"Explanation… well, I'll explain it to you later," Headmaster Fledrock said with a tired sigh, already rubbing his temples like he was bracing for a storm.
"For now, I have an important task for you, Professor Lysira."
The moment the words left his mouth, Lysira's beautiful yet sharply expressive face twisted into open disbelief like someone just asked her to personally mop the entire academy with her hair.
"Important work?" she echoed, arms folding over her chest. "Didn't I already mention I'm handling the sorting ceremony preparations for tomorrow? What could possibly be more important than making sure a bunch of clueless first-years don't set themselves or each other on fire in front of the entire faculty?"
"Umm... calm down, Professor Lysira," Magnus said, raising both hands as if trying to soothe a very fashionable, very magical dragon.
He cleared his throat and gestured lazily toward Max, who was still standing awkwardly in place, his cheeks suspiciously red and his mind still trying to recover from the emotional damage of earlier.
"I just need you to accompany this young wizard and help him gather his first year essentials."
Lysira blinked.
"That's it?"
"Yes. Wand, uniform, books spellbooks specifically and basic writing tools. You know, the usual starter pack. I trust I don't need to make a list for that, do I?"
Lysira tilted her head, lips parting slightly in disbelief, then narrowed her eyes at the old man.
"I prepare a week long, multi-layered, emotionally driven magical speach for a house sorting ceremony and this is what you toss into my lap the night before it? Babysitting a storm eyed first year with identity issues?"
"Exactly," Magnus said, smiling like a man who knew he had just passed off a landmine.
Julius, standing by the door, had the audacity to look completely invisible. Max swore he saw the man holding his breath.
Lysira stared at Max again. He tried not to meet her gaze. She was practically shimmering with some wild arcane energy and worse, she looked more offended than surprised.
Max gave the smallest, most awkward smile humanity had ever seen.
She sighed heavily, then turned back to the Headmaster with a deadpan glare.
"Fine But if this kid explodes while picking out his wand am putting it in your official report."
"Duly noted," Magnus replied.
"And if he accidentally burns a shop down?"
"We'll name it after him."
Lysira didn't laugh.
"Go on, now," Magnus said, waving his hand toward the door like he was shooing away a cat that wouldn't stop circling his feet. "The sun's still up. You should be able to get everything done before dinner."
Max finally moved, stepping forward with the stiff, uncertain energy of someone walking into a trap while pretending to be cool about it.
"Uh Professor Lysira?" he mumbled.
"Yes, Mr. Stormhart?" Lysira's voice came out smooth as velvet~velvet dipped in sarcasm and wrapped in mystery.
Max cleared his throat, tapping his two index fingers together like a guilty schoolboy caught stealing bread. "Uhh… I don't have any money," he muttered, the words tumbling out like a confession.
Lysira blinked, her head tilting slightly, curiosity blooming across her expression. Max avoided her eyes, suddenly very interested in the floor.
He and his mother had always lived deep within the jungle, far from bustling cities or markets. Their version of currency was magic herbs, enchanted fruits, and other strange forest goods. Coins? Notes? Those only existed in the stories whispered by wandering traders or more vividly, in the gossip and scandal he overheard from the bathing girls in the nearby village. Not that he spied on them or anything... except, well, yes. Yes, he absolutely did. From a tree. In full stealth mode.
Lysira opened her mouth to say something—then paused. Her eyes slid over to the Headmaster. Then back to Max. Her expression changed from neutral to something wickedly amused.
"You could always earn," she said, her voice low and teasing. "I've heard even men can make a pretty coin in Eros Hall."
Max's face scrunched with confusion.
"And with your face," she continued, circling him with a slow, playful gaze, "I wouldn't be surprised if some rich witch mommy or lonely wizard daddy threw gold coins at your feet just to make you smile. Or maybe some old goblin noble or dwarf tycoon offers you a mytheril coin. That face of yours is rare currency, my boy."
She let her eyes drag from his head to his boots, smirking like she was appraising a particularly shiny new wand.
"White hair… poorly dyed black," she clicked her tongue. "And those eyes one blue, one red? Hmm. Unusual. Striking. If I hadn't seen your mana for myself, I might've thought you were royalty from the Sea-Folk tribes."
Max nearly took a step back. "Eros Hall?" he repeated, voice cracking. "What's that?"
Lysira opened her mouth, eyes lighting up like she was about to deliver an R-rated lecture with detailed diagrams.
Cough!
The Headmaster's cough sliced through the air like a knife.
Lysira snapped her fingers. "Ah, right. Focus. We're shopping." She winked at Max, her grin completely unbothered. "Well, that's… a very interesting place, dear. But perhaps you should ask Professor Julius about it during your lectures."
