The Hermit, The Tower, The World (Vol.2 Complete)

23rd of Inandyl - 4th Kaldros

The day that followed Calas' nightmares was more taxing than it should have been. The morning training session was a mess, or rather, Calas was a mess. The weight of all the terrors he had been shown stuck with him all morning long.

Calas was distracted, clumsy, and exhausted. On more than one occasion, the mark of Orendell started heating on his chest while sparring and Calas knew that he had to stop the fight until the feeling dissipated, lest he shift on another unsuspecting scribe.

He knew the warmth meant an activation of sorts, a subconscious invocation based on instinct and emotion rather than focused intent. Long hours of practicing mana manipulation with his tattoos had taught him the difference, as he knew the mana within his body still churned without his conscious thought.

It was normal to him now that when he wasn't keeping them still, the images in ink on his body roamed freely. Most of the time, the images moved as expected based on the animal that was inked. This wasn't always the case though, blots of ink sometimes separated from the main image to form simple or complex symbols. It made Calas almost hyper-aware of keeping them still while they were in plain view.

The panther tended to stalk around the left side of his chest and neck, occasionally peeking out from his shoulder or down his arm as if it could truly sense the things around him. Most of the time, though, it curled itself on his pectoral over his heart as if asleep, tail winding protectively around the stationary mark of Orendell on his ribs.

While the panther preferred the left side, the wolf preferred the right. Whether this was just Calas' own subconscious making the distinction or if it was somehow the mana within the ink itself that made this boundary, he still didn't know.

The bear preferred his lower back and stomach, which was an interesting feeling to adjust to, as originally, nothing had ever been inked on his stomach. Audres, the eldest of his younger siblings, used to make fun of Calas when he would flinch or laugh for apparently no reason. In reality, it had been the bear ambling over all the ticklish spots on his middle. Calas didn't mind making his siblings laugh. In truth, it gave him a secret joy to know that not every part of their lives were filled with fear or pain.

The snake slithered everywhere. All the time. It wrapped and coiled around his torso and limbs, just under the surface, with an uncomfortable tingle against his skin. At first, the sensation annoyed Calas, like an itch he couldn't scratch. It was the one most likely to catch Calas off guard if he wasn't paying attention to where it ambled.

By contrast, the Duskwood dragon, the large sinuous beast that took up most of his back, never moved. It was his first tattoo and was more of a commemoration to when he became the scion of the Syndicate. Calas always figured all the images moved more freely based on affinity or mastery and that the reason it was so stationary was due to his own lack of skill. It had been there even before the strange mark of Orendell appeared, but even the mark of Orendell was more active than the dormant dragon.

He almost hadn't noticed when the mark warmed on his ribs except for the growl that escaped his throat. It happened when he squared off with Gaelin, a third-year elf who was probably the best swordsman among the junkies, and Calas had to cut the bout short. Calas told Daz to take his place with Gael and spent the rest of the session spotting other sparring pairs.

The midday bell sounded as he closed up the training hall and Calas headed to the Great Hall for lunch. Unfortunately, he also had to review the rosters for next term and that meant the rest of his day would be spent at Blackclaw's desk. He figured it would take most of the afternoon to get a real handle on it, and then tomorrow he would get the initial information to Blackclaw for review.

He was about to head upstairs with his lunch when he noticed Vesa and Fara eating together. They chatted and giggled while playing with their food more than eating it, and he could not pass up this opportunity.

Casually, he slipped out of view to activate the mana within the panther, and he felt the cloaking illusion ripple across his skin. Predatory instincts flared to life as the wolf's keen perceptions became more vivid. After a heartbeat, he stalked back into the Hall, using the snake's agility to creep toward his prey.

Mana churned within him, but the magic was practiced, almost second nature to him by now. The hardest part was always keeping his emotions in check and his intent well hidden. His first instructor, Temulun, an assassin under the Syndicate's employ, made sure that Calas was well practiced at this.

It wasn't long before he was just out of reach of the Drakonys pair, who still giggled and carried on. Before he unmasked himself, something Vesa said caught him off guard and gave him pause.

"You think it worked, then? With Serea?"

"Oh, I know it did! Did you see them talking? She was clearly enjoying herself." Calas struggled to remain still at Fara's comment. It was a bit of rage that he had to tap down when he discovered that their machinations most definitely involved the mouse.

"You think she will figure it out now?"

"Maybe. There's still one more thing we can try." Fara's devious tone set Calas off. It sounded like their little game wasn't quite over yet.

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In one swift motion, Calas jumped out between them, the mana from his tattoos dissipating and he became fully visible.

"RAH!" He yelled.

Vesa screamed in shock while Fara hissed in surprise, her ears folded back on her head. Calas only laughed, satisfied with the outcome.

"Asshole!" Vesa screeched as she swatted at him. He dodged it easily.

"You mangy desert dog," Fara stared daggers at him, but Calas cut her off.

"Serves you both right." His tone was chaste and edged on dangerous as his gold eyes narrowed at her.

"Aww. A little salty, are we?" Fara purred menacingly at Calas as she quickly recovered. "Well, don't think so highly of yourself. Yesterday wasn't for you."

