Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zorian was floating. His eyes opened, yet blind. Flailing, yet with no limbs to speak of. His soul set ablaze.

Something was tugging it. Subconsciously, he willed himself, or what he could of himself, towards that magnetic pull. An organ sang with discordant echoes, and though he had no ears, he could hear a voice calling to him. Loud, like a whisper in the mind. 

My dear esteemed benefactor… A lovely and noble flower of evil… 

You truly are the fairest one of them all. 

A door slammed and the music ceased. All at once, Zorian could see. The imprint of millions of spider webs, interlocking into abysmal geometric fractures, yet somehow never touching. Thin white threads. Twisted and frayed rope. Glistening silver wire. Extending infinitely outwards and contained within a tiny hallway. Were Zorian not a mere soul, his brain would certainly have collapsed trying to make sense of it.       

Magic mirror on the wall... Reveal unto me the visage that I seek. 

The webs began to warp with each word that rang through the endless hallway, compressing over his soul like a net. Except they weren’t webs anymore, but fragments of glass, and as his soul struggled a trillion eyes opened within each fragment, twirling frantically towards the web– the mirror, yet only able to gaze upon itself. The eyes landed upon his soul, but its bright light seared them, and as Zorian screamed and his soul trembled with pain he realised– 

They were his eyes.  

You, whose image the dark mirror beckoned forth… 

If your heart bids it, take the hand of the one reflected in the mirror. 

The threads, ropes, wires, of the web morphed. The eyes, now wide and bloodshot, coalesced, tangling themselves impossibly in the strings, until it created the image of a hand, beckoning. Zorian’s hand reached out through his soul, incorporeal but the only solid thing in this space, to that hand. The trillions of eyes closed, until there was just a regular hand reflected in a round mirror. Zorian grasped it with a fervor he didn’t know he had. 

The hallway around him disintegrated. Black particles consumed the space, turning him and the mirror upside down in its waves.

As flame reduces even the stars to ash

As ice seals away even time itself

As great trees swallow even the sky

Fear not the power of darkness. Now­- demonstrate your power. 

For me. For them. For you. 

We are all running out of time. 

Take care to never let go of that hand. 

Even as he fell and the black sand engulfed him, Zorian never lost his grip. 

.

.

.

Seconds, or perhaps centuries, after Zorian’s soul departed from its halls, a different voice reverberated from the strings of spider webs. Sorrowful, yet resigned. 

I am sorry, young one. 

Do not blame them for my selfishness.

Chapter Text

Zorian’s eyes abruptly shot open as a sharp pain erupted from his chest. His whole body convulsed, buckling against the object behind him, and suddenly he was wide awake, not a trace of drowsiness in his mind. 

Rubbing his head from where it banged against the wall behind him, Zorian catalogued the place that was definitely not his room in Imaya’s house. Despite waking up, presumably kidnapped, inside a box, Zorian half-anticipated hearing Kirielle’s annoyingly cheerful voice shouting good morning. He wouldn’t put it past the little imp. 

Zorian resisted the urge to let out a deep sigh lest his captors realised he was awake– his mind sense having alerted him to at least a hundred people in the vicinity. Should he get out of this situation intact he would be mercilessly teased by Zach, Daimen, Taiven…everyone really. Xvim and Alanic would certainly criticise his lacking defenses, and then ruthlessly push those defenses in the name of improving his foundations. Thankfully they’ve been rather occupied as of late, so there was still hope he could quietly return with no one the wiser. Presently, Zorian’s best course of action would be to check his condition, the strange pain his soul sustained being the main concern, before seeing if he could extract any information from the minds of his captors. 

Zorian quickly cast several diagnostic spells on his soul. The connection with his simulacrums were gone, so he couldn’t use them to create a dimensional gate. The outer shell of his soul was a bit strained, probably what cut the connection, nothing severe though and– hmm that's…weird. He consulted his soul again and, no, the same result. Zorian frowned even as some of his panic towards the situation ebbed. From what he could glean, his mana reserves had increased by a substantial amount. So much so that he could feel the difference; stabilised by an energy structure around his soul in the shape of an icosahedron. 

Sometime between when he fell asleep to now, Zorian had been bestowed a divine blessing. 

The webs. 

Zorian flinched from the stabbing pain in his head. Pushing through the ache, he hurriedly rooted through his carefully preserved memories. It was malformed and nearly incomprehensible, if he hadn’t placed so many mental enhancements on his mind it likely would have disappeared completely– the memory of a voice urging him,

‘You, whose image the Dark Mirror beckoned forth’ 

Eyes looking on.

‘Take the hand–’ 

Burning. 

‘Never let go.’ 

As millions of threads wrapped around his very being – 

Zorian shuddered, heart pounding. Having spent a significant amount of time with giant spiders in their webs, they never phased him anymore, but these ones felt deadly and suffocating. Closer to limbs than silk. 

I made a deal with an angel. I made a deal with an angel. Why? Is this what it was like for Zach? I might owe him an apology for my previous judgement. Zorian breathed slowly. But what kind of angel feels like a fucking primordial? Just from that brief sensation Zorian felt like he was facing Panaxeth back when he escaped the time loop: an unidentifiable being that was too many things at once, constantly shifting, each facet containing immeasurable power. Worst of all, Zorian had no idea what kind of contract he might have signed. He could only hope Dream Zorian didn’t screw him over… and that Zach never learned of this. 

Simultaneously reassured and burdened, Zorian reevaluated his situation. From his experience, whatever contract he signed would rear its head soon enough, as long as he listened to his instincts. His soul was already healed, and his mana reserves had increased thanks to the divine blessing. As long as it wasn’t another Panaxeth situation, or gods forbid another cult, he should be able to handle it. So, the second order of business was finding out where the angel had put him. Just as Zorian was going to reach out to one of the minds near him he sensed one moving towards him followed closely by a raspy voice. 

“I better hurry up and find that uniform before someone spots me…” 

The box shook as the mind landed on it. 

“Urgggh this lid weighs a ton.” 

While the person struggled with the lid, Zorian quickly connected to the mind and immediately grew dizzy from the alien senses he tapped into. Large, round eyes, sensitive ears and nose, tingles in his hands.. paws… this was a cat. Of course it’s a talking cat. Now knowing it wasn’t a human Zorian quickly adjusted for the foreign sensations. Compared to telepathic spiders, reading the mind of the cat was both easier and harder. Luckily he had some practice from reading Rea’s mind back when he was still suspicious of the cat shifter. 

Zorian’s eyes widened and he quickly threw up a basic, ectoplasmic shield. 

“Try this on for size! Mya-ha!” 

And just in time, as the cat let out an explosion of bright blue flames knocking the lid off of the literal coffin (he knew from the cat’s mind that this wasn’t a cult, but Zorian was holding onto his skepticism regardless) he was trapped in.  

Zorian got his first good look at the cat, if it could be called that; large, dark grey with a white chest, a pitch-fork tail, a black and white striped ribbon adorned its neck, and, in its ears, the same blue flames flickered. 

