I stood in silence, contemplating what I needed to do to survive—not that I'd get far. Hopefully I do. Hopefully. That's the plan, right? Assuming the plan wasn't "die horribly in the living room surrounded by eccentric strangers and a vampire with boundary issues."
I glanced at the thick velvet curtains covering the windows—our home for now, or at least our temporary hidey-hole. Outside, the city's crawling with Inquisition patrols like ants on a sugar trail. They've got every exit sealed tighter than a miser's coin purse. Even called for backup. That's never a great sign unless you're the one doing the calling.
No point panicking. I didn't have answers, and my brain was filing complaints instead of plans, so I did the mature thing: shrugged it off and decided to wing it tomorrow. After all, what could go wrong when you procrastinate during a manhunt?
"Alright, it's late," I said, straightening like a royal giving a speech he barely rehearsed. "We should rest. From now on, we coordinate. I know we're all basically strangers thrown into the same mess by forces beyond our pay grade, but in the past few hours, we've gone through enough magical chaos to make a seasoned mage consider retirement. Whatever's pushing things behind the scenes isn't exactly kind—or subtle. If we want answers, we move forward. Together. More or less."
Elegant. Regal. Almost made myself tear up.
Syllia stepped back slightly, smiling with that motherly, "Bless your heart, you try so hard" expression.
"I'll take care of what you need," she said, gently. "Honestly, now that we can mask the traces of our races, it only makes sense to start gathering information inside the city. Quietly. As for Arsen, I think it's best he stays here."
She gave him that look. The "you're too flammable to be subtle" look.
"Oh, Lady Syllia, how considerate of you," Arsen said, slipping into that smug, upper-crust tone he used when pretending not to be offended.
"The stereotype that vampires can't go out in the sun is highly offensive, if you don't mind," he added, rising like a drama student preparing for a one-man play, eyes narrowing as he stared at her like she'd insulted his ancestors.
"I was just worried about you, Arsen," Syllia replied sweetly, brushing his ego like one pets a skittish cat. "Can't have roasted vampire in the living room tomorrow morning. Bit hard to explain to guests."
She giggled softly. Arsen clamped his mouth shut, probably to keep from biting it in half.
"You take that back," he muttered, wounded pride practically steaming off him.
"It's not like I was trying to offend you or anything," Syllia said in the most obviously offending way possible. You know, the kind that screams "I absolutely meant every word and want you to react." And, of course, Arsen—bless his gullible, overdramatic soul—took the bait like a fish born to be grilled.
"You damn demon," he snapped, "I'll rip off your horns and tail myself."
Oh joy. Now they were bickering—no, quarreling, like overgrown aristocratic toddlers. And somehow, this was supposed to count as emotional development? Just a few hours ago, she was the picture of calm, demon-mother energy, and he was Mr. Elegant Vampire with a tragic backstory and perfect posture. Now? Now it was all petty insults and cartoon threats.
It would've been hilarious if I wasn't two seconds from passing out.
"Alright, enough," I groaned, stepping in like a reluctant babysitter. "Let's just sleep. We've got a few miserable hours left in this night, and maybe—just maybe—we could actually use our brains tomorrow instead of throwing verbal vegetables at each other."
I grabbed both of their shoulders like some tired teacher breaking up a schoolyard fight.
They both huffed—actual huffs, I kid you not—and shrugged me off like I'd insulted their pride or spilled their tea.
Still, they turned and went off without another word. Arsen flopped dramatically onto the couch like a brooding poet, and Syllia? She disappeared down the hallway into my bedroom—well, formerly mine. She'd claimed it earlier like some elegant land baroness.
That left me with the second couch. Again.
I collapsed onto it with the enthusiasm of a man surrendering to fate and stiff cushions. At least it didn't talk back.
A few hours later, I woke up with the grace of a man being dropkicked by reality. Why? Because I just remembered I was supposed to teach two spells today… to noble brats. Yep. That was my job now—some glorified magical tutor.
The problem? I only knew two spells.
Number one: a flicker of freaking fire. Not a blaze. Not a flame. Just a flicker. Like a moody candle with stage fright.
