Dawn rays filtered through the windows, cascading down Adam's immaculate body. In the middle of his room, he cracked his neck, punched and kicked, each strike hurling roaring blasts of pressurised air that made his sky blue hair dance and ruffled the bedsheet. No discomfort—yesterday's burns were completely healed.
With a satisfied nod, he donned his uniform. Striped necktie loosely tied over his white shirt, black robe thrown over his shoulder, he descended the stairs to the lounge, where he waited for Quintella.
Students left the dorms for breakfast or, like him, waited for girls. No boys on their floor. Such a waste of time. If not for this rule, he would have just knocked on Quintella's door. Sighing, he sat on the gray sofa from yesterday.
Quintella leapt down the stairway a few minutes later. She bolted toward him, grinning. "I slept alone, big brother." Her cheerful voice filled the lounge. "I didn't even feel scared with your plushy."
Adam patted her neatly combed hair, smiling warmly. "Good. Did you brush your teeth and wash your face?"
"Of course." She nodded, pointing at her tied hair and clear pink eyes. "Can't attend the rector's class if I look like a mess."
"You're not wrong." With a chuckle, he held her hand and went for breakfast.
Stomach filled, eyes sharp with purpose, he then checked the classroom on his schedule. Yet, he raised a brow. No classroom or building—the back garden. Outdoor lessons?
Intrigued, his steps hastened as he guided Quintella, who devoured a warm waffle on the way. Students had already crowded the correct garden, their eager voices floating under massive stone desks that rested on hovering platforms. Lush plains extended several hundred meters underneath, making for a setting weirdly familiar, though he couldn't place why. More interested in the crowd, he didn't think about it since he'd know as soon as the rector began his class.
Jonathan, Brad, Nadia, Trevor—most students attended this class. Even Desmond stood off to the side before grinning upon noticing him. The teenager approached, chuckling. "Ah, if it's not my dear friend."
"You mean your only friend?" Quintella snickered, and Adam rolled his eyes.
Desmond simply shrugged. "Goes both ways. Anyway, aren't you scared you'll join the lively ship of the outcast if you stay with him in public? Go, pipsqueak. I see your friend Sarah and a few more girls waving at you."
Adam nodded, and Quintella's voice dripped with mockery as she walked to her friends. "It's you I don't want to stay with, sleep wrecker."
"She's not wrong." Adam sighed. "Anyway, you surely know what this class is about?"
"I'm as clueless as the others." Desmond shook his head. "And as eager to discover that ancient battle technique right about—now."
With the end of Desmond's sentence, the college bell rang. At its crystalline sound, the crowd fell silent in perfect synchronisation, yet silence didn't linger.
The air burst like a soap bubble, revealing the rector's ageless face. His single gold eye shone with purpose as he stroked his gray beard. He wore a dark jacket over a simple white shirt and comfy brown pants tied with a broad leather belt on which several pouches and pockets were attached. No intricate enchantments, no staff of impossible magical complexity, only the most powerful mage seeming eerily approachable.
The rector's look struck Adam like a hammer blow. Power in simplicity. Confidence that didn't require artifice. A true powerhouse, wise enough to reduce his presence.
And when the powerhouse spoke, the world seemed to listen to his calm voice. "Welcome to my class, students. Before we begin, relax." He made a flowing gesture with his arms and inhaled deeply, as if to tell the most anxious teenager to imitate him. "You'll address me as Teacher Haldris during class instead of Rector Haldris. If you understand that I want you to learn rather than let my presence muddle your minds, follow me."
His gaze lingered on Quintella for a moment before his shrugging form faded like a mirage blown by the wind. "Over here."
The students scrambled to the center of the plain, where Haldris materialised, a cacophony of eager exclamations accompanying each of their steps until they reached the teacher. Then, a blanket of silence wrapped the class, leaving sparkling eyes and bright smiles talk louder than words.
Haldris nodded as he saw taller students let smaller ones stand in front of them. Not discipline, but respect—worked well enough to content him.
"I produced these platforms and desks when the college was an infant. Back then, the House of Exorcism was the only one," he said, a reminiscent smile curving his lips before they twitched. His eyes narrowed on the older students, and his voice grew somber. "You already know my stance and the consequences if you shame it like last year."
While most students grimaced, Adam remained indifferent, and Desmond merely shrugged as if he weren't the reason for the House's poor performance.
Haldris continued, face relaxing and stroking his beard after his reminder. "Where was I? Oh, the platforms. We haven't used them for thousands of years. Dangerous knowledge, hard to grasp, and harder to master. Many students died trying, and even more ended with fates far worse." He paused, his gaze lingering on the frightened expressions of the students. "Good. You'll follow instructions if you're afraid."
Before he could continue, Trevor's coral hairpin caught light as he raised his hand. "Yes?"
"Might I ask why you are teaching us this battle technique after thousands of years if it's this dangerous?" Trevor bowed as he asked, and everyone leaned forward.
"Excellent question, Trevor." The corners of Haldris' lips rose slightly as he held his hand behind his back and turned sideways. "Mastery is fraught with danger, but that technique had allowed us to prevail in the most destructive war in recorded history. A history you're not privy to browse if that's your next question. Why now?" His gaze darted to Adam, then back to Trevor. "Maybe you'll stop shaming this House with it." A mysterious smile played on his lips when he answered.