The night passed, and Damien dreamt of death. He stood in the center of a broken battlefield, surrounded by mountains of corpses that stretched high enough into the sky to scrape the clouds. His eyes were cold and his face was covered with stubble. A jagged scar ran across his right hand, and strange runes covered his skin, fading in and out of existance.

Sickly dark magic coiled around his body like snakes awaiting his command, lashing out and obliterating anyone that dared stand in his way. Above him, the dark sky twinkled with tiny pinpricks of light that formed an enormous smiling face.

The world started to crackle and pop. The face crumpled up and the bodies folded inwards, twisting together in a mesmerizing spiral of color. The crackling grew louder and Damien was ripped out of his dream.

He suppressed a groan and rolled over, reaching under his bed and pressing his finger against a rapidly crumpling piece of paper and tearing a small hole into it, destroying the rune circle on it. The sounds stopped.

Damien grimaced and grabbed his coat and clothing, pulling it on before silently slipping out of bed. His throat was sore from the cold mountain air, and swallowing did little to help it.

He reached under his bed, grabbing the four slips of paper he’d drawn runes on. One of them was smoking slightly and had turned into a crumpled ball. Damien set that one aside and folded the others, sliding them into his back pocket.

“It’s not going to take you that long to get to the arena, you know,” Henry said.

Damien felt a slight sense of relief that his companion had returned. His strange dreams were still at the back of his mind, but normal dreams were better than Henry showing up to say one of the other eldritch creatures had broken their confinement.

You can read my mind. You know why I’m heading there early.

“I can only read what you’re actively thinking about,” Henry replied. “And right now, you aren’t thinking much of anything at all.”

I’m tired. And scared. And angry.

Damien slung his travel pack over his shoulder and silently slipped out of the room. He crept past Mark and the Grays’ rooms before starting down the mountain path.

“Angry?”

I’ve wanted to study magic my entire life. Now, the moment I actually get to do that, I’ve got to worry about stopping all the other Eldritch creatures from ending the world, assuming you were telling me the truth.

“I didn’t lie,” Henry snapped. His tone softened imperceptibly. “And that’s how things work, boy. The weak don’t get to control their own life. Only the strong do, and you’re far from strong right now.”

“That’s why we’re going to the field early,” Damien said. “Delph seems like the type of professor to get there early, just so he can watch us show up and scold us for being late.”

Henry didn’t respond to that. The campus was eerily silent in the morning, but Damien didn’t mind. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. As he walked, he cast out a net of mental energy, highlighting the Ether around himself.

How much Ether can I hold at once?

“It depends on how strong you are. The more you cultivate, the more you can store,” Henry replied. “The only way to find out is to try. Trying to take too much won’t hurt you.”

Damien nodded. He plucked motes of Ether from the strands as he walked, storing them within himself. With every bit that he added, the tingling sensations traveling throughout him grew stronger.

By the time Damien had absorbed eight motes of Ether, he was practically bouncing on his feet. It took conscious effort to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Might be a good place to stop,” Henry suggested as Damien stepped through the portal to the arena. The boy pursed his lips, bracing himself against one of the numerous chairs in the colosseum to weather the effects of the teleportation, before responding.

I feel like if I fall, I’ll bounce.

“You won’t,” Henry said. “Don’t try it. That’s just the energy trying to escape. I’d say you’ve hit your limit. For now, at least.”

Noted.

Damien made his way through the stands, scanning them for any sight of Professor Delph. He was nowhere to be found. Damien pressed his lips together as he reached the edge of the stands and the arena below them.

He hopped over the railing, half expecting to plummet to his death, but the magic took hold instantly. He floated to the ground, landing in the packed sand without a sound.

“You’re early,” A rough voice said from behind Damien.

Damien nearly leapt out of his shoes. Delph leaned against the arch leading out of the arena, the ever present long toothpick in his mouth.

The professor strode up to Damien, moving the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other as he examined the boy before him.

“Why did you come early?” Delph asked. “And where is Sylph?”

“She’s still asleep,” Damien replied. “There should still be around two hours before sunrise. I’m certain she’ll be here on time.”

“That doesn’t answer why you came early,” Delph said.

That was a hard question, because Damien wasn’t entirely sure he knew the answer to that himself.

“I want to learn how to use magic,” Damien finally said. “Combat magic.”

“That’s why I scheduled a lesson for an hour before sunrise,” Delph said.

“I need more than that. I’ve never fought before, and I need to get good at it.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” Damien asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Delph replied. He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow up. “Lots of people want to learn combat magic. It’s flashy and interesting, and it makes a lot of money on quests. There’s nothing wrong with that – but you still have a reason. Knowing your reason helps me teach you better.”

Damien’s hands clenched at his sides. Delph had magic that even Henry hadn’t seen. Surely he’d have a good chance of taking care of the other eldritch creatures.

“Don’t even think about it,” Henry warned. “Even if he believes you, there’s no way he’d let us live.”

“I want to protect people,” Damien finally said. His lip curled up slightly in a half smile. “Myself included.”