Days of running on fumes and neglecting meals had worn Thomas thin, and he retired to his quarters following his cryptic exchange with Mirabelle. And as soon as his head slumped against his pillow, the exhaustion came crashing down on him. Hours passed, and far beyond his ordinary wake-up time, there came a knock at the door. His untied and tousled, shoulder-length mane loosely framed his vacant face as he drowsily pushed himself upright.

  A few more light taps against his curtained window, and Thomas tentatively got out of bed. He let out a yawn as he shuffled to the vestibule, dragging his feet past stacks of documents littered across the floorboards. When he opened the door, he was briefly blinded by the harsh sunlight outside. Squinting against the glare, the man blinked until his vision adjusted to the assailing brightness.

  And in front of him stood the silhouette of none other than the silver-haired elven pupil of his.

  "Ah... good morning, Professor." Nia beamed, her hands behind her back. "Did you just wake up? It's already ten o'clock, you know? Did you intend on napping the whole day away?"

  A drop of sweat trickled down Thomas's cheek as he processed the sight before him. Hastily, he scanned the arcade for any nearby faculty members. Teacher accommodations were strictly off-limits to students, and the unexpected presence of the pointy-eared girl at his doorstep sent a jolt of alarm through the man's groggy mind. "Hold on... how did you get in?" he croaked in disbelief. "You're not supposed to be here..."

  "I simply walked through the gates."

  "And nobody stopped you?"

  "Doubt they could even if they tried."

  Recalling how the mere mention of Nia's name struck fear into the hearts of teachers and students alike, Thomas massaged his temple and shook his head. "Listen here. The rules are in place for a reason. You should abide by them, even when no one is willing to tell you off. I know you're used to getting your way, but you ought to practice some restraint from now on. Running amok, like you normally do, reflects poorly on the school. Understood?"

  "Alright ~" the girl said, a touch of flippancy in her cadence.

  "So... what did you need?"

  "Just wanted to let you know I'm free to give you that tour of the campus we talked about yesterday. I actually stuck a note on your door beforehand. Yet you didn't turn up when, for a fact, I know you'd have come running the instant you saw the invitation. So, I decided to pay you a visit since I assumed something happened. You're quite fortunate I was gracious enough to check on you..."

  Dangling off the door handle was indeed a piece of paper containing a time and place written in fancy, cursive letters. As Thomas plucked it from its perch and read it over, he clutched the note and lopsidedly grinned. "Y-you were pretty confident I'd accept the invite, huh? Not that you're wrong. How'd you know I'm an early riser anyway?

  "An educated guess—what with the countless stories about you circulating the academy," Nia said with a shrug. "Monks tend to start their day early as part of their rigorous routine, don't they? And almost all of your sightings occur well before the crack of dawn."

  "You phrase it like I'm some game animal..."

  "That being said, I regrettably missed the mark this time around and ended up pointlessly waiting in the campus park for hours. You know, for a while, I believed you stood me up."

  "S-sorry... I feel sort of bad now..."

  "Do you really?" Nia narrowed her violet eyes and leaned in before springing back with a simper. "Then, as penance, you're only allowed to order one dish from the places we eat at today."

  Dropping the sheet of paper to the ground, Thomas recoiled in shock. "Seriously? Only one? I need at least three to feel satisfied..!"

  "It's the least you can do to make it up to me, Professor. You left a young girl hanging under the blazing sun while you snored away at home without a care in the world."

  "T-that was of your own accord, to begin with, though..."

  "At any rate, breakfast hours are almost over, so you'd best hurry and get dressed in something nicer. That is, unless you're fine parading around in that messy getup of yours." Poised, the elf swung around, leaving the man to lament his dishevelled appearance.

  Realising he was now roped into going along with the girl's plans, a defeated exhale escaped the man's lips. "Right, right... Just give me a minute, and I'll be out and ready."

  "It's a date, then." Nia winked.

  Brushing off her impish comment, Thomas slunk back into his room. Quietly, the girl waited for him, resting against the hedge that fronted the building. Her smile straightened into a thin line as she gazed up at the late morning sky, her robes fluttering gently in the breeze. Moments later, the man returned sporting an olive green oriental jacket with a high-band collar, loose-fitting trousers of matching fabric, cloth shoes, and a leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

  One good look at Thomas's attire, and the girl tapped her slender finger against her cheek.

  "Those clothes..." she uttered, stepping away from the shrubbery. "You wore something similar when we first met..."

  "This is what I routinely wore back home," the man said, tying his hair up into his distinctive low ponytail. "Don't really have much else in the way of casual clothes, and Grimwald, that is, the headmaster, said he'll only have a fresh batch of Alondisian-styled garments in my measurements tailored by next week. I don't stand out too much, do I?"

  "You garner attention no matter where you go; I'd say the outfit scarcely makes a difference."

  "I-is that so?" Thomas rubbed the back of his neck and let out a bashful chuckle.

