"Hmm."

  The sound emerged as a sigh. Children were children, Sael supposed.

  The courtyard had gone utterly still. Faces turned toward him; some forty students arranged in a rough circle, all frozen in various states of shock or recognition or both. A few had their mouths hanging open. Several looked like they were trying to decide whether to bow or run. One girl near the back appeared to be having some sort of religious experience, hands clasped to her chest, eyes wide and shining.

  Sael resisted the urge to feel self-conscious about it.

  He let his gaze sweep across the scene with deliberate slowness, taking inventory. The courtyard stones were scuffed and cracked in places; evidence of impacts and spell residue. Scorch marks decorated one pillar. A few scattered drops of blood dotted the ground, already drying in the afternoon sun.

  His attention settled first on the tall boy.

  The one who wasn't actually a boy at all, or rather, was a boy but not acting alone. Sael could see it immediately: the telltale shimmer of artificial enhancement clinging to him like an ill-fitting coat. A necklace, tucked beneath the collar of his academy robes, practically humming with compressed mana. The signature was crude, forceful, the magical equivalent of shoving extra coals into a forge and hoping the whole thing didn't collapse.

  Dangerous, giving something like that to someone so eager to use it this way.

  The artifact's mana signature matched something else too. Sael's awareness extended upward, brushing against the academy's towers, and there—in the western observation tower, third floor, standing by a window—was the source. The creator of the necklace, or at least its current owner, watching this little drama unfold from a safe distance.

  Interesting.

  Sael filed that information away and turned his attention to Orion.

  The boy looked terrible. His left eye was swollen shut, already purpling spectacularly. Blood crusted his split lip and chin. His robes were torn and dusty, and he was leaning on Erwyn like she was the only thing keeping him vertical, which was probably accurate. The staff herself radiated indignant concern, her mana still flowing through Orion in steady pulses.

  "You don't look so good, Orion."

  Orion flinched. His working eye fixed somewhere around Sael's collarbone, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, Master." The words came out rough and miserable. "I'm so sorry, I—"

  "Ah, do not worry too much about it."

  Sael crossed the distance between them in a few unhurried steps. The crowd parted automatically, students shuffling aside without conscious thought, creating a clear path.

  As he passed, his eyes met a few of theirs—just natural happenstance—and it felt rude not to acknowledge it, so he smiled and offered a small "Hello there" to a girl with braids, then a nod and "Good afternoon" to a broad-shouldered boy near her.

  The girl squeaked and bowed so deeply she nearly toppled over. The boy saluted like Sael was a military commander, his hand smacking his forehead with audible force.

  That... was a bit much.

  He reached Orion and placed one hand gently on top of his apprentice's head, fingers settling into sweat-dampened hair.

  "[Heal]."

  Green and gold light erupted from his palm, flowing down through Orion's body like water through dry earth. The boy gasped—not in pain but in relief—as the magic worked its way through flesh and bone. Bruises faded from purple to yellow to nothing. Cuts sealed themselves, skin knitting back together seamlessly. The swelling around his eye receded, and the blood dried and flaked away as healthy tissue replaced the damaged.

  Within seconds, Orion looked like he'd never been in a fight at all.

  The healing magic faded, leaving only the faint scent of spring rain, a feature Sael added to soften the heavy atmosphere. He kept his hand on Orion's head for another moment, then gave it a single pat before stepping back.

  "I suppose I have been neglecting your education enough for now," he said, keeping his tone conversational. "How about we start your first real lesson?"

  Orion blinked up at him, confusion replacing the shame in his expression. "I... what?"

  "First lesson." Sael raised one finger. "Never make an important decision when you're high on emotions. No matter the emotion, be it anger or joy or grief or pride, be as neutral as possible when you make important decisions. Strong feelings cloud judgment in ways you won't notice until after the damage is done."

  Orion's mouth worked for a moment. "I... uh... y-yes, Master."

  "Smart boy."

  Sael smiled at him, making sure the expression reached his eyes, trying to convey that he wasn't angry or disappointed; just concerned, the way a teacher should be. He hoped that was coming across properly and didn't feel too condescending. Tone was difficult sometimes.