He glared, exasperated, at the cat. He was grateful to be let out, but this was certain to draw unwanted attention. And he could have done with less fire. The cat was equally surprised by Zorian, for some reason, oh, it (he) thought–

“What?! You ain’t supposed to be awake!” He yowled, both in real life and in his mind. Zorian cringed from the echo and quickly disconnected from his mind. He’d gotten what he wanted anyway.

“Oh-ho you got a lot of nerve ignoring me, human!” The cat kept speaking but Zorian tuned it out in favour of conjuring magic ropes to trap the beast, he wasn’t saying anything Zorian hadn’t already lifted from his mind. He couldn’t delve very deep but what Zorian could skim from his surface thoughts was both helpful and deeply concerning.  

The cat’s, incidentally a monster or dire beast, name was Grim, and he desperately wanted the robes Zorian was wearing, which he only just noticed he’d been changed into, to pass himself off as a student at this school. The hundred minds he sensed around him were prospective students for Night Raven College, one of the most prestigious arcane academies in Twisted Wonderland. 

A place that definitely did not exist anywhere in Zorian’s home continent of Altazia let alone Ersetu. 

It was so far-fetched of an idea. Had Zorian not confirmed with divination spells or checked his mind for tampering, he certainly wouldn’t have believed it, and written Grim off as (exceptionally) stupid or delusional. The uncanny dream with the angel was just the mana crystal on top… Zorian wasn’t on Ersetu anymore. This was some other planet or–or universe. 

It wasn’t the first time Zorian had crossed worlds, but the mechanics of the time loop involved creating a replica of the original world contained within a pocket dimension, this was something else entirely! Not to mention, his instincts were shouting at him to remain here. Zorian rubbed his face. He scolded Dream Zorian who agreed to this ridiculous farce whilst reassuring himself, at least it’s not a magic cult or necromancers. It’s just a completely foreign world, unknown to you, that you’re currently trapped in. 

Zorian wondered again if this was how Zach felt, those first few iterations of the time loop, when the reality of it all dawned on him.

Meanwhile Grim kept complaining in the background. “How… HOW DARE YOU! I’m the Great Grim, sorcerer extraordinaire! Let me go! Cause if you don’t… you’re gonna regret it!” Flames gathered in his mouth. 

Zorian shook his head, he could process later. For the moment, he preemptively headed off any arson by conjuring more ropes around Grim’s mouth. Grim radiated outrage, frustration and embarrassment, but Zorian didn’t have time to calm himself down, let alone Grim. People were approaching. 

He turned to face the newcomers. He paused. The young mage took off his glasses, wiped them with his robes, and put them back on. He blinked. 

His dark, silk robes should have tipped him off, they were almost exactly the same cut as the red robes worn by the leaders of the Cult of the World Dragon (except a little exotic), but he didn’t quite believe it until he saw the flamboyant, crow-masked (cult leader?) man flanked by five people in the same robes, their faces shadowed beneath the hood. 

They quickly noticed him too as they all faced him with surprise and interest. The crow man most of all. He brought his gold-claw ringed fingers to his mouth and exclaimed, “a student outside of the gate already!?” Shaking his head he stepped forward. 

“Dear me. Of all the students I’ve dealt with, you’re the first with temerity enough to open their own gate and step out of it. Does the very notion of patience elude you?” 

Zorian raised his eyebrows. “Gate? Do you mean the coffin?” 

“Why yes! All of the students here arrived by passing through such gates. Although typically the students have restraint enough to wait until I open them before waking up,” he grumbled before continuing, “the design is intended to symbolise a parting with your former world, and a rebirth into a new one.”

You don’t say. Zorian narrowed his eyes and tentatively connected with the bird man’s mind. 

He was instantly assaulted with a deluge of ‘ I’m such a generous and kind Headmage. The best Headmage. The kindest, most generous…’ and on and on and on. A few other thoughts slipped in but were drowned out by the constant self-praise. Zorian didn’t think he’d ever met a person more self-assured of their own goodness.  

Zorian made note to try and knock him out and perform a deep memory scan at a later date. At least he knew this was the Headmage of the academy and not a cult leader, though the matter was still up in the air as far as Zorian’s paranoia was concerned. 

Then, one of the cloaked figures spoke up with a deep drawl and a yawn, “as interestin’ as this isn’t, can we hurry up with the ceremony?”

“Though I abhor agreeing with Leona on anything, we are wasting time,” said another person with an oddly feminine face for an all-boys school.    

“Yes, the ceremony shouldn’t be delayed. Headmage, deal with this rule-breaker promptly so we can resume!” Added a short boy with hair as red as Zorian’s classmate Raynie. 

“Of course, I was about to do just that!” Said the Headmage. “Ahem. I will allow you to return to the gate so you may exit with all the other first years. Truly, my magnanimity is boundless.” 

Zorian interrupted the Headmage’s preening, “apologies Headmage, I didn’t willingly break out. This monster broke open my coff– gate.”

Zorian stepped aside revealing Grim, dispelling the ropes as he did.

Grim wasted no time releasing his grievances. “Mya-ha! Finally! Human, how dare you trap me, I’ll burn you for that!” Grim shot towards Zorian, teeth aflame.

“Oh dear!” The Headmage reacted swiftly. He unhooked a whip from his waist and lashed up Grim, tying him up again. “So this was the culprit!” 

“Yeow! Not again! That hurts! Lemme go!” Grim fruitlessly tried escaping while Zorian tried to conceal his amusement.   

The red-head surged forwards, indignant. “The Queen of Heart's Rule 23: "One must never bring a cat to a formal affair”. You must remove it from the premises immediately!"

“Ah, there goes Riddle again. He really sticks to his character model.” A tired voice emanated from a floating, metal slab with glowing glyphs, startling Zorian– he couldn’t sense a mind there. A sophisticated piece of spell formula; Zorian couldn’t make heads or tails of it from where he was standing. He wondered if it was similar to the orb he had created in a past loop to avoid revealing his voice. If so, could they be a psychic? That is if psychics, as Zorian knew them, existed here. This world’s spell formula practices were just another thing for Zorian to look into if he got the chance.     

“That’s quite enough dallying!” The Headmage turned back to Zorian. “Bringing such a poorly trained familiar is indeed a violation of the rules. You're the one who insisted on bringing it, so curtailing its behavior is your responsibility! But, no matter, we shall discuss this later. We must commence the orientation.”  

The Headmage seemed to give up as he simply pushed Zorian –ignoring any protests he tried to make– towards the cloaked figures and strutted up to a raised platform in the center of the room, where an opulent, round mirror was displayed. One that felt strangely familiar. 

“Hello! I’m Kalim Al-Asim, housewarden of Scarabia!” A cheerful voice greeted Zorian. “That was quite the debut hahaha! What’s your name?” 

“I couldn’t agree more, Kalim. Your kind of student wouldn’t be unwelcome in Octavinelle,” added a smooth voice beside him. 

“Do not encourage him, Kalim, Azul!” Riddle admonished. “Honestly, bringing a cat to such an important event. What flagrant disregard of the Queen of Heart’s rules.”

