Chapter 19: Lecture and conference.

I woke up with a start, my eyes snapping open to the familiar sight of my dorm room. The fog of the Reverie faded quickly, and I found myself sitting on the same couch I'd been on before. My heart still raced from the strangeness of it all. I could still feel the weight of Lucius's voice, the control, the manipulation. The feeling lingered in my chest like a sour taste, but it was fading with each passing second.

I stretched out, a yawn escaping me, and as I glanced around the room, something about the mundane reality of it all was… comforting. I was back. I was out of the Veil of Reverie. At least for now. I didn't know how or why, but the moment I thought about it, I imagined my couch catching fire—something ridiculous, just to test it. Of course, nothing happened. It was just a couch, exactly as it should be. That was enough for me to breathe a sigh of relief.

No more of that fog, no more Lucius.

I glanced at the clock. 06:23 AM. Great. Another day.

With a groan, I got up, pulling myself into a quick shower. The cold water helped me shake off the remnants of that weird dreamscape, and by the time I got dressed and grabbed my bag, I felt mostly back to my normal self. No more mind-bending plays, no more control by some higher-dimensional being. Just another day of dealing with real life.

I made my way to Class 3-A, the usual humdrum of the morning air filling my ears. As soon as I walked in, I saw Callan sitting at the front of the class, his brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled with the notes on the board. Gregor, a few rows behind him, was lost in his own world, staring blankly at his own set of notes, probably thinking about something other than whatever subject was on the board. I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything. They'd figure it out eventually… maybe.

I set my stuff down and took my place at the front of the room. The classroom fell into the usual silence, waiting for me to do the whole 'teacher thing.' Not that I minded. Honestly, I was used to it. And right now, I had something different in mind.

"So, class," I said, clasping my hands together in front of me, giving them a brief pause. I could almost feel the anticipation hanging in the air. "Today's topic…" I let the silence stretch for just a moment before I dropped it, "slavery."

The room froze. It was like a collective breath was held all at once. The students stared at me with wide eyes, unsure if I was serious or if this was some weird joke. They'd probably expected me to jump straight into magic practice, something more exciting, but no. Not today. Today, I wanted to challenge them a little. Make them think beyond their comfort zones.

I leaned against the desk, folding my arms. The silence stretched, but I could see the wheels turning in their heads. Why this? Why now? Callan was the first to break the silence, though not with a question—he just looked confused as usual.

"Uhh, sir… are we… talking about slavery like… in history?" His voice cracked slightly, but I could tell he was trying to follow the thread.

I nodded. "Exactly. We're going to talk about the concept of slavery, but not just in historical terms. I want you all to think about it in a broader sense. The idea of control, of ownership, of power dynamics. How does it manifest in different societies? In different worlds? Because trust me, in our world, it isn't always as black and white as it seems."

I let that last part hang in the air, watching as a few of them processed it. I could almost hear their brains ticking as they tried to make sense of what I was saying. There were always a few who liked to skip the deeper stuff, so I had to hit them with a little shock factor.

"Speaking of black and white," I said, letting my tone shift just enough to make them sit up straighter. "Black people—"

The class went dead silent. It was almost comical how quickly the energy in the room shifted. I could see their faces, unsure if I was about to drop some kind of uncomfortable, awkward bomb on them. Callan blinked a couple of times like he wasn't sure if he'd heard me correctly.

"—are just as complex as anyone else," I continued, the pause hanging in the air longer than I'd intended. I gave a little shrug, a half-smile tugging at my lips. "So don't go getting any weird ideas. This isn't about race—this is about power, control, and how things shift depending on who holds the strings."

Some of the students exhaled at the same time, clearly relieved that I wasn't about to dive into something they'd be scrambling to make sense of. But I noticed a couple of them still shifting uncomfortably in their seats. I'd said enough to get them thinking, and that's what mattered.

"But I want you all to think about it," I said, leaning in a little more, my voice quieter now, "because the question of who controls what is all around us. Magic? Society? Power? It's everywhere. Who's controlling it? Who's being controlled? And why?"

I paused, letting the question hang in the air. "If any of you think you're free, think again."