Number two: and not to brag, but I may or may not have invented a spell so dangerously unstable that casting it again could get me publicly executed. So yeah… not ideal for classroom use.
The difference between those two spells? Light years. Literal galaxies. A cosmic joke in spell form. And here I was, with ninety minutes left before this so-called tutoring session, expected to suddenly know two Tier 2 spells like it was no big deal.
Oh, did I mention I have zero magical education? Unless you count yesterday's caffeine-fueled panic-research on two elemental theories. Spoiler: I don't.
But if we're talking about me—me—then surely it'll all work out... right? Right?...Maybe.Probably not.
I got up, dragged myself into the shared bathroom of this supposedly Victorian-era complex (bless indoor plumbing), and stared into the cracked mirror like a man about to commit light academic fraud.
I tidied myself up, rinsed my face, and drank some suspiciously lukewarm water from the kitchen. Hygiene? Questionable. Necessity? Undeniable. It's not like I could conjure clean water out of thin air—not yet, anyway.
After narrowly surviving my noble encounter with the backbone of life—water—I made my way to the most dangerous place in this entire house: the office.
There, I began aggressively tearing through the shelves like a man on the verge of magical bankruptcy, praying to any entity listening that I'd find a spellbook labeled something like "Tier 2 Spells for Dumbasses Who Procrastinate."
Because if I didn't figure this out in time, I could kiss my life in this fantasy world goodbye—with tongue and tears.
After a solid few minutes of rifling through dusty tomes like a half-mad librarian, I finally struck gold. You know what they say—hard work pays off. (Unless it doesn't, in which case you just die tired.)
I yanked a book from the bottom shelf—clearly untouched for years—and yep, just like I mentioned before, Viktor had a weird little hobby of hoarding books like they were war trophies. Souvenirs from battles he probably didn't win.
The book was titled: Beginner Spells for Mages by Akari Tenzen. Yes, the Akari Tenzen—the same arcane angel who wrote the book that gave me my first spell. May blessings rain down on her. Metaphorically, of course.
This one followed the same format: a neat little guide with spells from each elemental category, plus four hybrid ones thrown in for good measure. From the note in the foreword, it was clear that this thing was intended for academy-bound teens, not underground spell-slingers or fugitive magic tutors like myself. But should I teach from it?
Hell yes.
Why?Because I just randomly stumbled across the exact kind of book I needed, and time was currently suplexing me into the floor. Also, let's be real—these noble brats are eventually going to learn these spells the moment they step foot in the Royal Institute. So what if they get a sneak peek now? I'm not exactly worried about the pedagogical ethics of it.
Besides, if God wills, I'll be out of this city before the month ends, so long-term consequences? That's future Viktor's ulcer.
Why Viktor even had this book? Beats me. But it's Viktor—the man who summoned a literal demon just to test a theory and who's currently flirting with magical eviction and library-related debt. I wouldn't put it past him to collect children's textbooks ironically.
So, I settled on two spells—one from Air Binding, and one from Dark Sculpting, a sub-branch of Sculpting Magic that focuses on concealment and manipulation using dark-elemental principles. Those just happened to be the two elemental schools I'd spent half the night studying while creating my totally-safe, possibly-illegal nuclear spell.
Not to brag.
The first spell?It was called Turbulence.
Not the kind you feel on an airship when the captain says, "Don't worry, we've got this." No. This is the kind you don't walk away from unless you're built like a brick wall or blessed with plot armor.
Turbulence is a Tier 2 Air + Binding spell.
In theory—which is a fancy word for "please don't quote me on this"—you generate a spiraling vortex of compressed air around your arm or focus point. Then you launch it. The result? Razor-thin projectiles of wind that don't just slice at flesh, but jab right into an enemy's Essentia flow—like acupuncture, if your acupuncturist hated you and wanted you immobile, dazed, or just magically scrambled.
It doesn't explode. It doesn't dazzle. It doesn't scream, "Look at me, I'm a magical prodigy." It's fast. It's sharp. It disrupts movement, concentration, or channeling—whatever pretty little thing your target thought made them special.
