The Unicorn's tavern, an old establishment at the periphery of the merchant district was quiet, save for the occasional clink of tankards and the low murmur of hired blades negotiating contracts.

Jarl the Red—mercenary, adventurer, monster-slayer, twenty years in the field and three scars on his heart—sat back in his chair, arms folded. Across from him, the noble's envoy looked confused.

"It's a simple job," the envoy said. "The target is young. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Just a student from the Academy."

Jarl's expression didn't change. But the tankard in his hand paused mid-air.

"Academy?" he repeated slowly.

"Yes. Some kind of duelist. He—"

Jarl stood up. Not fast, but with the heaviness of finality. The chair scraped across the wood.

"No."

"What?" The envoy blinked. "Wait, you haven't even heard the pay."

"Don't care if you offer me a duchy. You didn't say a mage was involved."

"He's just a kid—"

"A student mage is still a mage," Jarl snapped, voice low but hard. "You think their spells bounce off because they haven't hit puberty?"

The envoy flinched. Jarl stepped closer, jabbing a calloused finger into the table.

"I've seen a twelve-year-old snap a man's spine without moving from his chair. Saw a girl smile and make three men forget their own names."

"This one's not dangerous—"

"They're all dangerous."

He grabbed his coat, slinging it over one shoulder.

"If there's a mage on the other side, I'm not your man. If there's a mage on our side, I'm still not your man."

"You're overreacting."

Jarl gave a tired, humorless smile.

"No, son. I'm still breathing. That's what not overreacting looks like."

And with that, he walked out.

The tavern door had barely swung closed behind Jarl when a voice spoke from the next table over.

"That old bastard's gone soft."

Kerrick leaned back in his chair, boots propped up, one eye watching the noble's envoy. The other was covered by a leather patch—a souvenir from a chimera hunt. He grinned like someone who'd never bled the same way twice.

"I'll take your job."

The envoy hesitated. "You heard the details?"

"Heard enough. Student mage. Fourteen, maybe. I've put blades through worse. Give me half up front."

"He's… from Xerkes," the envoy said carefully. "Top of his class."

"Oh no," Kerrick said, mock gasping. "Top of his class? At fourteen? Should I write my will now?"

He stood and dusted off his coat, grabbing the coin pouch tossed his way. As he strode past the barkeep, he muttered just loud enough for the room to hear:

"I'll be here tonight. Just send me the details. Don't know what scares that old red-bearded coward so much. It's not like the brat's a warlock."

*****

At the same time, at Xerkes....

The two mages stood fifteen paces apart in the academy's dueling circle, utterly still. Neither spoke. Neither blinked. A single maple leaf, caught in the breeze, drifted lazily between them, spinning in slow circles toward the ground.

Adom kept his breathing controlled, even. Around him, the world had transformed through the lens of [Flow Prediction]. Colors sharpened. Time seemed to stretch. The ambient sounds—students' whispers, distant footsteps in the hallway, even the rustle of that falling leaf—all faded to background noise.

What mattered was Karion.

The boy stood with his weight distributed perfectly, hands loose at his sides. Nothing in his posture revealed intent, but Adom wasn't watching his posture. He was watching the mana.

Threads of it coiled around Karion like luminous smoke, shifting in subtle patterns that most novice mages couldn't perceive. But Adom could. The concentration around Karion's right hand was thickening, densest around his index and middle fingers. The pattern suggested a precision casting. Likely a binding spell.

Karion's left eye twitched slightly. The mana around his hand pulsed.

Adom didn't move. Not yet. Let Karion think he hadn't noticed. Let him commit.

The leaf drifted lower, now between their eye levels.

Karion's fingers twitched almost imperceptibly. The mana patterns shifted. No longer concentrated on his fingers—now flowing toward his palm. A different spell. Adom adjusted his mental preparations without changing his expression.

He switched approaches. Force push, not binding. Trying to knock me off balance before his main attack.

Three countermoves formed in Adom's mind simultaneously, each branching into potential follow-ups depending on Karion's next action. He settled on the third option—the least expected.

The leaf touched the ground.

Karion struck.

Force erupted from his palm. A wave designed to send Adom stumbling backward, opening him to the second attack already forming in Karion's other hand.

Adom didn't resist. He leaned into it, letting the force carry him but controlling his momentum, turning what should have been an awkward stumble into a smooth backward glide.

Surprise flashed across Karion's face—just for an instant—as his opponent used the force push to create distance rather than losing balance.

