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Chapter Twenty-Six: A Pattern of Speech
Alone with Gyra, the head student turned to Kilvic.
“How long has this been happening?”
“Since a month after I arrived,” Kilvic answered simply.
“And you haven’t handled it because…” Gyra trailed, giving him the space to complete it.
“Because there are three of them and all better fighters than I am.”
Gyra shook his head. “There are many ways to fight as a mage,” he said. “And I do recall you hold claim to being a decent spell caster.”
“That wouldn’t have helped.”
“And why not?”
Kilvic let his posture slacken with the pain and answered. “Fan probably throws more punches in a day than any of my class mates, Anuvia has a possible affinity with two elements, and Chazriv can spell cast in four different languages.”
“And they’re picking on you?” Gyra asked, flummoxed. “I assume
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“You know it’s not the same, right?”Moss let out a soft chuckle. “And you are pointing this out because…?” he replied.A startled Stratin quirked an unsubtle brow. His hands were held out before him, the littlest flicker of air swirling between them. This, as had been a good number of times over the semester, was another one of their attempts at bound magecraft.“This isn’t true, as it should be,” Stratin pointed out. “This isn’t bound. It’s a mixture, not a compound.”Moss shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean, but to that I’d say let’s create mixtures till we can create a compound.”Stratin pouted but it seemed that was the end of his opposition to it.All the while Kilvic stood at a safe enough distance, watching his roommates attempt something less deadly than what they’d been doing for a good while. He wasn’t certain
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Stratin’s cry ebbed like a dying siren. It did not cut off abruptly as most do on the onset of unconsciousness. No. It drained gently, dissipating as the light in Kilvic’s hand. It would dim to nothing more than a sob, then there will be silence, then there will be nothing but simple breaths. Kilvic saw himself looking forward to it. At least, if anything, it would bring silence. And silence was always the best state to work with; it enhanced concentration. Surprisingly Moss was as quiet as the evening breeze. The boy almost seemed accepting of some kind of twisted fate, though Kilvic spared him no attention. His curiosity of Stratin’s ability to come back from this lurked at the back of his mind, like shadows at the edge of a dying light. It was something they would find out once the boy woke. Ariadne... Kilvic looked up at an unconscious Stratin seated back against the hostel’s wall… will not like this.Kilvic returned his at
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