  "That wasn't a compliment, Professor..." Elegantly, Nia sauntered past the man, which prompted him to fall into step beside her, as if yanked along by an invisible leash. Her deliberate strides carried a subtle grace, and her grey-white locks gleamed under the golden rays that broke through the clouds. Together, the two left the sequestered confines of the faculty housing and into the lively campus grounds.

  As they trod abreast stone-paved pathways under a thinning canopy of coloured trees, Thomas inspected the loose uniform on the elf's back that bounced with her every footfall.

  "By the way, far be it from me to criticise your choice of clothing, but those velvety robes don't strike me as very warm in this chilly weather. Couldn't you have gone with an outfit that's cosier than your school uniform? It's the weekend, you know? You're free to wear whatever."

  Nia peeped back at him and smirked. "Hoping I'd be dressed in something cuter?"

  "Just worried you might catch a cold, is all."

  "Fret not, Professor. These robes are far warmer than any woollen blanket or fur coat you'd find on the market nowadays."

  "Are they?"

  "Our uniforms are meticulously enchanted to withstand even the harshest elements. They regulate our body temperature, repel moisture, and even provide a degree of protection against magicks. There's a reason you see students wearing it all year round. That and the academy provides us with dozens of identical sets, so we're never short on spares."

  "Seems somewhat excessive considering the value of runic inscriptions..."

  "It is until you remember this is the world's leading institution in magickal research. With the school's reputation as prestigious as it is, they'd be remiss to provide anything less. You also have to take into account that many of the students here come from wealthy families, so comfort and security are regarded with the utmost importance. The academy's standing does hinge on its ability to cater to the elite..."

  Eyes trailing over to his left, the man eased his hands into his pockets. Students of all ages and backgrounds were interspersed in clusters, clad in the same flowy robes. Their chatter and laughter filled the open square—the hallmark of youth. "Makes sense," Thomas responded.

  "When all's said and done, though, I really prefer to save my other clothes for when I'm off campus." Grinding to a halt, the elf spun around to face her teacher. "So, if you ever want to see me dolled up, Professor, you'll just have to take me on a proper outing."

  "I-if everyone does well on their exams, I could reward you all with a class trip of sorts..."

  "Not what I was aiming for, but whatever," Nia said before turning back and continuing on her merry way, a shred of disappointment in her voice. "I'll take you up on that, I suppose."

  "Yep! I'll bring it up with Grimwald next time we meet!"

  As the pair strolled through the main complex, the elf conducted the man toward the southwestern fringes of the campus, where the antiquated brickwork gave way to verdant fields and a more serene atmosphere. Nestled in the far reaches of the region and bordered by a low cobbled fence overgrown with flowering vines stood a quaint bistro—the chalkboard out front by the whitewashed arbour reading "Café de Dubois" in looping, handwritten script.

  Activity here was markedly subdued compared to the central district. Patrons—mostly lecturers and older scholars—sat at small, circular wrought-iron tables beneath a pergola entwined with ivy, enjoying cups of tea or sampling an array of cakes and pastries as they leafed through books or conversed in hushed tones. And the enticing aroma of freshly baked goods wafted out from the cottage in the back, mingling with the crisp autumn air.

  Stunned by the scenery, Thomas stopped dead in his tracks to admire the location's beauty. "Never knew a spot like this existed..."

  "Not many do," Nia said, motioning toward an unoccupied table by the entrance archway. "It's something of a hidden gem among the faculty and upperclassmen. Most students don't venture out this far unless they're in the know. And those who do, don't stay long."

  "It is a lengthy trek back from here to the dorms, let alone classes—though I imagine that doesn't bother you in the slightest since you played hooky all the time."

  "And you'd be right. Gretchen, Lilith, and I would frequent this place during mealtimes. It also helped that no one here cares enough to call us out for our compulsive truancy."

  "They probably don't want to risk having their tranquil retreat ravaged by you three..."

  "I haven't an inkling of what you're talking about. We're as normal as normal can be." Claiming one of two garden chairs, the elf folded her hands neatly in her lap and cocked her head sideways, feigning innocence. And Thomas sank into the opposite seat, heaving out a sigh. As soon as they settled at their table, a bubbly, curly-haired, grey-skinned drow in a frilly cerulean blue dress and a white apron approached them with menus tucked under her arm.

  "Good morning, mademoiselle, monsieur!" She chirped, handing each of them a bill of fare. "Will you two be dining in today?"

  Caught off guard by the swift service, the man struggled to formulate a response. Smoothly, Nia answered in his place. "Yes, we will. Thank you very much."

  "Understood! When you're ready to order, just wave me down."

  And she bustled off to tend to another table.

  Clearing his throat, Thomas opened the leather-bound menu and waded through its contents. All the while, the elf inclined forward, planting her elbows on the tabletop and propping her chin up with her palms. "Appeared a little out of your depth there, Professor," she teased.

  "Can you blame me? Eating out in this country has been an endless string of weird experiences," the man said, nose buried in the pages as he flipped through them, "so encountering something normal for once kind of threw me for a loop."

  "Weird, you say? For instance?"

  "In the past month alone, I've run into a procession of lizard maids, a mysterious woman who fed me leftover sandwiches, and a hard-headed dinner lady..."

