“I like to relive my school days from time to time. They remind me that while the mind is strong, the digestive tract is weak.”

  - Malko, the Nostalgic, on Academy “Meals”

  “These are our dorms?” asked a voice filled with wonder. The new students had been ushered through halls and down twisting corridors surely designed to confuse those traversing them— how many courtyards had they passed? Three, four? Mrs. Balligan had deposited them all outside of two opposing grand doors. Girls were on the left, and boys the right. The groups had split up to find their rooms through their doors– apparently each student got their own– and Percy'd managed to find Kollum amongst the students milling about the large central courtyard.

  The dorms were arrayed in a large ‘U’ shape around what, in a normal boarding school, might've been a lounge room. Instead, the connecting center was a garden lit by sunbeams leaking through the glass ceiling above.

  “Where the heck were you?” he asked the stockier boy while they made their way to their dorm entrance.

  “Oh, when I sleep, I'm a stone. No hope of waking me up, there,” he chuckled, plucking an apple from a low branch. “I heard I missed something, though. Was it big? I couldn't get much information from anyone in all the chaos.”

  Mako’s voice came from behind, “Wait, you slept through that whole thing?!” His disbelief was clear. “Even the… shadow transport… thing?”

  “Oh, well, I woke up for that part,” Kollum replied, polishing his apple. “It felt pretty weird.”

  “Nowhere near as weird as seeing Alyster Oble duel Blask outside the cabin!” Mako exclaimed.

  Kollum's mouth dropped open. The trio stopped walking as he stared at the other boys in disbelief. Then he started laughing. “You're kidding!” His laughter died as he met the measured gazes of Percy and Mako. “You're serious?”

  The two nodded. The apple hit the floor.

  “What!” Kollum exclaimed. “I missed the Dark Summoner?!”

  “You did,” Percy confirmed. “He was terrifying.”

  “What was he like?? Did he summon anything cool?? Wait… who won?!”

  Percy shook his head. “We don't know. But… it didn't look good.”

  “No way…”

  Mako threw his arms around the two of them, grinning widely. “Cheer up, guys! He wouldn't be the Headmaster if he was a pushover!” He leaned down, quieter. “And for what it's worth, the Dark Summoner seemed pretty peeved by his presence. I think they've met before.”

  The boys continued discussing the fight as they moved to examine their new rooms. Each room was depressingly similar, a square stone chamber just big enough for a bed, chest, and desk by a window with a view.

  Outside, mountains rose into the distance, blue hued and snow-capped. They framed a shining body of water that Percy would assume rivaled the Great Lakes from Earth.

  I wonder if there's a lake monster here…

  Silvaroth piped up, Of course there are creatures in the water, you fool.

  Alright, alright, relax…

  Mako and Kollum were being loud, and Percy could feel exhaustion taking over, so he shooed them out. “Rough few days, guys, I'm going back to sleep.”

  “But it's still sunny–”

  Percy shut the door and placed his deck box and gauntlet gently on the desk, before throwing his cloak over the chair and leaping into bed. As he shut his eyes, he realized he missed the quiet of his old bedroom.

  “But would I trade all this to get it back?” he murmured.

  You might consider… Silvaroth's voice faded out as sleep came fast.

  Percy awoke to find himself being hurled through the air. His eyes focused on a desk looming fast before him.

  “Ahh!”

  Just as he was about to crash headfirst into the polished wooden surface, he froze in midair. Suddenly rotated about, he dropped unceremoniously into a plush chair.

  Blowing out a shaky breath, Percy blinked the shock from his eyes. Four items deposited themselves on the desk before him: his deckbox, gauntlet, bestiary, and a thin, leatherbound notebook which snapped open to a page filled with runic symbols.

  The boy looked up to see a thin man in a faded amber robe standing before him. A rope belt cinched his waist, and from it hung a simple brown deckbox, leather faded at the joints. His expression hovered somewhere between thoughtful and mildly inconvenienced.

  “Ah, Mr. Allblythe,” he said with a sigh, “thank you for joining us, despite your… theatrics. I trust you’ll be on time in the future? Else I might start charging you a transportation fee.”

  At least you landed upright, fool, Silvaroth growled.

  Laughter rippled through the classroom.

  Percy looked around a sea of unfamiliar faces—most of them amused. His cheeks flushed. Near the back, he caught Reina’s steady gaze. Her eyes met his with a glint of sympathy, but he was just glad to recognize someone. He offered a weak smile. She nodded, smirking slightly.

  “Now that we are fully assembled,” the professor began, “allow me to introduce myself, for the benefit of those who do not respect timetables. You may call me Master Tast, and I shall be your instructor for Magical History.”