  He then straightened and helped Orion stand more securely, making sure the boy had his balance back before releasing his arm. Then he turned to address the wider audience, projecting his voice to carry across the courtyard.

  "The second lesson, and this is for all of you too, children—"

  Forty pairs of eyes locked onto him with unnerving intensity.

  "—is that when your head is cool enough and you can assess things with wisdom, you will notice oddities. Discrepancies that don't quite make sense." He gestured vaguely toward the tall boy, who had gone very still. "Why, for instance, someone not so much older than you is so much more powerful than you. Asking yourself questions like those will generally reveal that there is often a cause behind the visible cause. A reason underneath the reason. Only by understanding that deeper cause can you find a proper response to the situation."

  He paused, wondering if that had made sense. Did he convey it well enough? The phrasing felt a bit abstract, perhaps too philosophical for students who'd just been watching a bloody fight.

  The students continued staring at him with what could only be described as hypnotized fascination. Several had their mouths hanging open again. One boy in the front looked like he was committing every word to memory.

  Sael felt his ears warm slightly. This was... a lot of attention. He cleared his throat.

  "In this precise case, the cause is—"

  He turned his head toward the western tower, finding the window where that mana signature lingered. The figure there jerked back slightly, realizing they'd been spotted, but didn't fully retreat. Sael could make out basic details: older, male, wearing formal robes that suggested a faculty position.

  Well then.

  "[Blink]."

  Reality folded. The courtyard vanished, replaced instantly by the interior of the observation tower: a circular room with windows providing views of the academy grounds, currently empty except for one startled man who'd just jumped backward hard enough to knock over a small table.

  The man looked like he was in his sixties, silver-haired and well-dressed. His eyes went wide as dinner plates when Sael materialized directly in front of him.

  "We should talk," Sael said pleasantly, and placed one hand on the man's shoulder.

  "[Blink]."

  The tower dissolved. They reappeared in the courtyard exactly where Sael had been standing, the entire round trip taking perhaps one second.

  The man stumbled, disoriented by the sudden displacement, and Sael steadied him with the same hand still resting on his shoulder. The courtyard had somehow gotten even quieter, which was impressive considering it had already been silent.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Now then. Where were we?"

  Sael smiled at his new companion.

  "Ah, the cause."

  The silver-haired man was still trying to recover his composure after the abrupt teleportation. His face had gone through several interesting color changes in rapid succession: pale shock, then flushed indignation, now settling somewhere around splotchy uncertainty.

  "Now, Mr. Cause," Sael said pleasantly. "Why did you give such a powerful artifact to a student to come and beat up my apprentice?"

  The man drew himself up, smoothing down his robes with hands that trembled only slightly. "This is ridiculous. I don't know what you're implying, but I was merely observing the courtyard activities as is my duty as a faculty supervisor. Students spar all the time, and—"

  "[Telekinesis]."

  The necklace ripped free from beneath the tall boy's collar—the chain snapping with a sharp clink—and sailed across the courtyard in a smooth arc. The boy made an aborted grab for it, but the artifact was already gone, floating through the air until it settled gently into Sael's outstretched palm.

  He examined it, turning it over with mild interest. The craftsmanship was decent, if heavy-handed in its approach. Forceful rather than elegant. The sort of thing made by someone who understood power but not finesse.

  "I suppose this is quite an expensive item," Sael mused, holding it up to catch the light. The gem in its center pulsed with stored mana. "And since you've just denied any connection to it, I judge it far too dangerous to remain in the possession of someone so reckless." He glanced at the tall boy, who had gone very pale. "So I'll take this away and look for its owner."

  Sael turned the necklace over once more, letting his mana brush against its signature.

  "Who, by the way, has a frighteningly similar mana signature to yours."

  He looked back at the silver-haired man with polite curiosity, one eyebrow raised.

  The man's face had gone grey. His mouth opened and closed once, twice, and Sael could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes.

  Then something shifted in Halvard's expression. His jaw set. His chin lifted. The trembling in his hands didn't stop, but his voice found a louder register.

  "E-even if—" Halvard's voice cracked, then surged back louder than before, as though volume could compensate for the tremor running through it. "Even if that necklace were mine, it changes nothing!"

