Arthur strolled along the white-rock paths that wound through the Academy grounds. The night sky was a canopy of velvet darkness, the moon a solitary lantern.
He didn't need the moon, though. Light shone from the tops of the trees lining the grass, an ambient glow bright enough to read the text of the open book in his hands.
Arthur wasn't reading. He believed he had mastered its teachings already. He was simply posing, a scholar wandering the night, directionless, waiting for fate to come to him.
His search came to a halt at a field of white sand, identical to his own training grounds but eerily quiet under the stars.
In the center, a familiar figure stood. Over and over, semi-spherical balls of raging red and orange light manifested, launched into the darkness, and exploded in impotent bursts.
After a moment, the figure's voice carried across the sand.
"EKTQZT, IGSR, QRR YOKT, LHITKT, TBHSGRT, ROLEIQKUT!"
Arthur recognized the voice. He recognized the combed black hair that flashed into view in the strobe-light intervals of the fire.
Arthur smiled actively. He snapped his book shut.
"Derrick!" he projected, stopping four meters away.
The figure paused, mid-chant. Arthur imagined him turning to look, but Derrick simply raised his hands again.
"EKTQZT, IGSR, QRR, YOKT, LHITKT."
A ball of swirling fire materialized. It was unstable, barely held together, the mana fraying into incoherent spirals of yellow and red light that illuminated the desperation on Derrick's face.
Derrick lowered his hands, breathing hard. He looked annoyed, perhaps even embarrassed, but upon recognizing Arthur, he forced his expression into a polite mask suitable for greeting a friend.
"Oh, hey," Derrick said. Sweat slicked his face and bare forearms, though his breathing remained disciplined.
"Are you practicing your fireball for your Spellcasting assignment?" Arthur asked.
"Yeah, but as you can see, my control is not that good. By the way, I haven't seen you in my Magic Combat classes. Who is your instructor?"
Arthur didn't blink. "It's sensible that you haven't seen me in that class. I'm not in the Mage facility after all."
Derrick frowned. "Really? I thought for sure that you were a mage. You didn't carry a sword, and you definitely don't look like a brute."
"Well, I appreciate the compliment, but I found that Magic is not my destiny," Arthur lied smoothly. "Say, are you in the Honor Class? The level of your fireball is appropriate considering it's only your second day here. The first assignment for the Core classes shouldn't be due until next week."
"No, I'm not part of the Honor Class," Derrick wiped his brow. "But I'm practicing to join it in the second semester."
"What's your surname? Have you received one yet?"
"Dunwell."
Arthur's mind raced. House Dunwell is a Viscount family in the Eastern region of the Viera Empire. He's a noble.
Arthur took a step closer.
"Ambition, intellect, and resolve. You have a good character. I too wish to join the Honor Class. Would you like to work toward that goal together?"
Derrick's weary, intense eyes flicked from the outstretched hand to Arthur's face. He studied the soft eyes that seemed to look far beyond the present moment.
He's just a regular student, Derrick thought. What part of recruiting a noble as a companion is such a meaningless feat to him?
Derrick's mind worked through the puzzle. I was so close to making it to the Honor Class. I was ranked 32 out of all applicants, yet I did not see Arthur anywhere near it. The way he speaks as a commoner and regular student is irritating, but he is the brother of the most-likely Saint-candidate. There must be something special about him if he is acting so vain.
Maybe the Saint has plans for me? Well, if he does, I still wouldn't accept it.
Derrick looked at Arthur's hand again. Arthur. I don't know what you want from me, but since you want to use me, I'll use you as well.
He gripped Arthur's hand.
"Alright. Let's get to the top together."