Oh, and yes, it technically counts as a Binding spell because it binds the enemy's motion by forcefully interfering with their Essentia nodes. Imagine jamming a wrench into someone's magical gearbox. Congratulations, now you're me.
Simple. Clean. Moderately legal. Hopefully not traceable.
Next is Dark Concealment.
Bless Akari Tenzen and her strangely specific school-level curriculum for future criminals.
Dark Concealment is exactly what it sounds like: you wrap yourself in shadows like you're trying to cosplay as a moving void. It doesn't make you invisible—don't get excited—but it makes you really annoying to spot. You blend in with the dark, your footsteps go whisper mode, and any noise you make gets dampened like you're wrapped in velvet guilt.
It's meant for stealth, scouting, or pretending you're a ninja when you absolutely aren't. Not useful in sunlight. Or loud taverns. Or during arguments with vampires and demons. But hey—put me in a dark hallway, and I'm basically a budget specter.
Would it fool advanced detection magic? Briefly. Maybe. Hopefully long enough for me to make a dramatic exit and pretend I planned it.
As you can guess, I spent the next 40 minutes trying to understand the spell, hoping I could get lucky and cast it without blowing my lungs out.
One thing I remembered: when I created my own spell last night, my Grimoire didn't react at all—but it did when I used Ignite. Which probably means that if everyone else uses Grimoires and I don't, I'm basically the outlier. Like a witch in medieval Europe. I couldn't afford to die early just because I was too arrogant to learn the rules.
Eventually, I managed to understand the structure, theory, and flow of the spell. Honestly, my luck was skyrocketing lately—but I knew that luck wouldn't carry me forever. I needed to actually learn magic now. No more winging it.
Amazing.Now let's see if I can cast this properly.This time, I'd bring out the Grimoire and see how it records a spell.
I stood up and straightened my posture like a real mage. A very elegant mage. The kind that would make poets tear up. My Grimoire flew open, and as I channeled my Essentia into it, it began to glow. I spoke the spell's name calmly and clearly:
"Dark Concealment."
Suddenly, I felt... lighter. As if I'd lost mass. I couldn't even hear myself breathing.Oh, I have to try this on Arsen. Would he notice? What if those two really are high-level mages or something? Only one way to find out.
I left my office, moving in silence. This spell was immaculate. You didn't feel like yourself—no noise, no breath, no weight. Just silence.
As I approached Arsen, who was still awake and reading a book on the couch, I got right up behind him. He shattered the illusion immediately.
"Sir Viktor," he said, not looking up from the book. "May I ask what exactly you meant to accomplish with this? I am not so inexperienced as to fall for underhanded tactics."
I blinked, let out a quiet sigh, and dispelled the magic. My presence returned to normal, and the familiar weight of my body settled back in.
"Oh—haha. Arsen, I was just seeing if you'd notice. Not like I doubted you or anything. Just, you know, a little experiment to see what we'd need for the plan. Yup. The plan."I half-assed my way through that sentence.
He peered at me with a huge smile, then stood up—and maybe kneeled? It happened so smoothly I wasn't sure if he actually did or if it was just the way he lowered his head.
"Oh, how wrong I was to speak to you like that... whilst you try so hard for us," he said, a tear falling from one eye. "I disrespected my savior with such defiance. Please forgive me—I beg of you."
There it was again: the elegant, dramatic, over-the-top aristocrat Arsen. It was heartfelt, I admit... but also a bit of a misunderstanding. Which, honestly, worked out fine for me.
He dropped to one knee in front of me, head bowed in complete devotion.
"Don't kneel in front of me," I said, trying to be elegant and cool like him. "I forbid it. If you kneel, kneel to the Creator—not to a mortal."
He looked up at me, perplexed. "Are you a believer of the old monotheistic faith?" he asked, standing up slowly.
"I mean, I believe in one true God that created all things. But—put that aside. I'm in a rush. Tell Syllia I left two silver coins on the desk for food, and that she should scout the city and gather intel. I've got 30 minutes left—I'm heading out."
I left the apartment as he stood there, still wearing that confused expression. Might have to ask him what that was about... if nothing happens later.