  "Sounds like you have a penchant for attracting all sorts of peculiar characters... especially of the female persuasion."

  "Setting that aside, though, I've been staring at this breakfast menu for a while now and have no clue what half of these items are. Croy-sants? Bagoo-ettes? Crock-queue-monsters? These are some bizarre names for dishes..."

  "The food here is adapted from Beafrouxian recipes. Given that Linxuei lies on the far side of the main continent from Beafroux, it's only natural that you wouldn't be familiar with the cuisine."

  "That's that country, right? The one closest to Alondis?"

  "You're the only person I've ever met who's described it that way. But yes, you're not wrong."

  "Gotcha..." Yet, regardless of how many times Thomas waded through the text, his brain couldn't comprehend a single option on the list. Having given up on deciphering the foreign culinary jargon, he looked up at Nia for help. "So... any recommendations?"

  "Let's see..." Consulting her menu, the elf paused momentarily. "I personally enjoy the lemon soufflé. It's light and isn't too sweet or sour. That 'crock-queue-monster', as you called it, is also something I could see you happily scarfing down since it's on the heavier side. It's essentially a toasted ham and cheese with a thick white sauce. From what I've gathered, though, you could just pick the food blindly, and you wouldn't be disappointed. It's all authentic."

  "That just makes me want to order everything..."

  "And unfortunately, you're allowed only one order. So, what's your decision?"

  "I'm all for that lemon soufflé. Ah, then again, if I'm only allowed a single meal, something like a crock-queue-monster would definitely leave me somewhat full... Either that, or I could take a gamble and order something else that's possibly even more filling. Shoot... what to do?"

  "The clock is ticking, Professor. We won't be allowed to order off that selection once breakfast hours end, you know?"

  "C-crap... Okay, fine, I'll go for the crock-queue-monster or whatever. I can always try that soufflé thing later. I could do with a sloppy sandwich about now."

  Nia gave a bob of acknowledgement and raised her hand to summon the waitress, who came bounding back with a cheery expression. "So, what would you two like to have today?"

  "Excuse me, I—"

  "He'll have the croque-monsieur," the elf said, interrupting the man before he could speak up, "and I'll take the lemon soufflé with a café au lait."

  "Roger that! And to drink for you, monsieur?"

  Thomas hesitated, only to fall back on the one refreshment that never let him down.

  "Um... plain water, please."

  "Got it! I'll bring your food out when it's ready! Just holler if you need anything else!" Orders written down, the dark-elven waitress twirled around and skipped toward the kitchen.

  With the woman out of earshot, the man side-eyed Nia.

  "So, uh... 'croque-monsieur.' That's how you say it?"

  "For future reference, the long loaf of bread you butchered the pronunciation of is called a 'baguette'. Also, it's 'croissant', not 'croy-sant'. That one's a crescent-shaped puff pastry."

  "That isn't how it's spelt here, though..."

  "Words in Beafrouxian have a different pronunciation when carried over to Alondisian, you know?"

  "Let me in on stuff like that before you call the waitress over! I almost made a fool of myself..."

  "I'm sure she would've overlooked your silly pronunciations, given your outlandish getup," the elf breathily said, stifling her mirth. "Still, though, I never pegged you as someone who could feel shame. Of all the things to take a stand on, it's the correctness of your elocution?"

  "I was raised in Linxuei, where the native tongue is complex and rigid. Social blunders are generally brushed aside, but when it comes to language—be it Linxueian, Alondisian, or Beafrouxian—I was taught to handle words with care and respect. It's a vital part of how people connect and communicate. Wouldn't want to insult somebody by butchering their mother tongue, would you?"

  "Hm... you come across as surprisingly thoughtful at times."

  "W-why is that surprising to you...?"

  Without delay, the waitress returned, balancing a tray laden with their meals. Adroitly, she set their dishes down, along with their drinks and cutlery.

  "Here you go! Bon appétit!"

  And she swept up their menus and rushed off once more, leaving them to partake of their food.

  Thomas's stomach grumbled as he gawked at his plate, taking in the golden-brown sandwich, its crust crisp with melted cheese bubbling along the edges. The heavenly smell of toasted bread and thick dairy danced about his nostrils, blending with the citrusy fragrance of Nia's soufflé, which subtly jiggled as she adjusted her posture. Overwhelmed by the decadence presented to him, the man wiped the drool off his chin before seizing his knife and fork.

  "Welp, here goes nothing," he gulped.

  As Thomas cut into the impressive sandwich, the crunch of its exterior yielded a steaming, gooey centre. Absently stirring her coffee, the elf wordlessly observed him lift a piece to his maw and chomp down. The second the rich, creamy bechamel and salty meat hit his tongue, his wary countenance thawed into heavenly bliss. His shoulders sagged as he chewed slowly and savoured every bite. It was leagues above the leftover sandwiches Mirabelle made.

  Tickled by his honest reaction, Nia cradled her cup between her digits and simpered.

  "I take it you approve?"

