It was the morning of the next day. Grant was preparing a set of notes to take with him to the field to practice with. Despite the dilemma with Andromeda, the field the college had prepared for his and Albert’s practical was becoming a popular spot due to the wide open space, clean air, and notable lack of military types snooping around.

He didn’t care about anyone’s else's reasoning for it, he just liked having the open space to work without being disturbed, even for a place as large as Cylas it was hard to avoid others. It took an almost unreasonable amount of time to prepare his rituals, and staying still in a single place for a long time tended to draw attention.

It wasn’t as though Grant abhorred his fellow man, there was plenty of use in the expert mages in Cylas. The issue laid in the people themselves.

He would ask a question, and before he got an answer he would get a philosophical discussion or a historical account. He didn’t care about anything but his work, so the useless details of who made an art or why they needed it didn’t matter to him. If he avoided those around him, then they wouldn’t waste more of his time than strictly necessary.

When he reached the door through to the field, he heard a clattering of voices behind him. He turned to see someone that he dreadfully wanted to avoid.

It was the daughter of Lord Magrisal, the merchant son, and her.

The other students in his class all had a unique way of upsetting him with their presence.

The daughter of the House Magrisal had the most intensely annoying ability to immediately identify every person around her from any distance. That by itself would not be an issue if she were not one of the more aggressively social mages he had ever known. She had no noble poise to speak of and spoke plainly with royal and common alike. It made him sick to think that she was allowed to speak however she was pleased with barely a word from any of her betters.

The Merchant Son was almost the same, overtly social and willing to talk to anyone who would lend an ear. He barely cared for the art of magic and considered it only a tool to advance his career, if it were not for the incontestable talent required to use Atmomancy than Grant would hardly consider his presence. He similarly had no boundaries for how he spoke, he would just as easily ask the headmaster for advice as any of his teachers.

But at the very least for both of them, there was the smallest hint of position they could stand on, a single reason here or there that they might have airs. But the last one, he barely wanted to think of her.

A red haired backwater mage. Andromeda.

She appeared from nowhere, with nothing to her name, no credentials, not even a public record of her existence. She was admitted to this college for no reason beyond nepotism. She disgraced the very name of the school by trying to pass off a story of heartbreak and depression as good enough reason to be here.

Grant threw himself into his work from a young age. He researched and studied more than he ate or breathed. Every day for months at a time, only breaking on social engagements or obligations. But here came this yokal with a faded cloak and no respect for nobility, apparently having been self taught of all things.

He didn’t know who she really was, she was likely the daughter of some disgraced family that the High Magister owed a favor, possibly an illegitimate child of his, or something equally disgusting.

At their very worst, the other students still had some modicum of decorum. Not nearly enough that he would accept disrespect from them, but at least he may in some reality accept their word. But not this one.

Lacking decorum is one thing. That can be shunned or disavowed, but to invite violence upon a noble, that was not something he could ever accept. The memory in his mind was dishonor to a degree that he would never forgive in a thousand lifetimes.

Beyond it all, it wasn’t her own self that was the worst quality about her. It was the noise she generated from the members of the college. Every time he would turn, he would hear whispers about the mending mage, the prodigy of reflexes, the sleepless note taker under the name Andromeda. If it wasn’t aggrandizing mud language, it was whispers of her connection to the newly Arch Mage.

No one in the college had the nerve to speak their mind about her because of the fear of the Arch Mage. No one in the entire blasted college had the nerve to tell her what they really felt about her. Her very existence was anathema to his life. The proof to the exception that hard work would trump talent every time.

He entered quickly in hopes that he could avoid the crowd, but to his shock and horror they entered right after him.

“Oh! Good morning Grant.” Alice said. Her voice full to bursting with sacrine positivity.

“What do you want?” Grant said. He didn’t want to get locked into a full blown conversation with these people, so he tried being aggressive from the outside.

“Nothing much from me, I came to give Andromeda some moral support in her studies.” Alice said.

“What about you?” Grant asked, looking toward Albert.

“Pretty much the same, it’s my day off and my instructor is off on some business.” Albert said.

“Of course.” Grant said. Grant looked at Andromeda with a deathly glare then turned away. He didn’t care what she was doing, nor did wish to find out regardless. Unfortunately, the woman decided to not let him off so easily.

“Nothing for me?” Andromeda said. Her voice was as mocking as it was falsely innocent. Just hearing her address him was enough to make his blood boil.

“No, you are not a child. I shouldn’t be obligated to speak to you just because I addressed the others.” Grant said. His voice practically dripped with venom.

“Fine, no skin off my back.” Andromeda said. The way she dismissed him so casually did nothing to improve his mood. It seemed like that was enough to get them on their way. Grant made his way out into the field and started on his work for the day.

Nothing was going to ruin his research.