Zypher as New Teacher

Delphia stepped into the practice hall after another week completed at The Academy, for her next scheduled magic session, heart thrumming with unwanted excitement.

Another day at the Magic Tower, another opportunity to refine her skills without the prying eyes of her stepfamily. Yet she couldn't entirely ignore the tangle of emotions roiling in her chest. Zypher Thorne had—somehow, without explicit formality—taken the role of her instructor for a majority of her lessons.

He was already there, waiting near the runic diagrams etched into the floor, posture casual yet commanding; Other learners milled about at a respectable distance. Over the past lessons with him, Delphia had become accustomed to the hush that fell whenever he began to demonstrate a spell or elaborate on theory. He seemed to gather attention simply by speaking, the undercurrent of his mana—Eighth Circle—speaking even louder than his words.

"Lady Vosswell," he greeted, dipping his head in polite acknowledgment. "I trust you're prepared for today's exercises?"

On the outside, Delphia kept her expression serene. Inside, a small storm brewed: she knew this man as the 'villain' she'd once been fascinated by, the very character fated to die off-page before the novel's final arc. She swallowed and forced her tone to remain light. "Of course," she replied. "I've practiced the layering technique you showed us last time."

"Excellent." Zypher's maroon eyes flicked over her, assessing as usual, as if searching for fractures in her carefully composed exterior. "I'd like to see how you're applying that technique in a real demonstration. Let's start with the synergy we discussed—air element with a mild Dark overlay. You recall the amplitude threshold?"

Delphia nodded, stepping onto the runic circle he indicated. The faint glow of containment wards pulsed at her feet, a quiet reminder of the Tower's careful regulation of volatile magic. I can't let him see how unsteady I feel, she reminded herself. If he caught even a hint of hesitation, he would press me further.

And she needed to keep her secrets buried—her knowledge of his fate, her past life, everything.

She inhaled slowly, channeling her air element first, then attempting to weave in a measured thread of Dark synergy. Immediately, the shift unsettled her. Unlike Light mana, which had once yielded to her with relative ease, Dark mana slithered at the edges of her control—resistant, weighty, pulsing like a living thing. The twisting breeze at her fingertips dimmed, dark tendrils threading unevenly through it, disrupting the balance.

It felt… unwieldy.

The instability was clear. The currents trembled, edges fraying where her concentration wavered. Zypher circled her like a predator dissecting weakness. "Your foundation is there," he observed, his voice even. "But you're overcorrecting. Dark mana doesn't bend the same way as Light—it isn't passive. It moves with intention. Right now, you're trying to force it into submission."

Delphia bit back frustration. "I'm aware," she said, sharper than intended. "It's not reacting the way I want."

Zypher studied the unraveling spell with a keen eye before making a small gesture. The unstable currents stilled at once, bending to his will with effortless control. "Because you're treating it like an auxiliary force rather than the dominant one," he stated. "Dark mana doesn't 'flow' the way Light does. It clings. It consumes. You have to guide it differently—think of it less as a supporting weave and more as the foundation."

She exhaled, resetting her stance, then tried again. This time, she adjusted her focus, letting Dark mana settle first before layering in air, rather than forcing it to conform to her usual method. The result was far from perfect—still rough, still stubborn—but it no longer fought her as violently. The currents didn't flicker as erratically, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a connection to the element that had once felt foreign to her.

Zypher studied her work, then gave a single nod. "Better. Not controlled yet, but you're learning how to let it move with you instead of against you."

Delphia dispelled the mana with a sharp breath, tension still coiled tight in her muscles. She wasn't satisfied—not yet. But she had made progress, and that alone was enough to keep her pushing forward.

The rest of the practice session continued like that: Zypher gently but firmly coaching her, offering tidbits of specialized knowledge. She noticed how the other students hovered in the background, not exactly excluded, yet overshadowed by his direct focus on her. She wondered if he realized how easily he'd commandeered the role of her personal mentor.

If anyone else resented her sudden 'private' lessons, they didn't voice it.

Throughout each exchange, Delphia struggled to conceal the warmth creeping into her cheeks. On the surface, she remained the calm, studious Delphia everyone was now faced with—deep down though, she was torn between the high of learning from the 'villain' who'd once enthralled her reading self from her first life and the dread of his impending fate.

He'll die soon, an insistent voice in her head reminded her, unless the changes I'm subtly making can save him… But she couldn't speak those thoughts aloud. Instead, she offered a small, polite smile whenever he praised her incremental improvements, and nodded seriously each time he warned her about synergy pitfalls.

When they concluded for the day, Zypher took a measured step back. "Your progress is commendable," he said, tone mild as ever, yet Delphia detected the faintest curve of a satisfied smile. "At this rate, you'll surpass the intermediate complexities sooner than most."

"Thank you," she replied softly, fighting the urge to ask a dozen questions about his own approach. She wanted so badly to know more about him, his motives, his knowledge—why he'd singled her out, why he tested her so relentlessly. The old Delphia would have demanded answers; The new Delphia tried to remain composed, not wanting to get so involved.

He gave her one last, assessing look. "I'll see you at your next session, Lady Vosswell." Then he turned, acknowledging a couple of younger Mages waiting with questions of their own.

Delphia gathered her notes, heart still pounding. Another day in The Tower, another lesson overshadowed by Zypher's quietly intense scrutiny. At least tomorrow, she thought with a swirl of both relief and anxiety, I wouldn't be in this practice hall. I'd be in The Academy.

