Bidding Ferrod farewell, the group left the Iron Ember Forge and made their way to the Ember Hearth Inn, drawn by the promise of the inn's newest meat dish. The warm ambience of the inn wrapped around them as they settled into their seats. The scent of roasted spices filled the air.
As they waited for their meal, Ronan suddenly leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Ahh… I forgot to ask something, Master Ferrod. By the way, have you heard anything about Black Fang?"
Mr. Alaric's expression darkened. "That's some sort of criminal organisation. How do you know about them?"
Ronan shrugged, "They were robbing some people, so I helped them out… that's all. They didn't see my face, but… they did take one of my flying daggers before they fled."
Mr. Alden asks, "Did you fight with them?"
Ronan replied, "Not really. I just attacked him from hiding using my dagger."
Mr. Gideon almost choked on his drink. "You should have killed him; that group is fully rotten to its core."
Ronan sighed. "If I can do so, I would have already killed him."
Mr. Alaric looked at them with disbelief. He galared at both Mr. Alden and Mr. Alaric and said, "You are supposed to be mentors. Act like one. You should warn him not to venture into that area alone. And you're saying he should have killed him." Then Mr Alaric shot a glare at Ronan and said, "What is that supposed to mean? If you had the ability to kill, you would kill him? Huh? Don't you have any sense? You cannot kill anyone unless you're an official, and you need proper reasoning to kill someone, or you will be charged with a crime."
Ronan replies, "Yes, yes, I know. But what I meant by that line is. If I could, I would have incapacitated him or injured his core so that he wouldn't be able to kill or rob anyone."
Mr. Gideon, with a laugh, says, "That's my boy." Mr. Alaric growled, "Can you two stop teaching him bad things?"
Despite the tension, the conversation faded into the background as the meal arrived, filling the table with fragrant dishes. By the time they finished, the weariness of the day had settled in. They bid each other goodnight and left the inn. Ronan returned to his room, collapsing onto the bed. Sleep claimed him instantly — but it was not a peaceful rest.
The familiar nightmare clawed at the edges of his mind. He stood once more in the blood-soaked darkness, the air thick with the metallic tang of death. He summoned a fireball with surprising ease, its flickering light revealing the same infernal cage in the middle of the room — It was a cage made of crimson flame, and inside it burned a bright silver flame.
But this time, something was different. The distant cries of battle echoed through the room, voices he vaguely recognised. His feet carried him closer to the cage, each step making the pressure around him grow heavier. His very soul felt as if it were being torn apart.
A few more steps…
Just a little closer…
The suffocating force suddenly snapped, and Ronan jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Sunlight filtered through the window.
"That fucking nightmare again… I don't even feel rested," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
After washing up, he made his way toward the training ground. His thoughts drifted to Garrick. I hope his arm's almost healed...
When he arrived, he spotted Garrick locked in a heated argument with two boys and two girls. The tension between them crackled in the air, drawing the silent observation of two academy instructors nearby. Ronan's eyes narrowed.
"Garrick! Good morning," he called out, cutting through the confrontation. "How's your hand?"
Garrick's face lit up at the sound of Ronan's voice. He raised his hand, flexing his fingers. "Good morning, Ronan. It's almost healed — thanks to you."
Ronan nodded approvingly. "Good, good. Want to come with me? I need your help."
Garrick glanced at the four students, hesitant. Before he could reply, one of the boys sneered.
"We're not finished talking. You dare ignore us?"
Without warning, the boy lashed out with a punch. Ronan caught the attack with his left hand, while Garrick blocked the other boy's strike with his right. Both stumbled back a step.
The assailants pressed forward, launching another round of punches. Garrick managed to deflect the blow — but Ronan, distracted, instinctively raised his right arm. Pain flared through the burned flesh beneath his sleeve. His face twisted in agony as blood seeped through the fabric.
The boy smirked, pressing harder against the wound, forcing Ronan to slide back. Sweat beaded on Ronan's brow as he clutched his arm.
"Enough!" one of the instructors barked, finally stepping forward. His sharp eyes flicked between the students. "What's going on here?"
Before Garrick or Ronan could speak, one of the girls piped up. "Sir, they started it. We were only defending ourselves."
The instructor's gaze lingered on Ronan and Garrick before he scoffed. "We saw everything. You're both warned — consider yourselves lucky. Next time, take your anger to the Academy Ranking Battle."
With a flick of his wrist, the instructor tossed a small vial toward Ronan. He caught it deftly with his left hand, biting back the fury bubbling beneath his calm exterior.
"Thank you, sir," Ronan muttered, pocketing the potion. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, Garrick following close behind.
The blood continued to soak his sleeve, but the fire in Ronan's heart burned hotter than ever.
Ronan clenched his jaw as he pressed his left hand against his injured right arm. The burn area had stopped bleeding, but the sleeve of his coat was soaked in red, a stark reminder of the morning's events. His voice was steady as he spoke.
"Garrick, first, let's head to the Mindward Tower. After that, I'll need your help."
Garrick gave a firm nod, his expression unreadable but understanding. Without another word, they started toward the tower, the quiet hum of the academy grounds filling the space between them.