Under Siege

The grand arches of Aether Academy loomed overhead in all their towering, white-stone grandeur. It was a sight to behold. Intricate carvings depicted ancient spells was a stark contrast against the pale morning sky.

March came in like a lion, as the saying goes. It marked the dawn of a new semester.

The main courtyard was abuzz with the sound of laughters echoing off marble pillars. Students from all walks of life mingled together. For at Aether Academy, lineage was never a barrier. The inscription over at the Great Arch a constant reminder to all who passed beneath it:

‘Within these marble spires, lineage is stripped away.

You are not a Lord or a Beggar.

You are merely a flame, waiting to be measured

and shine brightly against the stars.’

Be it commoners or royalty, students are all clad in identical robes, sleep in the same dormitories and compete in trials of magical mastery. Yet, silver-trimmed carriages dropped off heirs of prestigious noble houses, their pockets heavy with refined mana-crystals and immaculate, pristine robes.

Amidst the sea of highborn privilege and raw potential, Syrus stood at the edge of the crowd. His fingers tightening around the strap of worn canvas satchel.

It had only been a few months since he first arrived at this monolithic institution. Barely a single semester into his hard-won scholarship. He didn’t come from a line of High Arcana mages nor did he possess the glowing, unblemished focus of a high resonance star child.

He may walk amongst the ‘Talented’ in this academy, but he’s not the chosen one. He’s the ‘Dormant’ kid who had to put twice the effort to get to where he is now.

With an old spellbook he inherited from his father, he is determined to prove that he belongs here.

His fingers, rough from hard work, tightened into fists. A reminder of the grueling weight of the long hours he put in. He looks up toward the towering spire of the Zenith Observatory, a quiet fire ignited within despite the cold bite of the March wind.

Syrus thought back to his orientation the semester prior. Once again, he traversed through the courtyard into the bustling hallway filled with students eager to return to Aetheria’s prestigious academy. He pulled out his schedule from his satchel and looked it over, checking the classes for the semester. As he mentally took note of his courses, his rust coloured eyes landed on a familiar face - an older student he knew.

Quinn Alistair stood out from the main flow of students. Mainly because he was lugging around an impressive stack of heavy-looking tomes. His brown hair, which was usually perfectly in place, was now a little messy. As if he had been constantly running his hands through it. His gentle emerald eyes seemed to be bearing the weight of the world, the dark circles under them spoke of countless late nights spent bent over ancient manuscripts.

Syrus couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion etched on his face. He winced in sympathy, thinking about the long hours he must have spent in his study. It was as if his own curiosity, his own desire to uncover the secrets hidden within those ancient texts, was slowly but surely taking its toll on him.

“Hey, Q.”

Quinn was taken aback, almost dropping the heavy pile of books he was carrying as he approaches. Syrus reacted quickly and caught the top books just in time, saving them from falling.

Quinn's eyes focused on Syrus’ face and he felt a bit flustered. He manages a stuttered nervous ‘Hi’, still trying to process the surprise of running into Syrus.

“Did you even sleep at all last night, or did you just pass out on a desk again?” Syrus added with a knowing smirk.

He had meant to catch some sleep but his voice was rough from not talking to anyone for hours. “I intended to sleep,” he mumbled, his voice scratchy from disuse. “Then I stumbled on a cross-reference regarding localized mana fluctuations in third-century transmutations, and… well. The sun came up.”

Syrus raised an eyebrow, not at all surprised. “So, desk. Got it.”

“It was a very comfortable desk,” Quinn protested weakly. He pauses, then adds, almost an afterthought. Reaching for the volume resting right at the top of his stack, he carefully lifted it off and extended it toward Syrus. “I, uh, saved this one for you. I-I thought you might like it.”

Syrus took it. A warm, appreciative smile spreading across his face. A touch of genuine relief colour his voice.

“You remembered? Thanks, Q. I’ve been looking for this everywhere!”

A light shade of pink spreads across Quinn’s face, a sheepish smile flashing across his face as Syrus flipped through the pages. Seeing his genuine interest brought a pleased, quiet contentment into emerald eyes. Quinn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to get comfortable with the remaining stack in his arms. The tomes only seem to grow more burdensome with every passing second they stood there.

“Sorry,” Syrus murmured apologetically, realizing how deeply he had lost himself in the book. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

He tucked it in his satchel with care, sliding it alongside his own spellbook. It was a heavily worn volume of aged, cracked leather. It was held together by mismatched patches of cloth that looked like they were about to fall apart. After closing his satchel, his gaze drifted up to the imposing stack that practically obscured Quinn’s face.

