues, every last happy and hopeful thought smothered by a thick layer of cynicism. It was as close to ‘dead inside’ as a living being could be. Yet, in those grey swirls were still the hardened fragments of deeply ingrained faith.

“You are an inquisitor without the zealotry. I’m a priest without faith. We are both under the belief required for our stature.” Pronthin showed the closest thing to a wry smile he could. It looked deeply sarcastic, even though it was genuine. “Your development will be interesting to follow. I will be teaching you and Aclysia with some additional attention.”

Aclysia heard that and was about to insist she needed no extracurricular benefits. Considering her situation, however, and the danger they all would be in in four months time, she would take it.

“Do I get additional attention?” Reysha asked.

“Yes,” Mai stated. “You will wish you didn’t.”

The threat made her contrarian soul release a bit of energy back into her exhausted mind. “Ohohohohoooo, ominous.”

“Uhm… and me?”

“Apparently, we’re preparing you to survive a Deathhound encounter, so yes. GET EXCITED!” the goliath of a Warrior teacher said.

Korith had to resist the urge to hold her ears close. ‘Hoard, give me the strength to resist all this screaming,’ she prayed.

Apexus did not need to ask what training he would receive.

Maltos clapped his hands. “Then all is said and done. Attend to your individual students. We have much to do.”

The sizable gathering dispersed, all leaving the temple grounds through the same gate that Anohal and Lars had used. Unlike the two members of the Church, the teachers and their students would stay on the island.

What to do now was as clear as it was urgent and time was more or less limiting depending on the individual task. For the representatives of the Church, four months was little time and yet enough to justify and try to organize additional forces. Maltos was certain that the combined might of the Teacher’s Isle could stop the Deathhound, but it would be a bloody battle. The more they had to offer, the better.

All that they had to ensure was that those so weak that they could not conceivably hurt a Tharnatos class demon were out of the way. That was the job of the teachers here and it did not require haste. With a rough timeframe established, they needed to get the word out and the areas cleared. To ask people to leave their homes for a week was a large ask, but also not one, particularly for adventurers, that was unreasonable.

Then there was the training for each of them.

To Aclysia and Mehily, Pronthin spoke on the way back: “I can teach you one more special spell, a powerful manifestation of magic. It’s not special. It’s like a ray or a bolt. Just a step up from them. The next evolution of wielding magic. After that it’s just repetition and mastery, for what I can show you.”

At Korith, Vulk shouted: “I love teaching people how to beat shit up, but with you I have to focus on the boring defensive shit! If we do this right, you might be able to survive a single bite. Don’t look at me like that, I said MIGHT! Ever seen a Deathhound? No?! DIDN’T THINK SO!”

While running, Reysha heard Mai behind her: “You have two more minutes before I start running too. You better get a larger gap, missy, or I’ll stab you in the arm! Good Rogues perform under duress and you have a lot more Martial Arts to master!”

All three of those teachers were fairly confident that they could teach what they wanted to in four months. Already, they were solidifying further what skills had been tested while their proteges were dragon hunting and preparing them for what more they could learn in the timeframe they had been given.

Maltos and Apexus sat across each other in the temple.

Apexus still remembered sitting on those mats, so focused on his hunger that he couldn’t even feel the texture of the floor. They were woven from plant matter and flexible, a nice material to kneel on, as he and his teacher currently did. The massive statue of the lotus flower was the only real decoration in the large hall. Everything else was supportive beams of red woods or walls of the same, largely covered in white plate.

“I must admit that I have never had to teach a student magic from nothing,” Maltos finally broke the silence. “No one ever truly has to. Those who have the potential to venture into the Omniverse, to conquer Leaves none have set foot on before, they are distinguished by being in-tune with their magical circuits. You have no such advantage. It will be like teaching a baby to move a single finger.”

Apexus nodded, because he knew it was true. He had tried to direct what flowed from his magical cortex a number of times on the way back. The ship had provided ample time for experiments. Nothing had resulted from it. He was aware he had it, both the magic and the potential to move it in a desired direction. So far, the greatest extent of control he had been able to manifest had been to stop magic from flowing to Aclysia, when she used him to recharge.

“It will likely take your utmost to learn this,” Maltos told him. “I will demand all you can give, for that is all that needs to be given.”

“I understand,” Apexus assured him.

“Be precise in your speech, what do you understand?” Maltos encouraged his pupil to put his thoughts out there.

