“Did you go out last night?”


    I asked, tearing off a piece of bread with my teeth and glancing at the black-haired man across the table.


    His sharp features and piercing gaze always gave him a somewhat intimidating air, even when he was just sitting there eating a sandwich.


    He paused mid-bite, his dark eyes flicking up to meet mine.


    “Ah, just ran some errands,”


    He replied casually, though there was a flicker of something in his tone—something he wasn’t saying.


    I raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. If there was one thing I’d learned about him, it was that he only shared what he wanted to, and no amount of prodding would change that.


    “You do know there’s a curfew, right?”


    I said, my voice low but edged with frustration. I tore off another piece of bread, my eyes narrowing at him.


    “If you got caught, I’d probably get dragged into it too. You think they’d believe I had nothing to do with it?”


    He chewed his sandwich slowly, his expression unreadable, as if my words were just background noise. Finally, he shrugged. “I didn’t get caught, did I?”


    “That’s not the point,” I shot back, leaning forward.


    “It’s not just about you. You keep pulling this kind of stunt, and one of these days, it’s going to blow up in our faces. You think I enjoy the idea of getting tangled in your mess?”


    He set his sandwich down, his dark eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I thought he might actually apologize—or at least say something to defuse the tension. But instead, he just smirked.


    “You’re still here, aren’t you?”


    I sighed, slumping back in my chair. He was right, of course. No matter how reckless he was, no matter how many times he pushed his luck, I couldn’t just walk away. We’d been through too much together for that.


    “Yeah, well,” I muttered, tearing off another piece of bread,


    A sigh escaped my lips, heavy with resignation. I gave up trying to pry into what he’d been up to last night.


    Knowing him, it probably wasn’t anything involving a girl—he wasn’t the type to chase after that kind of distraction.


    But still, it stung. It wasn’t about jealousy or suspicion; it was the fact that he felt the need to keep secrets from me at all.


    We’d been friends for years, hadn’t we? Through thick and thin, through every reckless stunt and narrow escape.


    I thought we were past this—past the walls and the half-truths. But here we were, sitting across from each other, the distance between us feeling wider than ever.


    I tore off another piece of bread, chewing slowly as I stared at him. He was focused on his sandwich, his expression unreadable, as if the conversation hadn’t even happened. Maybe it was better this way.


    “By the way,” I started, leaning back in my chair,


    “What are you planning to do for the upcoming magic research presentation? They only just announced it yesterday, so we’ve got plenty of time, but…”


    I trailed off, scratching the back of my head.


    “I’m drawing a blank on what to research. I was hoping to steal some ideas from you, since this is kind of your specialty.”


    I shot him a half-smile, trying to keep the tone light, but inside I was already dreading the hours of brainstorming ahead.


    Magic theory was exactly my strong suit, and I knew he’d probably already mapped out his entire project in his head.


    He paused mid-bite, his dark eyes narrowing as if he were weighing whether to humor me or not. Finally, he set his sandwich down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.


    “You’re asking me for ideas?” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.


    “You do remember the last time you ‘borrowed’ one of my ideas, right? That fire spell incident?”


    I winced at the memory.


    “Okay, fair, that was… not my finest moment. But come on, that was years ago! I’ve gotten better at this whole magic thing since then.”


    “Debatable,” he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He leaned back, crossing his arms.


    “Fine. If you’re really stuck, why not look into the connection between consciousness and magic? It’s theoretical enough to stand out, but there’s plenty of practical applications too.”


    “Consciousness and magic?” I repeated, tilting my head.


    “Like… how thoughts and intent shape spells?”


    “Exactly,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious.


    “But don’t just stop at the basics. Dig deeper. How does consciousness interact with magical energy? Is it a one-way influence, or does magic also alter the mind? And what about collective consciousness—could a group of people amplify a spell beyond what one person could do alone?”


    I blinked, my mind already racing with possibilities.


    “That’s… actually really interesting. But isn’t that kind of abstract? I mean, how would I even test something like that?”