  "This... this is incredible," he mumbled around his mouthful. "Why haven't I tried Beafrouxian cooking sooner?"

  "Now, aren't you glad you came along?"

  Thomas nodded eagerly, humming with delight as he munched heartily. And the two lapsed into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional clink of tableware and the man's unrestrained crunches. At length, the morning nip began to wane, warmed by the pleasant beams of sunshine that filtered through the girders and cross rafters above, casting a latticed shade over them.

  Before long, Thomas set his spotless plate aside and dabbed his lips, pursed at the unsatisfactory breakfast, with a napkin. "Mm... that was great... but nowhere near enough..."

  Downing the rest of his water, the man came to notice that the elf's soufflé was still intact and uneaten. Throughout his meal, she'd been sipping her café au lait, her fingers delicately tracing the lip of the now-empty porcelain. Confused by her abstinence, Thomas stared blankly at her.

  "What's up? You haven't touched your food at all."

  "Truth be told... I'm still quite full from the leek and mushroom quiche I had earlier this morning. I do have a small appetite."

  "You mean... you've already had breakfast before this?"

  "Did you really think I'd spend hours standing around doing nothing?"

  "You told me you waited under the blazing sun!"

  "The window I sat by at the restaurant did let in a fair bit of light," the elf cheekily retorted.

  "Yet you still decided to order here?"

  "I figured I'd have room for dessert when our meals arrived. Alas, I only had enough in me for a cup of coffee."

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  "Agh... what a waste!" Reclining in his chair, the man let out a long groan.

  While he bemoaned the squandered repast, Nia gingerly set her cup down. "Well, there's no getting around it. I suppose you'll just have to finish it in my place."

  Eyes as wide as saucers, Thomas perked up and sprang forward. "R-really?!"

  "I won't be so lenient come lunch and dinnertime, however."

  "I-I'll take what I can get..."

  Yet, instead of sliding the ramekin over to her teacher, the elf grabbed the spoon and, in a dignified manner, broke through the soggy outer layer, scooping up a lavish helping of soufflé and extending it toward him. "Alright, Professor, open wide."

  And the man drew back, startled by the gesture. "W... what is this?"

  "A soufflé. Already forgot how to say it?"

  "No, no, no, I meant, what are you doing? I can eat myself, you know?"

  "That alone hardly constitutes as fair punishment, though, wouldn't you say? And you've yet to express an ounce of remorse for what you did today. Or rather, for what you failed to do."

  "You just seconds ago confessed to spending the morning peacefully indoors..."

  "Consider this act of humiliation the one condition if you wish to have my meal. Otherwise, I'll just toss it over to those carnivorous plants over at the local greenhouse."

  "You're not budging on this, are you?"

  "Come now, Professor," Nia taunted, waving the spoonful of lemon soufflé in his face. "It's halfway through deflated, you know?"

  Appraising the airy dessert one last time, Thomas took a deep breath and inched forward.

  Mouth ajar, the man resigned himself to the elf's whims.

  As he did, he couldn't help but feel as though Nia had planned for this outcome from the start. And when the cloud-like texture of the soufflé skimmed his lips, the man slurped up the velvety treat, coating his palate with a refreshing sweetness and a hint of acidity that contrasted the greasy saltiness of his previous meal. There was little to grind between his teeth, the soufflé dissolving against his tongue almost instantaneously.

  "Good?"

  The elf's query snapped Thomas out of his enraptured state, and he swallowed hard. Absurd as his situation was, the man was unable to deny the deliciousness gracing his tastebuds. And he hung his head, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "Y-yeah..." he muttered in a low volume.

  "In that case, here, have another bite."

  Immediately, she held out another spoonful.

  At this point, Thomas had come to terms with the fact that there was no getting out of this without bruising his ego further; he wasn't about to let a perfectly good dessert go to waste. Nia, for her part, was wholly entertained by her teacher's predicament. And her smirk widened as his resistance crumbled. Bit by bit, the elf fed him the soufflé, garnering envious glares from onlookers who tried—and failed—to disguise their interest in the pair's unabashed antics.

  By the time the ramekin was scraped clean, the man had already forgotten the chagrin that initially reddened his complexion. He instead let out a belch and patted his belly, far from replete but a lot more content than he was before. "That hit the spot..."

  "I'll say," Nia remarked playfully.

  Registering the self-satisfaction plastered on the elf's visage, Thomas slanted her a half-lidded gaze and crossed his arms. "You seem awfully chipper."

  "You're imagining things."

  "Am I now?"

  "More importantly," Nia said, rising to her feet, "we really should get a move on. It's almost noon, and we still haven't gotten around to that tour of yours."

  "A-ah, hang on!" Anchored to the table, the man shot up from his seat—one hand rummaging through his bag, the other outstretched toward the elf as she made her way to the exit. "W-what about the bill? A place like this can't be cheap!"

  "The academy covers all expenses as part of our tuition fee; educators receive the same benefits," she explained calmly, back still facing him. "Meals, amenities, even personal orders—so long as it's within campus grounds, you needn't worry about carrying coin."

