Eryndor walked Ian to the entrance, his steps a little hurried, almost guilty. As they paused near the gate, he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact.
"I... I didn't know the Director would do that," he stammered, clearly uneasy. "She didn't tell me anything before calling you in."
Ian gave him a reassuring glance. "Don't worry about it."
Eryndor looked genuinely relieved and dipped his head again. "Thanks, really. For not taking it the wrong way... and for everything else."
Ian gave a simple nod. "It's fine."
They exchanged a brief nod of farewell, and Ian turned to leave, the soft crunch of his steps fading into the distance.
Ian wasn't bothered by what happened. If anything, he'd seen it coming the moment he stepped into that office. Thessalia hadn't been threatening... at least not in any overt way. There was no malice in her eyes, no hidden edge in her words. Just idle curiosity, like someone watching a puzzle unfold for fun rather than necessity. A powerful woman with too much time and not enough challenge, looking to be entertained.
That was all it was.
Leaving that aside, another name surfaced in Ian's mind, Domnall Crovan. It rang faintly familiar, like a note he'd heard in passing but never bothered to hum again.
Ian furrowed his brow. I've definitely heard it before… why can't I place it?He trusted his memory. If it didn't stick, it probably wasn't important at the time.
"Domnall Crovan… let me see…" he muttered to himself, pulling up his mental threads.
Then it clicked.
"Ohhh, this guy…" A vague recollection surfaced, an old record, maybe something Reina had brought up once. "Wait… yeah. Reina asked me about him too, didn't she?"
Curious now, Ian opened up his comms and connected with Reina.
After some pleasantries, Ian went straight to the point, asking Reina about Domnall Crovan. He also mentioned that someone else had asked him too.
"Domnall Crovan?" Reina's response came after a short pause. "Yeah, I remember mentioning him. He's the current head of the Crovan family. Pretty much every human on this planet has some distant tie to them."
Ian blinked. "That widespread?"
Reina continued, "They're the only well known human family here. The Crovans carved out something a long time ago and held on. So if someone sees a human doing something noteworthy, chances are they assume there's a connection."
"Ah... that explains it."
"Yeah. Happens more often than you'd think. Especially if you're not visibly linked to any group."
Ian gave a quiet hum in acknowledgment. "Thanks." He ended the call with a brief goodbye.
Humans... the Crovans... He'd probably have to visit the federal capital, Fylsneas, eventually. Learn more about human history and presence in this universe. Otherwise, people might start getting suspicious if he didn't even know the basics about his own kind.
Although he could find some of this important information in the Rulmose Library itself, those were just bookish records, more of a formality rather than something truly insightful. A firsthand experience, speaking with people, seeing how things actually worked, that was what mattered.
With that lingering thought, he made his way back to his apartment.
On the other side, Reina sat quietly, lost in thought. She had tried to dig into Ian's origin before, out of curiosity more than anything else, but hit a dead end. The earliest record she could find placed him arriving on this planet in Lylva. Anything before that was locked away behind restricted access.
That part surprised her.
She had even tried leveraging her family's influence, expecting the usual clearance to break through whatever walls were in place. But nothing. The access remained blocked.
There shouldn't be anything on this planet her family didn't have reach over. And yet… here it was.
Still, she let it go.
Curious as she remained, Reina wasn't foolish. She knew when to stop pressing. Ian was a friend now, an odd one, maybe, but someone she respected. So she set it aside, for now.
The next day…
Ian stood in the training hall, gripping a wooden practice blade. He had been meaning to start weapon training for a while now, but things had been too hectic. The combat class didn't focus much on weapons, each path had its own approach, so official training was handled separately. For now, he was relying on whatever guidance he could get.
And that guidance, unfortunately, came with a side of constant bickering.
"That's wrong," Zarek, the spear-wielding student from the Innate Sword path, said as he adjusted Ian's stance. "You need balance. Without it, your follow-up will be sluggish."
"That's nonsense," the other student, a broad-shouldered guy from the Physical path, scoffed. "If he stops mid-fight to 'adjust balance,' he'll already be on the ground. Just shift your weight forward and commit."
Ian exhaled. They were both helping him, he had to admit that, but they never stopped arguing.
He tried the stance again, adjusting between the two suggestions. Zarek clicked his tongue. "Still too stiff. Relax your upper body."
"Relax too much and he'll lose power," the other countered. "Tighten your core when you strike."
Ian let them go back and forth, occasionally nodding as he took in their advice. They were both experienced in their own ways, and he had no intention of picking a side.
Getting involved in their debates was a guaranteed headache.
And if you were wondering why Ian wasn't asking the instructor instead, well, that was because the instructor was busy. This was a basic combat class, and his main focus was bringing everyone's foundational skills up to par. For people like Ian and the others, who had already cleared all the basic evaluations, he just let them figure things out on their own, whether that meant competing, sparring, or in this case, endlessly arguing.
Every now and then, though, the instructor would step in to guide them. Well, "guide" was a strong word. What he actually did was call for a group attack, let them all charge at him, and then proceed to beat the hell out of them while laughing condescendingly.