“Care to tell me what’s so important that you’re carrying a small library?”

From behind the teetering column of paper and leather, Syrus heard a soft, muffled laugh.

“Oh, these? Just… some supplementary texts for my Advanced Rune Scripting. Master Vayne mentioned that if we misinterpret even a single of syntax in the Old Script, our focus conduits won’t be able to handle the raw surge. It’d cause a feedback loop and shatter the conduit’s focus gems. High-Resonance Ether is far too volatile to leave room for error and… well, I thought I’d get a head start to ensure the math holds up before we begin live testing.”

The tower swayed precariously as Quinn turn to take small, cautious steps. Taking care not to send his mountain of research crashing to the floor. Syrus trailed closely behind. He adjusts his pace to match the encumbered scholar, casting occasional glances at him from time to time. Syrus' eyes darted between the towering stack and Quinn, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity, as he wondered what secrets the scholar's research held.

“Old Script dialects?” Syrus muses. His interest piqued as his eyes trailed over the ancient spine titles protruding from the stack. “I didn’t know the Void-Scriber even taught classes.”

Master Corvus Vayne. His official title, The Void-Scriber. He is one of the seven S-rank mages, the Stargazers of Altair.

Syrus heard about the man shrouded in mystery. Most were whispers from people. That he’s the kind of man who does not walk into a room, he materializes out of the shadows when you least expect it. Half of the time one would never know he’s standing behind you until you feel that sharp, prickling sensation at the base of your neck.

No one actually sees him leave the Great Library. Rumor has it he sleeps in the forbidden archives, tucked among the black-bound tomes that would drive anyone else mad.

“It’s fascinating really,” Quinn continued, his voice echoing slightly from behind the stack. “It might seem a bit much to someone who isn’t as dedicated to dusty old texts as I am, but I find it all endlessly thrilling.” He laughs softly, an endearing sound. “There’s so much hidden in these texts, waiting to be rediscovered. Deciphered, even.”

“I take it you’re heading for the Great Library, then?” Syrus asked. “I’m trying to find the Ancient Runes lecture hall.”

“Ah. Your class is in the same direction as mine.” Quinn’s reply was slightly strained under the weight. “A happy... coincidence, I suppose. I could walk you there, if you like.”

Syrus subtly reached out and plucked several books at the top of the teetering tower before it fell over. It was a seamless motion, executed with an effortless grace that went unnoticed by Quinn who was still catching his breath. He hold the books in his arms, a silent offer to lighten the other’s burden. A quiet, thoughtful gesture, he figured. Nothing that warranted a second thought.

The sudden shift of weight brought immediate physical relief to the upperclassman. A genuine, uninhibited laugh escapes him as his aching forearms practically sang with gratitude. As he glances up and met Syrus’ gaze, a prickle of embarrassment crept up his neck as self realization washes over him.

Without the wall of tomes sequestering him, he was painfully aware of his unkempt appearance. The rumpled collar, the stray lock of hair falling over his brow and the betraying heat in his cheeks from carrying such heavy load. He might be prone to dissociative behaviour at times but he always took meticulous care in how he presented himself.

Syrus watches on as the other let out a crestfallen sigh. “We can keep going if you want,” he placated. “I can take these all the way to the library for you.”

They stopped in front of the arched doorway to the Ancient Runes lecture hall. The faint hum of students echo from the stone walls inside. His gaze turned to Syrus. A soft, appreciative smile tugged at Quinn’s lips as he shook his head.

“I couldn’t possibly let you do that,” Quinn insisted, reaching out. “You’ve already saved my arms from falling off. Besides, I planned on making the trip alone anyway. I have a few notes to organize before the first block starts.”

Syrus hesitated for a fraction of a second. “If you’re sure.” He held the bottom of his stack firm, forcing Quinn to lean in slightly.

“I am.” Quinn gave a reassuring smile as he loop his arms beneath Syrus’s hands to get a proper hold.

Syrus remained braced beneath Quinn’s wrists long enough to steady the load, and Quinn, before slowly pulling away.

“Thank you, Syrus. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” Syrus replied, a lazy smile replacing his usual smirk. That faint rosy colour dusting pale skin did not went unnoticed. “Just try not to pick up another library on your way there.”

Quinn let out a light, breathy chuckle. His breath catching slightly in his throat. The lingering flush on his cheeks burned a fraction hotter. “N-no promises. The stacks have a way of calling to me…”

“Yeah? Well, tell them to wait their turn.”

With a playful smirk, Syrus finally stepped back and gave a little wave. He turned and slipped into the bustling hall, the heavy oak door swung quietly shut behind him.