  "Oh, come to think of it, Grimwald did say something about complimentary meals..."

  "Just another convenience afforded to those fortunate enough to study or work here."

  "T-this institution is something else..."

  "So, you coming or what?" Nia turned halfway around, lingering beneath the archway.

  "W-wait up!" And Thomas left his chair and scrambled over to her side.

  Once he'd caught up, the elf shepherded him along winding, stony paths that snaked beyond the café.

  And awaiting the pair was a large glass-domed structure that towered over a crowded plaza. Light lanced through its crystalline panels, illuminating the vibrant foliage and exotic flora thriving inside. Even from the outside, the vast variety of plant life was staggering: lavender blooms cascaded wildly from steel supports, glowing fungi pulsed in a steady rhythm, and iridescent butterflies flitted among fruit-bearing bushes.

  Situated at the heart of the conservatory, rooted to a floor thick with undergrowth, was a colossal tree, its ancient bark ashen in appearance, drooping leaves as white as snowflakes, and gnarled branches spiralling outward from its profound girth. Silken petals, pale and radiant like the stars at night, drifted lazily throughout the enclosed chamber, bathing the miniature jungle in a tenuous, celestial lustre. Awestruck, the man could only whistle as he took in the view.

  "Welcome to the Hortus District, Professor," Nia announced. "What better place to start than the home to our world-famous greenhouse, and by extension, Saint Cecil, the eternal willow. "

  "I-I didn't expect this place to be so popular!" Thomas said, shouting over the clatter of passing carriages. "I mean, I can see why, but that bistro we were at was practically empty!"

  "This district revolves around magickal flora and fauna. It's only logical that those specialising in the earth, wind, water, and life magicks gravitate toward this section of the campus. Their Gifts do align with the field of study. Given that practitioners of those elements also make up the majority of all spellcasters—and that it's the weekend—well, it'd be stranger if it wasn't as busy as it is."

  A labyrinthine assortment of stores—primarily apothecaries, boutiques, and pet emporiums—encircled the botanical garden, their awnings in hues of sage, mauve, and ochre. Drawn to the haphazard row of stalls across an open space by the greenhouse's entrance, the man wandered over to examine the selection of items on sale, his elven student hovering in the background. Dried herbs, floral perfumes, bubbly elixirs—everything here was of premium quality.

  But as Thomas perused the eclectic catalogue on display, a sudden surge of people pressed in from all sides. Aspiring alchemists and curio collectors flocked to a nearby stand offering potted mandrake saplings at a bargain. Despite his sturdy build, the man found himself jostled by wave after wave of avid buyers. Yet before he could get whisked away by the swarm, a soft warmth clasped his wrist, tugging him out of the densest part of the rabble.

  "Stick close, Professor," Nia advised, her hand slipping into his.

  For a heartbeat, apprehension gripped him, only to unravel into silent reassurance as the elf miraculously guided him through droves of shoppers. It was like a barrier had enveloped the two, allowing them to weave effortlessly between bustling bodies without so much as a stray elbow to the ribs. The throng seemingly parted around the pair, oblivious to their presence yet instinctively shifting aside. It wasn't just skill—something else was at play here.

  Setting foot in a secluded alleyway, Thomas and Nia were finally free from the noise.

  "Man, you're a lifesaver," the man said, still reeling from the chaos. "I almost got swallowed up!"

  "I'd avoid campus marketplaces from now on if I were you, Professor. Merchants from around the world specifically come here to sell their wares. Often, they are exceedingly rare or endemic to remote biomes. Thus, to some, the procurement of these materials is an undertaking of great urgency. If push came to shove, they'd even fight for it."

  "Fight for it? That's way too extreme..."

  "Duels are commonplace here, Professor. It's an academy tradition. Why, we had a similar settlement just a couple of days ago, didn't we?"

  "That was more so a game than it was a duel. You three were the ones doing the fighting."

  "In essence, they're one and the same. We made wagers and measured our spells against one another. Your magicks ultimately prevailed, leaving you the sole victor."

  "It technically ended in a tie, though..."

  "Thank you for reminding me. Shall I rescind my concession, then?"

  "L-let's not do that..."

  "Suit yourself," the elf snarked. "Now, on the topic of duels and such, our next destination just so happens to be the Certamina District. If the prospect of arcane combat captivates you, you'll find no better place to experience it firsthand."

  "A district dedicated to combat, eh? This campus really does have everything."

  Palm sweaty, Thomas glanced down at their interlocked digits. He flexed his fingers slightly, debating whether to pull away or let it be. Nia, on the other hand, appeared either completely unaware or utterly unbothered by the heat generated from their protracted contact.

  "Say, uh... You don't have to hold on anymore, you know?"

  Rather than let go, however, the elf tightened her grasp. "No can do, Professor. With how navigationally impaired you are, it'd be most troublesome if you rambled off again and got lost."

  "I-I'm not that terrible with directions..."

  "Our initial meeting tells a different story. It's why we're even having this tour in the first place. Better safe than sorry, I say. Besides, it's not every day you get to hold hands with a sought-after noblewoman like me. Boys my age would line up just to ask for my hand in marriage."