She pressed her notebook against her chest and stepped away, still brimming with unspoken emotions. This arrangement—this 'teacher-student' dynamic—would do for now. But she knew she couldn't keep her inner turmoil hidden forever, not with Zypher's probing gaze dissecting her every incremental progress.

***

It was a few days later when Delphia returned to the Magic Tower on another off-day from the Academy. The corridors buzzed with a familiar flow of robed Mages, and she quietly relished the structured hum of arcane study.

Today's session would build on the synergy concepts she'd practiced, but her real anxiety lay in who might be waiting when she arrived. She paused in the atrium, scanning the posted announcements regarding upcoming workshops. A few novices flitted by, carrying scrolls.

Then, from behind her, a warm voice spoke up: "Looking for something in particular,Lady Vosswell?"

She turned to see Zypher standing with his signature poise—one hand casually at his side, the other holding a short list of Tower schedules. His maroon eyes seemed to glow under the gentle lamplight.

Her breath caught, though she forced an even expression. "Not exactly," she replied, glancing at the parchment in his hand. "Just seeing if there's anything new." That was only partly true; If she were honest, she was bracing for whatever he might ask next.

He stepped closer, offering a small half-smile. "Plenty new indeed—some advanced synergy classes, a series on illusions, and a lecture on the kingdom's magical resource reserves. If you're interested." His tone was effortlessly friendly, but she sensed the subtle curiosity behind it, as though each word she spoke would be evaluated.

She shrugged lightly. "I might attend one or two in the future. But first, I need to master the basics."

His eyes flickered with mild amusement. "Don't underestimate your progress, Delphia." He tilted the schedule in her direction. "You could likely keep up with advanced lessons soon." She pretended to study the words but couldn't help noticing the closeness—how his presence filled her peripheral vision.

"I'd rather be sure of my foundation before leaping ahead," she said, injecting a calmness into her voice. "Is that the next class we're headed to?" She pointed to a line reading 'Elemental Reinforcement Lab: midday.'

Zypher nodded. "That's the one. Would you like to walk together, or do you prefer to settle in first?" Her heart fluttered, though she kept it hidden behind a polite nod. "I'll walk with you."

They strode side by side through the Tower's hallways. Unlike the crisp, formal Academy, the Tower's environment felt more open—yet the tension between them never fully eased. She asked a few questions about the lessons, weaving in a cautious detachment. He, in turn, answered with a wry charm that skimmed over everything and nothing: faint references to the Kingdom's political state, minor gossip about the Tower's older Elders, bits of arcane knowledge he'd gleaned in his travels.

"It's surprising," she admitted at one point, "how different the Tower is compared to what I'd read—or heard. Less rigid, more… fluid."

"Fluid suits you," he said mildly, shooting her a passing glance, "given your air alignment. And—how you've changed." His words hung on that last phrase, as though inviting her to confirm or deny a deeper meaning.

Delphia feigned indifference. "We all change. It's inevitable," she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

Before long, they reached the Elemental Reinforcement Lab. Other Mages formed small groups, adjusting runic apparatuses that glimmered with built-up mana. The instructor, an older woman with spectacles perched on her nose, greeted them warmly. Delphia welcomed the interruption from their conversation, uncertain how much longer she could gracefully dodge Zypher's subtle probing.

*

When class ended, a bustle of activity followed—students comparing notes, tidying leftover mana threads, or chatting about personal breakthroughs. Delphia stayed behind to make a final note of the runic diagram they'd just used, only to realize Zypher lingered as well.

He approached once more, setting aside a half-finished conversation with another Mage. "How was your reinforcement practice?" He asked, voice low enough that the departing students wouldn't overhear.

Delphia looked up from her notebook. "Challenging," she admitted honestly. "But manageable. My synergy's getting better… I think."

He offered a small, knowing smile. "I can see that. You've gained confidence. Not just in magic, but in how you carry yourself." Her stomach turned at the hint of suspicion that laced his words. He's gleaning something every time we speak,she realized. But she answered only with a polite dip of her head. "I've found the Tower's approach helpful."

They fell into a brief silence—comfortable on the surface, but alive with unspoken tension. She wondered if he'd press further about her change or her motivations. Instead, he mentioned something about the continuing tension near the Kingdom's borders, referencing a rumor he'd heard about rogue Mages. The topic drifted to the broader political climate, how mana crystal resources were under scrutiny.

Delphia gave mild, thoughtful responses, reminding herself not to reveal too much as she did remember some of these points from the book itself. He seemed satisfied enough, gleaning each nuance she offered.

Finally, she shut her notebook, gaze sweeping the now nearly empty lab. "I should go," she said, forcing a composed half-smile. "I have another lecture that I signed up for."

Zypher nodded, arms folding easily. "Of course. I—" He hesitated, then continued smoothly, "We'll cross paths soon, no doubt." His tone had that same softness she couldn't place.

"Indeed," she said, turning to leave with her satchel in hand. At the threshold, she paused and glanced back, uncertain why. He stood as if awaiting another reply, his expression unreadable. She swallowed, then resumed walking, footsteps echoing in the corridor.

As she emerged into The Tower's atrium, her heart thudded with conflicting emotions—appreciation for his guidance, worry over what he might suspect, and a quiet longing for him not to meet the fate she knew from the novel's pages. Still, for now, she'd keep her mask of calm composure, letting their conversations remain in that gray area of everything and nothing.