Ares watched Eredin sweat bullets—he had really messed up. Aerin had returned to her icy demeanor; she was the daughter of the Third Moon, apprentice to the Rector, and not the one missing an entry badge. Eredin glared at her.
The Rector and Arwen were here, and a strange boy stood beside them. "What's his deal?" Eredin muttered.
"Where the hell are you looking?" Arwen snapped, slapping the back of Eredin's head. "You still have an opportunity to tell me the truth—"
"You need to get yourself checked, old man. I mean, you're not the only one having a mental breakdown. Jeez." Ares turned to Eredin as if chatting with a friend. "How narcissistic can one be? I just—"
Arwen waved a hand; a light flickered and Ares's lips stuck together. "If you interrupt me one more time, I will seal off every hole and you will pay for what you have done."
"Who is this madman?" Eredin asked, looking quizzically at the stranger. Even Aerin looked shocked to hear words coming from the boy.
What the— Ares thought. Psychosis is not fun at all. He'd had enough of this shit. He decided to sit very still.
"Speak up," Arwen commanded, a tone that brooked no argument. Eredin grumbled and told most of the truth, deliberately omitting the part where Aerin had taken his identity token and stuffed it in some beast.
"I'm sorry, Uncle. I thought I could track that weird monster and get it back. I mean, it was tied to a wooden post." Eredin kept talking. Ares watched the Rector and Arwen with a slowly dawning realization. "I'm really sorry, Uncle—I lost—"
Arwen slammed his hand on the table; a coin clattered to the floor. Ares caught the flash of the identity badge under Arwen's hand. "Take this and leave. I will deal with you later."
Eredin nodded and hurried away.
"I wonder since when Eredin learned tracking skills," the Rector said, staring at Aerin. But the glacial wall known as the Flower of the Third Moon remained stoic. The Rector sighed and excused her.
With his mouth sealed and after hearing Eredin's story, Ares began to realize he had not lost his mind. The moving ceiling, men appearing out of thin air, his lips merging together—everything had been real. He looked up.
"What should we do with him?" the Rector asked, pitying Ares as if he were a casualty. They couldn't exactly let him go; half the academy had seen him beat Arwen. It had become a matter of pride.
"Who are you, boy?" Arwen waved his hand and Ares's lips unstuck.
Ares opened his mouth but no sound came. Magic was real, and he'd bested a magician—had kicked him where it hurt. He was sweating. "A—Ares, sir…" he managed, voice small.
Arwen found little relief in Ares's misery. "Sorcerer Supreme, are you sure? Not 'bastard,' 'old man'?" he barked.
How could I have known magic was real? Ares wondered. I really thought I was losing my mind. "I'm sorry, sir. I was… not right in the head. I thought I had lost my mind."
The Rector laughed at the bizarre response. "Lost your mind? But you were behaving normally." She seemed more curious than cruel, fascinated by whatever thought-architecture lived inside the strange boy.
Ares laughed awkwardly. The Rector had taken his side from the start, and that made it easier to speak. "What could I have done? It's not like I could get sane again. So I just thought everything was unreal. Gra… sorceress?" He hesitated—"witch" felt impolite.
Arwen and the Rector both burst out laughing—their acquaintances would have been shocked to see such behavior from them. Arwen, the academy's fiercest mage, rarely spoke; the Rector appeared only on special occasions. Nobody knew much about her.
Ares let out a nervous chuckle and closed his mouth.
"What are you laughing at?" Arwen barked, still sore from being beaten in front of so many witnesses.
"Sorry, Sorceress Supreme." Ares smiled awkwardly and fell silent.
"It's not like we can keep this under wraps and erase his memory," the Rector said finally. "We would have to admit him as a student."
"He doesn't have a mana center, and he's far too old now," Arwen sighed.
Ares raised his hand before he thought better of it.
"What?" Arwen snapped.
"I will disappear and never appear again. It won't be a problem," Ares blurted.
"Not possible," the Rector replied. "All the moons and suns are aware of your existence. A student who beat Arwen—"
"I was caught off guard," Arwen protested. "I can squash thousands of twigs like this."
"Take him as your apprentice," the Rector suggested. "We can use him as motivation for the other students."
"But, Rector, I can't teach him anything," Arwen argued.
"Then we can tell everyone the truth," the Rector said.
Arwen's jaw tightened. A headache began to brew, but he agreed in the end.
"I don't want to be a magician," Ares protested. "My dream is to be a fashion designer."
"Boy!" Arwen bristled; a faint, sinister hum gathered in his palms. Ares's stomach dropped and a cold animal panic rose in his chest.
"Master!" he blurted before he could stop himself.
Later that day
Ares stared at his crown jewels. "Traitors," he muttered.
"You will thank us later," the crown jewels whispered.