  "Be that as it may, my arm is getting stiff over here..."

  As the pair headed eastward, lush meadows darkened into dry, compacted soil—a jarring transition from nature's embrace to jagged, pockmarked terrain. Enchanted streetlamps lined the roads, alongside shops and traders boasting top-of-the-line staves, armoured robes infused with defensive runes, and obscure tomes harbouring volatile incantations. Temperatures were noticeably higher, a consequence of concentrated spell usage in this virtual warzone.

  The Certamina District loomed ahead, its centrepiece an enormous coliseum that dominated the skyline.

  Unlike the marred stonework that surrounded it, the elliptical amphitheatre itself remained remarkably pristine, its ivory walls reinforced with mithril and unblemished by time or battle. Banners of purple and gold adorned the colonnade, each emblazoned with the academy's sigil—a stylised ouroboros circumscribed about a ram's head. And from beyond the raised colossal gates, the reverberations of colliding magicks erupted.

  "They're seriously going at it in there..." Thomas tensed up with every blast that rattled his bones.

  "On the contrary, the two combatants inside are engaged in a friendly sparring match."

  "You can tell?"

  "The intensity of the magicks alone is bereft of any real aggression."

  "Should've guessed you'd have a keen sense for this stuff. You did spend the past year clashing with world-class magi vying to become your teacher."

  "Incidentally, this was once where all said clashes were held. That arrangement understandably didn't last long, though."

  "Yeah... I can picture how that'd go horribly wrong."

  "Just to be clear, nobody died."

  "It's scary enough you have to clarify that..."

  Amused, the elf soldiered on past the entrance columns and up a staircase, the man in tow. "Never mind that, let's take a quick peek. Wouldn't want to miss the fight now, would we?"

  "H-hey... slow down, will you!"

  Atop the gallery overlooking the arena, the pair espied the full scope of the venue.

  Seats of polished marble, enough to house tens of thousands, wrapped around a flat, disc-shaped expanse of sandstone in tiered rows. Spectators in attendance were sparse but engaged—some jotted down notes, others watched intently, scrutinising every movement. And down below, the dust cleared, revealing two boys in their school uniform: one wreathed in blistering inferno and the other cloaked in a turbulent blizzard.

  "Not as packed as I thought it'd be," Thomas commented, eyes glazed over the ensuing fight. "This and the Hortus District are like night and day."

  "Like I said, duels are commonplace here. There's one scheduled almost every hour. Once you've seen one, you've basically seen them all."

  "Even so, the spectacle of two magi duking it out would typically get a bigger turnout, no?"

  "You'd be na?ve to think so with recent events."

  "Recent events?"

  "Frankly speaking, Professor, magickal combat is but a relic of the past. Those in the stands right now are likely hardcore enthusiasts, while the ones in the pit are presumably friends settling a lighthearted argument. Gone are the days when this stadium was brimming with diehard fanatics of the sport and magi earnestly endeavouring to prove their mettle."

  "Did something happen?" the man inquired, distracted from the visual impact of icicle volleys evaporating against arcs of fire, shrouding the ring in a cloud of steam. "Where I'm from, warlocks are revered as the last line of defence. It's a highly coveted career choice for magi."

  "Simply put, battlemagi, or warlocks as you'd call them, are no longer the lynchpin of modern warfare they once were. The position itself might even disappear forever. It's hard to stay invested in a sphere that's on its last legs. Many would rather devote themselves to more pragmatic fields. Now more than ever, magi are thinking about their futures, after all."

  "Explains why the Hortus District was so congested..."

  "Twenty years ago, during the Daemonic Wars, the tides turned when the Alondisian army began prioritising technology over sorcery—when factories started churning out anti-magus artillery faster than academies could educate a single adept."

  "To abandon magicks altogether, though, seems overkill. It's still a powerful tool, isn't it?"

  "Powerful, yes. But unpredictable. Scarce. Expensive," the elf softly corrected her teacher's assumption. "Less than five per cent of the population is born with the Gift. Of those, fewer still possess the temperament or talent to survive military training. It takes years to hone a warlock, and even then, their effectiveness is dependent on environment, resources, and mental state."

  "Meanwhile, any farmer can be taught to pick up a rifle..." Thomas pieced together.

  "Just this morning, the academy announced the cancellation of their annual tourney in response to rising public sentiment. Another nail in a coffin long laid to rest."

  "Never knew things here spiralled to that extent."

  "That's just one of the many reasons I wanted to give you this tour: to offer you perspective."

  "I see... and in what way exactly does holding hands offer me perspective?"

  "It helps you understand the heart of a maiden, of course," Nia quipped.

  "I feel like I'm no wiser than before, though..."

  A blustery gale stirred the dense mist within the arena, sweeping it aside like curtains at the end of a play. What remained was a quiet, unforeseen tableau: the two duelists, face-to-face amid the scorched and frozen ground. The pyromancer trembled, flames sputtering around his shoulders before vanishing entirely. Then, with a defeated grunt, he dropped to his knees, signalling the end of the bout.