Still, those sessions were helpful. Once he was done casually dismantling them, he actually gave useful feedback.
And so, here they were, back to arguing over which stance was correct.
Zarek crossed his arms. "Why don't we let Ian decide which one makes more sense?"
Ian felt a headache forming. Why are you putting this on me… Just as he was about to deflect, a smooth, measured voice cut through the debate.
"You're supposed to be teaching him, not making things difficult."
An elven woman approached, her green eyes cool and assessing. Long, light-brown hair was tied back in a high ponytail, with a few strands falling over her shoulder. Her uniform was the same as the institutes, but the way she carried herself, balanced, poised, utterly in control, set her apart.
Zarek and the other student stiffened immediately, their earlier argument forgotten.
"Yelthara," Zarek muttered under his breath.
She had beaten them both before, and it hadn't even been close.
Yelthara folded her arms, glancing between them. "Instead of dragging Ian into your pointless debate, why not make it useful?" She tilted her head toward Ian. "You'll spar against each of them. The other one will watch and critique, not just what you did wrong, but what they would've done differently."
Ian exhaled. At least this wasn't the worst possible outcome.
The two exchanged looks before nodding. "Fine."
"Good." Yelthara stepped back, watching with interest. "Let's see what you've got."
As the spar began, Ian kept his focus entirely on weapon technique, no energy enhancements, no footwork optimizations, just pure skill. His opponent pressed forward, testing his reactions, while the other stood to the side, tossing in occasional critiques on his stance, grip, and balance.
The rhythmic clash of weapons filled the air, a steady exchange of strikes and counters. Ian adjusted with each passing moment, adapting to the subtle nuances in style that the others pointed out. It wasn't a real fight, just practice, refining edges, smoothing out rough movements.
Yelthara stood at the side, watching with an amused expression, as if she were enjoying a performance rather than a training session.
Finally, the sparring session came to a close. Ian and his opponent stepped back, catching their breath. Before anyone could speak, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room.
Yelthara grinned. "Not bad. At least it was entertaining."
Ian rolled his shoulders, exhaling. "Glad we could provide a show."
She chuckled, tilting her head. "That's why I'm here, you know. Things looked amusing, so I decided to watch."
All three of them just rolled their eyes but said nothing more. They were already used to Yelthara's ways.
And with that, the session wrapped up. Ian stretched his shoulders, feeling the lingering weight of the practice, while the others exchanged a few final words before heading off.
That was the end of today's class.
Afterward, Ian and Myrra made their way toward Axilya's training facility.
As usual, they started their training routine, but this time, Myrra seemed especially confident. She stretched her arms, smirking. "I've made considerable progress, you know. I could probably kick your ass now."
Ian raised a brow, amused. "Oh? That confident, huh?"
"Absolutely." She crossed her arms, her tone almost challenging. "Let's bet on it."
Ian chuckled. "Alright, I'm listening."
Myrra crossed her arms. "If I win, you do exactly what I say. No complaints."
Ian grinned. "Fine, but if I win…" He stepped closer, leaning in to whisper something into her ear.
Myrra blinked, then turned to give him a flat stare. "Pervert."
Ian laughed. "You didn't say no."
She rolled her eyes. "Because I'm going to win."
Ian smirked, getting into position. "We'll see about that."
Myrra launched forward, her movements sharp and focused. Dark energy crackled around her as she sent a barrage of attacks Ian's way, each strike precise, controlled.
Ian sidestepped easily, a smirk tugging at his lips as he parried her strike with the back of his hand.
"Faster than before," he admitted, stepping back just as black energy surged toward him. He twisted, the spell barely grazing past, dispersing into the air. "But not fast enough."
Myrra clicked her tongue, raising a hand. A dozen dark shards materialized, gleaming ominously before launching straight at him. Ian shifted his stance, weaving between them with practiced ease. At the last moment, he flicked a finger, disrupting the energy of one shard, making it dissipate harmlessly.
"Show-off," Myrra muttered in frustration. He isn't even trying.
Without a word, she cast a spell, and suddenly, Ian's world turned pitch black. It wasn't just darkness, it was absence. No sound, no energy, no sense of direction.
His smile faded slightly. "Oh? This one's good."
A voice whispered near his ear. "Still playing around?"
He barely dodged as something, her fist, cut through the space where he had just stood. Then another attack came, followed by another. He couldn't see, couldn't sense her, but she could strike freely.
Ian exhaled, adjusting his stance. "Not more playing around."
Then, without warning, the darkness shattered.
Myrra barely had time to react before Ian moved. In an instant, he was behind her.
A sharp gasp left her lips as she was flipped midair, weightless for a split second, then suddenly pinned.
When her vision cleared, Ian was above her, holding himself up just enough to avoid crushing her. Their faces were dangerously close.
Silence hung between them.
Myrra's heart pounded as she stared up at him. His expression was unreadable, though amusement flickered in his eyes.
"I see you are... making progress."
Myrra stiffened. Ian glanced up without hurry, only to find Axilya standing a few steps away, arms crossed.