Without pausing, Karion launched his second spell. A flash of orange light streaked toward Adom's chest—a stunning bolt, meant to temporarily lock his muscles.

Adom's left hand came up, fingers weaving through a quick counterspell. Not a shield—too energy-intensive. Instead, a narrow deflection field that bent the bolt's trajectory just enough to miss his chest, sending it harmlessly past his shoulder.

The entire exchange had taken less than a second.

Karion was already moving to his third attack, drawing in more mana. The patterns around his feet shifted—he was about to launch himself forward, closing the distance. Meanwhile, his hands were forming the complex gesture for a sensory disruption spell.

Clever, Adom thought. Rush in, blind me, then finish with a binding hold.

He'd need to counter both the rush and the spell simultaneously. Four potential responses flashed through his mind. He selected the most efficient.

Just as Karion pushed off, Adom slammed his foot down. A pulse of mana shot through the floor—not aiming for Karion directly, but for the space he would occupy in the next half-second.

Karion, already committed to his forward momentum, hit the mana-charged area. His sensory spell, half-formed, destabilized as Adom's counter interfered with its structure.

The older student stumbled—only slightly, but enough. His fourth attack, a quick binding sigil fired from his left hand, went wide as his balance shifted.

Adom didn't wait. He stepped forward, palm flat, and released a tightly controlled burst of force—not wild or overwhelming, but precisely aimed at Karion's center of mass.

Karion crossed his arms to block, reinforcing them with a hasty defensive shell. The shell held, but the impact still pushed him back several steps.

His fifth move came immediately—a sweeping gesture that pulled mana from the air into a pressurized wave, meant to crash into Adom from multiple angles.

Adom had anticipated this. Rather than trying to shield against all points, he concentrated his defense on his core, letting the wave crash against his extremities. It stung, but left his essential movement and casting capabilities intact.

As the wave dissipated, Karion rushed in again, this time with mana-enhanced speed. His sixth attack came as a direct physical strike—a palm thrust aimed at Adom's sternum, backed by a concussive spell that would detonate on contact.

Instead of blocking, Adom pivoted. The strike missed by millimeters. He grabbed Karion's extended wrist, using the older student's momentum against him while simultaneously releasing a disruptive pulse through the point of contact.

Karion's seventh attack died before it fully formed, the mana patterns around his free hand unraveling as the disruption spread through his system. He tried to pull away, but Adom maintained his grip, stepping in closer.

Karion's eighth attack was desperate—a wild surge of raw mana, unrefined but powerful, pushing outward from his entire body.

Adom had expected something like this. He channeled his own mana as a grounding current, letting Karion's energy flow through him and into the floor rather than fighting against it directly.

The surge faded, and Karion was left momentarily drained. He tried to back away, but his feet slid on the smooth stone floor.

His ninth attempt was a feint—a small flash spell meant to blind, followed immediately by his tenth attack: a sweeping leg meant to take Adom's feet out from under him.

Adom closed his eyes against the flash, relying on his mana sense rather than vision. He felt Karion's leg coming and jumped—not away, but forward and over the sweep.

As he landed, he thrust both palms forward in his second attack of the fight. Not a direct hit, but a shaped force that surrounded Karion like a collapsing bubble.

The boy tried to dispel it, hands moving through the pattern for a counter-compression spell—but Adom's third move interrupted him. A sharp tap to Karion's wrist, precisely where a key mana channel flowed, temporarily disrupting his casting ability.

For his fourth and final move, Adom simply shifted his weight and pushed. Without his mana properly flowing, Karion's balance failed him. He fell backward, and Adom followed him down, one hand pinning his shoulder, the other hovering over his chest, glowing with contained energy.

Five seconds had passed since the leaf touched the ground.

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"I yield," Karion said, voice steady despite his position.

The classroom erupted. Students who'd been holding their breath suddenly exploded with exclamations, some jumping to their feet.

"Did you see that?" "Five seconds! The whole thing was five seconds!" "How did Sylla even see that attack coming?"

Adom extended his hand to Karion, who grasped it firmly. As he pulled the student to his feet, something shifted inside him—a sudden expansion, like a lake whose boundaries had just widened. A notification appeared in his field of vision:

[Your Mana Pool has Reached A New Threshold. Mana Pool: 950]

He blinked, momentarily distracted by the rush of energy flowing through his pathways. They felt wider somehow, more efficient. The power moved more smoothly now, with less resistance.

