The pair of them moved closer to the golden barrier even as the storm rumbled in the distance, its heavy thunder rolling across the darkened sky. The winds had picked up, strong currents of mana swirling around them and announcing the imminent onslaught of a mana-storm. Each gust carried an electric charge that prickled along their skin, making the hair on Kor’s arms stand on end.

  Rain whipped into their backs as Talen and Kor approached, the droplets stinging like tiny needles. Kor’s vision blurred as he scanned the surroundings, trying to recall the exact spot they had used to exit. The air tasted sharp with ozone and the damp earth.

  “Are you sure this is where we came from?” Kor’s words barely carried, swallowed by a sudden crack of thunder.

  “Pretty sure.” Talen’s gaze darting to the looming clouds, his expression tightening as a massive discharge of energy lit up the horizon. For an instant, the flash revealed a distant copse of trees, their branches twisting in flame—a stark reminder of how deadly a mana-storm could be.

  Kor silently prayed his badge still worked, his heart thumping against his ribs. They shared a look of determination and hefted the ceramic pot containing the rare Morthus seed. As soon as Kor set foot against the golden shield, the barrier reacted violently. A pulse of force slammed into him, throwing him backward while the pot stayed secure in Talen’s grip.

  He groaned, rolling through the soaked grass. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his skull the moment it struck the ground, leaving him dazed. Rainwater, charged by mana in the atmosphere, streamed onto his face, its chill a stark contrast to the burning throb at the back of his head. Lightning flashed again overhead, painting the world in blinding white for an instant. At least his face had stopped bleeding from earlier wounds. He couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at the absurdity of it all, propping himself up on one leg.

  “Kor… the badge?” Talen’s voice cut through the roaring winds, taut with concern. His face was barely visible beneath the barrier’s glow.

  Kor’s fingers brushed the now-lifeless badge at his chest, tracing its edges as a knot of frustration tightened in his throat.

  “No good… I think you’ll have to go in without me.” His voice was subdued, edged with resignation.

  Another boom shook the heavens, lightning raking the churning clouds. Talen flinched at the thunder’s savage roar.

  “We can’t just leave you out here,” He stepped closer to the barrier.

  Kor swallowed hard, rain slicing through every layer of his clothing, the chill sinking into his bones.

  “I’ll find another way in, Talen.” Despite the words, doubt gnawed at his mind. Was there even another route? Maybe the main entrance—if the guards let him through without a working badge.

  “Wait here!” Talen’s voice cut through the din—sharp, unwavering as he turned toward the barrier, resolve etched into his every movement. He grabbed hold of the pot, dragging it through the shield. Kor watched with a twinge of dismay as his friend vanished behind the shimmering gold field.

  Almost immediately, the storm redoubled its fury. Sheets of rain lashed Kor’s hair and robes, plastering them to his skin, and the howling wind threatened to topple him over again. Beneath the crackle of mana in the air, he felt a strange pulse of acceptance deep in his chest—like fate itself had conspired to strand him here. Yet he refused to surrender.

  Kor glanced at the crystalline badge in his hand, its once vibrant sheen now dulled to a lifeless grey. Useless. Yet, perhaps it was simply drained of energy. Could he recharge it himself? Memories of the battle swirled in his mind—of mana coiling under his control, wild and unyielding. A flicker of resolve hardened his weary features. He exhaled, heavy and deliberate, then shut his eyes, shutting out the storm’s violent rhythm.

  Rain lashed against his face, sharp and cold, but he ignored it. The distant crackle of thunder rumbled through the air, a low warning of the tempest closing in. His jaw tightened as he focused inward, pulling a fine thread of mana from the reservoir within. The process was precise, delicate, like threading a needle while blindfolded. He extended his senses towards the badge, feeling its intricate crystalline surface—a lattice of complexity that shimmered faintly in his mind’s eye. Somewhere in its design, there had to be a way in.

  He probed the rugged edge, crawling along every ridge and seam. It felt like tracing an unfamiliar maze in the dark. Every wrong turn met with resistance. Despite the badge’s feeble shield power, its construction was still leagues beyond his understanding. He almost pulled back, frustration gnawing at the borders of his concentration, when he found it: a tiny aperture, no larger than a pinprick.

  Kor steadied his breathing and narrowed his focus. Smaller, he willed his mana. Finer. He moulded the thread into a needle-like filament, sharp and exact. The effort was draining; sweat mingled with the rain as it coursed down his face, stinging his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he guided the filament into the aperture. It struck something—walls unlike the mana puzzle he’d encountered before. These didn’t repel him. Instead, they seemed to draw him deeper.

  A surge of hope reignited his determination. He pushed forward, the thread twisting and turning through the badge’s curling interior. Passage after passage spiralling inward like the coils of a snail shell. It wasn’t a maze. It was a circuit—a purposeful design leading somewhere. The rain intensified into a relentless curtain, nearly drowning out Talen’s anxious call.

  “Kor! I think I need to bring your student badge out. It’s the only way!”

