“Oh, that started faster than I expected.”

  Wiping the food remains off of his face, Ayn shifted his attention towards the fight, with an unimpressed expression. It wasn't uncommon for brawls to start at the mess hall, and he didn't care, so long as it didn't affect him.

  Well, he didn't care about the fights themselves, but watching people duke it out was pretty amusing. It's not like he hoped for spells to fly every lunch, but it certainly made eating the slop more enjoyable.

  With the dust caused by the explosion cleared, his expectations were subverted. On the floor was one of the three Homunculi, with the beret wearing Tribefolk standing over him. His palm was open, and pointed towards the grounded prisoner.

  The air around his hand crackled with Ark, the circuits leading from his Core to his fingers shifting and morphing into a stable form. Ayn tilted his head.

  “Is that Fire-Type magic?”

  Fire-Type magic, not fire magic, according to modern Archêometry, was the term used to encapsulate every spell and magic which relied on the control or creation of energy.

  Although, in the case of an explosive spell, it could have been made with various Types of magic. For example, Wind-Type, the Type which controls forces. In that case, rather than an explosion, it would be more akin to a localized burst of pressure.

  Or even Water-Type, by generating an explosive liquid, or a high amount of powder to then ignite, with the result of it blowing up.

  From the appearance and formation of the Ley Lines on the Tribefolk's hand, however, the Fire-Type origin was obvious. The circuits kept shifting, while maintaining the Fire-Type symbols at their core.

  Ayn squinted his eyes, to try and get a better look at the spell which was being formed. Then, his eyes widened in horror and surprise, followed by an amount of amusement. He jolted towards the brawl, with a manic smile on his face.

  ‘What the hell is this moron thinking? If he casts a spell of that magnitude, forget the guards… That man himself might come…’

  The size of the mess hall wasn't one to be laughed at. To add to that, Ayn didn't have the strongest body, physically. It would take him a few seconds at least to reach the four others, and he didn't know if that would be enough.

  Luckily for him, a blade of pressurized wind slashed through the air and towards the Tribefolk, the loss of concentration leading to the spell being thrown off. He breathed a sigh of relief, that bought him a few more moments.

  The beret wearing prisoner clicked his tongue in annoyance, scorn visible on his face, despite possessing a cold expression. With a flick of his wrist, the crackling Ark released itself into the world.

  Ley Lines travelling from his hands expanded towards his target, multiple explosions setting off at the Homunculus' feet. Not enough to harm him or knock him down, but definitely strong enough to throw him off balance.

  Ayn tried to keep his excitement hidden. Arthur may become a diamond, with enough time and training, but the Tribefolk in front of him was a shiny pot of gold. That potential couldn't be wasted in that place.

  That potential didn't reside in the boy's choice of spells, nor in his firepower. Although explosive spells were somewhat complex, they weren't uncommon at all.

  In that regard, his firepower was even lower than the average. Usually, magic of that kind sacrificed precision for more range and strength, while he did the opposite. Small, weaker explosion.

  “Ok! How about we all calm down and stop, before someone gets seriously hurt by the guards, hm?”

  Having finally reached the Tribefolk, Ayn snatched his wrist, stopping him from trying to cast any more spells.

  Although this was only a temporary measure, he hoped the boy in front of him would be wiser than to keep fighting, and risk making the situation worse.

  Most of the guards in the mess hall had already picked up their weapons, ready to step in at any moment. If the fight progressed to the point where anyone got seriously hurt, that Tribefolk wouldn't walk away unscathed.

  Not to mention, the man watching the situation developed from a corner of the room. With sunglasses hiding his gaze, his military coat draped over his shoulders like a cape, and bundles of thick chains adorning his arms.

  Showing himself off in front of that man was the last thing Ayn desired, he hoped to stop this altercation with words, and subtle magic, alone. The man cast his gaze toward him, an unreadable smirk on his face. Ayn shuddered.

  “Oi, get off me. You can get your arse beat once I'm done with those wankers.”

