The lecture hall was quiet, filled with the scratching of quills against parchment and the occasional murmur as students adjusted in their seats. The instructor, an elderly Sage with thin white hair and ink-stained fingers, stood at the center of the wide wooden dais, his robes flowing like slow-moving water as he paced before the class. His name was Sage Rahim, and he was known for being both patient and unyielding in his teachings.
"The Laws," he began, his voice steady, "are not forces to be commanded. They are not weapons to be wielded. They are patterns—reflections of the world—and to walk the path of the Sage is to learn how to understand and interact with those patterns."
He let the words settle before continuing.
"There are those who will tell you that the Laws are fixed things, like rigid paths carved into stone. That is false. The truth is far more complex, far more personal. Each of you—your minds, your emotions, your very souls—perceive the world differently. And so, the patterns you see, the Laws you touch, will be shaped by that perception."
Benjamin listened intently, his hands folded on the desk before him. This was what fascinated him most. The structure of the world, the way power was woven into reality.
"The greatest known Laws," Rahim continued, "are those that have been observed by many. Life, Death, Energy. They are constants—patterns so deeply woven into the fabric of the world that most Sages recognize them. But that does not mean they are the only ones."
He turned, his sharp eyes sweeping across the room. "A Sage does not simply choose a Law to follow. A Sage discovers the Law that is most aligned with their being. Through patience. Through intuition. Through meditation, observation, and experience."
He waved a hand, and a flickering illusion appeared before him—a shifting, fluid shape, sometimes looking like flowing water, sometimes like fire, sometimes like cracks running through stone.
"There are many Laws unknown to most," Rahim continued. "The Law of Love—an unbreakable connection between souls. The Law of Opposites, which thrives on contrast and contradiction. The Law of Hunger, driving all things forward. The Law of Stillness, which halts motion itself."
Benjamin felt a shiver at those words. It was one thing to know that Life and Death existed as forces in the world. But the idea that a Law could be as intangible as Love, or as conceptually abstract as Opposites, Stillness, or Hunger—it made him realize how little he truly understood.
A student raised their hand.
"If the Laws are based on perception," the student asked, "then does that mean we could create new Laws simply by believing in them?"
Rahim gave the student a long, measured look before shaking his head.
"No. You do not create Laws. You uncover them. They exist whether you see them or not, just as the stars exist behind the clouds."
Benjamin let those words settle in his mind.
So then, what was his Law?
---
The wooden arena was well-lit, torches lining the walls and casting long shadows across the smooth planks. The room was large, built for battle, the scent of sweat and lacquered wood lingering in the air.
Benjamin stood at the center, his body tense, his hands curling into fists as he faced his opponent.
Adu Awl.
He was thin, agile, with sharp blue eyes and golden hair that almost shimmered in the torchlight. Handsome in a way that seemed effortless. But there was nothing soft about him. His expression was calm, his posture disciplined. There was no arrogance in the way he stood—only certainty.
The Law of Death surrounded him like a whisper.
Watching from the edge of the arena, arms crossed, was Instructor Darib—a former general of the Eastern Empire, a man whose eyes seemed to see through the weaknesses of those before him. His mastery of the Law of Perception made him a terrifying opponent, capable of spotting and exploiting any flaw.
"You've had time to observe," Darib said, his voice like grinding stone. "Now let's see if you've learned anything."
Benjamin nodded.
For the past weeks, he had watched as the students fought, learning the differences between their styles. He had seen martial arts, energy pushes, mind manipulation, illusion techniques, and more.
And now, it was his turn.
To the side, Atty slept, curled near the wall, his white feathers rising and falling steadily. He was present, but this was Benjamin's fight alone.
Adu tilted his head. "You're a Law of Life user, right?" His voice was neutral, but something about it felt sharp.
"Something like that," Benjamin said.
Adu hummed. "Then this should be interesting."
Darib gave the signal.
Adu moved first.
It was like a shadow passing through the air—his form shifting, disappearing, reappearing just outside Benjamin's reach. Benjamin barely had time to register before a sharp pulse of something unseen hit him, his muscles locking up for half a second too long.
Adu's fist slammed into his ribs, and Benjamin stumbled back.
Law of Death.
It wasn't just destruction. It wasn't just severing. It was ending things—even if just for a moment. Movement. Strength. Attacks.
Benjamin gritted his teeth and retaliated. He moved in, feinting left before striking with his right fist. Adu dodged, but Benjamin had expected that. Instead of pulling back, he pivoted, using the momentum to bring his knee up—
But Adu stopped his movement entirely.
Not by dodging. Not by blocking.
He just cut off Benjamin's motion mid-air—as if his strike had never even begun.
Then he retaliated.
A fist to the stomach. A sweep to the legs. A finishing blow to the side of Benjamin's head that sent him crashing to the floor.
Silence.
Adu stepped back, exhaling slowly as he rolled his shoulders, looking no worse for wear.
Benjamin coughed, pushing himself onto his elbows, the world tilting slightly.
"That's it?" Adu asked, his voice flat.
Benjamin clenched his teeth but didn't answer.
Adu sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. Then he crouched beside him, his tone more disappointed than mocking.
"You have no chance like this," he said quietly. "You don't fight like a Sage. You barely fight like a warrior. If you want to survive, you need to figure out what you're even supposed to be."
He stood and walked away.
Benjamin stayed on the ground for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling.
He knew Adu was right.
Darib watched him, unimpressed. "Get up," he said. "Or stay down. Doesn't make a difference to me."