“Yea well not everyone is gonna be followin’ her rules. Don’t keep pushin’...unless you wanna repeat last year’s incident.” The sleepy one, Leona, smirked. Zorian got the feeling he cared less about decorum and more about discomfiting Riddle. Successfully too.  

Face red as his hair, Riddle retorted, “bringing an unapproved familiar is against Night Raven’s rules! And this flagrant attitude of yours is exactly why your students see fit to act out! I would not deign to intervene with Savanaclaw dorm otherwise!”  

Leona glowered down at Riddle. His narrowed gaze emphasising the scar around his left eye. His previous lazy aura was gone. “Right. You shouldn’t.”

Kalim nervously chuckled. “Oh c’mon Riddle, it’s his first day and the familiar barely did any damage.” 

It did little to dilute the tension between the two mages. Neither did anybody else seem inclined to step in. Either too entertained or too nervous.  

Zorian clarified, “fortunately, I haven’t broken any rules. He’s not mine. I think he broke in…he wanted my uniform.” Curious as he was, the psychic really didn’t want to get caught between a brewing fight, at least not until he had more information. 

“Truly? How terrifying,” responded Azul. His expression was concerned, but Zorian could tell he was more amused than anything.  

Riddle was appropriately mollified though because he didn’t comment further, and Leona lost interest. 

Zorian took the opportunity to answer Kalim’s earlier query, “my name is Zorian. If you don’t mind my asking, what incident are they referring to? And what is a housewarden?”    

Kalim was all too eager to answer. Unsurprising, he exuded the same extroverted energy as Zach and Nora Boole. 

“Oh! You don’t know? Ummm, see the students are split into seven dorms. And each dorm is led by a student, the housewarden, and a vice-housewarden. My vice is Jamil! He’s amazing! I don’t know what I’d do without him. Anyway, that’s what this ceremony is for! To sort you into a dorm.” Kalim smiled, conspicuously skipping Zorian’s initial question. “If you’re in my dorm I’ll make sure to be a great housewarden! Well I will anyway but this is my first year as housewarden so I’m not sure, but Jamil’s helping so it’ll definitely be fine!” 

Zorian assumed everyone else here was a housewarden then. Odd, if there were seven dorms why were there only six people (including the metal slab)? 

Unfortunately, Zorian was prevented from asking further as the gates all opened up with a flash of light. 

The ceremony had begun.   

Chapter Text

Zorian had to shut off his empathy the moment his fellow first-years (and wasn’t that a strange concept? Zorian had lived as a third-year student for over a decade at his own academy, now  he’d dropped two grades) awoke and exited their gates in a groggy swarm. Taking the time to admire the grand chamber and excitedly point out the fancy mirror.

The Headmage clapped, drawing the crowd’s attention. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I am Dire Crowley, appointed by the chairman as the Headmage of this most acclaimed institute. And I graciously welcome you young mages into our lustrous halls!” Dire dramatically swept a hand, causing the feathers on his gold-embroidered jacket to flutter like a peacock. “But first, a quick word…” 

Zorian was expecting a tedious but short ceremony. 

He was greatly mistaken. 

What followed was a very long and boring speech regaling the student body with Night Raven’s long, most acclaimed, most brilliant, most honoured…etcetera, history and accomplishments. Majority of which the Headmage implied credit for. Zorian was beginning to doubt they’d even get to the sorting of dorms that night. As Dire droned on -using so many sentences to say so very little- for nearly half an hour, Zorian doubted they’d get to the sorting within the week even. One of the housewardens clearly shared his sentiment, because Zorian noticed them briefly exit the chamber with another student to shamelessly engage in a fight. Zorian eyed Grim’s sleeping form, still bound and tucked under the Headmage’s arm, enviously. 

“ –it was these Great Seven that inspired the dorms of this school. Of which you will now be sorted into!” Dire gestured to the floating mirror in the center of the room. “One at a time, step up to the Dark Mirror– WITHOUT touching it. The mirror is a powerful magical artifact of untold history, and thus priceless.” 

That piqued Zorian’s interest. The Dark Mirror… he pursed his lips. What connection does it have to the angel that brought me here? Part of Zorian resented the Headmage for droning on about such ultimately useless facts. Knowledge about prominent historical figures would be instrumental in helping Zorian blend in, yes, but he’d rather learn more about the Dark Mirror. Fortunately, Zorian would soon get his chance to interact, however briefly, with the artifact.  

“The Dark Mirror shall read your soul and determine which dorm your person aligns with the most: Heartslabyul, based on the Queen of Heart’s spirit of strictness. Savanaclaw, based on the King of Beast’s spirit of persistence. Octavinelle, based on the Sea Witch’s spirit of benevolence. Scarabia, based on the Sorcerer of the Sand’s spirit of mindfulness. Pomefiore, based on the Fairest Queen’s spirit of tenacity. Ignihyde, based on the King of the Underworld's spirit of diligence. Or Diasomnia, based on the Thorn Fairy’s spirit of nobility.” 

Zorian once again wished he knew more about the Dark Mirror before being thrust into orientation. He wished he knew more about everything. The Dark Mirror would read his soul? How much would it know? Is the process similar to how soul mages can analyse the outer layer of a soul? Would his defences hide his soul from the mirror’s perception like it would a soul mage? 

Zorian didn’t like that, for the time being, he could only have faith that the angel knew what it was doing when sending him here. 

“Once you have been sorted, promptly make your way to the back of the hall until the ceremony concludes. You there,” Dire pointed into the crowd, “you may begin.”    

Zorian attentively observed the process as the first student closest to the mirror stepped up. Unfortunately, Zorian’s soul sight was too underdeveloped to view the student’s soul from his current distance. 

The Dark Mirror glowed softly as green flames roared across its surface. From between the arcs of flame a mask emerged. It was a pale off-white, with black lace detailing around the gaping holes that were its eyes. 

The mask bellowed, “state thy name.” 

The student straightened their shoulders and said, “Vita Ivory.” 

“The shape of thy soul is… relentless and cunning in its pursuit of glory. Therefore you are suited for Savanaclaw.” 

There was polite clapping as Vita stepped down, passing Zorian as he made his way to the back of the hall. The next student chosen by Dire went up. In this manner, the students were gradually sorted. The most notable being the students who went into Heartslabyul dorm; every student who was sorted there had a mark of differing size and placement appear on their face. Zorian recognised the heart and diamond but couldn’t identify the other symbols, nor their purpose. He also noted that the majority of visibly athletic students were assigned to Savanaclaw. 

If Zorian was hoping to recognise a familiar face, barring Epel Felmier who he recalled leaving to fight one of the housewardens during Dire’s speech, he would have been disappointed. 

Finally, Zorian was the final student remaining. He tried not to let his nerves show as he approached the mirror. Despite being able to utilise his soul sight as the crowd shuffled forward, he couldn’t figure out what the Dark Mirror was doing, just that it appeared harmless. 

The mask met Zorian’s eyes from behind his glasses. “State thy name.” 

“Zorian Kazinski.” 

“The shape of thy soul is…” 

It paused. “… unclear to me.” 

