Date: August 21, 542 After the Fall of Zandra the Dishonorable
Kazai walked down the corridor of the main building, and his footsteps, silent to the ordinary ear, echoed in Garrett's mind like a dull, ominous thud. The wounded instructor could barely keep up, pressing his hand to his bleeding side now and then. The students had remained in the courtyard—a healer was already hurrying to them, and the most severe cases had gone to the infirmary. Kazai did not look back. He had no concern for them.
The corridors of the academy were spacious, with high vaulted ceilings and walls faced with light stone. Along the walls, on special stands, stood artifacts—lamps that radiated a steady, unflickering light, figurines from which a barely perceptible warmth wafted, and small crystals set in wrought-iron frames. Kazai noted their locations, memorizing them. It could all prove useful.
"Over here we have the lecture halls for theoretical studies," Garrett said, pointing to the heavy oak doors. "There—the library. It holds scrolls on history, geography, and the fundamentals of magic. The eastern wing is given over to physical training: practice halls, arenas, dummies."
Kazai nodded without uttering a word. His gaze roamed over the walls, the corners, the ceiling—anywhere an artifact or an ambush could be hidden.
They turned into a side gallery leading to the west wing. It was quieter here, the light softer, and the air smelled not of paint and wood but of dust and old scrolls. Garrett was about to say something, but Kazai suddenly stopped.
"Something wrong?" the instructor asked, tensing.
Kazai didn't answer. His hand slowly, almost lazily, went to his sword hilt. His gaze, previously diffuse, became as sharp as a blade. He was staring into the shadow under a tall stone archway where, at first glance, there was nothing—only darkness and an old, dusty alcove.
"Despite all the grandeur of this academy," Kazai said, and his voice was quiet but carried steel, "you've overlooked the rats in your corners."
Garrett froze. His hand reached for his sword but stopped halfway—he didn't understand who Kazai was talking about. There was no one in the corridor. Only the two of them and the silence.
At that moment, from behind a pillar near the library entrance, a man stepped out. Tall, stooped, in a dark blue robe with silver embroidery at the collar. His face, pale and deeply wrinkled, was calm, and only his eyes—alive, sharp—gave away someone accustomed to observing.
"Oh, those are hardly rats," he said, and his voice, soft and smooth, spread through the corridor. "Merely an old headmaster who decided to personally greet such an unusual guest."
Garrett exhaled—with relief, a mix of respect and fright.
"Headmaster Aldric… I didn't know you were…"
"Of course you didn't," the old man interrupted, not taking his eyes off Kazai. "They were simply waiting for the right moment. After Instructor Garrett has shown you around the academy, they could have invited you on my behalf for a cup of tea."
The headmaster spread his hands slightly, apologizing for the enforced secrecy. His aura, which Kazai had sensed even in the tower, now pressed down in full force. But Kazai didn't flinch. His sword remained in its scabbard.
"One should be more careful when waiting for the right moment," he replied, his voice level, devoid of emotion. "Sometimes, if you miss it, you can lose your life."
Silence hung in the corridor. Garrett, standing between them, felt the air grow dense, almost tangible. Two Heralds—one old, seasoned by experience, the other young, but with eyes full of the abyss—stared at each other, and in that gaze was more than any words could convey.
Those nearby unwittingly became witnesses to this duel.
A female student who had come out of the library with an armful of scrolls froze on the threshold, unable to move. Two instructors discussing something at the end of the corridor fell silent mid-sentence. Even the porter, polishing a statue by the entrance, froze with a rag in his hand.
They all felt that pressure. Incomprehensible, frightening, it made their hearts beat faster and their thoughts tangle.
*What is happening?* the girl with the scrolls thought, clutching the parchment so hard her knuckles turned white. *Why is the headmaster staring at this… this man so intently? And why doesn't he look away?*
*He's not one of us,* one of the instructors thought, barely suppressing the urge to draw his weapon. *He's… he's dangerous. The headmaster senses it. But who is he? Where did he come from?*
Garrett, standing closest, felt like a speck of dust between two cliffs. *I brought a monster into the academy,* flashed through his head. *And now the headmaster is testing just how dangerous this monster is. If they start fighting… everything here will collapse.*
Aldric—the headmaster—looked at Kazai, and in his eyes there was neither fear nor malice. Only cold, calm interest. He sensed the young man's aura—dark, dense, unlike the auras of the local warriors. There was no light in it. No hope. Only power. Raw, undisguised, given not in the name of justice but for the sake of dominion.
*A puppet of evil forces,* Aldric thought. *Or their master? His spirits… I sense them. They're not like ours. They are old. Malevolent. Hungry.*
The headmaster knew he could defeat this youth. He was older, more experienced, and his strength would suffice to suppress even such a dangerous opponent. But the price… the price might be too high. And besides—was this young man an enemy? He had saved the students. He hadn't attacked. He just stood there and looked.
No one knew—not the students, not the instructors, not even Garrett himself. And Kazai and Aldric continued to stare at one another, and time seemed to stand still.
"Your words carry a great deal of wisdom for someone so young," the headmaster finally said, and his voice, soft, almost fatherly, broke the tension. "You are right; there's no point delaying important conversations. So, what do you say to a cup of tea in a private setting? Without extra eyes and ears."
Kazai slowly removed his hand from his sword hilt.
"I wouldn't say no to tea," he said, and in his voice was neither challenge nor agreement. Only a simple statement of fact.
Aldric smiled—barely perceptibly, just with the corners of his lips.
"Then follow me, please," he turned and headed deeper into the corridor, toward the spiral staircase leading up into his tower.
Kazai followed without looking back. Garrett stood there, watching them go. His hand still gripped his sword hilt, but his fingers were gradually relaxing.
"I hope I didn't make a mistake bringing him here," he whispered.
No one answered. The students and instructors, who had frozen moments before, began to slowly disperse. But their gazes remained fixed for a long while on the two figures that had vanished into the shadows of the spiral staircase.
The girl with the scrolls finally managed to take a full breath. Her hands were trembling.
"Who was that?" she asked Garrett.
The instructor shook his head.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But I hope we won't regret meeting him."
In the tower, by the lancet window, Aldric was already pouring tea into fine porcelain cups. Kazai stood opposite, his face as calm as the surface of a dead lake.
The conversation was only beginning.