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Chapter 50 – Seeking the Transcendent
The academy grounds bustled with morning activity. Sunlight bathed the towering spires, casting long golden streaks across the stone paths. Students moved in groups, some chatting excitedly about the upcoming tournament, others preparing for morning lessons.
But Lyrian barely noticed any of it.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Varos.
The name lingered in his mind, along with the humiliating defeat from the night before. Every strike, every counter, every overwhelming moment played on repeat. It hadn't just been a loss—it had been a lesson, whether he wanted it or not.
A demonstration of the gap between them.
But Lyrian wasn't the type to back down. If anything, the experience had solidified his resolve.
He had to find him again.
His steps carried him away from the more crowded sections of the academy. Past the training halls, past the lecture buildings, into the quieter areas where few students wandered. The further he went, the more isolated it became.
Varos wasn't like the other instructors.
No one saw him often, and no one seemed to know much about him. Even the faculty spoke of him in vague terms, as if he were more of a phantom than a real presence at the academy.
Lyrian eventually found himself in front of an unassuming building nestled between two towering halls. It wasn't grand like the rest of the academy, but something about it felt different.
The air was thick.
The walls bore faint, intricate carvings—too deliberate to be simple decoration. The shadows here stretched unnaturally, lingering at the edges even under the bright morning sun.
This wasn't just another instructor's quarters.
Lyrian hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Silence.
He exhaled.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe Varos wasn't here.
Or maybe he was, and just ignoring him.
Lyrian waited, but no response came. His fingers twitched at his sides. He wasn't leaving without answers.
So, with a slow breath—he pushed the door open.
It wasn't locked.
The dimly lit interior stretched before him, lined with shelves filled with old tomes and weapons that looked far from ceremonial. A single lantern flickered in the corner, casting shifting shadows across the stone walls.
Then—
A shift in the air.
Not a sound. Not a movement.
But a presence.
Lyrian stiffened.
He wasn't alone.
His gaze swept the room, his muscles tensing. He knew this feeling. It was the same as the night before—the weight of someone standing near, just beyond his senses.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Controlled.
"You shouldn't be here."
Lyrian turned sharply.
Varos stood at the far end of the room, half-shrouded in shadow. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, met Lyrian's without hesitation.