  Kor’s hand shot up in a silent command to wait, the motion unsteady from the strain of maintaining the thread. The mana filament wavered, almost slipping from his control. His chest burned with effort, and his mind screamed for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Just a little further. The crystalline walls curved sharply now, each turn demanding more precision than the last. His vision darkened at the edges, but he pressed on, until—

  There.

  The edges opened into a small chamber, a space suffused with faint, flickering light. The centre of the badge’s construction. Kor’s heart leapt, only to sink as he realised it was completely empty! He quested out, around the tight walls of the chamber, desperately seeking the source of power. There was nothing. Panic clawed at his thoughts.

  He thought he’d made it, thought he’d found a solution to this mess.

  “Kor, the storm is here!” Talen’s voice cut through the gale, closer now. “We don’t have time!”

  Defeated, Kor released his mana sense. The effort left him swaying on his feet. His shoulders slumped as Talen rushed to his side, pulling him towards the barrier. “Stay here,” Talen said firmly, his expression grim. “I’ll grab your badge and—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening.

  “Wait. Kor, look!”

  Kor’s eyes snapped downwards, following Talen’s urgent tone. His breath caught in his throat. There, against the drenched fabric of his robes, his visitor badge glimmered faintly. Its crystalline veins pulsed with a thread of mana—so faint it might have been a trick of the storm’s dim light, but unmistakable nonetheless.

  “It worked?” he whispered, disbelief threading through his voice. His trembling fingers reached for the badge, brushing its surface. It was warm now, its dull grey sheen replaced by a soft golden hue that glowed faintly against the gloom.

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  The question lingered in his mind: how? He hadn’t managed to charge it—hadn’t even located the power source. His mana had only coursed through the labyrinthine structure, following dead ends. Unless... His eyes narrowed in thought. Could the very act of navigating the lines have triggered its reactivation?

  He straightened, clutching the badge as rain continued to stream down his face. The storm raged with unabated fury, sheets of water crashing against the shimmering barrier. “Stand back, Talen,” Kor said, his voice steadier now. “I think this just might have worked.”

  Talen grinned and moved aside, his sodden hair clinging to his forehead.

  Kor inhaled deeply and stepped forward, his foot testing the barrier. To his astonishment, it passed through effortlessly, like slipping into a warm current. Relief surged through him, mingling with the faint golden glow that seemed to wrap around him as he pushed fully into the protected zone.

  Emerging on the other side, he blinked in surprise. His clothes, previously soaked to the skin, were now bone-dry, as if the barrier had scrubbed the storm away. A grin tugged at his lips, a small victory against the chaos of the night.

  Talen followed with a whoop, clapping Kor on the shoulder. “What did you do? Your badge was broken, wasn’t it?”

  Kor shook his head, still piecing it together. “I think... it was just out of energy. While you were gone, I threaded my own mana into it, searching for a power source. But there was nothing at the centre—just those endless pathways.”

  Talen’s brows shot up, rainwater still dripping from his chin. “Damn, Kor. That’s actually impressive. Some items don’t have a stable power source—they just need mana running through them to wake up.”

  Kor’s eyes drifted to the furrowed path in the dirt nearby. The faint shimmer of mana trailed ahead, leading to Talen’s companion. A sharp surge of energy tugged at Kor’s awareness, and he turned just in time to catch his student badge as Talen tossed it to him.

  “Better get these back on,” Kor said, his grin widening. He slid the badge into place, a reassuring hum pressing against his chest.

  Together, they hoisted the heavy Morthus pot between them. Few students could be seen this close to the edge, and the stillness of the campus felt almost eerie. Every muscle in Kor’s body ached as they trudged onward, the sharp, repetitive strain in his fingers making him grimace. He flexed his hands occasionally, half-expecting them to be locked into claws for days.

  “How come your Morthus made it through the barrier, Talen?” Kor broke the silence. His voice sounded hoarse against the backdrop of distant thunder.

  “Companions and bonded entities share a part of your mana signature.” Talen adjusted his grip on the pot. “As long as we’re together, the barrier reads us as one. Would be pretty inconvenient otherwise.”

  Kor nodded, his boots crunching softly against wet gravel as they pushed past a row of thick bushes, the familiar safety of campus a salve to his aching body.

  “Kor Penman!”

  The sharp, authoritative voice snapped through the darkness like a whip. Both boys froze mid-step, their tired bodies stiffening instinctively.

  A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, commanding, with a stern expression that could curdle milk. Professor Oak’s steely gaze remained as unrelenting as ever beneath his thick brows.

  Kor’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he exchanged a nervous glance with Talen.

  “For leaving the campus grounds without permission…” Oak’s gravelly voice was measured, deliberate, and heavy with disapproval. His words trailed off as his gaze landed on Kor’s face. The professor’s brows knit together, his stern facade giving way to something resembling alarm.

  “By the Void, boy, what did you do?” he demanded, stepping closer. The words carried less accusation than concern, though the weight of authority in his tone was undeniable.

  Kor’s pulse hammered as he wiped a shaky hand across his cheek. How would he explain the dried blood and fresh scrapes? His throat tightened as Oak’s sharp gaze flicked to Talen, who stood wide-eyed and frozen.