Gregor looked like he was about to ask something, but I held up my hand. "Not yet, Gregor. I'm not done."

They all fell quiet, but I could feel the shift in the room. The discomfort, the realization that they weren't just here to learn spells and tricks—they were here to think about the world around them. Even in the magic-infused chaos of their lives, they weren't immune to the bigger questions.

"So, let's start discussing," I said, breaking the silence. "Who wants to go first?"

Callan raised his hand nervously. I nodded to him.

"Alright, Callan. Let's hear it," I said, leaning back, watching him squirm.

"Well," he said hesitantly, "I get what you're saying about power, but… doesn't that make us, like, the bad guys sometimes? If we're controlling magic, are we kind of, I don't know… enslaving ourselves to it?"

It was a good question, and I could see some of the others nodding, getting into the rhythm of the conversation.

I leaned forward, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "That's the essence of it, Callan. We don't always see it, but we're all bound by something. What we choose to control, what we let control us—sometimes it's magic, sometimes it's fear, sometimes it's something far more insidious. But in the end, it's all just chains. Even when we think we're free."

I glanced around at the students, letting my words settle into the room, feeling the shift in the air. This wasn't just about magic or power—it was about everything. Everything they thought they understood. And the fact that they were thinking about it? That was enough for now.

"Alright," I said, clapping my hands together once. "Let's get deeper into this. Who else?"

The room stayed eerily silent for a moment, the weight of the topic settling heavily in the air. No one dared speak up immediately, but I could see the wheels turning in their minds. A few students exchanged glances, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, while others seemed to be processing what I had just thrown at them. The class had been expecting something about spells or magical creatures, not philosophy, not slavery. But that was the point—this was the real lesson.

I glanced around the room, narrowing my eyes just slightly. "No volunteers? Okay then. Let's think about it this way: in any society, there's always someone or something that holds the power. Maybe it's a ruler, maybe it's a force of nature, or maybe it's a force within ourselves. We're constantly enslaved to something—whether it's a system, an idea, or even our own desires."

I watched as Callan shifted in his seat, clearly trying to process the shift in direction. His brow furrowed, and he cleared his throat. "So… you're saying that, like, no one's actually free? That we're all just… trapped?"

I nodded slowly, not letting the weight of the subject overwhelm me. "Exactly. Even the most powerful people in history, the ones who seemed like they had everything—they were still bound by something. Sometimes it's their position. Sometimes it's fear of losing it. Sometimes it's their own ego. We're all trapped in one way or another."

I paused, giving them time to reflect on that. The room had gotten even quieter, and I could see a few of the students beginning to consider things they hadn't before. They thought they were in control, that their magic made them powerful, but I could see the cracks starting to show.

"Gregor," I called, not giving him time to zone out. "What do you think?"

Gregor blinked, caught off guard, and he stammered for a moment before shaking his head. "Uh… I don't really know. But, I guess if I'm thinking about it, magic… is kind of like a tool, right? So if we use it, then it's not controlling us… we control it?"

I smiled a little, appreciating the honesty. "It's an easy way to look at it, sure. But let me ask you this—when you use magic, do you always have full control over it? Or is there ever a point where it starts controlling you?"

There was a moment of silence, and Gregor opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. I could see him struggling to articulate his thoughts, but the question had clearly hit him harder than expected.

"It's okay to not know, Gregor," I said with a soft tone. "The point is that control is a slippery thing. We think we're in charge, but sometimes it's the thing we control that starts pulling the strings. Magic, society, our desires—they all have a way of making us think we're free when really, we're just following the path set out for us."

I turned back to the board and scribbled a few quick notes. "Let me give you another example. Slavery isn't just about chains or cages. It's about dependency. And that dependency can be anything. Maybe it's your need for approval, your desire to be seen as powerful, or even something as simple as the need for food and shelter. Whatever it is, it binds you. And in many cases, we allow ourselves to be bound. We let things dictate our lives without realizing it."

As I turned back to face the class, I saw their faces were a mixture of confusion, realization, and maybe even a little fear. But that was the point. This wasn't a topic to be taken lightly. Magic and power weren't just about control; they were about balance, and sometimes that balance tipped in ways that were hard to see coming.