Usually, a mana pool expanded gradually—like bones growing, or hair lengthening. So subtle you'd never feel it happening until you measured it or someone pointed it out. But this was different. This was sudden. All at once.

An electric current swept through him, from fingertips to spine to the center of his chest where his core pulsed with new vitality. It wasn't painful—quite the opposite. A sort of euphoria washed over him, making his skin tingle and his mind sharpen. It felt like the moment after activating Fluid, but more intense, more... permanent. A sense that he could do anything, break any limit, weave any spell. The raw potential made his breath catch.

Professor Crowley approached, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor. He stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Adom.

"Mr. Sylla," he said quietly, "are you all right?"

Adom refocused, surprised by the question. "Yes, Professor. I'm fine."

Crowley's gaze remained fixed on him, assessing. "You just had a mana pool expansion spurt, didn't you? A breakthrough?"

The class had gone quiet, everyone listening. Adom hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Thought so. I felt the shift." Crowley's voice dropped lower. "What's your mana pool at now?"

Adom didn't hesitate. "About 500, sir."

It was a lie, but a necessary one. Nine hundred and fifty would raise too many questions, create too much attention. Five hundred was impressive for a thirteen-year-old but not unheard of. Most veteran mages capped around 890 after decades of training—which made his actual number probably second only to Eren now. Among the students of Xerkes.

Crowley nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. "Good. Very good for your age." He turned to address the class, raising his voice. "Victory to Mr. Sylla. A clean win through tactical superiority and exceptional mana control."

He continued, "Five seconds. Ten attacking moves from Mr. Dimitri, four defensive-offensive combinations from Mr. Sylla. This is what efficient spellweaving looks like." He paused, eyes sweeping across the room.

"Mr. Dimitri," Crowley continued, "your sequential casting is improving. The transition between your force push and stunning bolt was nearly seamless. Work on your recovery time after an interrupted weave."

Karion nodded stiffly. "Yes, Professor."

"Mr. Sylla." Crowley fixed his gaze on Adom again. "Your initiative was exceptional. Most students wait to see what's coming before they counter. You predicted Mr. Dimitri's approach and prepared your response in advance." A rare half-smile flickered across the professor's face. "That's the difference between a reactive mage and a combat mage."

"Thank you, sir," Adom said, still adjusting to the new flow of mana through his system. It was hard to concentrate on Crowley's words when he could feel his pathways realigning, accommodating the increased capacity.

A murmur of conversation rose in the back of the room—students whispering, impressed, energized. Then someone chuckled louder than the rest.

Darian Vale.

"Good thing he's on our side, huh?" Darian said, elbowing the boy next to him. "With speed like that, you could probably take out half a guard squad before they even draw their swords."

A ripple of laughter. Not mean-spirited, but cavalier.

Adom glanced up in time to catch it. Crowley had turned slightly, just enough for Adom to see the change in his face. The casual ease had vanished. Not anger. Not even disappointment.

Just... cold stillness.

Crowley let the room settle, the laughter die on its own. Then he spoke—not raising his voice, but ensuring every word was heard.

"Mr. Vale."

Darian straightened, still grinning faintly. "Just a joke, Professor."

"Mm. A joke." Crowley nodded once. Then his voice sharpened. "Let me ask you something: do you know how long the average duel between trained mages lasts?"

Darian blinked. "Uh... not long?"

"Correct. Seven seconds. That's with discipline. Among students like yourselves? A little more than fifteen seconds."

He let that hang, then swept his gaze across the room.

"Do you know why?"

No one answered.

"Because ninety to ninety-five percent of the fight doesn't happen out here" He tapped the side of his head. "It happens in here."

He let the words sink in for a few seconds, then continued.

"Visualizing spells. Tracking mana flows. Anticipating movement. Structuring counters. Every action you've seen today was already calculated before either mage moved. By the time you lift a hand, the fight's already ended—in both your minds."

"The actual action?" He snapped his fingers. "That's just the aftershock."

A few students shifted, some avoiding his eyes.

"That's mage combat. Not explosions. Not drama. Thought. Precision. Execution."

He looked back at Darian.

"Now imagine you're not a mage. You're a guard. A shopkeeper. A mother. Non mages. They don't see what we see. They don't feel the tension in the air or the threads of mana coiling around a wrist. They see a mage lift a finger or just stare and someone fall. No warning. No context. Just a body hitting the floor."

Silence.

"To people like that, we're not people. We're storms in human skin. And when one of us treats that power like a joke, the whole world tightens the leash."