  He jabbed a shaking finger toward Orion.

  "Your apprentice was the one who accepted the challenge. He agreed to the terms. He wagered the staff willingly, in front of—of dozens of witnesses! Or does that mean nothing to you?"

  Sael tilted his head slightly. "Hmm."

  The mild, noncommittal sound seemed to light something in Halvard. His chin jutted forward, and his voice climbed another notch.

  "A m-man's honor lives in his word, Archmage! That's not—that's not my opinion, that's the foundation of every duel, every contract and every oath sworn in this kingdom! Or has the world changed so much that words mean nothing when they're spoken by someone inconvenient?"

  He swallowed hard enough that Sael could see his throat bob. "And furthermore—furthermore—there was no rule established against the use of artifacts. None! Your own apprentice fought with that staff of his—a sentient artifact, if I'm not m-mistaken—channeling its power throughout the entire fight. Are you suggesting that only your apprentice should be allowed such advantages? Is that your idea of fairness?"

  A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. Sael noticed several students exchanging uncertain glances.

  "And—and let us not forget—" Halvard pressed on, steamrolling past his own stuttering. "An apprentice represents his master. That is the tradition. That is the law of mentorship, older than this academy! When your boy accepted that duel, he spoke not only for himself but for you. His word became your word. His honor became your honor."

  The old man's hands were trembling visibly at his sides now, but his voice had found a jagged, righteous rhythm. "S-so I ask you plainly, Archmage Sael, would you have your apprentice go back on his word? Would you have him break a commitment he entered into freely, with his own voice, before witnesses? Huh? Would you teach him that a man's promises are things to be discarded the moment they become d-difficult?"

  He drew himself up to his full height, which was not inconsiderable, even if the effect was somewhat undermined by the fact that his left knee appeared to be shaking.

  "I've read about you, sir. Your reputation speaks of honor and fairness. And a man who upholds the spirit of things, not merely the letter." He straightened his robes again, a nervous tic he probably didn't realize he was repeating. "So would you undo a duel your apprentice entered willingly? Erase stakes he agreed to with his own words? Is—is that the example you wish to set? That the apprentice of a great man need not honor his c-commitments because his master will simply... make them disappear?"

  Sael studied the man for a long, quiet moment. He talked a lot, that was the first thing he concluded. And the second was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

  Not about the honor nonsense, that was transparent provocation, and not particularly skillful provocation at that, Sael could see the strategy plainly. But the core point underneath the bravado: that Orion had accepted the challenge and agreed to the stakes, that the terms hadn't explicitly forbidden artifacts, that was technically sound. Flimsy and in bad faith, certainly. But not wrong.

  And the deeper issue was that if Erwyn could be lost because a seventeen-year-old boy let his temper make his decisions for him, then that seventeen-year-old boy needed to learn what it meant to carry that weight. Not be shielded from it by his master swooping in to make the consequences disappear.

  Sael let the silence stretch a moment longer, then turned away from Halvard entirely—a dismissal he knew was probably insulting but for once, he did not care—and walked back to Orion.

  "Orion."

  "...Yes, Master?"

  "Do you want to give up?"

  The boy's eyes went wide. Behind him, Sael heard a sharp intake of breath from one of his apprentice's friends: the girl, the one who'd been crying earlier.

  "I—" Orion stared at him. "What?"

  "The duel," Sael said, keeping his tone perfectly even. "The wager. You bet Erwyn and you were losing. If you'd prefer to concede, surrender the staff, and be done with it, that is an option available to you. I won't stop you, and I won't intervene. It was your decision to make, and I will respect it either way."

  He could feel Erwyn's mana spike with indignation at his side—a sharp, hot pulse that said excuse me?—but she held herself in check. Clever girl. She understood, even if Orion didn't yet.

  Orion's jaw clenched. The confusion drained from his face as his hands tightened around Erwyn's shaft until his knuckles went pale.

  "Never," he said. "I'll never give up Erwyn. She's—I'd never—" He caught himself, took a breath, and met Sael's eyes directly for the first time since his master had arrived. "No. I don't concede."

