His vision whited out, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he drifted out of consciousness. Then, suddenly, he was awake again. The pain had eased somewhat, from unbearable to merely tormenting. His arrays felt as if they had been stretched thin. Like a sock that just had a kickball pushed through it.
Above his hands floated a single orb of kathar—or what he thought was kathar.
It looked wrong: stormy and grey, with billowing clouds of smoke instead of the clear blue light it should have been.
Huh? Marvel sat up gingerly, resting his back against the wall as he puzzled over it. Only one way to find out.
The spell was easy. He muttered the incantation to command the athar to form a detection spell. He did not expect it to disobey, let alone question him.
Why?
Marvel huffed. What the fuck? Athar wasn't supposed to be sentient. At least not the kind mages used. Unless it wasn't…
Satis' bloody teeth. Marvel tried to extinguish the orb, flinging himself away from it. "You aren't kathar, are you?"
The orb congratulated him on finally making a basic observation and informed him he could go to whatever hell he believed in if he thought it would help him perform that spell.
"Th-that's okay," Marvel said shakily, pressing against the wall as far from it as he could. Thank Satis nobody else had witnessed this. Were the Grandmasters watching right now? Shit. This was a bad idea. He would be executed for sure. "You can go anywhere you like. P-please."
The athar innocently wondered why he didn't want to perform the spell anymore. Did he not want to see what his new power truly looked like?
"I r-really don't."
Now the athar was very invested in being used for the spell. It wanted him to teach it how to do it. Or else.
Marvel's life was ridiculous. Right now, he was being threatened by his magical energy. What was even happening right now? "Or else what?"
Abruptly, the candle guttered. A cloud of shadow swirled around its base, licking up the candle, and finally swallowing the flame. Almost as if the candle had never existed at all.
The athar then asked if he would like to see the entire Academy go the way of the candle.
Marvel swore so loudly and creatively, it would have made Pidge proud. Satis, the shadows from earlier were his new powerful magic. Shit, shit, shit. "Fine," he spat. "How do I teach you the spell?"
Quick as lightning, the information slotted into his brain. His voice cracking with every syllable, Marvel recited the incantation to the athar.
And finally, it obeyed.
At first, nothing happened. The room remained dark, especially without the candle. Then everything happened at once.
Bright blue lights blazed into being on the ceiling, like swirling paintings of stars. Kathar, he thought. The lifeblood of the mages.
Some lights were brighter, some larger. Some were the size of his fist, while others would dwarf mountains. Everywhere he looked, he saw lights through the walls, the ceilings, flashes of energy from every nearby mage.
Marvel had never seen anything like it. Mavericks were forbidden from attempting Novice spells, and even if he'd wanted to, he wouldn't have accomplished this. The beauty of the magic took his breath away.
Satis, it's gorgeous. Of course, it was. Power was beautiful. The only beautiful thing, really, if you thought about it.
The enchantment of seeing for the first time was shattered when he lowered his eyes to the wall of darkness before him. It billowed like a barrier of pure, unadulterated evil. Figures seemed to be trying to fly out of it, monstrous creatures that only sought to destroy. Waves of malice slammed into him, stubbornly trying to swallow the world. To consume everything. To consume him.
And he could see where it poured out of his hands.
Marvel wished he hadn't come back to life at all. He was no mage. He was an abomination.
Akathar. He stared numbly at the ugly black wall of magic. His magic was akathar.
This time, he was glad when the darkness claimed him.
…
Marvel sat up, gasping from the sudden shock that shot through his body.
His forehead collided with someone else's with a thunk that made his teeth ache. As the pain faded, he realised there was more pain. A world of it, really. His head throbbed, his temples punishing him with hot spikes when he dared to open his eyes. His mouth was so dry.
The first thing he saw was a familiar, tanned face. One he was sure he'd left in a cave to be consumed by fire. Red hair, a round face with cheeks that dimpled too easily. The only things missing were the eyepatch, the beard, and maybe a dozen or so years of lines. Apart from that, it was most definitely—
"Q-Quinn?"
The face frowned at him. "What the fuck are you on about?"
With each second, he could make out other differences. For one thing, there were two dark brown eyes, too wide apart to be Quinn's. A broader nose. Full lips. Also, long braided hair. The woman wore the white robes of an Apprentice mage, her arms encircled in bands of white from her elbows to her wrists.
"Not Quinn then," he breathed. He couldn't tell whether he was relieved or disappointed.
"Whoever the hells that is," said the woman. She didn't look that much older than him.
"He's—" Marvel stopped himself, imagining for a moment he could feel his tongue growing hot, his skull expanding. "No one. Er, more importantly: who are you?"
"Must have hit his head hard if he's speaking to an Apprentice that way," someone offered.
Shit. Marvel rushed to correct himself. "Your servant is—"
"Who am I?" A quick flood of temper hardened the girl's face, though it didn't seem to be connected with his lack of respect. "I find you unconscious on the floor in the middle of my classroom and you ask who I am?"
"Classroom?" Marvel repeated, confused as the world solidified around him. It was then that he noticed several dozen faces surrounding him, wearing expressions that ranged from mild concern to thick confusion to amazement. Some of them he even knew. They were all garbed in dark green robes, the same colour as the tallies on his arm.
A sinking feeling knotted his gut. Oh no.
"Yes, my classroom. The Novice ludus." The woman sniffed, running her eyes over his clothes, which were decidedly not a set of green robes. "A place where you most definitely should not be. Unless you're the new student I was told about. Because if you are, I should inform you that you ought to be in uniform."
"I—" Marvel's head hurt. "I apologise, Honoured One. I was supposed to go back and change but I think I fell asleep?" He was pretty sure nobody had seen the manifestation of his athar, seeing as he was still breathing.
"Are you asking me? I should dock points, but I won't, since you look punished enough." She put a hand on his chest to prevent him trying to stand up. "Don't. Unless you want to topple over like a sack of potatoes."
"Potatoes?" he repeated uselessly. She was probably right not to let him move. Everything hurt. His head, his shoulders, his torso, his legs. His entire world was a connecting series of pains.
"Disorientated," remarked the woman.
One of the faces, belonging to a small, skinny boy not much older than him, asked, "Shall we get him to a Healer, Apprentice?"
"Hold on." The woman smacked a palm to his forehead, drawing a wince from him. Warmth passed over his skin— a spell, he reckoned. He sighed as he felt the pain recede from throbbing to a manageable hum. Damn, that was so much better.
"Yes, we should probably get him to a Healer now." She turned back to the rest of the class. "Any volunteers?"
"Well, Your Honour," answered a voice that sent fear welling up in Marvel.