Yren led them to one of the nearest sets of double doors, one already swung open. Professor Tahl sat inside, surrounded by shelves crowded with ledgers, journals, and strange objects—an iron orb, a feathered quill balanced in a block of glass, a faded sketch pinned to the wall above his desk. Sunlight caught the silver in his hair as he glanced up from his notes.

  Tahl gestured to the chairs on the other side of the desk. “Come in, please. Close the door behind you.”

  Professor Tahl smiled as they settled in. “I recognize you from the Guild’s reports. I’ve been working with Gwenna and Aldric on a few joint projects. You’ve made quite an impression.”

  Ethan took a seat. “The lecture was fascinating. A lot of what you covered was new to me.” The Pack found their places: Moose by the door, Lyra and Amelia quiet but attentive, Pixie perched on a low stool. Buster glanced at a chalkboard in the corner, where a cluster of half-finished equations crowded the lower half—scrawled just above the floor.

  Tahl folded his hands atop a closed ledger. “Good. It’s always satisfying when a guest actually listens. Not everyone does.”

  Before Ethan could answer, Buster padded over to the chalkboard, examining the equations. He hopped up, placing his front paws on the edge of the low stool for balance. This put him at the right height to reach the unfinished section without smudging anything higher up. Tahl, curious, placed a piece of chalk within easy reach.

  Buster gripped the chalk carefully between his teeth, then leaned forward and, with small, practiced movements, began sketching numbers and symbols to solve the last line. Now and then, he paused to set the chalk down and check his work before making a final mark to finish the equation.

  Pixie watched, tail wagging. “He likes math because it doesn’t bite back.”

  Tahl blinked, caught between amusement and real surprise. “That’s a sound correction. And, I must admit, not one I’ve had from any of my students—let alone a beast.” He glanced at Ethan. “I was told you all were remarkable, but seeing it in person is something else.”

  Ethan grinned. “He’s the sharpest mind in the room most days.”

  Tahl looked from Ethan to Buster, his curiosity genuine. “If half my students brought this kind of insight to class, I might finally have to retire.”

  Ethan couldn’t help himself. “How do you like them apples?” he said, earning a puzzled look from the professor and a blank stare from the rest of the room. Buster just flicked an ear, unimpressed.

  Tahl glanced between Ethan and Buster, his interest clearly piqued. “Now—let’s talk about why you’re really here.”

  Tahl reached into a drawer, pulling out a slim, battered journal. He slid it across the desk to Ethan. “Everything I have on corruption, what little there is. Old reports, half-finished theories, and more questions than answers. Gwenna trusts you—I do, too. I’d appreciate any help you can give, even if it’s just fresh eyes on an old problem.”

  Ethan turned the journal in his hands, flipping through pages filled with careful notes and messy annotations. There was nothing showy about it—just the steady work of someone determined to get to the truth. Tahl watched him, not pressing, but genuinely hopeful.

  Ethan studied the man’s face and saw nothing but honesty and the weight of years spent fighting a problem he couldn’t name. He realized he wanted to help—needed to, if he was ever going to understand this world or his own place in it. He nodded. “I’ll help. I can show you everything I know, and what the system’s told me so far. Maybe we’ll find something neither of us could spot alone.”

  He hesitated, not ready to tell Tahl everything—not about where he came from or how lost he still felt—but what he did share was honest. Step by step, he laid out what he’d seen, what the system had shown him, and the patterns he’d started to suspect, hoping Tahl’s experience would turn up something he’d missed.

  As Ethan explained how arcane magic had worked against the corruption so far, Professor Tahl’s composure slipped, replaced by genuine excitement. “If arcane mana can clear or disrupt the corruption, that’s more than we’ve managed in years. The possibilities…” He trailed off, already making mental notes. “I wonder if it’s just your affinity, or if any arcane mage could do it. Of course, that means finding another one—no small task. I’m not aware of any other students here with arcane affinity at the moment.”

  He glanced at Ethan, hope bright in his eyes. “If I can get samples or secure permission for controlled testing, would you be willing to try more direct experiments? There’s so much we don’t know, and this might be the breakthrough we need.”

  Tahl reached into a lacquered box on his desk and pulled out a polished token, handing it to Ethan. It was heavier and more ornate than the simple guest pass he’d received on arrival. “This will open the higher floors of the library and a few restricted areas, including the south training grounds. I know you have access at the Guild Hall, but the Academy’s facilities are sometimes better—or at least different. It’s worth seeing for yourself.”

  He paused, then added with a warm smile, “You’re welcome to attend any of my lectures. I teach every Flamesday, Earthday, and Windday. If you have questions or need help tracking down material, just ask. There aren’t many students here who get this kind of access—don’t let it go to waste.”

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  “So, can we take classes about anything?” Ethan rubbed his temples. “I don’t get it. Everyone keeps saying I should balance my stats, but what’s the real difference between Intellect and Wisdom? They both seem like… brain numbers.”