Benjamin forced himself to stand, his body protesting with every movement.
He turned toward the side of the arena, where Atty still slept, undisturbed.
Something about that made his chest tighten.
Atty had been huge in the dungeon, powerful beyond anything Benjamin had ever seen. Yet here, now, he was just… a small creature curled in sleep.
What changed?
And more importantly—
What was he supposed to do next?
--
Benjamin walked through the stone corridors of the Academy, the dull throbbing in his skull still lingering from his fight with Adu Awl. A streak of dried blood clung to the side of his face, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere.
He had lost. Not just lost, but been dismantled.
Adu's movements were flawless. The way he severed momentum, the way he fought with precision and clarity—Benjamin couldn't even put up a fight. It wasn't just skill or experience. It was the way he wielded his Law. It was integrated into him, like an extension of his will.
Benjamin had nothing like that.
He clenched his fists.
He needed something.
And he knew exactly who to ask.
---
The library was nearly empty at this hour. The scent of parchment and old ink filled the warm space, shelves stretching high into the dimly lit room. Kareya was exactly where he expected—seated at a small table in the corner, sipping from a cup of steaming tea, her gaze flicking between two open books.
She didn't even look up when he approached.
"You're bleeding," she said.
"I noticed," Benjamin muttered, sitting down across from her.
"Lost?" she guessed, voice neutral.
"Badly."
Finally, she glanced at him, sharp eyes scanning his face, as if measuring how much the loss had shaken him. "And now you've come here, looking for answers."
Benjamin exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I need something. Anything. I can't keep relying on instincts alone."
Kareya took another sip of her tea before setting it down. "You're not like the others, Benjamin. You never were."
He looked at her, unsure of what she meant.
She gestured toward Atty, who was perched on the table, cleaning his feathers lazily. "I've spent weeks studying what you told me about Malachros. But I keep coming back to the same realization—you are something else entirely. Your bond with Atty isn't normal. No Sage I've ever met has connected to a creature the way you do."
Benjamin leaned forward. "Then how do I use that to my advantage?"
Kareya exhaled through her nose, thinking. "There are some Hayawas who form temporary bonds with animals, but their connection is fleeting. It's not like yours." She tapped her fingers against the table. "You don't just influence Atty. When you connect, it's like you become him. Almost as if your soul moves between bodies."
Benjamin thought back to the dungeon. The moment he had seen through Atty's eyes. The immediacy of it.
He nodded. "Yeah. That's exactly what it feels like."
"Then let's take it a step further," Kareya said, studying him carefully. "If you can move your presence into Atty, then what if Atty can move into you?"
Benjamin blinked.
"You mean… possession?"
Kareya shrugged. "A crude way of putting it. But yes. If he can enter your consciousness, perhaps your connection will enhance you in a way you haven't experienced before."
Benjamin frowned, considering. He reached out, running a finger over Atty's soft feathers. The gryphon flicked his ears, glancing at him with sleepy golden-silver eyes.
"Is that something you'd want to try, Atty?"
Atty blinked slowly.
Then, instead of answering, he climbed onto Benjamin's shoulder, curled into his neck, and promptly went back to sleep.
Kareya smirked. "That's a yes."
---
The Experiment
For the next few days, Benjamin attempted to telepathically communicate with Atty, reaching through their bond in ways he hadn't before. At first, it was nothing more than a vague awareness—a sensation of being present in two places at once.
But eventually, something shifted.
One evening, long after lessons had ended, Benjamin remained in the arena classroom, the wooden floor illuminated by the golden glow of torchlight. The space was empty except for him and Atty, who rested nearby, tail curled around his small form.
Benjamin sat cross-legged, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady.
He reached out—not physically, but with something deeper.
And for the first time, he felt Atty reaching back.
A pull. A merging of awareness.
And then—
His body wasn't just his own anymore.
His heartbeat quickened. His breathing deepened. He could feel the air differently, the weight of the room shifting around him in ways he had never noticed before.
When he opened his eyes, the torchlight seemed brighter, sharper, as if every flame held a thousand details he had never processed before.
His reflection in the polished floor showed his eyes—gold and silver, like Atty's.
He stood.
His body felt… different. Lighter. Stronger. More precise.
He moved into a combat stance, exhaling, feeling the new energy coursing through him. His knowledge of theory had always been solid, but executing movements had been a struggle. Not now.
He took a step forward and transitioned into a perfect form, his strikes flowing effortlessly. The small details—positioning, footwork, the way his muscles engaged in each movement—felt natural.
The limit between theory and practice had disappeared.
Kareya had been right.
Atty's transformation had been unnatural. The angelic creatures—the Itharim—had altered him. And they were entities beyond even the Sages' understanding. Their connection to the Laws was likely unmatched.
And now, when Atty and Benjamin merged, a fraction of that power was flowing through him.
His senses sharpened. His awareness expanded.
And, more strangely—when he imagined something, he could feel it take shape in his mind, as if his thoughts were given weight.
He extended his hand, focusing on the sensation. He imagined flames in his palm—not real ones, not something pulled from a Law, but just a thought given form.
For a split second, something flickered in the air above his palm. A spark of something unreal—like an idea trying to become real.
Then it vanished.
Benjamin staggered back, breathing hard. His head spun, his body exhausted. Atty, still inside him, trembled—then, in a pulse of energy, he returned to his normal form, slumping onto the floor.
Benjamin sat down beside him, equally spent.
But he was smiling.
This—this was something.
Something he could build on.
Something that would keep him alive.
For the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of something unfamiliar.
Hope.