  Master Tast lifted a tome from the desk. “Let us begin this class with a subject of topical relevance to recent events. Alyster Oble. The Dark Summoner. He has plagued this world for over a century. We do not know his origins, but his atrocities are well-documented within the bloodlines of his victims.

  “In recent years, his aggression was deterred by monoliths such as Grand Summoner Myrek, Queen-Consort Rowana, Queen Hylda—ascended be her name—and Headmaster Faderius Blask, himself. These Summoners shared amongst themselves feats such as turning back the hordes of the Erased, the death of Malko, the Tyrant, and the capture of one of the Great Summons: Malius, the Death Wyrm.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Reina raised a hand, and the professor raised an eyebrow before gesturing for her to speak.

  “Do we need to cover these events, Master Tast? I’m certain the students of this class have heard it all before.”

  The professor smiled mockingly. “Your prior personal education does not accurately represent the level of knowledge possessed by your classmates, Miss Vale.” He spat her name derisively, before turning his eyes to Percy. The boy thought he might’ve seen some sympathy in them. “There are those of us who have been raised in isolation… without a proper education…”

  Percy felt eyes bore into the back of his head. And then the room was abuzz.

  “Him?!”

  “The dragon binder?!”

  “You’re kidding me!”

  Master Tast sneered. “Silence! I will not tolerate an ounce of disorder in this assembly. True, Mr. Allblythe cannot be expected to know much yet, but I know many of the faces in this room. You, too, are lacking.”

  Red-faced students quelled their chattering, but Percy could still catch whispers when the professor wasn’t looking.

  “Though I suppose,” he continued, “that perhaps we should address some fundamentals of Valdarthan’s Academy. As your primary instructory, that duty should naturally fall on me.” He moved to the blackboard on the wall, and began sketching a diagram as he spoke. “You students have been assessed via the duels you completed at the Training Grounds, and you have been graded on the Summons you were able to bind thus far. However, your rankings are fragile—subject to change with performance, or behavior.” His sweeping gaze left students wilting. “Rank is not a privilege. It is earned, and it is watched.”

  The diagram behind him was a stylized obelisk, split in four increasingly thinner tiers. They were labeled: Primus, Adeptus, Dominus, Imperatus. Each was accompanied by a sigil. Percy recognized the Primus sigil as the one embroidered the shirts and cloaks of the students around him.

  “The position you are assigned today is not the one you are sure to hold tomorrow. Some of you may rise.” Master Tast paused. “Most will crumble.”

  Next, he drew a simple triangle on the board. “There are three cornerstones to a Summoner worth his salt. Power: the raw strength of his Summons. Control: the strategic use of them. And Adaptability, which should be self-explanatory. Few understand the value of Adaptability. You will. Or you will fail.”

  Percy jumped when he heard Mako’s voice beside him.

  “I dunno, Adaptability just sounds like a fancy word for winging it.” He was leaning back in his chair like he’d been there all along, arms crossed behind his head. Percy stared, wide-eyed.

  “How did you—”

  Mako didn’t look at him. “Shh,” he said, smiling faintly. “He’s drawing shapes. Very important shapes.” He tilted his head toward the board. “If this triangle nonsense helps anyone beat the Dark Summoner, I’ll eat my pants.”

  Master Tast frowned slightly, squinting as though weighing whether he’d missed a student sneak in. “Were it only that your insights were as sharp as your interruptions, Mr. Salan, we’d all be honored to learn from you. Alas.” His chalk tapped twice against the triangle, dismissive. “We will revisit this diagram in time—after you’ve failed enough to appreciate it.”

  He set the stick down and returned to the front of the room, lifting the heavy tome once again. “Now then. As I was saying—before acrobatics and comedy claimed our attention—we begin with Alyster Oble, the Dark Summoner.”

  The room quieted. Even Mako straightened up slightly.

  “He is not our first threat, but he is our most persistent. Over a century of incursions, duels, and disappearances. Some of the greatest Summoners of our age have held him at bay: Queen-Consort Rowana, Grand Summoner Myrek, Headmaster Blask… and of course, Malko the Tyrant.”

  He flipped the tome open to a gilded page, holding it for the class to see. A black-inked portrait stared out at them—Malko, hooded, gaunt, with eyes like twin voids.

  “How’d Malko die, anyway?” someone asked.

  Tast replied smoothly, pacing between the rows of desks. “It’s said he asphyxiated during consumption of his trousers, the fallout of a bet he followed through on…”

  He let the words hang, moving to stand directly beside Mako’s desk.