Zorian’s eyes furrowed and he hesitantly turned to the Headmage, but he seemed just as taken aback as Zorian, which did not bode well for the psychic. Murmurs started up in the crowd. 

“What did you just say?” Dire asked. 

“I sense no magical power from this one. Soundless. Colourless. Shapeless. Utterly vacant. Therefore, no dorm would be appropriate.” The mirror concluded harshly. 

What?  

Of all things, Zorian could never have predicted this outcome. Bewildered, he checked the state of his mana, and sure enough it was still there. Flowing stronger than ever by virtue of the divine blessing. 

Dire was indignant. “Are you suggesting that the black carriage went to retrieve a person who cannot even use magic? But that is absurd! The student selection process has not erred once in its centuries of existence! How could this have happened?” 

There were any number of reasons Zorian could think up, from his soul defences to simply not belonging in this world. None of which would help Zorian correct the misunderstanding surrounding his magical ability and remain at Night Raven College. He didn’t know why, but whatever contract he signed was urging him to stay. Except Zorian didn’t even get a chance to act because the monster cat exploited Dire’s distraction to escape. He was starting to notice a pattern…

Grim gasped triumphantly. Standing up on his hind legs he demanded, “ME! Let ME have this student’s seat!” 

Frazzled, Dire reached out to Grim. “Not so fast, you hyperactive weasel!” 

Grim smoothly bounded away, pitch-fork tail lashing behind him. “Unlike that human, I can actually use magic! So let me be a student here! Look, I'll show you!” Grim smirked. “My spells're the cat's meow!”  

“Duck!”/”Everyone get down!” Zorian and Riddle shouted in tandem. 

Blue fire exploded outwards. Students screamed and scrambled away from the fire. The unlucky few who got caught in the initial blast desperately patting the fire eating at their robes. 

“Ya see? That’s what I can do! And there’s a lot more where that came from!” 

Grim continued to shoot out fireballs in all directions like an out of control fire drake. Zorian narrowly dodged a blast of fire, and then immediately turned to conjure a shield over a fallen student, allowing the fire to safely disperse around them. Meanwhile, none of the housewardens lifted a finger to safeguard their students. In fact Kalim hadn’t even been able to protect himself.

“AHHHH! HELP! I’m on fire over here!” Kalim cried, stupidly running around with his butt on fire. Zorian raced past the barrage of fireballs, dispelling any attacks he couldn’t dodge, and tackled Kalim. 

“WHAAA! Oof!” 

Thankfully, just sitting down was enough to extinguish most of the fire, and rolling Kalim killed the last sparks. 

“Owwww… why’d you do that?” Kalim rubbed his back where it had hit the ground. He perked up and patted his robes. “Oh! The fire’s gone! Thank you! Uhh…”

“Zorian,” he reminded. 

“Thank you Zorian!” Kalim grinned, but it quickly shifted to concern as he saw the mayhem and fire. “Ahh…this is a disaster.”

Dire was fussing to himself. The tips of his jacket and feathers slightly singed. “Someone catch that blasted animal before it sets the entire school ablaze!”  

From behind Zorian and Kalim, Leona sighed, “pretty sure you can handle catching one mangy weasel all on your lonesome there, Headmage.” Mimicking Zorian’s own thoughts. Some Headmage he was. 

Grim did not appreciate the sentiment. “How many times do I gotta say it? I'm Grim, spellcaster extraordinaire! I am NOT a weasel!” 

Despite having dampened his empathy, Zorian could feel the beginnings of a headache; Grim’s desperation and insecurity was suffocating the air and the panic of the students was getting to him. Having had enough, Zorian connected to Grim’s mind. Subtly hijacking his nervous system, he induced a cough. When Grim went to shoot another fireball he choked, letting out a startled yelp. Zorian incited Grim’s hind paws to twitch and the monster fell flat on his face.       

There was a small spike of disappointment nearby. Zorian faced the origin and saw Azul addressing Riddle. “Well that was anticlimactic. Riddle, would you be so kind…?” 

Riddle acquiesced, glaring at Grim. “Furry miscreant. I will abide no rule-breaking.” Curious, Zorian watched as Riddle took out a pen topped with a red gemstone and held it like a spell rod. “ Are you ready for your sentence? The verdict comes afterwards. Any last words?” 

Light gathered around the pen as Riddle spoke. Grim struggled to move but Zorian's mind magic didn’t let him. 

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” 

Clang! A black and red metal collar embellished in gold locked itself around Grim’s neck. What kind of magic did Riddle cast? Zorian had never seen such a detailed and solid magical construct before. Did he summon it from somewhere? Intrigued as to its purpose, Zorian dropped his hold on Grim’s mind. 

Grim clawed at the collar. “MYAH?! What are you doing?!” 

Riddle huffed, “I warned the Headmage to have you vacated from the premises. The rules exist precisely to prevent this kind of chaos, and not only have you violated them with your presence today, you have damaged school property!” 

“Don’t think you can collar me that easily! I’ll burn it right off!” Grim blew but no flames emerged. “Huh…? Wh-What gives? My fire ain’t workin’!” 

“Until I deign to remove that collar, you won’t be using any magic. You’re naught but a pet cat now.” Riddle smirked. 

Zorian gazed at Riddle with newfound consideration and wariness, as Grim futilely tugged and nipped at the collar. A spell, not a ward, that prevented the use of magic and could be maintained indefinitely, was incredibly powerful. If it simply disrupted mana shaping, Zorian was confident in his ability to bypass its effects, but… he couldn’t be certain. He didn’t even know how much of his world’s logic could be applied. Perhaps it was better that his own magical capabilities weren’t revealed yet, it would give him a surprise edge should further trouble arise. 

“M-MeoWHAT?! I ain't nobody's pet–NOTHING!” Grim growled. 

“Oh, you've nothing to worry about there. I certainly have no interest in having you as a pet. The collar will disappear once you're removed from campus.” 

Azul applauded Riddle, his voice steeped with flattery, “Haha! Good show as always, Riddle. Your unique magic locks down any magic. It's quite handy. I've just GOT to have it—ah, I mean, I've just got to have respect for it.” Even when Riddle ignored him, Azul wasn’t affected. 

If nothing else, Zorian was glad he wasn’t put in the same dorm as Azul. The bespectacled housewarden rubbed Zorian the wrong way. Nothing he’d said so far felt sincere, yet was also unbelievably earnest.  

“Azul’s right! Your unique magic is incredible!” Kalim praised, patting Riddle on the shoulder. 

Seeing that the whole debacle was dealt with, the Headmage came out of his safe corner and strode up to Zorian, who looked up at his approach with a raised eyebrow. Dire had one hand on his hip, the other holding up an admonishing finger. “Mr. Kazinski, was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar? Now discipline your–” 

Having learnt his lesson, Zorian shamelessly interrupted the oncoming lecture, “he’s not my familiar. The monster was already in the chamber before I left my gate.” 

“What’s that? It isn’t yours?” 

Zorian replied, deadpan, “no. Grim said it himself multiple times, he doesn’t belong to anyone.” 

The Headmage smiled nervously. “Oh… is that so?”

“Yes.” 