  “The two of you?” Oak’s voice was sharper now, his tone accusing. “The Dean only told me about one student—”

  “It was only me, Professor!” Kor blurted, the words tumbling out before he could think. “Talen hasn’t done anything wrong. He was just checking up on me!”

  The lie burned in his chest, but he forced himself to hold Oak’s gaze. Talen started to protest, his mouth half-open, but Kor cut him off with a subtle shake of his head.

  Oak’s piercing eyes shifted between them, narrowing as they lingered on Talen’s face. He scrutinised the boy for a long, tense moment before his attention fell to the pot they carried. His frown deepened, lines etching deeper into his weathered face as he took in the unusual container and the energy emanating from it. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his expression—disbelief, perhaps? Or was it grudging admiration?

  “That’s your story?” Oak’s voice was low and even.

  “Y-yes, sir,” Kor forced the words past the lump in his throat.

  The professor’s frown deepened further, the weight of his scrutiny almost unbearable. Talen’s mouth opened again, but Oak silenced him with a raised hand. The older man let the moment stretch, the storm’s muffled fury the only sound between them.

  Finally, Oak inclined his head, his lips pressing into a thin line that could almost be mistaken for approval. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Just you, Penman. Come with me. The Dean is waiting.”

  Talen shifted his weight, his expression tight with unspoken protest, but Kor turned to him quickly. “Make sure you get back safely, Talen.” He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That sapling needs you.”

  Talen hesitated, his jaw clenching, but he nodded reluctantly. His figure lingered at the edge of the barrier’s golden glow as Kor turned away, the pot’s faint pulse disappearing from view.

  As Kor trudged after Oak, his thoughts churned with unease. How much trouble was he in? And how had the Dean known? The rhythmic crunch of their footsteps against the stone pathway seemed impossibly loud, each step drawing him closer to judgment.

  His mind flickered back to the Voidling encounter. In the Dean’s office, he’d believed the Dean’s spell was to ensure their silence. He had mentioned nothing about tracking them.

  Surely this wasn’t serious enough to get him expelled... was it? His stomach twisted further at the thought. Lexicans weren’t exactly favoured here—he’d felt the Dean’s thinly veiled disdain since his arrival. Would this be the excuse the Dean needed to send him packing? The idea gnawed at him as they passed through the damp campus grounds, the golden glow of the protective barrier rippling faintly against the storm’s assault.

  Professor Oak broke from the main path, leading Kor toward a squat stone building that stood apart from the towering spires. Its exterior was plain, unremarkable except for the faint hum of mana that emanated from it, almost like a heartbeat.

  Inside, the atmosphere was oddly soothing, thick with a kind of warmth seeped into his bones. The interior was sparse, narrow beds lining the walls, each curtained off for privacy. A faint medicinal tang hung in the air, mingling with the soft hum of mana.

  “Kirk!” Oak’s voice cracked like a whip, and a second-year boy with short, curly hair appeared from behind one of the curtains, his movements brisk and precise.

  “Sir?” Kirk snapped to attention.

  “Fix him up.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The boy turned to Kor with an air of professionalism that belied his youth. His mana surged, quick and controlled, as he raised a hand. Before Kor could blink, a spell flared to life, bathing his wounds in a soft green glow.

  “Nothing major,” Kirk’s tone clipped, but calm. “Just a shallow cut.”

  Another pulse of energy followed, this one lingering. A wave of relief washed over Kor as the pounding in his head ebbed, replaced by a calm clarity. His skin itched faintly where the wound had been, and when he reached up to touch his cheek, he found it smooth and unblemished.

  “Thank you,” Kor said, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude. The relief went deeper than just his healed wound—his entire body felt lighter, as though the spell had washed away layers of fatigue.

  “You’re welcome,”

  “Good job, Kirk,” Oak said, his tone gruff. “But you’re still using too much mana. You’ll burn out after a few spells if you don’t get your control in check.”

  The boy stiffened, nodding sharply before retreating back to his station. Kor watched him go, his thoughts briefly straying to the importance of healers at Conflux. He’d barely given the skill much thought, but now it struck him how vital it must be, especially in a place so prone to danger.

  “Let’s go,” Oak said, already heading for the door.

  Kor hurried after him, his curiosity momentarily overriding his nerves. “I don’t suppose healers could do something about, I don’t know, a large stomach or bad eyesight?” He cracked a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension.

  Oak snorted, a sound that might’ve been amusement. “I don’t know about your stomach, but fixing vision’s tricky work. Unless you’ve got a rich patron willing to bankroll it, chances are slim, kid.”

  “Oh.” So it was possible, but not likely for someone like him.

  The spire loomed ahead now, its dark silhouette cutting sharply against the dim, storm-lit sky. Oak led him toward the entrance, his pace unyielding.

  “Word of advice,” Oak said as they reached the elevator.

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t argue with the Dean. He’ll only make it worse for you.”

  Kor swallowed hard, nodding as the elevator doors slid shut behind them. The gentle hum of mana powering the lift filled the silence, but it did little to calm his fraying nerves.

  As the elevator began its ascent, the walls seemed to close in around him; the air growing heavier with each passing moment. His pulse quickened, and his thoughts spiralled. The Dean was waiting. For what punishment, Kor could only imagine.