  Tahl’s smile was thin but patient. “A fair question. Intellect is how much weight you can lift with your mind — how wide a net you can cast, how much raw mana you can hold, how complex a working you can shape. Wisdom is what keeps the net from tearing. It determines how quickly the weave repairs itself, how well you can resist outside influence, how steady your channeling remains when something tries to unravel you.”

  Ethan frowned. “But if they both make my mana pool bigger… why not just stack one?”

  “Because they don’t enlarge it the same way.” Tahl steepled his fingers. “Intellect stretches the vessel — expands it wider. Wisdom thickens it — strengthens the walls, quickens the flow. An unbalanced mage has either a thin balloon ready to burst, or a sturdy cup that never holds enough.”

  Ethan rubbed at his temple. “Why do smart people always talk in riddles?”

  That earned a quiet laugh from Tahl. “You’re not wrong. Here—let me show you.”

  He reached for a piece of chalk and, with practiced efficiency, sketched two simple columns on the nearest board.

  Across the top, he wrote:

  Intellect (INT)

  ? Mana Pool: +10 MP per point (raw capacity)

  ? Casting Power: Stronger, more complex spells

  ? Efficiency: Less mana wasted when overcasting or channeling

  ? Comprehension: Improves memory, focus, and the ability to analyze complex information

  ? Core Aspect: Brainpower — clarity, recall, and the finesse to shape what you understand into working magic

  Wisdom (WIS)

  ? Mana Pool: +10 MP per point (same growth as INT)

  ? Mana Regen: Faster refill rate

  ? Resilience: Resistance to mental effects, corruption, charm, fear

  ? Stability: Reduces mana backlash and overburn

  ? Core Aspect: Insight — balance, endurance, and the discipline to use magic without breaking yourself

  Tahl tapped the board. “Both feed the same pool, but they govern different parts of it. Intellect builds pressure; Wisdom keeps it from bursting. You’ll need both if you plan to swim in deep water.”

  Ethan stared at the list, expression flat. “See, that’s what you should’ve started with. Words. Charts. Actual definitions.”

  Tahl’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “And deprive you of the riddle? Never.”

  He turned back to the board with a faint, knowing smile. “I am a professor at this academy, after all. Of course I can teach you something.”

  Buster sat a little straighter, tail thumping once against the floor. “I understood what you meant, Professor ,” he said, voice full of proud, studious confidence and just a touch snide.

  Pixie groaned dramatically. “You would. You’re such a brown-noser.”

  Amelia’s tone was quiet but perfectly timed. “His nose is a little brown.”

  Pixie rolled her eyes so hard Ethan could almost hear it. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, hopping off her stool. Within seconds she was padding along the shelves, poking at trinkets with her paws and tapping the glass block that held the floating quill. “How do you make it spin? Is this one shiny? What happens if I—hey, Alpha, it’s moving!”

  Before they left, Buster managed to spark another short debate with Professor Tahl over the way system logic could be applied to class boundaries. Their voices circled around definitions and exceptions, both enjoying the argument far more than they’d ever admit out loud. Tahl conceded a few points with a rueful grin, clearly impressed by Buster’s stubborn logic and fresh perspective.

  With their new token in hand, Ethan and the Pack set out to see what these privileges could unlock. They toured the upper floors of the library, marveling at rare tomes and delicate artifacts tucked behind glass. Some sections had study carrels where Lyra and Amelia lingered over spell diagrams, while Moose gravitated to old maps and siege records. Pixie darted ahead to test every enchanted door and secret nook she could find.

  The south training grounds proved larger and more elaborate than the Guild’s, with enclosed sparring rings and a handful of magical constructs running drills. Ethan took mental notes, already planning to return for a proper session.

  But Buster’s favorite discovery by far was the Academy cafeteria—a sprawling, sunlit hall crowded with students, the scent of roasting meats and fresh bread hanging in the air. He sniffed every table, managed to charm three rolls and a handful of cheese from a kindly kitchen worker, and declared the place “the true heart of campus” before falling asleep under the longest table he could find.

  By the time the sun dipped behind the city rooftops, Ethan and the Pack had finally made their way back to the inn. The streets felt less intimidating now, the path almost familiar. Inside, the warm light from the hearth spilled across worn floorboards, and the scent of bread and roasting vegetables drifted from the kitchen.

  Pixie was the first to reach the stairs, already recounting her favorite library stories to Amelia, who listened with wide-eyed wonder. Moose paused at the threshold, taking in the quiet bustle and giving a satisfied rumble before heading to his favorite spot near the fire. Lyra took a moment to shake the dust from her cloak before helping Buster, who was still groggy from his cafeteria nap, find his way to a pile of blankets.

  Ethan paused at the foot of the stairs and let himself breathe. The Silver Thorn was noisy, cluttered, and always a little chaotic, but it was starting to feel less like a stopover and more like a place he could belong. He followed the Pack up to their rooms, the low murmur of familiar voices and steady, quiet comfort guiding him the rest of the way home.