“Ahem– Then I shall have it expelled from campus. I shall even spare it from being served as dinner. My, but I am kind. Someone take this away please.” Dire waved his hand and a student dragged Grim through the exit by the collar. Not without a parting word though. 

“Nooooo! Let me gooooo! You fools better remember my name! Cause I'm gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!” Zorian was uncomfortably reminded of Veyers Boranova; another fire mage who threw a tantrum when kicked out of mage school.     

“Well, that was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded. Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms.” Dire scanned the room. “...Hm? Come to think of it, I don't see Housewarden Draconia of House Diasomnia anywhere.” 

So the seventh housewarden was absent. That explained things. 

“And that surprises you? Dude’s a total recluse.” Leona commented, snarky. Zorian sensed some bitter feelings there, though, with his empathy suppressed, he couldn’t be sure of what exactly. Is he a jilted lover or something?  

“Wait a sec… Did anyone even invite him?” Kalim asked, head tilted in thought. 

The feminine housewarden Epel had fought earlier responded, “if you’re that worried about him missing out, maybe you should have told him yourself.” 

Kalim pursed his lips, red eyes nervous. “Maybe, but I don’t know him too well either.” 

In the background, the other students grew restless upon hearing about the Diasomnia housewarden. There was a general reaction of disbelief and awe towards the name 'Malleus Draconia'. Zorian made note of the name. Whoever he was, Malleus seemed important.  

Zorian turned to the door just as it opened up, revealing a short, harried figure. They turned their head about and deflated slightly. 

“Ah. Just as I’d expected.” The person spoke with a surprisingly deep voice. He approached the front of the chamber where the housewardens and Zorian were gathered. The person’s gaze stalled on Zorian before moving on. “I figured I'd come down and see for myself whether Malleus had made an appearance. But once again, he was evidently not informed that his presence was required at an official ceremony.” 

Leona rolled his eyes while Azul smoothly mediated. “You have my sincerest apologies. I assure you, this oversight was in no way intended as a snub.” 

Riddle was slightly more forthcoming. “I mean, you must admit, he’s not exactly the easiest person to strike up a conversation with.” 

“No matter,” the person continued, resigned. “All who were assigned to House Diasomnia, follow me! ...I just hope he doesn't sulk about this.” 

Following Diasomnia’s departure, the remaining housewardens also rounded up their students and streamed out, leaving just Zorian and Dire in the chamber. They looked at each other. 

“Well, Mr. Kazinski. This is a most unfortunate turn of events. I'm afraid that you will not be attending Night Raven Collage after all. Surely you realize that I cannot very well admit a student with no magical ability to my academy. But worry not. The Dark Mirror will see you safely home. Simply stand before it and visualise the place from whence you came.” 

Could the mirror really transport him home to Ersetu? Say it could, would that really be the best choice for him? Zorian’s heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest, his legs wouldn’t move. He wanted to go home, be done with this, take a proper vacation… but he was intrinsically aware that he wasn’t allowed to. 

He had a job to do here. 

Dire though had little consideration for Zorian’s internal dilemma and gently shoved the young mage to the mirror. The Headmage raised a sweeping hand.       

“Wait, I–” 

“O Dark Mirror! Return this soul to where it belongs!” 

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the Dark Mirror couldn’t traverse space-time and transport Zorian back to Ersetu. Zorian had been conflicted for nothing. 

“Ahem. Let us, er… try this again. O Dark Mirror! Return this soul–” 

“There is no such place,” the mirror declared. 

“What?” 

“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs. None.” 

It was a damning confirmation. Zorian suppressed his feelings of disappointment at the news. Of course there wasn’t an easy way out, there never was. He only hoped that it wasn’t another world-spanning fetch quest of long lost Ikosian (or Twisted Wonderland) artifacts. Zorian was one-hundred percent ready to lodge a complaint if his escape required gathering the personal treasures of the Great Seven like the Sovereign Gate.  

“How can that be? My, but today is a veritable cavalcade of impossible phenomena!” Dire exclaimed, stroking his chin in thought. He addressed Zorian, “This has never happened throughout my long tenure. I must confess that I am at something of a loss. Tell me: From what land do you hail?” 

Zorian mulled his answer before replying, “The town of Cirin.” 

“I'm afraid I am not familiar with such a place. I am intimately acquainted with the origins of every student who has ever come here, and yet... This mysterious homeland of yours eludes me,” Dire hummed. 

Zorian shrugged. “It’s a small, far-off rural town. Most people haven’t heard of it.” 

The Headmage clapped his hands. “Very well. Let us go to the library and look it up, shall we?” 

Zorian had no complaints about that. 

.

.

.

Zorian should have been helping Dire search for information on his hometown of Cirin, however, the psychic knew he wasn’t likely to find anything, and so left it up to the Headmage while he looked into other areas of interest. 

Zorian waved a hand through the gold threads stretching out in front of him. He’d learned these library divinations fairly early on into the restarts, yet they never failed in their usefulness. Their covertness also came in handy for his current situation, the searching threads only being visible to Zorian. In his other hand, he held a stack of books which contained the key phrase ‘Dark Mirror’, somewhere within their pages. Presently, Zorian divined for ‘geography’ and ‘modern politics’. The mage’s time in the restarts had taught him it was prudent to be up to date on domestic politics. And, if he wanted to pass off as a denizen of this world, Zorian couldn’t seem too ignorant. Only so much could be explained by his hailing from a middle-of-nowhere town. Zorian also desired to read up on the magic of this world, but, seeing as he probably wasn’t going to be enrolled, he had to prioritse. 

Zorian grabbed two more books before settling down at a table. He opened up his first book and began to read. 

Close to an hour later Zorian had read through every passage describing the Dark Mirror and was skimming through the basic geographical and political structure of Twisted Wonderland. 

The books he’d chosen didn’t really scribe beyond the bare bones regarding the Dark Mirror. As the Headmage said during orientation, the Dark Mirror is a rare and very powerful magical relic from a bygone era, and a symbol of Night Raven College. However, sorting the students into dorms is actually its secondary purpose, most of its acclaim comes from its ability to transport a person to and from areas without a counterpart mirror. So, even for a magic mirror, the Dark Mirror is quite rare. Incidentally, during Zorian’s delve into the Dark Mirror, he came to learn about the Hall of Mirrors situated in Night Raven. Each dormitory in the college is contained within its own pocket dimension, that is anchored to and accessed through its respective mirror. The dorm mirrors are therefore kept in their own building away from the main building.   

More than the Dark Mirror, that was what got Zorian to put down the book and let out a long sigh. The academy had seven extremely large pocket dimensions running at all times– indefinitely. Zorian had thought the imperial orb was impressive, yet this school had seven such pocket worlds, albeit not portable like the orb (then Zorian would have truly lost his mind). Just how are they powering them? 

Zorian would definitely need to make an opportunity to study them more closely to further his own dimensionalism skills. Perhaps it’d be fruitful in making a replacement imperial orb without Silverlake’s help. Then Zach would stop whining about it. His fellow time traveller still fantasizes about stealing it back from Oganj once the case against Tesen is finished. Princess could live there full time too instead of wandering around the forest. Zorian side-eyed the stack of textbooks. Not that it’ll matter if I can’t find a way back.  