  The Tribefolk shook his wrist, trying to get rid of the elf's grasp, with no avail. He clicked his tongue and tried once again, with more force.

  He was more physically imposing than the one grabbing him, taller, larger and most likely stronger. However, he wouldn't let go. An unsettling smile formed on Ayn's face, annoying the Tribefolk even further.

  It was as if he was being looked down upon. Clicking his tongue with scorn once again, the Ark flowing through his veins rushed towards his hands. If he wasn't going to get off, he'd just blow the elf's fingers off.

  Ayn smiled. As soon as the circuits tried to shape themselves, on the back of his hand, the beret-wearing boy fell backwards, feeling dazed and tired. Ayn helped him stand up, with the smile remaining on his face. His spell failed to cast.

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  “Now, how about you idiots… Erm, you good men, go back to eating that slop, instead of fighting? You know, we don't get much free time here, do we?”

  The three Homunculi looked at each other, with a slightly frightened expression. Ayn didn't seem scary or powerful, but simply being an elf was enough to strike fear in them.

  Elves were part of the race known as Faefolk, most commonly known for their might and magic prowess. But more than that, they were known as tricksters. No one wanted to mess or make an enemy of an elf.

  The Tribefolk knew this, too, but he didn't seem to care too much about superstitions of that kind. Rather, he still wanted to blow the other's fingers off, even if his circuits were acting weird. Ayn tugged on his wrist, forcing him to follow the elf back towards his eating spot.

  “When are you gonna let me go, you-”

  “Calm down, calm down! Promise not to send over an explosion to their table, and I'll let you go, how's that sound?”

  The Tribefolk's cold expression broke, his eyes widening at Ayn's words. “How do you know about that? About my Gift?”

  Ayn replied with a smirk. “I have good eyes, that's all.”

  Finally, he let him go. The beret wearing boy massaged his wrist for a few seconds, after being released, before looking over at the three Homunculi. The one he had knocked down was bleeding from the nose, while the other two were mostly fine.

  Ley Lines crawled towards his palm, trying to reach his fingers, but he retracted them with a sigh. Even if he tried to cast a spell now, that boy would stop him, most likely.

  “Tch. You seem like a good lad. You stopped me because Sol was looking, didn't you?” Ayn opened his mouth, slightly surprised. If he knew who Sol was, and that showing off around him wasn't a good idea, maybe that Tribefolk wasn't a complete fool.

  “The name's Jacob Grimm. Remember it.” He took off his beret at the introduction, unveiling some facial features. What seemed like a birthmark spread between his eyes, with a dark hue. Additionally, his ears, protruding slightly higher than a Homunculus', had some amounts of fur covering them.

  “A ferret Tribefolk? I'm Ayn, by the way. Ayn Aerhius.” Ayn grabbed his hand, the one Jacob was using for support, nearly making him fall over.

  “Moongazing Ferret.” Jacob corrected him. “My family's not from Teiws.”

  Ayn nodded. Moongazing ferrets were a kind of mustelid native to a region in the northern Winguric, the floating archipelago of T'lwayth. A region sealed off from the rest of the continent, due to the floating nature of the islands, and a strong protective barrier surrounding it.

  Many people considered them a sign of good luck, or rather, of fortune in the materialistic sense. That was due to their high sensitivity to raw Archê, which led many ferrets to find veins of Moonstone or similar materials.

  According to some legends, Moongazing Ferrets originally came from the moon, and by seeking out Moonstones, they attempt to go back to their original habitat. That was also the source of the name, their aptitude to find Moonstone.

  Although they were native to T'lwayth, due to the high density of Moonstone in that region, the ferrets had some particular attributes that let them migrate from the floating archipelago. Most notably, the ability to glide over long distances.

  “And no, I can't jump off a tower and survive.” Jacob interrupted him before Ayn could ask a stupid question, seeing a dumb grin forming on his face. He pouted, without even being able to speak it.