"I want you all to really think about this," I said, leaning forward slightly, trying to drive the point home. "What is it that controls you? What makes you feel free? And more importantly, what would it take for you to truly break free from it?"

The room had gotten very quiet now, and I could feel the tension in the air. They were all grappling with the idea that maybe they weren't as in control as they thought. The magic they wielded, the spells they cast, were they really the masters of it? Or had they just built their own prison?

The bell rang, snapping everyone out of their deep thoughts, and I gave them a slight nod. "Alright, class dismissed. But don't forget what we talked about today. Think about it. When you're alone, with your thoughts and your magic… what's holding you back?"

The students shuffled out of the room, their faces a mix of contemplation and uncertainty. Gregor didn't even say goodbye—he just walked out with a blank expression, likely still lost in his thoughts. Callan lingered for a second, eyes downcast.

"Sir, do you think… we can break free from all of that?" he asked quietly.

I met his gaze, offering him a reassuring smile, though it wasn't entirely without a hint of something darker. "It's possible, Callan. But not without struggle. Freedom isn't free."

And with that, I gathered my things, left the classroom, and stepped into the hallway, my thoughts swirling just like the fog I had left behind.

The Seven Sins – A New Lesson

After the break, I sat at my desk, idly tapping my fingers against the wood as I watched the students filter back in. Some still looked shaken from our last discussion, others looked relieved that the bell had saved them from deeper introspection. Either way, I knew diving back into philosophy so soon would probably send them into a coma.

I needed something that still carried depth, but had a more structured, digestible form. Something that could make them engage and make them question things.

Then it hit me.

The Seven Sins.

The corner of my lips curled into a faint smirk as I stood, straightening my coat. If they thought last lesson was intense, they weren't ready for this one.

I clapped my hands together once, getting their attention.

"Alright, we're shifting gears today," I announced, pacing in front of the classroom. "Let's talk about something you might be a little more familiar with. Something that's been ingrained in myths, religions, magic, and even the foundations of our society. Something that affects every single one of you—whether you realize it or not."

I turned to the board and, in sharp, deliberate strokes, wrote down seven words.

Pride. Wrath. Gluttony. Envy. Lust. Sloth. Greed.

The students read the words, some squinting in recognition, others whispering to their neighbors. Gregor, still haunted by the previous lesson, looked as if he was praying this would be easier to grasp.

I tapped the board with my knuckles. "The Seven Sins. You've heard of them, right?"

Callan spoke up first, scratching his chin. "Aren't they just… religious things? Like, stuff to avoid?"

"Depends on who you ask," I replied smoothly. "Some see them as warnings. Others see them as rules. Some cultures even see them as inevitable. That no matter what, every person is bound to at least one of these sins."

I turned to the class, scanning their faces. "And I want to ask you all something: If that's true, which one do you fall under?"

Silence. Uneasy shifting. A few nervous glances.

Bingo.

Gregor cleared his throat. "Uh… I think I might be sloth?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Because you're lazy?"

"Well, yeah…"

I shrugged. "That's the basic interpretation. But sloth isn't just about lying around doing nothing. It's also about avoidance. Procrastination. A refusal to take action even when you know you should. How often have you put off something important, telling yourself you'd 'do it later'? That's sloth."

Gregor sank in his chair. "…Damn."

I chuckled, then turned to the rest of the class. "What about the rest of you? Anyone prideful?"

No one spoke up, but I saw a few stiff postures, a few eyes darting away.

"Pride isn't just thinking you're better than everyone," I continued, leaning on the desk. "It's refusing to admit you're wrong. It's thinking you don't need help, even when you do. It's when your ego gets so big that you'd rather burn everything to the ground than swallow your damn pride."

Ryan, one of the more confident students, finally spoke up. "Okay, what about wrath? That one's just anger, right?"

"Not exactly," I said, smirking slightly. "Anger is natural. Wrath, though? Wrath is when you let it consume you. It's when you stop thinking rationally and start acting on rage alone. It's vengeance, destruction, and hatred that festers until you don't even remember why you were angry in the first place."