  Afterwards, the pair left the coliseum, the sun at its apex high above them. That was when the man caught the whiff of something milky, sugary, and almost nostalgic.

  "Is that... dairy?" he mused, nostrils flaring.

  "That smell is..."

  In a synchronised fashion, they rounded a corner where they found the source of the scent: an ice cream cart painted pastel blue and white, stationed at the edge of the square and shaded by a striped umbrella. A capped orc manned the counter, conjuring frigid gusts to keep the frozen treat from melting in the district's hot climate. While the elf barely gave it a second thought, her pace faltered upon glimpsing the signboard propped up beside.

  "'Lovey Toffee: a limited edition flavour for couples only...'" Nia read it aloud.

  "Huh... Lovey Toffee. Wonder what that tastes like?" Thomas offhandedly asked.

  Eyes twinkling with irrepressible mischief, the elf peeked up at him. "Let's find out, shall we?"

  "Sign says it's for couples only, though."

  "Nowhere does it specify what counts as a couple; as far as I'm concerned, any duo qualifies."

  "I guess that's true... but won't this count towards my meal limit? "

  "It's a single menu item we'll be splitting between us. That's only half a meal, wouldn't you agree?"

  "I swear it's just loophole after loophole with you..."

  "Say what you will, but are you really going to turn your nose up at the opportunity to eat more food than you're allowed? You should be grateful I'm rather charitable today."

  Lacking the energy to argue further, the man sighed. "Just do as you please..."

  "That's more like it."

  Promptly, the pair queued up. Only a handful of customers stood ahead, either fanning themselves or chatting idly. Although the wait was mercifully short, owing to the orcish vendor's brisk efficiency, Thomas nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot throughout. Would the elf's loose interpretation of the rules really pass muster with the ice cream guy? Odds were, they'd get waved off. Worst case scenario? They'd be barred for good.

  Indisposed to being stripped of ice cream privileges, Thomas resolved to defy his pupil and request a standard flavour for himself. Just as they reached the front of the line, however, Nia had other plans in mind and seized the initiative. With zero warning, she hooked her arm around the man's, latching on with theatrical flair; Thomas nearly choked on his own breath. "This is more our speed, isn't it?" the elf cooed, nuzzling her head against his shoulder.

  Several heads turned; gasps and murmurs rippled through the students behind them. One girl nudged her friend, whispering, "Wait—are those two...?" Another grumbled, "Lucky bastard..."

  Bearing witness to the ostentatious performance, the orc unshakenly maintained a polite smile.

  "Good day," he greeted them with the placid cadence of a seasoned salesman. "Now, what can I get you two on this sweltering afternoon?"

  "One Lovey Toffee, please." Nia batted her lashes at her teacher and lifted their linked arms to emphasise their supposed bond. "We saw the ad and just had to try it for ourselves."

  "Sorry, miss, but that's reserved for couples only," the orc said, tapping the sign. "Stock is limited, and we're almost out. Gotta keep things fair for all the lovebirds out here, you know?"

  "I'm well aware. Is there a problem?"

  And the orcish vendor chuckled lightly. "Hey now, it may be my first week on the job, but I wasn't born yesterday. Your partner there's out of uniform and twice your age. Whichever way you slice it, he's faculty through and through. Isn't that right, mister? If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you're her tutor who got dragged into this act..."

  Busted right out of the gate, Thomas flinched. "S-so much for that charade."

  Nia didn't budge. If anything, her glare sharpened. "And what if he is my tutor?" She squeezed the man's arm tighter, pulling it snug against her bosom. "Love takes many forms, doesn't it?"

  "I don't know what to tell you, miss. Rules are rules, no exceptions. Inventory's tight, so I can't be giving these out willy-nilly. If you'd like, there are plenty of other flavours you can sample—"

  "Am I perhaps to take that as you calling me a liar?

  A suffocating pressure weighed down on the orc as she cut him off, and the bright noonlight dimmed around them. Through the oppressive gloom, the elf's violet irises smouldered with an ethereal glow—mesmerising yet eerie. Beneath the unnatural incandescence was an unspoken but palpable displeasure, one that sent shivers down the vendor's spine. And all traces of conversation in the vicinity fizzled out as bystanders intuited the tension in the air.

  Somewhere in the back of the orc's mind, a memory surfaced: rumours he'd heard from other vendors and passersby. Tales of a delinquent trio led by an enigmatic elven girl who, through sheer magickal might and ruthless cunning, terrorised the campus with impunity.

  The Problem Magi.

  Wherever they went, destruction followed.

  And blood drained from the vendor's green countenance, now taking on a sickly grey pallor, as he made the connection, and his forced grin collapsed into a grimace of pure panic. "A... ah! My bad!" he stammered, fumbling for his scooper. "F-forgive me for calling your relationship into question! There's no mistaking it—you two are a bona fide item!"

