Within the grounds of the SPDM, where ivory walls stood tall to protect the young students within, a particular young lady was receiving a private tutor in one room.
Inside that room, a mature and amicably-looking lady was standing beside the board, her humble and gentle composure emphasizing her mentor-like character.
Seated and listening to her lectures, a young lady in a green dress was eagerly listening, her emerald-green eyes glistening and enamored by the knowledge.
After a short lecture, the mature lady soon finished and asked the young lady a question. "Good job today, Ms. Sotheby. Now can you reiterate the basis for arcanum incantation for me?"
"Yes, Ms. Moissan!" Sotheby sprang up. "The basis for arcanum incantation lies in three principles — Intent, Medium, and Manifestation. One must first clearly visualize the desired effect, then select or form the appropriate medium — such as a sigil, gesture, or item — and finally allow the arcanum to manifest through proper alignment."
Ms. Moissan gave her a gentle smile, clasping her hands before her. "Very well put, Sotheby. And how would you describe the difference between natural arcanum flow and the incantations used by the Foundation?"
"Oh, that's simple!" Sotheby responded without missing a beat, as if she'd been waiting for that exact question. "Natural arcanum flows like water — it moves where it wills, guided by terrain and temperament — because it is a unique ability of an Arcanist. Foundation incantation, however, is like building a dam — we redirect and compress it, forcing it into patterns that serve our needs! Contrary to the former, this one can be used by any Arcanist and is not exclusive to one person."
She twirled her finger in the air as if drawing diagrams only she could see. "For example, the train systems you mentioned earlier — it runs on a circuit of bound arcanum current, yes? The way it hums when it accelerates feels like a resonance loop reaching a peak harmonic frequency!"
Ms. Moissan chuckled softly, shaking her head with fond amusement. "It's powered by a standard combustion engine, dear. Not a magical loop."
Sotheby's eyes widened. "Really?! But the tremors when it stops — they align perfectly with something like an arcanum pulse!"
"That's likely the brakes." Ms. Moissan said gently, chuckling again. "Still, your passion is delightful."
Sotheby pouted slightly. "Honestly, I still have a lot to learn..."
"Give it time, Ms. Sotheby. You'll learn enough eventually." Her teacher replied warmly. "Now then, I believe that's enough for today. You've grasped the material well — and in your own eccentric way, I might add."
Sotheby beamed, pleased. "Thank you, Ms. Moissan! I shall be sure to review the readings on stabilized casting tonight!"
"Only if you have time to rest in between." The gentle woman advised. "Remember, even young prodigies need sleep."
"Yes, yes..." Sotheby waved her hand dismissively as she collected her notebook and emerald-feathered pen. "I'll consider it."
After packing all of her equipment, she turned to her teacher.
"Goodbye, Ms. Moissan! See you tomorrow!" With a courteous bow, she turned on her heels and exited the room, her leather-bound bag swaying behind her.
The hallway beyond the lecture room was quiet, save for the faint murmurs of other tutors and the occasional chime of a passing personnel.
Sotheby, however, only made it a few steps before her sharp eyes caught something — or rather, someone — through the arched corridor window.
At a distant corner near the hedge maze, partially hidden behind a lamppost as if it was a tactical choice, a familiar figure was crouched and waving both arms in exaggerated motions.
She blinked. "Is that... Mr. Isaac?"
There he was — waving at her like a mischievous alley cat, his coat slightly dusty as though he'd just arrived from somewhere entirely inappropriate for the SPDM's pristine halls.
Sotheby tilted her head, curious. "What is he doing skulking around like a suspicious fog-walker?"
Her curiosity piqued, she adjusted her gloves, gripped her satchel tight, and made her way down the hallway with brisk steps — already preparing a barrage of questions for when she reached him.
Arriving where he was at, secluded and hidden from any kind of surveillance, he greeted her.
"Good day, Sotheby. How have you been?"
She didn't reply and instead inspected his appearance for a moment, wondering what had happened for him to look like he just rolled on the ground. "I've been doing fantastic, Mr. Isaac. But... what happened to you? Why do you look like that?"
Faced with her question, a half-smile formed on his face. "Well... let's just say that I went here and there... But don't worry about me. On the contrary, that's what I'm here for! Has there been any kind of anomaly with your school life?"