The students stayed quiet, absorbing the information. I could see it now—some of them were really thinking about it, about themselves, about the people they knew.

And I wasn't done yet.

"Gluttony," I continued, pacing again. "Most people think it's just about food. But that's not all. It's excess. Overindulgence. Never being satisfied. Whether it's food, drink, power, or pleasure—it's the inability to say, 'I've had enough.'"

Corina frowned. "So… it's kind of like greed?"

"Close, but not quite." I pointed at the next word. "Greed is accumulation. It's hoarding. It's taking more than you need, not because you want to indulge, but because you're afraid of losing it. The greedy aren't just hungry for more—they fear scarcity."

A few nods of understanding. The gears were turning.

Then I reached envy.

"This one's fun," I mused. "Envy isn't just jealousy. It's resentment. It's looking at what someone else has and hating them for it. It's not just wanting what they have—it's wanting them to lose it."

That one struck a chord. I could tell. A few students suddenly found their desks very interesting.

Finally, I tapped the last sin. Lust.

Predictably, a few students snickered. I rolled my eyes. "Grow up. Lust isn't just about that."

The class straightened up, a little embarrassed.

"Lust is desire," I said, crossing my arms. "Uncontrollable desire. It can be for pleasure, for power, for anything. It's when you crave something so much that it blinds you. That's why people fall. That's why they get enslaved by their own impulses."

The room was silent again.

I let the weight of the conversation settle before breaking the tension.

"So," I said, leaning back on my desk, "how's that for a fun little lesson?"

Gregor, still looking overwhelmed, groaned. "I thought we were gonna learn more about magic."

I smirked. "Oh, this is about magic. Or did you think magic was just spells and explosions? Magic, power, human nature—it's all connected. You don't just fight with your fists, Gregor. You fight with your mind. And knowing how people think? Knowing their weaknesses? That's the real weapon."

Callan exhaled, shaking his head. "You have a really messed-up way of teaching, sir."

I grinned. "Thank you, Callan."

Ryan crossed his arms. "So what, are we supposed to, like… avoid these sins or something?"

I tilted my head. "Not necessarily. Because here's the real kicker—these sins? They're not just bad. They have their uses."

More confused glances.

"Pride can give you confidence. Wrath can drive you to act. Gluttony can make you ambitious. Envy can push you to improve. Lust can fuel passion. Sloth can force you to find smarter, more efficient ways to do things. And greed? Greed can make you hungry for success."

I saw their eyes widen slightly, realization dawning on them.

"The real danger," I continued, "is when you let these things control you, instead of the other way around."

I turned back to the board, drawing a simple line under all seven words.

"The seven sins exist in all of us. The question isn't whether you have them. The question is—are you mastering them, or are they mastering you?"

A long silence followed.

Then Gregor groaned again. "I hate this class."

I chuckled. "Good. That means you're actually thinking."

The bell rang, and the students started to pack up, still visibly mulling over the discussion. Some looked like they were having an existential crisis. Others seemed deep in thought.

As they filtered out, Callan stopped by the door, giving me a wary look.

"You ever think about doing, like… normal lectures?"

I smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he walked out.

I exhaled, staring at the board for a moment before wiping it clean.

Another lesson down.

The Conference of the Academy of Aurimora

The hallways of the academy were filled with the chatter of students on break, but Sylas Corvus Arctanis moved through them like a phantom, his presence parting the crowds without a word. He barely acknowledged the messenger who had delivered the summons, merely nodding before making his way toward the conference room.

A teacher conference. How quaint.

At nineteen, he was an anomaly among the ranks of the academy's professors. A boy among men and women who had spent decades in their fields, clinging to their authority like lifelines. He, on the other hand, had been granted a position not through tenure or tradition, but through sheer, undeniable prowess. And that unsettled them.

Not that he cared.

Sylas's footsteps echoed as he approached the grand doors of the conference room, pushing them open without hesitation.

Silence fell the moment he entered.

The air itself seemed to tighten, an invisible weight pressing down on the gathered professors and administrators. There were at least a dozen of them, seated around a long, ornate table—men and women well into their forties and fifties, draped in robes adorned with insignias of rank and wisdom. And yet, for all their supposed experience, none of them spoke.