“That I brought danger to this land.” Leaving it there would have been an option, but Maltos gestured for him to continue. More could be heard from the slime. “I wish to have the power to be free and for that freedom to not inhibit anyone else,” the humanoid chimera continued his thoughts. A long pause followed, while he reflected on his emotions. “I meditated on a cliffside, when I searched for people that would help in our plan to kill Kaladar.”

“And what did you experience there?”

“Silence. The silence of my thoughts. Clarity of existence. Nature.” Apexus did not try to put it into bloomy words, for he did not care for the elaborate explanations. “Broad trends. Specialized actions. Animals and plants exist as they must. I am a person. I exist as I can. I should not be a detriment to others to exist as they can. All should be demanded of me. I brought danger to this land. I must help end that danger.”

Maltos responded with a measured nod. “A virtuous answer,” he approved. “Whatever happens that day, know that I will remember you as a pupil unlike any other.”

Blankly, Apexus stared. It was rare for him to feel only one thing at any statement. As the old monk, his wrinkly hands folded in his lap, smiled humbly at his pupil, that pupil felt naught but the most joyous sadness there was. Rapidly, the slime blinked away the irregular overflow of liquid in his eyes. He bowed his head. “Thank you, teacher,” he said. “I will attempt to be remembered as your best pupil.”

“That is your demand unto yourself and it is a good one,” Maltos stated. “My demand to you is much simpler. I have more to teach you, much more, than can be fit in four months. You know the stances and you know them well. You do not know the flow of magic that these stances form. You cannot know them. We have to start there, before I can hope to teach you even the basic Skills or Martial Arts. However, a goal must be established.”

Maltos rose to his feet and walked to the statue of the lotus flower. Its pointy leaves were made of gold, rimmed with sharpened steel, except for those near the centre. Those gradually transitioned, through various alloys, until the heart of it all was pure silver. Between the leaves pooled a liquid metal of silvery white.

From underneath the statue, Maltos pulled two bowls. One of them, he dunked into the metal, extracting it like a bee extracted nectar. Carefully, he let the excess metal drip back into the statue. No drop stuck to the porcelain.

With a nearly full bowl, the monk walked with long, confident steps back to the original position. “This metal is what we call Omniverse Sap,” he explained, after sitting back down. “It is a substance of great power and great tragedy. It can only be harvested where a Parasyte sucked a Leaf dry of all life and cut the world off from the great tree. That world stump continues to bleed for a few years, producing this sap. It is, for all intents and purposes, pure magical energy in a stable form. There is no more concentrated form of mana. Its value is near unfathomable, even if there are few that can harness it.”

“Can you?” Apexus wondered.

Maltos shook his head. “Harness it I cannot but… it will be quicker to show you.” The old monk slid the full bowl towards Apexus. “Throw the sap at me.”

Apexus grabbed the bowl gingerly, not to spill anything, and then immediately did as he was asked. This immensely valuable liquid sparkled in the air. As a torrent, it flew, threatening to cover Maltos, to seep into the doormats, and to be lost in all the ways that mattered.

Focused, the founder of the Teacher’s Isle reached out with both arms. His hands nearly came into contact with the liquid, then he started to bend its flow. With gestures between pulling a rope and pushing a glass of water, he directed the Omniverse Sap into the empty bowl in front of him. It was a process that only took two seconds.

“This is a signature… ability of Monks, a Martial Art… that we train extensively,” Maltos said, clearing his throat. “Flow Manipulation. The stronger the energy you aim to manipulate, the more difficult it becomes. This bowl,” he tapped on the rim of the container, “contains about the same level of energy as a singular strike from a weak Deathhound. I will consider your training a success when you are capable of handling just one instance of this. It will wreck your magical cortex for that, it will leave you heaving and near the point of collapse, but one strike you must be able to counter.”

Apexus nodded, and watched while Maltos returned the contents of the bowl to the rest within the lotus flower. “I will not practice with the sap, correct?”

“No,” the old monk confirmed. “You will only be allowed to try and handle it when you’re ready and you will be punished if you fail. Before Flow Manipulation, you must be taught basic Ki control, the manipulation of your own ki points, then the proper pressuring of others, and then, finally, we get to Flow Manipulation.” Empty-handed, Maltos sat back down. “You will be brought to the edge of your physical and mental ability again and again. That is the path of the Monk.”

“My body, will and wisdom are my weapons. They must be sharp,” Apexus agreed.