  “A story with a particularly apt lesson for some of us, eh, Mr. Salan?”

  Mako’s face turned red. A few students snickered. Percy couldn’t tell if the man was joking.

  After putting Mako in his place, Master Tast continued his lecture uninterrupted. While some of his classmates seemed to be struggling to stay awake, Percy was enthralled. Magical History… it could well become his favorite class.

  “That concludes today’s lecture. Tomorrow, I will assign a partner project, so choose your pairings wisely. Now would be a fine time to introduce yourself to your neighbors. I do not recommend partnering with a friend.”

  Just as Master Tast finished, the ringing of large bells could be heard announcing the end of the session. Like a wave, the students flooded from the room. Percy made the mistake of standing before the chamber was entirely empty, and was pulled along with them into the hall, the sound of a hundred voices rising around him. Somewhere behind, he swore he heard Master Tast chuckle.

  From doors to other classrooms, a similar evacuation was occurring. Percy saw some faces he recognized, and managed to spot Selena and Kollum working their way through the crowd toward him. He stepped away from the door, waiting for Mako and Reina.

  That’s when he heard it.

  “Cards go face-up, genius,” came Ethan’s unmistakable voice. “Unless you’re hoping to pull a dragon out of thin air like Allblythe. What are you, commonfolk?”

  There was laughter—Pearl’s, then Vince’s, low and sharp.

  Percy’s breath caught. He turned—and saw Ethan shoulder-checking a smaller student into the wall.

  “Hey!” he shouted, shouldering past the wall of students that had begun to close in.

  Ethan looked up, a grin spread across his face. “Well, look who it is! The Primus legend himself!”

  Pearl spit at his feet. “From up on your mountain, we must all look real small, huh?”

  “Woah! Careful!” Ethan laughed. He put his hands out dramatically, as if shielding the other two. “He’s sensitive about cliffs! I heard he throws people into volcanos for less!”

  Percy frowned. “What?” He pulled the bully’s newest victim to his feet. “Go.”

  Ethan laughed as he watched it happen.

  The kid stumbled into the crowd, and Percy felt his blood boiling. First this guy tried to kill him in the Testing Grounds, and then he makes it sound like the reverse was true?

  Silvaroth’s voice entered his mind, cautioning. I sense your fire, child, but—

  Ethan’s voice overrode the dragon’s. “Ohh, what are you gonna do, Percy? With everyone here watching? You gonna attack me again?”

  Students around the circle frowned, whispers building like pressure behind a dam, but no one stepped in. No one challenged Ethan.

  Percy’s fists clenched.

  He tried to kill me, Percy thought. And now he’s laughing about it. Acting like I was the monster.

  “You gonna hit me again?” Ethan taunted. “Go on. Everyone’s watching. Show ‘em what you’re really like!”

  Percy felt himself moving before he could stop himself.

  He lunged—shoulder first—and slammed Ethan back into the stone wall. The crowd gasped. Something clattered.

  “Woah!” Vince yelled. “He’s serious!”

  Ethan shoved back, eyes wild now. “You’re dead, Allblythe! You think you’re special because of a couple of Summons?”

  Percy raised his arms as Ethan tackled him back, and the two rolled across the floor. Shouts broke from the crowd—some excited, others alarmed—as the two boys whaled on each other. Blood spattered across the floor, but Percy couldn’t tell if it was from the cut above his eye or Ethan’s broken nose. It didn’t matter—he was the one on top raining blows. His fists ached, his vision blurred—but he didn’t stop.

  An icy cord snapped tight around his throat, dragging him across the floor. Percy coughed, his hands grasping at the restraint. He could see Ethan doing the same thing, but there was nothing there.

  “A Prefect?!” someone gasped.

  An older student stepped up between them, robes hanging in neat, angled folds of pale grey. A deep scar curved along one temple, and a string of etched tokens hung from one shoulder like ceremonial medals. A blazing gold badge in the shape of a blade pinned his belt. His gaze was calm, clinical.

  “That’s enough,” he said, voice like cold iron. The magical cords around Percy and Ethan slackened, vanishing.

  The crowd stilled.

  “Ethan Hargrove. Percy Allblythe.” The Prefect’s eyes passed over both of them, unreadable. “Two days from now. Disciplinary duel. South Arena. You will settle this formally. Under supervision.”

  Percy panted, blood dripping from his brow. Ethan wiped his nose and spat on the floor.

  “Failure to appear,” the Prefect added, “is a forfeit. Do so twice, and I’ll personally escort you off-campus.”

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  Aspect Online, Book 1: The Eldritch God, which is kind of where I disappeared to... sorry! (It's available on KU if you're interested!)