    He shrugged.


    “Start small. Look into meditation techniques and how they affect spellcasting. Or study how emotions—fear, anger, joy—change the outcome of a spell. There’s plenty of ways to approach it.”


    I nodded slowly, feeling a spark of excitement.


    “Okay, yeah. That could work. But… you’re not going to do the same thing, are you?”


    He shook his head.


    “Doubt it. I’m thinking about cursed artifacts. Plenty of material there, and it’s… personal.”


    There was a flicker of something in his expression—something dark and unspoken—but it was gone before I could press him on it.


    Instead, I just nodded again, trying to ignore the pang of curiosity.


    “Alright,” I said, forcing a grin.


    “Consciousness and magic it is. But if I accidentally unlock some ancient horror, I’m blaming you.”


    He snorted.


    “You always do.”


    I glanced at the wall clock, its hands inching closer to the start of class.


    “We need to hurry up,” I said, shoving the last bite of bread into my mouth.


    “It’s almost time.”


    He didn’t look up, still methodically working through his sandwich as if time were a suggestion rather than a rule.


    “Relax,” he said between bites.


    “It’s not like they’ll start without us.”


    “They would, actually,” I shot back, standing and grabbing my bag.


    “You’re not the one who got chewed out last time for being late. Professor Alden’s glare could melt steel.”


    That finally got a reaction out of him. He smirked, wiping his hands on a napkin before standing.


    “Fine, fine. Let’s go. But if you trip over your own feet again on the way there, I’m not carrying you.”


    “Ha ha,” I said dryly, heading for the door.


    “Just hurry up, Dash.”


    <hr>


    The morning air was crisp, and the campus pathways were already bustling with students rushing to their classes.


    We hurried out of the dorm cafeteria, the remnants of breakfast hastily shoved into our mouths as we made our way to the lecture hall.


    We made it to the lecture hall just as the bell rang, slipping through the heavy wooden doors before Professor Alden could shoot us one of her infamous glares.


    Dash strolled in like he owned the place, completely unfazed, while I hurried to my seat, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.


    Professor Alden stood at the front of the room, her sharp eyes scanning the class like a hawk.


    Her presence alone was enough to silence the room, and even Dash seemed to straighten up a little as he took his seat beside me.


    “Today,” she began, her voice crisp and commanding,


    “We will be discussing the practical applications of illusion magic in combat scenarios. Specifically, how to distinguish between reality and deception when under duress.”


    I perked up at that. Illusion magic wasn’t exactly my strong suit, but it was fascinating.


    Professor Alden continued, her gaze sweeping across the room.


    “Can anyone tell me why illusion magic is considered one of the most dangerous forms of spellcasting in combat?”


    A hand shot up near the front—Elena, the overachiever who always seemed to have an answer ready.


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    “Because it preys on the mind,” she said confidently.


    “A well-crafted illusion can make you doubt your own senses, leaving you vulnerable to attack.”


    “Exactly,” Professor Alden said, nodding approvingly.


    “And that’s precisely why mastering counter-illusion techniques is essential for any competent mage.”


    I leaned over to Dash, keeping my voice low.


    “You think she’s going to make us practice this? Because I’m pretty sure I’d fall for my own illusions.”


    He smirked, his eyes never leaving the professor.


    “You probably would. But don’t worry—I’ll try not to embarrass you too much when we spar.”


    Before I could retort, Professor Alden’s voice cut through the room.


    “Mr. Dash,” she said, her tone sharp enough to make even him sit up straighter.


    “Since you seem so confident, perhaps you’d like to demonstrate a basic illusion for the class?”


    Dash didn’t miss a beat. He stood, his smirk widening as he walked to the front of the room.


    “Of course, Professor.”


    He raised his hand, and the air around him seemed to shimmer.


    For a moment, it looked like he’d split into three identical versions of himself, each moving independently.


    The class erupted into murmurs, and even Professor Alden looked mildly impressed.


    “A simple duplication illusion,” Dash said, his voice echoing slightly all over the lecture hall.


