Ragnar's piercing blue eyes locked onto Logan. The room fell into a charged silence, every breath of the assembled figures weighted with anticipation. "Boy," Ragnar said finally, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "Show me your marks."
Logan hesitated, his instincts telling him that this man's words were not a request. His hands trembled slightly as he rolled back his sleeves, exposing the intricate red spirals on his right arm, glowing faintly in the firelight. Ragnar's gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as they traced every line of the mark.
"Now the other," Ragnar commanded.
Logan complied, revealing the blue patterns on his left arm. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as the second mark came into view. The tattoos shimmered, the light dancing off their complex designs.
Ragnar leaned back, his expression unreadable. "A Warlock," he muttered, almost to himself.
Torvald, the hulking warrior to Ragnar's left, scoffed. "A bedtime story for children."
"Hardly," Ragnar shot back, his voice sharp and cutting. His gaze returned to Logan. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Logan hesitated, glancing at Ulrik, who nodded curtly. He moved forward and took the offered seat. Emery instinctively stepped closer to him, but Ragnar didn't even glance at her. His focus remained solely on Logan.
Aria, however, broke the tension with a kind smile, gesturing for Emery to join her. "Come, child," she said warmly. "You must be weary."
Emery glanced at Logan, who gave her a reassuring nod. Reluctantly, she moved to sit beside Aria, who placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Tell me, boy," Ragnar began, his tone quieter but no less commanding. "How did you come by these marks?"
Logan's jaw tightened, and he chose his words carefully. "I don't remember much. My memory's hazy. Ulrik has been helping me understand what I am."
Ragnar's sharp eyes bore into him as if trying to pry the truth loose. Finally, he turned his attention to Ulrik. "You've trained him?"
"For five months," Ulrik confirmed. "He's grown stronger and learns faster than most. But he's only scratched the surface of what he can become."
"And the girl?" Ragnar asked dismissively, his tone dripping with indifference.
Aria's hand tightened slightly on Emery's shoulder. "She's a promising Magi," Aria said firmly. "Her affinities are rare, and her potential significant."
Ragnar waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. "We'll see."
Logan clenched his fists under the table, forcing himself to stay calm. He remembered Ulrik's earlier advice: Let them underestimate you. Let them believe you are less than what you are.
"You realize the weight of what you are?" Ragnar continued, his gaze pinning Logan in place. "A Warlock. Do you understand what that means?"
Logan held his gaze. "Not yet, but I will."
Ragnar studied him for a moment before leaning back, his expression softening just enough to reveal intrigue beneath the cold exterior.
Aria's voice cut through the tension. "Strength is important, Ragnar, but so is control. Logan's circumstances are unique and will require careful handling."
"And you have a plan?" Ragnar asked, his tone skeptical.
"I do," Aria replied, turning to Logan. "I am the headmistress of the mage side of the academy. Alaric," she gestured to the sharp-eyed man across the table, "is the headmaster of the warrior side."
Logan's eyes widened slightly. He had known the academy was significant, but to be sitting with its leaders felt surreal.
Aria continued, "Your situation is unprecedented. But I will determine how best to integrate you into the academy. Tomorrow, during registration day, I will provide the details of your curriculum."
Logan nodded, grateful for her calm demeanor.
Ragnar grunted, raising his tankard. "Guidance is all well and good, but if he's to survive, he'll need more than that."
Torvald chuckled darkly, and Alaric remained silent, his piercing gaze locked on Logan.
Logan stole a glance at Emery, who offered him a small, encouraging smile. His heart swelled with determination. He would face whatever lay ahead—not just for Emery, but for himself.
---
Later, in the quiet of his Spartan room given to him by Ragnar in his manor, Logan sat on the edge of his bed, lost in thought. The weight of the day pressed heavily on him, but beneath it, a spark burned bright.
For months, his focus had been singular: protect Emery. Build a life where they could both thrive. But now, something else stirred within him—a hunger. The exhilaration of battle, the challenge of pushing himself to his limits, the intoxicating promise of power. He had always loved fighting, not just for the thrill, but for the sense of control it gave him.
Now, in this strange new world, that love had evolved into something deeper. Fighting wasn't just survival—it was a calling. He wanted to grow stronger, not only to protect Emery but because it was fun. Because it was who he was.
As he lay back, staring at the ceiling, his resolve hardened. Whatever Aria's plan for him was, whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them head-on. For Emery. For himself. For the sheer joy of the fight.