Chapter 45 – A Brief Respite
Lyrian made his way through the academy halls, his mind still lingering on his morning training. The stiffness in his shoulders was proof of his effort, yet he felt no satisfaction. There was a hollowness to his movements, a sense that he was missing something fundamental. Still, there was no use dwelling on it.
His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar voice called out.
"Oi, Lyrian!"
He turned to see Dorian waving him over, standing next to Reynard near one of the academy's lounge areas. The space wasn't grand, just a place where students could gather and talk between training sessions. A few wooden benches lined the stone walls, and a small courtyard beyond the archways let in fresh air.
Lyrian approached, hands in his pockets.
"You look like you got beaten up in training," Reynard said, smirking.
"More like he beat himself up," Dorian added. "That's what happens when you train alone instead of sparring with actual people."
Lyrian exhaled. "I needed the solitude."
Reynard leaned back against the stone wall, folding his arms. "Right. But if you keep training like that, you'll just reinforce bad habits."
Dorian gave a dramatic sigh. "He won't listen. Lyrian's the type to stubbornly throw himself at a wall a thousand times just to see if it'll break."
Lyrian shrugged. "And sometimes, the wall does break."
Reynard shook his head. "Only after you've broken half your bones first."
Dorian grinned. "Well, at least we know why his brain works the way it does."
Lyrian rolled his eyes. Despite the teasing, their banter lifted the heaviness he had felt earlier. It was a small moment of normalcy—something he hadn't realized he needed.
As their conversation drifted, a few students nearby were murmuring about something. Lyrian wasn't paying much attention at first, but a particular phrase caught his ear.
"…a tournament?"
His gaze flickered toward the group. They were first-years, chatting in hushed but excited tones.
"It's not official yet," one said. "But some upperclassmen mentioned it. Something big's coming."
"Are they really letting us compete?" another asked.
"No idea. But if it's true, things are about to get interesting."
Lyrian kept his expression neutral. He wasn't sure what to make of it yet. It could just be baseless gossip, but if the academy really was planning a tournament… it was worth keeping in mind. Still, it was too early to dwell on it.
Just then, a familiar figure walked past them—Elyreina.
She moved through the hall with quiet elegance, her expression focused, almost distant. Her dark hair cascaded behind her, and though she didn't look around, there was a certain presence about her that made people take notice.
Reynard nudged Lyrian. "Isn't that your sister?"
Dorian blinked. "His sister? I thought they were, you know… something else."
Reynard turned to him, unimpressed. "How are you an Archmage and this dense?"
Dorian scoffed. "I mean, sure, they're always together, but that doesn't mean—"
"They grew up together, idiot," Reynard deadpanned. "You have the wisdom of a rock."
Dorian folded his arms. "A wise rock, maybe."
Lyrian sighed, standing up. "I'm leaving before I lose more brain cells."
He caught up to Elyreina, falling into step beside her. She glanced at him, mildly surprised.
"You're up early," he said.
"You say that like you weren't training before sunrise," she countered.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Fair."
She studied him for a moment. "You're pushing yourself too hard again."
"I have to."
Her expression tightened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she sighed.
"Are you feeling any… different?" she asked hesitantly.
She didn't say the words outright, but Lyrian knew what she meant—his condition, the lingering effects of his resurrection, the unnatural power that flickered beneath his skin.
"Not really," he said. "It's there, but it's not acting up. Not yet."
Elyreina frowned.
"We should go see Professor Marlowe this weekend. Just to check in."
Lyrian hesitated, then nodded.
"Yeah… that's probably a good idea."
She relaxed slightly. "Alright. Just don't collapse again before then."
"No promises."
She gave him a look, but there was no real irritation behind it. With that, they continued walking, the silence between them familiar, comfortable.
Lyrian still had questions—about the rumored tournament, about his own limits—but for now, just for a moment, it was enough.