  Sael held his gaze for a moment. Then he nodded once.

  "Good. Then we have a practical problem." He turned back to face the courtyard at large, his voice resuming its easy, carrying tone. "This duel was interrupted. Third parties intervened before either side yielded or was rendered unable to continue. That means there is no result."

  He glanced toward Orion's friends. They'd thrown themselves into the middle of a fight they couldn't win because their friend was in danger. That was either very brave or very stupid, and Sael decided to count it as both, which was really just another way of saying they were young.

  "The terms remain unsettled," he continued. "Orion has not conceded. Young Cain has not achieved a decisive victory. And since neither side can claim a clean outcome—"

  "Then it must be refought," Halvard said quickly, too quickly, and Sael could hear the eagerness poorly hidden beneath the authoritative tone. The man thought he'd won something. That was fine, he supposed. Let him think that.

  "Indeed." Sael smiled pleasantly. "But not like this. Not in a courtyard with no oversight, no structure, and no rules worth respecting. If this wager is to stand—and it seems both parties wish it to—then it should be settled properly."

  He paused, letting the weight of the moment build.

  "The Tournament of the King is, what, several months away?" He said this as though the thought had only just occurred to him, which it hadn't. "An official event, with referees, formal rules, and public accountability. That seems like the appropriate venue for settling a dispute of this magnitude, wouldn't you agree, Instructor Halvard?"

  He turned to the silver-haired man and watched the calculation play out across his face in real time. Halvard wanted to argue, Sael could see it. A courtyard rematch on short notice, with the necklace's power still fresh in Cain's muscles, was infinitely preferable to a tournament months away where anything could change.

  But the man had just spent the last two minutes arguing about honor, proper conduct and respecting agreed-upon terms. He'd built that cage with his own words, and now he was standing inside it.

  "I... that seems..." Halvard paused and recalibrated. "That would be acceptable, yes. Assuming the original terms carry over in full."

  "Naturally," Sael said. "Orion agreed to the stakes. I wouldn't dream of undoing his decision."

  He said it mildly, without emphasis, and watched Orion flinch from the corner of his eye. Good. The boy should feel the weight of that.

  "Well then." Sael tucked the necklace into one of his robe's inner pockets. "I'll hold onto this for safekeeping in the meantime. Since it apparently belongs to no one."

  Halvard's eye twitched, but he said nothing.

  "And for the third lesson—" Sael addressed the students one final time, allowing himself a small, slightly tired smile. "Despite how boring it probably seems to you, de-escalating a situation instead of resorting to violence, even when violence feels justified, is often the best solution. But when de-escalation is no longer possible, and you've committed to a course of action, then you had better spend every moment between now and then preparing. Because your mistakes will not undo themselves simply because you regret them."

  Really, this was for Orion.

  "Let us leave, Oz."

  The chicken, who had been strutting near the edge of the crowd with disinterest, immediately trotted over. He arrived at Sael's feet and flapped up onto his shoulder with ease, talons gripping fabric.

  Sael was finding the dragon's new willingness to cooperate rather refreshing, though he suspected it had everything to do with Oz now knowing he was a demi-Primordial. As he understood it, one of the things the dragon-now-chicken had struggled most to accept was that he'd been beaten by a human. And as it happened, Oz had become noticeably more cooperative only after their talk in the cart on the way to Sael's home.

  There really was room for improvement, it seemed. Progress was progress.

  "Hold on," Sael told Orion, placing his free hand on the boy's shoulder.

  Orion barely had time to process the instruction before Sael lifted them both off the ground with a gentle application of flight magic. They rose smoothly into the air, leaving the stunned courtyard behind.

  And then they were flying, ascending over the academy's towers as forty students below craned their necks to watch them disappear into the afternoon sky.

  Orion was quiet for a long time. The wind tugged at his healed face, and his grip on Erwyn hadn't loosened even slightly.

  "Master," he said finally, his voice small against the rushing air.

  "Yes?"

  "Thank you for not... for not just ending it."

  Sael glanced at him. The boy's expression was... complicated.

  "Don't thank me yet," Sael said. "You have a great deal of work ahead of you."