    “The key is to make each version move convincingly enough to distract your opponent.”


    “And how would one counter this?” Professor Alden asked, her arms crossed.


    Dash’s illusions dissolved, and he shrugged.


    “Focus on the details. Most illusions have flaws—subtle inconsistencies in movement, sound, or even the way light interacts with them. Find the flaw, and the illusion falls apart.”


    “Well done, Mr. Dash. You may return to your seat.”


    Professor Alden nodded.


    Under his breath, I heard Dash mutter,


    “Just like AI art.”


    I frowned, glancing at him as we took our seats.


    “What’s AI art?” I whispered, keeping my voice low so Professor Alden wouldn’t overhear.


    Dash leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.


    “Something from the old world,” he said vaguely.


    “Before magic became the dominant force. It’s… complicated.”


    I raised an eyebrow.


    “You’re seriously going to drop a cryptic comment like that and not explain it?”


    He shrugged, his attention already drifting to the front of the room where Professor Alden was beginning her lecture.


    “Maybe later. If you’re lucky.”


    I rolled my eyes but didn’t press further. Dash had a habit of dropping random, enigmatic remarks like that, and half the time I wasn’t sure if he was messing with me or if there was actually something deeper to it.


    Still, the phrase stuck in my mind.


    AI-art.


    What could that possibly have to do with anything?


    <hr>


    After class, Dash mentioned he was heading to the library, his tone casual but with that familiar edge of secrecy.


    I didn’t press him—he’d tell me what he was up to when he felt like it, and not a moment sooner.


    We parted ways at the courtyard, him disappearing into the shadowed archway that led to the library, while I turned toward the Knights’ Department.


    Mira was probably training by now. She always was, ever since we were kids. While Dash and I had gravitated toward magic and strategy, Mira had thrown herself into swordsmanship with a single-minded determination that bordered on obsession.


    She’d always been like that—fierce, focused, and unyielding.


    The walk to the Knights’ Department wasn’t long, but it gave me time to think. The morning’s lecture on illusion magic had left me with more questions than answers, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Dash was hiding something.


    But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside. Mira had a way of cutting through the noise, and right now, that was exactly what I needed.


    The rhythmic sound of something being hit grew louder with each step I took toward the Knights’ Department.


    By the time I reached the training grounds, the noise had become a steady, almost hypnotic cadence—the sharp thwack of wood against straw, punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort.


    I found Mira exactly where I expected her to be: in the center of the training yard, her sword flashing in the sunlight as she struck the training dummies with relentless precision.


    Her movements were fluid but fierce, each strike carrying the weight of someone who had spent years honing her craft.


    Even from a distance, I could see the determination etched into her expression, her brow furrowed in concentration.


    I leaned against the fence, watching her for a moment. She hadn’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in her routine.


    It was always like this with Mira—once she set her mind to something, the rest of the world might as well not exist.


    After about five minutes of watching her, I decided to step closer, hoping to catch her attention.


    As soon as she saw me, her face lit up, and she stopped mid-swing, lowering her sword.


    She wiped the sweat from her brow and walked over, her usual intensity softening into a warm smile.


    “Thanks for waiting,” she said, breathing heavily as I handed her a towel.


    “So you noticed me,” I replied, grinning.


    “I thought you were so focused that nothing would get through to you.”


    She laughed, a sound that was both familiar and refreshing.


    “You’re hard to miss, you know. Besides, I could feel you staring. You’ve got that look.”


    “What look?” I asked, feigning offense.


    “The one that says you’re about to ask me for something,” she said, raising an eyebrow.


    “Am I wrong?”


    I shrugged, unable to hide my smile.


    “Maybe. But can you blame me? You’re the best swordsman I know.”


    She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, tossing the towel over her shoulder.


    “Alright, out with it. What do you need this time?”


    “Nothing much,” I said, shrugging.


    “As a childhood friend, I ought to visit you from time to time.”


    Mira raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.


    “Really now? I thought you only came to me when Dash wasn’t around to entertain you.”


