Lorien looked up at Thalion and let out a small sigh.
Why couldn't you be different?
It was always the same. Teachers loved calling on the quiet ones, especially the ones who looked distracted. They saw it as a challenge—or worse, a performance. What made it even worse was that he didn't have any powers, so he was basically like a weakling threatening their strength.
He didn't see it that way, though. Most of the time, he was just an uninterested student who didn't care about learning what he already knew. But, of course, the teachers wouldn't see it like that.
Fuck professors and their stupid pride.
Lorien would've answered immediately if he hadn't been subjected to the onslaught of students fawning over the stunt Thalion had just pulled.
"Whoa! Did you see that?!"
"He disappeared!"
"What in the name of the gods? He was just there a second ago!"
"Is it just me, or did he get hotter?"
"He definitely got hotter!"
Lorien cringed at the words tumbling out of everyone's mouths.
What's so impressive about what he did? His parent god is the god of time and space—what did they think he could do? Tell the time without a clock?
"Chronarion spent four hundred and twenty-two hours studying the three known dimensions before discovering the fourth," Lorien said, his voice slicing through the chorus of admiration like a blade. He spoke only after it became clear Thalion had no interest in quieting them.
Thalion raised a brow, clearly surprised.
"Well, color me impressed," he said smoothly. "Correct. Though next time, try not to daydream during a lecture. You might miss something even you don't know."
Lorien didn't respond.
Thalion turned on his heel and shimmered back to the front of the classroom. The rest of the class fell into uneasy silence, unsure whether to admire Lorien or avoid him even more.
Nymera, for her part, gave him a sidelong glance. A small, amused smile tugged at her lips.
Interesting, she thought. Maybe he's not entirely boring after all.
The class continued, and Lorien returned to gazing out the window, letting Thalion's voice dissolve into background noise. Outside, the sky stretched in a pale, endless blue. Somewhere in the distance, clouds drifted like lazy thoughts. For now, at least, that was a better story than anything being told inside. A story about some loser who sat and studied dimensions for four hundred and twenty-two hours.
"Alright, that will be all for today, class." After thirty more minutes of rambling about Chronarion, Thalion's lecture finally ended. The students—especially the ones crushing on him—were happy to hear the bell. Though the teacher was undeniably handsome, the subject he taught was dreadfully boring. If not for his striking appearance, half the class would've fallen asleep long ago.
Nobody was happier than Lorien, though. Thalion had made sure to target him after he answered that first question. He got the subsequent ones right, which made something happen that Lorien hadn't even considered a possibility: Thalion actually liked him.
The thought made him internally recoil.
Their next class was Advanced Combat for Beginners. It was exactly as the name implied—a class that taught basic combat skills to students, regardless of power level. Superpowers weren't allowed, making it one of the few places where Lorien had the upper hand.
And it was Lorien's favorite subject.
He had never possessed any divine powers from birth, so instead, he had thrown himself into rigorous training. Years of hand-to-hand combat, countless hours sparring, weapon familiarity drills, and eventually, a firm preference for the sword. He'd refined himself to perfection in an area where others barely tried.
Most of the other students weren't used to fighting without their powers, so beating them up was as easy as taking candy from a baby.
It was also the only class where he actually liked the professor—and the professor liked him.
"Lorien, my boy!" Socrates, the professor in charge of Advanced Combat, beamed as Lorien stepped into the training hall. The broad-shouldered, battle-worn instructor didn't even bother hiding the blatant favoritism. He crossed the room in a few long strides and wrapped Lorien in a hearty hug. "How have you been?"
"Same as always, professor," Lorien replied with a rare smile.
"How many times have I told you to call me Socrates, my boy? There's no need for useless formalities," Socrates said, grinning as he clasped Lorien on the back. Lorien laughed and went to join the rest of the class.
The room where the class was being held was a very spacious hall, enough to have fifty students spar against each other in twenty five pairs without getting in the way of anyone.
"Uhm, Mr. Socrate—"
"It's professor to you!" Socrates' cheerful demeanor vanished in an instant as he whirled on the boy who had spoken. The poor student turned pale immediately. Socrates was one of the most, if not the most, feared instructors at the academy. Nobody liked provoking him.
Unfortunately, his silence only seemed to provoke Socrates more.
"Well? Out with it, you fucking twat!" he barked, his voice echoing off the high walls.
"I just wanted to ask how we were going to arrange ourselves now that we have a new student with us…" the boy mumbled, shrinking under Socrates' glare.
Normally, Socrates paired students up for training exercises. Lorien had previously requested to always be paired with Mylo—a friend and decent sparring partner—and Socrates had granted that wish without question.
"New what?" Socrates turned and scanned the room. His gaze landed on Nymera, who stood calmly in a corner with her arms crossed. His lips curled into a wolfish grin.
"Right, the new girl," he muttered. "Alright. Someone will team up with Mylo to face off against Lorien. Nymera will partner with that person's original partner."
He turned back to the class.
"Now then," Socrates said, stretching his arms. "Who wants to partner up with Mylo?"
Silence.
Nobody dared to raise their hands. Not only was Lorien the best fighter in the class by a landslide, but he was also notoriously petty. Anytime someone tried to take Mylo's spot, he beat them so thoroughly they couldn't walk straight for days—and then told them why they deserved it.
"No volunteers?" Socrates clicked his tongue. "Mini, mini, mani, mo… ooh."
He stopped, dramatically pointing at the same boy who had dared to speak earlier.
"You!"
"Luxarion's cock," the boy muttered, as though invoking the name of a god might save him.