As for the political landscape surrounding Night Raven, there are nine main powers: the Coral Sea, the Sunshine Lands, the Sunset Savannah, the Scalding Sands, the Kingdom of Heroes, the Shaftlands, Briar Valley, the Queendom of Roses, and the Land of Dawning. Unlike Altazia and its splinter states, these countries are all largely autonomous, and with no outward aggression towards each other. As it stands, the last great war was hundreds of years ago when humans and a species known as fae-folk underwent extreme hostilities. And even among them, Sage’s Island, where Night Raven is located, is seen as exceptionally neutral. 

Zorian was relieved he wouldn’t have to worry about a war here at least. In comparison, thinking about the political unrest broiling in his own world troubled him. 

As Zorian memorised the world map, Dire popped up behind a bookshelf with an exclamation. “There you are! I have been looking all over for you Mr. Kazinski!” 

Zorian picked up a different book he hadn’t gotten the chance to read and surreptitiously created a blueprint of it in his mind for later. “Did you find something?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

Dire shook his head, falling into the seat across Zorian. “Nothing. Just as I’d suspected. Your homeland is not listed on any map from any point in history. Now, are you quite sure that you come from such a place? That wasn't some sort of lie, or jape?”     

“I’m sure, and no, sir,” Zorian replied. 

“If so, the only explanation is that you've come from another planet. Or perhaps you were summoned here from another dimension?” 

Zorian twitched. He moved up ‘deep-memory probe the Headmage’ on his priority list. “It does seem that way…” 

There was an awkward pause, and Zorian could feel the Headmage observing him. 

“Hmm… Show me everything you have brought here with you. Do you have some form of identification, a driver's license perhaps? Or even a… shoe? You do seem a tad bit… empty-handed.” 

“A driver’s license?” Zorian questioned as he rifled through his pockets. Empty as expected. Do people here require special permits to drive carriages? He wondered privately. In his world, mages don’t even need permits to use the teleport spell, the idea of having one for something as benign as driving carriages was somewhat absurd. 

“Why, your town must be just as isolated as Briar Valley,” Dire remarked. 

“Right…” Some kind of advanced technology then? He decided not to question it for the moment. Although, he couldn't help himself imagining the Headmage asking a teenager for their airship pilot's license. He hid his smile by adjusting his glasses which had slipped while he was looking down– his glasses? “Do my glasses count?” 

“Oh marvelous! Hand them here.” Dire took the proffered glasses and hemmed and hawed. At one point he gently tapped the frame with his cane before handing them back. “Well I can tell that they’re a little dated, but I cannot glean much else... This is quite the predicament. I cannot have someone with no aptitude for magic bumbling about my arcane academy. And yet, as an educator, I am loath to expel a young person without a sorcent to their name, or any ability to contact their guardian… Truly, my grace is boundless.” 

So I keep hearing. Zorian would be more moved if he couldn’t sense that Dire was weirdly happy about the arrangement. Some corner of the self-centered birdman did feel responsible, but it wasn’t mere charity. Zorian was about to rack up some serious debt wasn’t he?

“Hmmmmm... Ah! There is a vacant building on this campus. It was, in fact, used as a dorm a long time ago. With a proper cleaning, it should be habitable enough. Out of the profound kindness of my heart, I will allow you to live there for the time being.” Dire rose and sauntered off, beckoning Zorian over. Zorian scrambled to match the long strides of the Headmage. “In the meantime, we will investigate other ways to send you home. Dear me, but I am a gracious man indeed! A model educator, one might say. Well then, I shall take you to your dorm straight away. It is an older building, but it has plenty of...character, one might say.”     

It was time for the make or break question. “So, what do you want in exchange for this help? I hardly believe this will be free.” 

“Aren’t you a cynical child? I am far too generous to demand the services of a child for simple shelter. However, I understand you may feel burdened.” 

“I won’t actually–” 

“Aha! I will graciously employ you so that you may afford necessities such as clothes and food. This is the most opportune solution to retain your independence! I am taken aback by my own consideration.”  

He should have just stayed quiet. 

Zorian himself was slightly excited to see the dormitory. Unfettered access to a magical mirror sounded amazing. And if he happened to break something during his study, he had the excuse of the mirror being old. Dire didn’t seem like the type of person to expend resources on unused objects. Unfortunately, Zorian didn’t realise how true that was until the duo arrived at the dormitory Zorian would be staying in. 

There was no magical mirror gate. Just a rusted and squeaking wrought-iron one. The path was dry and cracked dirt, the front yard was deadened, and the building disconcertingly dilapidated. The windows were boarded up or missing, roof tiles had fallen off, and the walls were incredibly weathered. 

Zorian shot the Headmage a dubious stare. “This is too much character, if you ask me.” 

“Isn’t it delightful? Right, scoot inside now. There you go.” 

The interior wasn’t much better. Opening the door whipped up a cloud of dust motes, swirling like a muddy snowstorm. The furniture was overturned or degraded: tables with broken legs, upholstery and curtains moth-bitten, not one surface free from grime. Paintings were crooked on the wall or lounging on the floor, and the wallpaper was peeling in one corner. Not to mention, it was practically a spider’s lair with all the cobwebs it housed. 

But… it wouldn’t be the worst place Zorian had stayed in. The design was reminiscent of his family home in Cirin, just cosier and messier.

The curtain fell with a heavy thump, stirring another swirl of dust. Much messier.

Nothing a little magic couldn’t fix up. 

“This should keep the elements at bay for the time being. Now, I should return to my research. Do try to find some way to busy yourself. But don't let me catch you wandering the campus! Ta!” 

Zorian waited until the door closed and the Headmage’s footsteps faded away, then he got to work. He first cast the floating light cantrip, creating three balls of soft light that he spread around the room. With improved vision, Zorian cast another spell; traditionally this particular spell was used to gather up noxious gases, but Zorian modified the parameters to collect all the dust in the lounge, compacting it into a ball above his palm. He opened a window, transmuted the dust into dirt, and dropped it outside. Zorian proceeded to cast the ‘spook animals’ cantrip (sending all the bugs in the lounge scattering), and cast it a second time (watching as a skinny mouse crawled out from under an upturned chair and out the dorm), and once more for good measure. Then Zorian went around the room, using cleaning spells to remove the grime and clingy dust, and used a mixture of alteration spells to mend almost everything. He was very grateful to Ilsa for imparting a vast repertoire of useful alteration spells onto him, and made a note to send his teacher a gift basket once he returned. 

By the time he was done, the lounge looked considerably cleaner and liveable. And, thanks to his shiny new divine blessing, there was merely a small dent in his mana reserves. His efforts only extended to the lounge and not the whole dorm, but it was a start. 

Dismissing the light globes, Zorian collapsed onto the, now fixed, couch, and rested his head on the back. Only now that he’d stopped moving, did he hear the pattering of rain on the window. 