Crowley's expression didn't change—but something in his voice turned quiet.

"You will not joke about using your power on civilians. Not in my classroom. Not in the field. Not ever."

Darian swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

He waited another beat—long enough for the message to settle.

The he checked his timepiece. "Now, before you all rush off, I have an announcement."

The class remained quiet.

"As you know, the standard academic break begins tomorrow—typically one week for students to explore the city or return home briefly." He cleared his throat. "However, due to the exceptional circumstances of this year, the details of which will be provided to you shortly by the headmaster, the academy has decided to extend the break to two full weeks."

A moment of stunned silence followed, then the classroom erupted again—louder than before. Students high-fived each other, some already making plans aloud. Two entire weeks of freedom was unprecedented.

"Two weeks!" "Are you serious?" "Tavern crawl! Every night!" "I can finally visit my sister in Westhollow!"

Crowley, who normally would have silenced such outbursts immediately, simply watched with a raised eyebrow. After a few moments, he raised his hand, and the noise gradually subsided.

"I expect," he said, his voice carrying easily across the room, "that you will all use this time productively. Combat magic is not practiced solely in classrooms."

With that cryptic statement, he gestured toward the door. "Dismissed. Enjoy your break."

The students needed no further encouragement. They rushed for the exit, their excited chatter filling the hallway.

Adom stayed behind a moment, feeling the new power settling into his system. His mana pool wasn't just larger—it felt different somehow. More responsive. Like his body was becoming a better conductor for the energy.

It was hard to say his body was really human anymore, with how rapidly it was evolving. His mana channels were developing at an accelerated rate, and the pool itself kept expanding. At this pace, he'd break 1000 before the month was out.

Considering a circle formed around the core once it reached 1500...

"Mr. Sylla," Crowley called, "do be careful out there."

Adom nodded, wondering if the combat instructor somehow knew more than he was letting on.

"Always, Professor."

Adom had just cleared the classroom door when someone caught him from the side. Sam's arm locked around his neck, playful but firm, trying to drag him down.

"Gotcha!"

Adom could have resisted but he let himself be pulled down, laughing.

"Seriously? In the hallway?"

Perched atop Sam's unruly hair, Zuni chittered excitedly.

"So?" Sam murmured, keeping his voice low enough that passing students couldn't hear. "How much? 890? 900?" His eyes widened. "Did you pass the 1000 cap?!"

Adom broke free from the headlock, straightening his uniform. "I'll tell you later. At the dorm."

"You did, didn't you? I knew it! The way you moved against Karion, I tho— Ouch!"

The quillick shuffled along Sam's head, his tiny claws gripping strands of hair for balance.

"Not here," Adom insisted.

They were about to head for the exit when a voice cut through the hallway chatter, stopping Adom mid-step.

"Adom Sylla."

The boys turned at the sound of his name.

Standing a few feet away was Naia, her red skin making her stand out among the throng of students rushing past. She was smiling, one hand resting casually on her hip.

"There you are," she said, approaching them. Her eyes fixed on Adom, then shifted to Sam, and finally to the small creature perched on his head. "And hello to you too, little one."

Zuni chirped back, his quills rising slightly in what seemed like excitement.

"Hey Naia," Adom said.

"Hello," Sam added, straightening his posture slightly. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Sam. Harbinsky." He extended his hand.

"Naia Lazarai," she replied, taking his hand with a firm grip. "I've seen you in Elemental Applications. Your fire containment technique is unusual."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything fire-related," she said with a small smile that revealed the tips of her fangs.

Adom watched this exchange with mild surprise. Making friends had never been his strong suit—not in his previous life of illness and isolation, and not now, despite his second chance.

He'd kept his circle deliberately small: Sam was his constant companion, and he'd grown closer to a handful of others like Eren, Mia, and to some extent Gus and Karion as well as the guys from the Combat Athletic Club. Beyond that, he maintained a polite distance from most people.

The past few weeks had made his social circle even smaller. Between establishing the Wangara Guild with Cass and his training regimen, he barely spent time at the academy outside of classes. He'd arrive just before lectures began and leave the moment they ended.

"I've been meaning to speak with you," Naia said, her tail flicking slightly behind her. "Both of you, actually."

"Me?" Sam asked, pointing to himself.

Naia chuckled. "Of course you. You're not just Adom's shadow, are you?"

Sam laughed. "Depends on who you ask."

"What did you want to talk about?" Adom asked, glancing toward the exit.