Calas rolled his eyes at her, too frustrated to keep the reaction to himself. That bit was plain to him, as it was pretty clear that he was the odd man out at that party. Why, then, had Vesa invited him at all and what did any of it have to do with Serea?

Calas looked from Fara to Vesa as he tried to figure it out. He caught a glimpse of the small gold links on Vesa's black horns and recognized them as the gift he had gotten her. For some reason, that small gesture diffused him and he got a grip on his emotions.

"No, of course not. It was for Vesa." He forced a smile in her direction and pointed at the jewelry. "They look nice."

"Thank you," she huffed unenthusiastically, but it was clear by the way she touched her horns that the words were genuine. "I would have thanked you at the party, but you left!"

"I figured you'd had your fun with me," Calas shrugged and wondered why she sounded so upset that he had ducked out without a fuss.

"I just hope you both apologized to the mouse." His rage on this topic had smoldered down into seething embers at this point and he pinned them both with a scathing look. Calas didn't care about the games Fara played with him and the rest of the staffers, but, to him, Serea was off limits.

"Yeah, yeah. We will make it up to you and Serea both. Just you wait." Fara waved him off, nonplussed, as if what he said was of no consequence.

"You will, huh?" he asked slowly and Calas frowned as his brow furrowed in concern.

"We will?" Vesa asked and shifted her confused expression to her counterpart.

"Oh, yes, we will." Fara burbled out a catty chuckle that devolved into something more devious.

Calas offered her a nervous grin before taking his leave as he said, "I'll be waiting then, ladies." With an incline of his head like a bow, he retrieved his lunch and headed up to the rosters awaiting him.

****

It was a slow, tedious process, but by dusk, he felt that he had the class sizes and course objectives more or less completed. He yawned and leaned his back against the wall for support as his exhaustion set in more keenly than before. He stretched, trying to wake up his muscles and shake off the drowsiness he felt in his eyes.

It wasn't unexpected to find that the name "Seretra Crowfoot" wasn't listed on any of the rosters, but Calas was disappointed all the same. He couldn't tell if what he felt was because she felt she didn't have talent in the subject or that he would no longer have an easy excuse to see her on a regular basis. Either way, he reviewed the courses again with a different question in mind.

Based on her feedback from yesterday, the course objectives, and his own assessment of her skills, which of these would be best suited for her to develop the confidence in the "physical stuff", as she put it?

He had just about narrowed it down when he realized that this whole exercise was pointless. Calas massaged the frustration in his brow in an attempt to smooth it away. He really was letting his mind run away with these fanciful ideas, and he knew that it was time to stop.

He collected all the course papers and placed them neatly on Blackclaw's desk for the professor to review in the morning. On top was the last one he had reviewed, the one that made the most sense for the mouse. He paused, setting his hand on it and tapped a finger lightly as his sluggish thoughts warred within him.

He would never have a chance to convince her. Every time they had met outside of classes last term, and even sometimes in class, things always found a way to go sideways. It had been like this since they met when he misjudged her. He had regretted that, especially when she started screaming in the Void of Reflection.

Most scribes just ran out of the room in terror, unable to face their own flaws and inadequacies. How was he to know she would have a similar reaction to the place as himself? Unable to go in, he went to Blackclaw, who found her unconscious.

He had given Calas quite the tongue-lashing for that. In addition, as a real punishment, he moved her to a different class roster making it an odd number on purpose so Calas had to watch over her. And Blackclaw wondered why Calas always thought he was being punished.

She did not much appreciate Calas' instruction or advice for most of the term, but he would like to think that things between them had improved over time. He should have known that something was different about her from her reaction in the Void, but it was really confirmed for him in the Hall of Equity, when the mouse used the lectern to judge his and Cira's debate.

The lectern reacted oddly to her, and she to it, like something was in the way. He started seeing her differently then, feeling that, like him, she dealt with an entirely different realm with its own unique problems. Judging from the way she handled the Void, he figured that she got through it mostly on grit alone. Since that point, Calas tried to help her instead of merely watch over.

She had appreciated that even less, although he didn't realize it until she called him a bully. Calas winced as that memory struck him again. It was the same reaction he had then, too. He knew that being friendly wasn't exactly his strong suit, but he had seen bullies, real bullies, in action and even been forced to play a part in what they called fun.

To Calas, it felt like he was being compared to his ruthless uncles and the thought turned his stomach. There was no way he was going to try to explain that to her, though. That world, his world, was much too violent for that sweet, innocent mouse.

That was a turning point, though it was only a few weeks ago. It came at the right time, too, as they talked through the mock exam. It seemed to Calas that despite being very distracted, she was actually taking his advice.

It felt kind of nice that she actually took that advice, for once. And now, they even had a full conversation thanks to some strange game Fara was playing. Fara's promise meant it wasn't over either. "We'll make it up to you", she had said. Who says that with a straight face? It's basically a confession! Thinking about it made him feel even more lethargic and a dull ache started in his temples.

Gathering his things, he left the Lounge and mulled it over on his way back to the Sanctum. After all they had been through, one conversation was not enough, by his estimation, and putting her name down without her consent was wrong.

Thankfully, debate and logic traps were two areas in which he excelled and he would use both of them as he built his argument.