  Nia's amethyst gaze reverted to its typical sheen, and the miasmic aura she exuded evaporated like shadows fleeing the strike of a match. "You should really get your eyes checked next time," she asserted breezily. "It won't do to antagonise your clientele like that."

  "Y-you're absolutely right! It won't happen again, miss, I promise!"

  Frantically, he bumbled about the counter and fished out two generous scoops of glossy, caramel-streaked ice cream nested in a double-ended waffle cone seamlessly joined at the base.

  "H-here you go! One Lovey Toffee for a lovey-dovey couple!" he chimed, the corners of his smile twitching with strain as he sprinkled heart-shaped marshmallows on the lavish creation.

  Mortified by his student's actions, Thomas repeatedly bowed his head, apologising profusely. In contrast, the elf released his arm and accepted the dessert with a beam. "My, thank you kindly."

  And as they departed from the scene, a collective exhale swept through the area.

  Holding the elaborate cone aloft, Nia tilted her head. "Heavens, the vendor seemed so thoroughly convinced of our love. Speaks volumes about our chemistry, don't you think?"

  "You straight up just threatened the poor guy..." the man rasped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  "How impertinent. And after I went through all that trouble to get you this."

  "For your information, I'd have been totally fine with any of the other flavours—"

  Brusquely, the elf thrust the frozen treat up toward her teacher as they walked side by side. "Careful. If you keep complaining, your cheat meal will eventually melt."

  Thomas shot a glance at the cone designed for sharing, then at her. "What happened to splitting it between us?"

  "You lick the mound closest to you, I'll lick the one closest to me."

  "I'll have to pass on that..."

  "What? Afraid of an indirect kiss?"

  "Not particularly."

  Picking up on the slight agitation in his reply, the elf smirked. "Oh? And here I thought such hang-ups were beneath you. Colour me impressed, you do think of these things."

  "I get that you pull these stunts to get a rise out of me, but even I know where to draw the line. You ought to save this type of stuff for the person you like instead of, you know... your teacher."

  "Hm? So, that's where your concern lies..." With a flourish of her fingers, the cone levitated from Nia's grip. A clean split shimmered through its middle, the halves separating with uncanny precision, and the wafer sealed around the dual portions of glistening ice cream, as though they had never been tampered with. "Very well, I shall refrain from pursuing this matter any further. Getting to see this side of you is enough of a reward already."

  Thomas reflexively laid hold of the cone before it fell and licked a smear of buttery toffee before it could drip onto his sleeve. And he languidly trudged behind the elf, who triumphantly strode ahead. Through the northbound lanes, the two returned to familiar territory—the administrative district. It was here that the man first arrived and where the bulk of his days came to unfold. At the stroke of one, the bell of the clock tower tolled the end of the lunch rush.

  "Would you look at the time?" Nia brushed crumbs of waffle from her robes. "Hungry yet, Professor?"

  "Need you even ask?" Thomas said, his ice cream cone already long gone.

  "I knew you'd say that. Luckily for you, I know of a local establishment that offers exceptionally flavoursome food. They rarely get visitors, and the service leaves much to be desired, but trust me, the cuisine more than makes up for it."

  "I have a feeling I know what place you're talking about..."

  And just as the man suspected, his student led him to the cafeteria in the core of the central hub. As they entered a canteen devoid of the usual weekend traffic, a shrill, accusatory voice rang across the room like a warhorn.

  "Oi, mister!" From behind the counter emerged a squat figure in a hairnet, arms braced on her hips and elbows jutting like wings. "Did you already forget? You need to give us notice! You know what happens when you eat like you did yesterday without warning, don't you?!"

  Thomas winced before holding up his hands and shrinking. "H-hold on, I—!"

  "And don't even think about ordering less than you can eat!" the gnomish dinner lady barked, stabbing a wooden ladle toward him. "This mess hall operates on a very simple but unbreakable principle. We guarantee every man, woman, and child leaves here stuffed like turkeys!"

  "He'll be having only one dish today," the elf interjected, all too composed.

  "Hah?! Only one dish? And who are you to make that call, missy—?!"

  Craning her neck to confront the girl, recognition dawned in the gnome's widening eyes.

  "You take no issue with that, do you?" Nia smiled ominously.

  "I... er... y-you're that..."

  "I said, you take no issue with that, do you?"

  "N-n-not at all...!" the dinner lady stuttered, paling as she staggered backwards.

  "Wonderful!" In a showcase of faux thrill, the elf clapped. "I'll have the leek and potato soup, while my companion here... Mm, well, just hook him up with your fattiest dish, I suppose."

  "Y-yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am!" she wheezed, scurrying to the kitchen like a rat avoiding a boot.

  And the pair claimed the nearest trestle table, a bead of perspiration forming on the man's brow. "What in the world did you do to warrant such a reaction?"

  "Ah... it was during my first month in this academy, I believe. I made the careless mistake of dining here. The food was great, but that dinner lady? She wouldn't let me leave until I ate more. It got irritating after a while. So, I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine."

  "Meaning?"

  "I strapped the old bag to a chair and force-fed her dragonfruit pancakes until she relented."

  "You... really went overboard there."