    I feigned a look of mock offense, placing a hand over my heart.


    “You wound me, Mira. Can’t I just want to see how you’re doing?”


    “Sure, sure. But let’s be honest—if Dash were here, you’d probably be following him around like a lost puppy instead of hanging out in the training yard.” She laughed, a sound that was both warm and slightly teasing.


    “Hey,” I protested, though I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not that bad.”


    “Aren’t you?” she shot back, her tone playful but with a hint of seriousness.


    “You two are practically inseparable. It’s kind of impressive, really.”


    I shrugged, leaning against the fence.


    “What can I say? He’s got this way of dragging people into his orbit. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about checking in on you.”


    Her expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing glint in her eyes faded.


    “I know,” she said quietly. “And I appreciate it. Really.”


    “Though… I did have a small request for you,” I admitted, scratching the back of my head.


    Mira crossed her arms, her smirk returning in full force. “So you were just here because you needed something. I knew it.”


    “Hey, that’s not fair,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender.


    “I can care about you and need your help at the same time. Multitasking, you know?”


    She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide her smile.


    “Sure, sure. What is it this time? Need me to scare off some bullies? Or maybe you’ve finally decided to learn how to hold a sword without embarrassing yourself?”


    “Ouch,” I said, clutching my chest dramatically. “You really know how to hit where it hurts. But no, it’s nothing like that. I just… need your advice on something.”


    Her expression softened, and she tilted her head, studying me.


    “Advice, huh? This sounds serious. What’s going on?”


    I hesitated, glancing around the training yard.


    “Not here. Let’s grab something to eat first. My treat.”


    Mira raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.


    “Your treat? Now I know something’s up. Alright, let me clean up, and we’ll talk.”


    After a while, Mira emerged from the locker room, her hair still damp from a quick rinse and her training gear swapped for a casual tunic and trousers.


    She looked more relaxed now, the intensity of her training session replaced by the easy confidence I’d always admired.


    “Ready?” she asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.


    I nodded, falling into step beside her as we made our way to the cafeteria. The walk was filled with the kind of comfortable silence that only comes from years of friendship, but it didn’t take long for the conversation to pick up.


    “So,” Mira said, glancing at me, “what have you been up to lately? Besides avoiding your sword training, that is.”


    I laughed, shaking my head. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve been busy. Dash and I have been working on this… project. It’s kind of complicated, but it will take up most of my time. Probably.”


    “Of course it involves Dash,” she said, her tone teasing but not unkind. “You two are like two halves of the same coin. What about you? Still breaking training dummies like they owe you money?”


    Mira grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Someone’s got to keep the equipment suppliers in business. But yeah, training’s been intense lately. The Knights’ Department is gearing up for the big event, and I don’t want to fall behind.”


    “You? Fall behind?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not possible. You’re basically a one-woman army.”


    She laughed, shoving me lightly. “Flattery will get you nowhere. But seriously, it’s been a lot. I’ve barely had time to think, let alone catch up with you or Dash.”


    “Well, I’m glad we’re doing this now,” I said, meaning it. “It’s been too long.”


    She nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah, it has. So, what’s this favor you need? It must be important if you’re actually buying me food.”


    I hesitated, glancing around the bustling cafeteria before leaning in slightly.


    “It’s about Dash,” I said, lowering my voice. “He’s been… acting strange lately. Leaving early, going somewhere without saying where. I don’t want to ask him directly because you know how he is—he’d just brush me off or give me some cryptic non-answer. I was hoping you might have some idea what he’s up to.”


    Mira’s playful expression faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown.


    “Dash, huh? He’s always been a bit of a mystery, but you’re right—this does sound different. He’s been visiting me too, you know. Not as often as you, but he stops by from time to time. He hasn’t mentioned anything unusual, though. Just the usual small talk and a few sarcastic comments about my training.”


    I raised an eyebrow. “Really? He hasn’t said anything about where he’s been going or what he’s been working on?”