Because Sylas Corvus Arctanis had arrived.

He did not slouch. He did not fidget. He did not hesitate.

He simply walked forward, each step measured, his presence looming despite his youth. His black coat swept behind him, his sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. It wasn't magic, nor was it any spell. It was pure, unfiltered intensity—a presence so sharp and absolute that even the most seasoned educators found their words caught in their throats.

They had seen students with talent. They had seen prodigies. But Sylas? Sylas was something else entirely.

He did not defer to them. He did not bow his head or lower his gaze.

He was unbowed.

And that made them uneasy.

He pulled out a chair at the table, the scraping of wood against marble the only sound in the oppressive silence. He sat down, back straight, unreadable as ever, fingers lightly interlocked in front of him. His silver eyes flickered across the room, assessing, calculating.

Waiting.

Finally, someone cleared their throat—an older professor with graying hair and a finely embroidered cloak, attempting to reassert some measure of authority over the room.

"Professor Corvus," the man addressed, carefully choosing his words. "We are pleased that you could join us."

Sylas merely blinked.

That was it. No nod. No acknowledgment. Just silence.

The professor shifted uncomfortably before continuing. "This conference was called to discuss the curriculum and future policies of the Academy of Aurimora, particularly regarding the methods and philosophies employed by our faculty."

A pause.

Then, another professor, a woman with sharp features, interjected. "To put it plainly, Professor Corvus, we've received… concerns."

Ah.

Here it was.

Sylas exhaled, barely concealing his amusement. He had expected as much.

He had been teaching at the academy for only a short time, but his methods had already caused waves. He did not coddle students. He did not spoon-feed knowledge or regurgitate tired, outdated doctrines. He taught with brutal efficiency, stripping away unnecessary distractions and forcing his students to think, to question, to face reality.

And that, naturally, had ruffled feathers.

"Concerns," Sylas repeated, voice as calm as ever.

The woman gave a stiff nod. "Yes. Many of your students report feeling… unsettled by your lectures."

Sylas tilted his head. "Do they now?"

One of the older professors frowned. "Your teachings are unorthodox. You introduce concepts that are far beyond the standard syllabus. Topics like the philosophy of power, the nature of control, the psychological underpinnings of combat—these are not things young minds should be burdened with."

Sylas did not blink.

"Is that so?"

Another professor, a portly man with a thick mustache, folded his hands together. "You're brilliant, Professor Corvus. No one is denying that. But the academy has traditions. A structure. If students begin questioning too much, if they become too aware of certain… realities, it could lead to instability."

Sylas regarded the man for a moment. Then, he leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against the back of his hand.

"You are afraid," he observed.

A murmur rippled through the room.

The mustached professor stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

Sylas's voice remained steady, composed. "You fear that students will begin to question the systems you uphold. That they will think beyond the lessons you have carefully crafted for them. That they will—what?—develop ambition? Intelligence? Awareness?"

Silence.

He exhaled softly. "It is not knowledge that destabilizes a system, Professor. It is ignorance. It is keeping minds dull and obedient that leads to collapse."

The sharp-featured woman narrowed her eyes. "You speak as though you believe yourself superior to the rest of us, Professor Corvus."

Sylas did not smirk. That would be too obvious. Instead, he simply met her gaze, unwavering.

"I speak only the truth," he replied.

The tension in the room was thick, but Sylas remained unaffected. They could protest all they wanted. They could argue, debate, and cloak their insecurities behind words like "tradition" and "stability."

But he would not change.

He had not come here to conform.

He had come here to teach. To shape. To unravel the fragile little illusions they had so carefully built.

And they all knew it.

The headmaster, who had remained silent until now, finally leaned forward, observing Sylas with a contemplative gaze.

"Tell me, Professor Corvus," he said, voice calm yet weighty. "If you had your way, how would you reshape this academy?"

Sylas closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

Then, he looked at them all once more.

Unblinking.

Unbowed.

With a certainty that shook the very air.

"I would teach them the truth."

Nothing more.

Nothing less.