"I was wondering what you two have planned for the break," she said. "Specifically, three days from now."

Adom and Sam exchanged glances.

"Nothing specific," Sam replied. "Probably just exploring the city, maybe testing a few new spell modifications."

Adom remained silent. The truth was, he'd planned to train. And then train some more. His body was still adjusting to his expanded mana pool, and he wanted to explore its limits in a controlled environment. After decades of illness in his previous life, he considered his healthy, capable body a blessing he refused to take for granted.

The sensation of raw power flowing through his pathways was still new—intoxicating even. He needed to understand it, control it, master it.

"Nothing," Adom finally said. "Why?"

Naia's eyes brightened. "Perfect. That means you're both free."

"Free for what?" Sam asked, sounding both curious and slightly wary.

"My parents are hosting a gathering at our residence," she said. "Nothing formal—just a day to relax, eat good food, and get to know each other better."

Sam blinked. "Your parents want to meet us?"

"My father is curious about Academy students," she said with a shrug. "Especially after I told him about our duel." She looked at Adom. "And my brother is visiting from the homeland. He's quite interested in meeting mainland mages."

"Your brother?" Adom asked.

"Kiran. He's two years older than me and infinitely more annoying," she said. "He's studying traditional Tirajin combat arts."

Adom wasn't sure what to make of this invitation. A casual gathering at a diplomat's home seemed like something people with normal social lives did. Not something that usually involved him.

"I don't know," he said hesitantly. "I had some training planned—"

"You can train anytime," Naia interrupted. "How often do you get to experience authentic Tirajin hospitality? Or taste food that literally changes color as you eat it?"

"Changes color?" Sam repeated, clearly intrigued.

"Among other things." Her tail swished once in what might have been amusement. "We have different cultural expectations around meals. My mother would be disappointed if at least three dishes didn't temporarily alter your perception of reality."

Adom stared at her, trying to determine if she was joking.

She wasn't.

"Is that... safe?" Sam asked.

"Perfectly safe for humans," she assured him. "A mild euphoria at most. Nothing that would interfere with your mana control."

Adom considered the invitation. Part of him—the part that had spent decades as a recluse in his previous life—wanted to politely decline and stick to his training schedule. But another part was curious. The Tirajin were rare visitors to the Empire. Their culture, their magic, their traditions—all were largely unknown except through secondhand accounts.

And despite his initial reservations, he found Naia... interesting. Direct. Observant. Unapologetic about her differences.

"Will there be other people there?" he asked.

"Just family," she replied. "My father prefers to keep official diplomatic functions separate from personal gatherings. He says it keeps the political masks from sticking to our faces permanently." She smiled. "His words, not mine."

Zuni chirped loudly from atop Sam's head, bouncing slightly.

"Yes, you're invited too," Naia said to the quillick. "My mother would be delighted to meet you. She has a fondness for magical creatures."

Sam looked at Adom, clearly waiting for his decision. The excitement in his friend's eyes was obvious—this was the kind of opportunity most Academy students would jump at.

Adom sighed inwardly. Maybe the Tirajin were naturally this sociable. Or maybe he was just naturally unsociable. Probably both.

"Alright," he said finally. "We'll come."

Naia's smile widened, revealing more of her fangs. "Excellent! Our residence is in the Diplomatic Quarter, the building with the red stone archway. Three days from now, around midday."

"We'll be there," Sam confirmed, barely containing his enthusiasm. Zuni chittered happily.

"Good." Naia nodded, satisfied. "Wear comfortable clothes. Nothing formal." She started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and don't eat breakfast. Trust me on this."

With that cryptic advice, she continued down the hallway, her tall figure easily visible even as she disappeared into the crowd.

"Well," Sam said after she was gone, "that was unexpected."

"Yes," Adom agreed, watching the space where she'd been. "It was."

"A diplomat's home," Sam mused. "With actual Tirajin food. Do you realize how rare this opportunity is? Most people never even see a Tirajin in person, let alone get invited to their home."

"I know," Adom said. "That's what worries me."

"What do you mean?"

Adom shrugged. "People don't usually invite me places without a reason."

"Maybe she just wants to be friends," Sam suggested. When Adom gave him a skeptical look, he added, "Not everyone has an ulterior motive, you know. Sometimes people just like other people."

"Maybe," Adom conceded, though he didn't sound convinced.

They started walking toward the exit again, Zuni still chirping occasionally from his perch on Sam's head.

"So," Sam said after a moment, lowering his voice, "about that mana pool expansion..."

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