Shhhhhhh… 

He looked out the window, absently tracking the rain-soaked darkness. He slowly closed his eyes. He didn’t rest, but he let himself listen to the rain for longer than he normally would have. It was entirely unproductive. There was so much he needed to prepare. He had to remind himself that the world wasn’t on the brink of destruction, even in the looping world they took breaks.  

Shhhhhhh… 

Zorian sat up with a groan. So much for winding down.  

The dormitory’s front door slammed closed after a very familiar mind entered. 

“GWAH! It’s pourin’ out there! 

Grim poked his face out of the entryway, his flaming ears lighting up the lounge. Zorian was not impressed. 

“Why are you here?” Zorian asked wearily. 

“Bwahaha! That look on your face is priceless!” Grim cackled. “As if I wouldn't just sneak back onto campus the second I escaped pryin' eyes. You all got no idea what I'm capable of! I ain't givin' up on goin' here just 'cause I got kicked out one measly ol' time. And if you think otherwise, you don't know Grim!” 

That was Zorian’s fault, he shouldn’t have asked. 

Grim jumped onto the couch beside Zorian, standing up on his hind paws with a front paw proudly on his chest. Zorian half expected a soap box to materialise under his feet. 

“Ya see, I was born to do this! I'm a magical prodigy who's got the makin's to become one of the greatest mages who ever lived!” 

Zorian had to hand it to Grim, he was certainly a prodigy– a prodigy at posturing. 

“So I've been waitin' and waitin' for that black carriage to come for me. And yet…” Grim sat down and crossed his furry arms, his mouth twisted into a pout. “Hrmph! That Dark Mirror's got no eye for talent!” 

The black carriage. Zorian had learnt about it when reading up on the Dark Mirror. Typically, first year students would be sent to the school via the magical carriage. It was yet another symbol of Night Raven College -closely connected with the Dark Mirror (and equally mysterious)- and another sign of Zorian’s unconventional arrival; he couldn’t recall any such carriage. But, to Grim, it meant being chosen, a sign that he had potential for something. 

Grim really was a prodigy at posturing; he couldn’t even recognise his own yearning for external validation. Zorian didn’t really understand it. The psychic had long since given up on chasing validation from others– respect and acknowledgement of his achievements maybe, but growing up in his eldest brother’s shadow had long disillusioned him to the notion. If Zorian were in Grim’s shoes, he’d simply not place any value on what Night Raven thought of his ability, or meticulously mend his weaknesses and shore up his skills and show he was better. 

Zorian asked, “If the Dark Mirror has ‘no eye for talent’, then why are you so adamant on enrolling?” 

Grim looked away, then grinned smugly, “I gotta show you humans what a mistake you're makin'! Not lettin' me in is a great loss to the world! That's why I came here myself.” 

Zorian was leery of how long that confidence would last Grim. Genuine geniuses and talents existed in his world, and here would be no different. There would be endless challenges that couldn’t be traversed with pride and determination alone. But, perhaps they were more alike than Zorian thought. 

“Mrrao! C'mon, scoot over! I'm getting dripped on here!” Grim rubbed his head and scooched closer to Zorian’s side. Another waterdrop splashed on his head. “Bwah! Another hole in the roof! These flamin' ears are like my trademark, y'know? I can't let 'em get doused!” Grim’s ears flattened as he placed two paws protectively over them. The direbeast watched the ceiling suspiciously. 

“Ah, I forgot about the roof,” Zorian commented. He did notice the missing shingles, but it didn’t occur to him that it’d be a problem. 

“It didn’t look it when I first came in, but this place is a dump! It’s so dark too! Dontcha have any lights?” Complained Grim. 

Zorian crossed his arms. “I don’t think the intruder has any right to make judgements. By all means find somewhere else to squat.” 

“No way I’m goin’ out there! I’ll just come right back, fu-nya!” Zorian grimaced at the sudden weight of Grim scrambling onto Zorian’s lap. Zorian pulled the monster’s claws off his thigh with half a mind to shove the creature onto the floor. 

“Oi–”  

“Can’t you just magic those holes away?! You could have it fixed in half a jiff.” Grim sniggered, “Ahhh, right. You can't use magic at all. Pffft, man you're useless.” Clearly, Grim had forgotten how Zorian had trapped him before orientation. Zorian didn’t know whether to be thankful or annoyed that Grim was turning out to be a huge idiot.  

Grim yowled in panic when Zorian abruptly rose causing Grim to land on the floor. The monster should count itself lucky that Zorian had cleaned it. Without another word, Zorian headed down the hall. 

Zorian heard the skittering of claws as Grim hurried to catch up. Those same claws pricked the leg that Grim was clutching with a death-grip. “Where are you goin’, human!? Not that I need you, b-but a weak guy like you oughta have a great mage like me in case something happens!” 

“I’m just going to get a ladder.” Zorian pried Grim off and patted his head while the other hand held the monster cat against his chest. Secretly smiling, Zorian continued, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s just you and me here, Grim –Oh, and the ghosts behind us.” 

“FUNYA!! G-ghosts!?” Grim whipped his head up to look behind Zorian. He could feel the monster’s heart rate speeding as Grim fearfully squinted into the darkness in search of phantoms. Ah now I feel a little bad …

The psychic had lied. 

“Human! There’s no ghosts here! How dare you try to trick the Great Grim– N-not that I was scared of some ghosts!”

The ghosts were actually in front of them. 

“Yee hee hee... Bwa ha ha ha ha ha. We haven't had visitors in ages!” 

“Oh, I'm just itchin' for new friends!” 

“Glad you found us! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!”   

Grim’s subsequent screech of terror drowned out even the rain.

“AAAAAH! GHOSTS! GHOOOOOOSTS!” 

Nevermind, this is far too amusing.   

The three ghosts slinked out of the shadows. They were a bloodless white with a subtle glow, shaped like a puff of vapour in cold air, and, where people would have legs, they had a small lizard-like tail. All three donned identical top hats and blue-grey capes. 

The small ghost floating on the left spoke, voice full of mischief, “All the people who used ta live here got scared and ran away.” 

The rotund ghost in the middle followed up, “We just want a new ghost to play with! What do you say buddy?” 

Zorian politely declined, instead choosing to examine the unfamiliar entities.  

“Awww c’mon~ it’s really fun in our world! There’s no suffering and no death!” Small ghost coaxed. 

The ghosts depicted in fiction didn’t exist in real life, the only example Zorian could think of being wraiths: Entities that are sustained and multiplied by consuming souls. However, these ghosts were in complete dichotomy with wraiths. For one, wraiths couldn’t speak, and bore no resemblance to the souls which sustained them. For two, the fact that these ‘ghosts’ had minds for Zorian to read at all brought them closer to the realm of soul entities like liches, just with a spiritual vessel rather than a physical one. I wonder what keeps their souls anchored? I’d need to look closer to see if their souls are tethered to anything like a phylactery. 

Meanwhile, the ghosts circled Zorian and Grim curiously. 

“Awww you’re not scared at all?” Rotund ghost asked, disappointed. 

He might have been, had he not already sensed that they weren’t actually intending on killing either him or Grim. Unfortunately, Grim didn’t know that. 

