The Other Duskborn

The teacher, a man in his mid-30s with messy, greying hair that looked like it had never seen a comb, stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed and eyes scanning the students.

Wrinkles dotted his forehead as he frowned, waiting for an answer. The atmosphere in the room was thick, filled with tension and anticipation. He had asked a question that cut to the heart of war: the essence of battle, and how one would make decisions when lives are on the line.

Ezra sat quietly, his thoughts swirling. But before he could open his mouth, Silas, who had been slouched lazily in his seat, speaking in a calm, detached voice, leaned forward, breaking the silence.

"The essence of battle," Silas began, his tone as cold and unfeeling as a winter's night, "is not just survival, but sacrifice. Sometimes, the lives of civilians are the price you pay to ensure the victory of your forces. It's a simple equation: soldiers are the backbone of any fight. You can lose a hundred civilians, and the war still goes on. But lose your soldiers—your trained, disciplined fighters—and it's over. You don't have the manpower to continue, and the civilians you're trying to protect will fall to the enemy anyway."

He paused, as he let his words sink in. The tension was palpable now.

"If the enemy is nearing, and it's a question of losing soldiers or civilians, the answer is obvious," Silas continued, his voice unwavering. "You kill the enemy first, even if it means collateral damage. A soldier's life is a tool to protect the greater good. You can't hesitate, because hesitation is weakness, and weakness gets people killed."

He let his words hang in the air, the class unnervingly quiet as they processed the dark logic behind them.

"When you're out there, with lives on the line, you have to stop thinking of the world in terms of morality. You need to think in terms of necessity. Do what has to be done, no matter how dirty or cruel it seems. In the long run, it's not about who survives; it's about who wins."

The teacher raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by Silas's ruthless pragmatism.

"An interesting perspective," he said, his voice low and serious. "It's a hard truth that many struggle to accept. But in war, sometimes the line between right and wrong isn't as clear as people think."

"Remember, students," the teacher continued, his voice firm and authoritative, "time is running out. The exams will be nearing soon. The other teachers may have mentioned it by now, but I'll give you a reminder."

He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room to ensure everyone was paying attention. The tension in the air was palpable, and it seemed that everyone was bracing themselves for the weight of the upcoming tests.

"You'll need to master everything we've covered so far—combat, elemental mastery, rift zones, and of course, the strategies we've discussed. The exams won't just test your knowledge; they'll test your ability to apply what you've learned under pressure."

His gaze lingered on a few of the students, his eyes narrowing slightly. "There will be no mercy. Do not underestimate the difficulty. These exams are meant to push you to your limits and prepare you for the real world. And remember, those who fail will face consequences."

——

"Professor Vaun is a weird one, right?" Ezra mumbled, trudging behind Silas as they made their way to the canteen for lunch. The noise of students echoing through the halls only added to the weight of the conversation.

"I suppose," Silas replied, his tone nonchalant as he kept walking.

The days spent together allowed Ezra to observe Silas more and more. It became clear that Silas wasn't just the pretty face that everyone seemed to be drawn to. There was a sharpness in his eyes, a quiet intelligence that Ezra hadn't fully noticed before.

The way he processed everything so calmly, his strategic mind, it was evident even in the way he navigated through the chaos of the academy. Silas was far more than the carefree, laid-back exterior he put up for most people.

"Where can I find the professor for lore?" Ezra asked, his curiosity piqued.

Silas glanced at him, a raised eyebrow indicating some level of skepticism. "Why do you ask?"

"No harm in seeking knowledge, y'know," Ezra replied, shrugging.

Silas snorted, shaking his head. "Says the one who doesn't pay attention in class."

Ezra shot him a look, unbothered by the remark. "Fair enough. But seriously, where is he?"

Silas scanned the cafeteria, his eyes darting over the students before responding, "Behind the dormitory, a couple of miles walking into the woods. You'll find him getting wasted, hollering, reading profanities from what I've heard."

Ezra blinked, surprised by the description. "Really?"

"Yeah," Silas shrugged. "Don't expect any grand lectures or wisdom, though. But if you really want to know, that's where he's usually at."

"Alright, thanks" Ezra said, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and resolve. Without another word, he dashed out of the cafeteria, his schedule clear for the day. He was eager to finally meet the professor everyone talked so little about.

When he had asked Professor Grimm earlier, the professor had simply dismissed him with a wave, muttering, "Don't waste your time on that drunkard." Professor Vaun had only shaken his head in disappointment, while Professor Coralline outright cursed, calling the man a "homeless perverted old man."

Ezra made his way deeper into the woods, the trees towering above him, casting long shadows as the wind whispered through the branches. He couldn't shake the feeling that Silas had purposely given him the wrong directions, just to make him suffer a little in the eerie silence of the woods.

But then again, Silas had seemed genuinely indifferent, and he didn't really seem to know much about where the professor could be either.

As the minutes passed and he continued walking, he found himself growing more and more unsure of his surroundings. The woods were thick and dark, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig had him jumping, but still, no professor in sight.

He couldn't stop thinking about Sol, the feline who had made an impression on him despite the brief moments they'd shared. The thought of her pulled him deeper into the mystery. He had tried calling her name in the dark—shouting into the night, his voice breaking the oppressive silence. But all he got in return was the rustle of wind and a distant owl hooting in the trees.

His shout, however, had apparently been loud enough to wake Silas from his sleep earlier, the sound of a pillow hitting him squarely in the face echoing through their dorm.

"Can you kindly stop shouting in the dark like a lunatic? My ears are sensitive," Silas had grumbled before rolling over, burying his face in his pillow once more and drifting back to sleep, clearly unbothered.

Ezra sighed, shaking the memory away, and pressed on. 

Just as Ezra was about to turn back and admit defeat, a figure emerged from the shadows of the woods. The man walked with an eerie sense of calm, a massive deer slung over his back. His stride was steady, measured, as if he had been expecting Ezra all along.

Blood stained his shirt, streaking the fabric in dark, irregular patches, and his hunting tools—a well-worn bow, quiver of arrows, and a hunting knife—hung loosely from his belt.

The man stopped in front of Ezra, his presence overwhelming the quiet of the forest. Ezra looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in the stranger's appearance.

The man was tall, easily towering over Ezra, with tan skin that was marked by scars. His arms were adorned with black ink tattoos, swirling down his forearms in intricate patterns.

His hair, as dark as the night sky, was braided long, hanging past his shoulders like a banner of shadows. His eyes—oh, his eyes—were like the galaxy itself. A swirling mix of deep blues and purples, speckled with stars, as if they contained the very essence of the universe.

Two deep scars marred his face—one stretching across the bridge of his nose and the other running down his cheek. They were old, as if they'd been there for a while giving him a nasty appearance but that didn't turn away that he was attractive.

Ezra froze, his breath catching in his throat. The figure in front of him was unmistakable. No other person could have matched the description he'd heard in passing, the rumors that lingered in the corners of the academy. The tattoos, the scars, the deep eyes—this had to be him.

Soren.