"Like, say, any kind of people wanting you to support them in some kind of agenda?"
Sotheby thought for a moment, recalling the past two weeks when she had been enrolled in SPDM and privately tutored by the gentle Ms. Moissan, before shaking her head and answering his question.
"No, there hasn't been anything like that. But I have seen some critters present within the school grounds which I gave some of my experimental potions!"
"...care I ask what happened to them?" His smile twitched.
"They all sprouted roots and turned to plant life!" Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Which is a sign that my new potion formed from a Grasshound's Snot, a Dragonleaf, and other plant-based materials have yielded great results!"
He stiffly nodded. "I-I see... Aha, you're still quite passionate about your hobbies. That's good. Erm, just make sure to never use those with other people, alright?"
"Yes, yes, I understand, Mr. Isaac." She nodded as she crossed her arms, her innocent smile beaming.
Isaac chuckled softly, resting his back against the stone wall beside the hedges. "Glad to hear you're still the same brilliant menace I remember."
She narrowed her eyes slightly in playful suspicion. "Are you implying I'm dangerous?"
"Oh no, not at all. Just… scientifically unpredictable." He replied, raising both hands innocently. "There's a difference."
She giggled at that, then relaxed her posture. "It's really been peaceful, Mr. Isaac. Ms. Moissan is a wonderful teacher, and the students here are courteous — although they do seem rather terrified of me."
"Gee, I wonder why." He muttered under his breath.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing." He said quickly, waving it off. "Just glad you're safe. You know, with all that's been going on in the Foundation, it helps to know you're somewhere protected."
Sotheby tilted her head. "Has something happened recently? You look like you haven't slept in a while."
"I haven't." He admitted without shame. "There's been some… complications. But nothing I'd want you worrying about."
She pouted. "If there's danger, shouldn't I—"
"No." He said firmly, his smile briefly disappearing. "You're doing the most important thing right now — learning, growing, and staying far from the mess outside. That's all I need from you."
Her eyes softened. "...You really are a strange kind of guardian, Mr. Isaac."
Guardian — at some point, that word became an alias for him from everyone in the suitcase. It was because, whenever he had the chance, he would always want to prioritize others' wellbeing in any situation.
"Gotta do my best for Vertin, after all." He said with a grin. "Now go on — get back to class or your experiments or whatever it is you do that involves magical snot."
She laughed and offered him a graceful curtsy. "Then I shall take my leave, Mr. Misty."
Isaac gave a mock salute. "Stay safe, Lady Potioneer."
With a cheerful wave, Sotheby turned and walked away, her emerald-green dress swaying lightly as she vanished behind the pristine archways of SPDM.
As her footsteps faded, Isaac's smile dropped. He took a long, quiet breath, eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops and windows.
"Now then…"
He turned on his heel and slipped back into the shadows of the school's architecture — his posture low, movement fluid, and presence like a breeze.
"I think I'll linger a little longer."
---
The school grounds were quiet during the late noon hours, when most students were in class or resting indoors. As he slipped through corridors and back halls like a ghost, Isaac's instincts remained on edge.
'Too clean. Too quiet. Either this place is extremely well-managed… or it's hiding something.'
He knew the Foundation had a thing for solemnity, but this was a children's school! Children should be laughing and running around in the corridors from time to time!
...without getting caught, of course.
Turning a corner, he stopped. A flicker of movement caught his eye near one of the empty side wings of the school — a hallway seldom used, even by faculty it seems.
'Hm?' He approached slowly, each footstep muffled by the carpeting. Then he heard it — a faint thud followed by what sounded like faint grumbling.
The smell hit next — a sharp, fermented, and unmistakably alcoholic.
'Alcohol? That can't be right.' He frowned as he peeked at the source of the commotion.
Then he saw her — slouched against the wall, cheeks slightly flushed, blonde hair unkempt, and a half-empty canteen loosely dangling in her hand.
Isaac's eyes widened.
"...You've gotta be kidding me."
Recognition dawned like a slap across the face.
He stepped back, voice low, and utterly serious.
"…Why are you here?"
Of all the people he could have possibly encountered, it had to be someone he didn't need to meet right now.
The woman didn't answer — only let out a quiet hiccup, her eyes lolling open halfway as she mumbled words in Russian.
It was Lilya.