Her eyes flicked to Julius Endever, who looked like he'd just been hit with a particularly aggressive spell. The poor man stood stiffly by the wall, his posture textbook-perfect, his poker face barely holding together under the pressure of being thrown to the metaphorical wolves.
"Ahem," Julius coughed, shifting just enough to indicate that he was, in fact, alive and regretting it.
Lysira tsked with zero remorse. "What?" she said innocently. "Isn't it part of the Magical Ethics and Mysteries syllabus? I imagine Professor Endever is very qualified to discuss the wonders of Eros Hall."
Max turned to Julius, face innocent, eyes wide. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing!" Julius said a little too fast.
"Nothing," Lysira echoed, her smile widening like a cat watching a mouse walk into a trap.
"I was merely saying," she added smoothly, "that Professor Endever your Magical Ethics and Mysteries teacher has quite the experience with… magical wonders. Of all sorts."
Julius's eye twitched.
Max blinked. "So it's Umm educational?"
"Very educational," Lysira said, her tone oozing mischief.
Inwardly, Julius was cursing all the gods old and new but his face stayed perfectly blank. He'd been through wars, he'd fought rogue witches and blood-maddened sorcerers, but nothing—nothing could prepare a man for trading words with this woman.
It was like choosing between death by Having intercourse with orc lord or a public duet with a banshee.
Best to stay silent. Responding was just an invitation for the orcs to bring out the spoons.
Max looked between them, clearly baffled. "I… okay?"
The Headmaster sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes, alright. Lysira, take him to get his supplies. Before you accidentally warp the boy's understanding of society."
"Already done," she said, flipping her hair like a living, sarcastic goddess. "Let's go, Mr. Stormhart. We've got coins to spend that you don't own."
Max followed her out, one part terrified, two parts fascinated, and ninety-nine parts unsure if this magical school was secretly just an insane asylum with really good branding.
With a firm thud, the office door closed behind them. The laughter, the sarcasm, the chaos all walked out with Lysira and Maximus.
Inside, silence fell like a heavy cloak.
Magnus exhaled slowly, turning toward Julius Endever with a look of weary amusement. "She doesn't even spare someone as old as you, Endever. Honestly, I think her balls are forged from uranium."
Julius gave him a flat, deadpan look. "Actually, I'm thankful she doesn't have even the normal kind. Otherwise, you'd be the one worrying about things I'm currently trying to erase from memory."
Magnus chuckled again, this time with less charm and more resignation.
"Still," Julius continued, rubbing his temple, "she's becoming… too emotionful. Her face emotion are everywhere. No hesitation. No filters. Everything shows."
"That's strength," Magnus said simply, eyes distant. "She's cutting ties. She's becoming more powerful than any spellbook could make her."
"She's losing too much to get there," Julius muttered, shaking his head. "She is a genius. Once-in-a-millennia level genius. But the influence of her own magic is starting to eat away at her edges."
"Leave it," Magnus waved him off. "Leave it."
Silence again. The kind that wasn't comfortable.
"So" Julius finally leaned back into the chair opposite the Headmaster. "Did you ask him?"
Magnus didn't look at him. Just kept his gaze out the large arched window, staring into the shifting colors of the sky. "Yeah," he said softly. "He has it. The Moon Sword."
Julius went still. His fingers curled tighter around the armrest of the chair.
"Did he… know?" he asked carefully.
"I think not." Magnus's voice was low. "But I felt it. That sudden pulse. The mana fluctuations. It's better I restrained them before they reached critical mass."
"If you hadn't, we'd have had royal delegations from the Seven Races knocking on our gates before sunset," Julius muttered. "That much mana surge in that cursed signature? It would've been suicide."
"You did good," he added after a pause. "Stopping it."
Magnus finally turned his head to look at his old friend. "Still," he said, "three of them already know. And if they interfere"
"They will interfere," Julius cut in. "You know it. That boy's existence threatens everything."
"It's fate," Magnus said flatly.
Julius just stared.
"Don't look at me like that," Magnus continued, eyes narrowing. "You think it's all coincidence? That this year of all years happens to include first-year students from those three exact houses?"
Both men went quiet. The air in the office changed more charged, more ancient.
It wasn't just silence now. It was a hush, as if something unseen was listening.
After what felt like minutes, Julius finally spoke, voice quiet.
"That Moon Sword necklace… it's really the original?"
Magnus's gaze sharpened. He turned his full body to face him, folding his hands behind his back.
"Your healing spell," Magnus said. "It didn't work."
"What?"
"There was a small cut on his left index finger," the old man said. "A nick. Barely a wound. But your spell didn't heal it."
"That's… no. That's not possible," Julius whispered. "My magic—my healing magic"
"I know," Magnus said calmly.
"You mean to say"
"I mean," the Headmaster interrupted gently, "the Moon Sword rejected magic."
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