“Well, we can still have our fun with this one,” said the long, skinny ghost on the right, pointing at the cat’s shivering form. The ghosts grinned and converged rapidly towards Grim, still held in Zorian’s arms. Zorian reflexively ducked and slid to the side, while Grim jumped away. 

“Eeeeep! I’m a master sorcerer! I ain't afraid of any dumb ghosts! Myahaaa!” Grim ended by spitting out a huge fireball which exploded on the wooden floor. 

Zorian shouted at him, “Grim! Watch where you’re aiming!” But Grim couldn’t hear over the sounds of explosive fireballs. 

“Nuh-uh. Not even close,” Skinny ghost taunted, leisurely dodging another flaming projectile.   

“Over here! Over here! Ah ha ha ha!” Rotund ghost goaded Grim, coming in close before quickly backing off with a chuckle. Small ghost made liberal use of its invisibility, popping up behind Grim with a ‘Boo!’. 

Grim’s fireballs hit everything but the ghosts, and soon the hallway was awash in a blue blaze. Smoke rapidly filled up the hall, and Zorian watched on, exhausted. This is what he got for playing a prank on the monster. 

Grim shot off another burst of fire. “Argh! They keep disappearing and reappearing!” Zorian was surprised Grim even knew that seeing as he was aiming with his eyes shut, and he said as much. 

“Shaddup! I don't need any lip from you, human!” It would have been more convincing if Grim had been talking to Zorian and not the wall. “How come I can't even hit one of these little–” 

“Behind you!” Zorian yelled. Grim twisted and hit Skinny dead-centre. Skinny cried out and retreated. 

“Mya-hah! I got ‘em! You, human! Keep tellin’ me where the ghosts are!” 

Zorian rolled his eyes but complied. “To your left.” Grim shot to the right. 

“Hey, human! You gotta be more clear with your directions! I can't hear you!” 

This was gonna take awhile… 

Zorian and Grim slowly pushed back the ghosts. Grim wasn't great at listening but could adapt quickly, and his fire magic was potent when it landed. Zorian only had to use mind magic a few times to adjust Grim's aim on the fly. Zorian was slightly envious at the sight. He lamented the days of work and research he put into making countermeasures for the wraith bombs a few months ago, if only the spirits in his world were susceptible to fire artillery.

Zorian and Grim’s efficiency improved rapidly and soon the ghosts were overwhelmed by Grim’s fire, retreating one by one. Zorian hoped this would keep them away for a while. 

Zorian walked over to Grim, and patted his head. “You can stop now.” 

Grim peeled an eye open. “H-huh? Did we... win?” He warily inspected the hallway before letting out a cheer and punching the air. “Aw, geez, I was scared outta my–I mean, they didn't faze me one bit! Just a walk in the park for a mage of my caliber! Whaddaya got to say now, ghosties? That's right!” 

Shaking his head, Zorian wordlessly began opening up doors until he found a storage closet. Thankfully the dorm had what he needed. Ladder acquired, he went back down the hallway to the lounge; a smug Grim trotting behind him. Zorian dragged the ladder by the couch and started identifying the leaks. Now that he had a closer look, he realised that there weren't any holes in the ceiling, the water was just pooling past its thin plaster. Zorian frowned, alteration couldn’t create matter from nothing and his other methods for reinforcing the ceiling were too mana intensive to justify, he’d need to get some buckets to catch the droplets until he could mend the outside. 

“Good evening. In another gesture of my immense kindness, I have brought you dinner.” 

Zorian nearly fell off the ladder with how fast he turned around. The Headmage was standing in the middle of the lounge holding up a translucent white bag. Zorian hadn’t sensed Dire approaching at all, nor the tell tale signs of a teleport spell (Zorian made a note to set up a warding scheme later, more than his magic being discovered Zorian feared being caught unaware). 

“Now what are you doing up there?” Dire blinked up at Zorian curiously. 

“I was looking for the leaks…” Zorian answered truthfully, for lack of a better response. As though summoned, a water droplet landed on his head. Zorian quickly descended the ladder. 

“I see. How proactive!” 

“Is that FOOD!? I’m starving funya!” Grim jumped for the bag in Dire’s hand. 

Dire pulled it away from the cat’s outstretched paws. “Wait. That's the creature we ejected for causing trouble at orientation! What is it doing here?!” 

Grim scowled. “Takin' care of yer ghost problem, that's what. You're welcome, by the way! Now gimme my reward!” 

“What is the meaning of this Mr. Kazinski?” Dire asked, ignoring Grim’s continued failed attempts at snatching the bag of food. Zorian explained that Grim had been seeking shelter from the rain and helped out when the ghosts haunting the dormitory attacked. “I do seem to recall that this dorm had a mischievous ghost problem.” How nice of him to warn me ahead of time. “Ah, yes... That's why it was abandoned, in fact. The ghosts scared away all the students. And you're saying that you two joined forces to drive them away?” Contrary to Zorian’s expectations, Dire was pleasantly surprised at the news. 

Grim panted as he sulked on the floor. “ ‘Joined forces’ ain't exactly how I'd describe it. More like I drove 'em away, and the human watched. And I only did it 'cause I wanted some tuna. By the way… you owe me two cans of tuna, human!” 

Zorian shot Grim a dry look. “When did I promise any such thing? As I remember it, you owe me for guiding you—you wouldn’t have landed a hit otherwise–” 

“Grrr The Great Grim woulda been just fine. My fire did everything!”  

Zorian tacked on, “–and for letting you squat here.” Grim spluttered. 

Dire stroked his chin and placed the bag on a table. “Fascinating. Would you two be so kind as to demonstrate your ghost-eradication methods for me?” 

Zorian didn’t understand why Headmage was feeling so… anticipatory. Without an accurate comparison, Zorian couldn’t gauge what the crow-man found so novel about the situation. It made him nervous. 

Grim vehemently rejected the request. “One, no, 'cause I already wiped 'em all out. And two, no, 'cause where's my tuna?!”  

“I will play the part of the ghosts. As for the tuna, you'll receive it when you defeat me. Oh, what generosity, Crowley…” Unsurprisingly, Dire didn’t pay mind to their reservations. He took out a phial, containing a milky, blue liquid, from inside his jacket. “Now, to chug this transmutation potion!” 

Dire’s body glowed and shrank. When the light faded, where the Headmage was standing before, was now a smallish ghost wearing his raven half-mask and fancy top-hat. Zorian’s eyes widened with interest. 

This world had transformation potions that could turn you into a spiritual entity! Zorian knew he had to get a hold of that recipe for his alchemist friends Kael and Lukav to study. With all the new magical advancements being shown, Zorian found himself actually feeling a little giddy about the opportunity to explore this world’s arcana. 

“Ah, you gotta be kiddin' me. I gotta work together with the human again?” Grim grumbled.

“On the brightside, this could be your chance to enroll.” Afterall, Zorian was beginning to see the positives of his displacement too. 

“Hrmph. All right, but this is the last time. And I better be up to my jowls in tuna afterwards!” 

Grim, if I play my cards right, we’ll get a lot more than just tuna by the end of this.