    Mira shook her head. “Not a word. But now that you mention it, he does seem… distracted. Like his mind is somewhere else. I just figured he was wrapped up in one of his usual schemes.”


    “Maybe you’re right,” I said, shrugging.


    “I don’t need to think too deeply about it. Let’s change the topic. The yearly Knights’ Department tournament is coming up, right? Are you going to join again this time? Last year, you ended up in second place, but since Garrick, the champion, already graduated, you’re probably going to take the title this year.”


    Mira’s eyes lit up at the mention of the tournament, though there was a flicker of irritation in her expression.


    “Of course I’m joining,” she said, her tone firm.


    “But it’s frustrating, you know? Garrick graduates, and now I’ll never get the chance to beat him. Last year’s loss still stings.”


    I raised an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair.


    “I get it. Losing to someone like Garrick—especially in the finals—had to be tough. But you’ve grown so much since then. If he were still around, I’d bet on you to win this time.”


    She smirked, but there was a sharp edge to her voice.


    “Yeah, well, I don’t get that chance now, do I? He’s off doing whatever graduates do, and I’m stuck here wondering what could’ve been.”


    I nodded, understanding her frustration. Garrick had been a formidable opponent—calm, calculating, and almost unnervingly precise.


    Losing to him had been a hard pill for Mira to swallow, especially since she’d been so close to winning.


    “Still,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “this is your year. Garrick’s gone, and you’re stronger than ever. If anyone’s taking the title, it’s you.”


    Mira’s expression softened slightly, though the competitive fire in her eyes didn’t fade.


    “You’re right. I’m not going to let Garrick’s shadow hang over me forever. This year, I’m coming in stronger and smarter. No mistakes, no regrets.”


    I grinned, impressed by her determination. “That’s the spirit. Just don’t forget to enjoy the competition too. It’s not all about winning, you know.”


    She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “Says the guy who avoids tournaments like they’re cursed. When was the last time you even entered one?”


    “Hey, I’ve got my reasons,” I said, holding up my hands in mock defense. “Not all of us are born to swing swords around like maniacs.”


    She laughed, shoving me lightly. “You’re just scared you’ll lose. Admit it.”


    “Maybe,” I said, grinning. “But I’ll leave the glory to you. Someone’s got to cheer you on from the sidelines, right?”


    Mira’s expression softened, and she nodded. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t feel the same without you and Dash there to watch. Speaking of which, do you think he’ll show up this year?”


    I hesitated, thinking about Dash’s recent behavior. “I don’t know. He’s been so wrapped up in whatever he’s working on that it’s hard to say. But I’ll drag him there if I have to. He owes you that much.”


    Mira smiled, her determination returning. “Good. Because if he misses it, I’ll never let him live it down.”


    After a while, we finished eating dinner, the plates cleared and the chatter of the cafeteria fading into the background.


    By the time we stepped outside, the sun had already set, painting the sky in deep shades of indigo and violet.


    The path back to the Knights’ Department was illuminated by the warm glow of streetlights, their light pooling on the cobblestones like scattered gold.


    We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the cool evening air carrying the faint scent of blooming night flowers.


    Mira seemed lost in thought, her earlier determination replaced by a quiet calm. I didn’t press her—she’d talk when she was ready.


    When we reached the women’s dormitory, Mira turned to me, her expression softening. “Thanks for tonight,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “I needed the distraction.”


    I smiled, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Anytime. You know I’m always here if you need to talk—or if you just want someone to buy you dinner.”


    She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’ll hold you to that. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that favor you owe me.”


    “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, grinning. “Good luck with your training. I’ll see you around.”


    Mira nodded, her smile lingering as she turned to head inside. “Take care, Lucien. And don’t let Dash drag you into too much trouble.”


    “No promises,” I called after her, watching as she disappeared through the dormitory doors.


    With a sigh, I turned and started the walk home, the streetlights guiding my way.


    The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that made it easy to get lost in your thoughts.


    But for now, I pushed them aside, content to let the evening’s calm settle over me.