Who’s Home?
Nikephoros dashes through the cobbled halls of Scathe Academy. Crap crap crap! I can’t be late a third time! Their feet pound against the stone path, weaving in and out of the ancient, sprawling building. In through this arch, over the green, watch out for the Warlock students! A near stumble and yelped apology later, and they’re back on track. They’d woken up late in their dorm, and of course their first class is on the other side of the school from the cafeteria where they’d grabbed a quick breakfast. So, as any frantic student would, they must race through the arcane, mythical, interdimensional madness that was the top boarding school for magic across this section of the multiverse just to be on time.
Nike can barely believe they’re enrolled, let alone a third year student.
Their path takes them outside one final time, close to the infamous Tower of Scathe, home to the most powerful artificer among both of the magical worlds of Ithuan and the Dreamscape. They were not humanoid, as many might expect. No, this artificer was draconic, over ten thousand years old, and a prolific author on all sorts of topics. Nike could see the teacher in their periphery, vermillion scales glinting in the morning sun as she flew toward Nike. As she draws closer, it hits them again just how enormous she is-- in this form, she’s hundreds of feet long, easily able to curl around the outside of her tower.
Winds buffet Nike’s wings as they shield themselves from Dragon Lord Aerious’s passing flight. The enormous reptilian teacher winks, before a column of crackling electrical fire spews from her gaping, toothy maw toward another scrapped invention, which is perched atop the Tower. The machinery is liquefied before Nike makes it to shelter inside the Alchemists’ Sect hall, heat scorching their wings from afar, though the blast is brief enough to leave no burns. The windows of the nearby buildings aren’t so lucky, glass and metal bowing.
Thank the Ancestors... Can’t let Aerious drag me into an impromptu, two-hour lecture about whatever that…thing, was. Nike skids to a stop in front of the third wooden door to the left of the emerald hall, gingerly pushing it open and wincing as the hinges squeak painfully.
“Well, nice of you to join us, Bicaust. Let’s hope you did your homework, unless you were busy with a certain someone?” Their teacher smirks.
Nike blushes, scowling as they slowly catch their breath. “You know me, Professor.” They had done far more than just the homework, a teetering pile of papers upon their lab bench, plants and potions littering the rest of their allotted space. “Work before play, even if the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“To your place then,” they say firmly, not allowing for any negotiation, and in such a way that delivers a warning to the other students; don’t be late. You will not be given more than one chance. “Can anyone tell me why we…” the professor begins, Nike scrambling to organize their things so they can start taking notes with the rest of the class. This pot goes to the window sill, that one on top of the shelf here, and that book should be put away with the rest of its series. These vials need to be cleaned… Nike furrows their brow, shoving the vials away and grabbing a stray pencil and piece of loose paper. No matter, I’ll do that later. Time to work.
But their oxygen-deprived mind wanders to the bright eyes and easy smile of the aforementioned ‘special someone,’ and they sigh. Nike’s plight continued through to their next class as well. No matter how hard they tried to remember the purpose of certain herbs, or the properties of one particular animal’s venom, or even what Founding Gods fought in the Spirit War, all they could think of was the young teacher’s assistant who held their heart. Words swirled from the textbooks, rearranging themselves to fit old conversations, few of them even remotely pertaining to their lessons. Dammit!
Their relationship with Terence Scarletspear was no secret among the staff of the school; his parents were teachers themselves, and he-- along with his sister-- had lived in the school his entire life. The staff were almost an extended family. At the end of their last class before lunch, Nike gathers their things with a huff, grumbling to themself about being a worrywart. Terence’s research pertained to the Endless Abyss-- the realm of demons and hellfire, a dangerous place for sure. Nike was used to him being gone for a week or two at a time; he often made excursions unsupervised outside of the school, but it’d been a month and a half. Surely their worry was justified?
“Hey, honey, are you okay?”
The happy, though slightly concerned voice breaks Nike from their thoughts, looking up in surprise to see blue eyes and dimly glowing horns, a small smile peeking out from a russet-brown beard, scraggly and scruffy like he hadn’t been able to properly clean himself for a while. Terence grins, about to say something before Nike’s books drop to the ground and they throw their arms around him, burying their face in his shirt.
“Woah woah woah! I missed you too babe!” He chuckles, gently embracing them as well.
“You were gone for too long.” Nike mumbles into his chest. “I got worried.”
“Obviously. It’s okay, I’m not hurt, it just took a little longer to get back than I expected is all.” Terence gently strokes their hair. “Shh… I’m here now.”
Nike sniffs a little, but smiles. “I know.” Home safe at last.
FIN