  “By the way, lad,” He spoke once again, putting his beret back on. “Why did you stop me? I don't think we knew each other before this.”

  Ayn placed a finger besides his lips, putting on an exaggerated thinking face, before tilting his head.

  “Because that's the right thing to do?”

  “No one would believe an answer like that, lad.” Jacob sighed. He felt somewhat indebted to him, but Ayn was the worst type of person to interact with, he knew that much. Intentionally speaking like a fool, only showing off what he needed to show.

  Not to mention, he enjoyed playing the part of the fool. Beneath that intentionally bad facade of innocence, Ayn was snickering to himself.

  “Hmm, well! I have a, let's say, grudge against Sol. That's enough to make you trust me, isn't it?”

  Jacob clicked his tongue. He could tell Ayn was telling the truth, there was some scorn in his words. He definitely did have something against that man, and the same could be said for Jacob himself.

  However, that wasn't the entire reason. More than that, Jacob had only mentioned that man once, in a passing comment. From just those words, Ayn was able to figure out he had something against Sol.

  He shuddered in disgust. In some ways, Ayn reminded him of that man. However, he seemed more trustworthy than Sol. He was willing to take the gamble of trusting that elf instead of Sol.

  Ayn smirked. “If you don't mind me asking, what do you have against Sol, anyways? This place is full of people that hate him, but…”

  He held off on finishing that sentence, his smile growing into a harder expression for a moment, before reverting back to his usual smirk.

  Ayn knew why people disliked Sol. Despite his easygoing and amiable mannerism, he was probably one of the most despicable persons in that prison. No, it wouldn't be wrong to say in the entirety of Teiws.

  Ayn himself recognized that he was akin to Sol. They were both individuals that enjoyed playing the fool. However, that man was far more stronger than Ayn, at the moment, was.

  He was one of the seven leaders of the Empire, with only the Emperor himself above him. The one who controlled the prisons and military academies of the Empire, personally watching over the Academy of Sigel.

  Sol was the reason that most of the prisoners of Sigel ended up converting into cadets and eventually soldiers of the Empire. Not only did he have an unreal amount of strength, but his charm and wits were even above that.

  “That bastard is the reason we're here in the first place.” Jacob lowered his gaze to the ground, a hateful and scornful expression adorning his face. “He ‘rescued’ me and my brother, and took us in. That's what my brother tells everyone, anyways, but the truth is far from that.”

  He gripped his fist tightly enough for his knuckles to go white. Ark started crackling in the air, a quiet rage building inside the boy. Ayn placed his hand over the other's, calming his circuits down and stopping him from accidentally casting any spells.

  “The Empire took interest in T'lwayth only recently. The effort to conquer it was fairly recent, and that's the reason why the archipelago is sealed off at all.” Ayn nodded, he remembered reading about it in some newspaper years ago. Suddenly, his eyes widened, as he remembered another detail.

  “Sol was the one leading that expedition, right?” Jacob nodded.

  “The islands of Gwynt and Gwyllt Teg were left mostly unscathed, thanks to the Faes and the Pendragons. Montaigne, on the other hand…”

  The Archipelago was divided into three main islands, as Ayn remembered. The island of Gwynt Teg, inhabited mostly by Faefolk, the island of Gwyllt Teg, inhabited mostly by Homunculi, reptilian Tribefolks and Behemoths.

  And lastly, the island of Montaigne, a kingdom which was fairly separated from the other two islands. Whereas Gwynt Teg and Gwyllt Teg could be considered a singular region, Montaigne was autonomous.

  “That bastard, they razed the kingdom to the ground. No one was strong enough to defeat them, only to drive them away.” Ayn could see hatred burning in his eyes.

  “Our house was burnt down. My father died in battle, and my mother sacrificed herself to protect me and my brother from the flames.”

  “Then, that man came. He took us away from Montaigne, brought us to Sigel, and raised us as if we were his children. And I could do nothing about it.” Jacob slammed his fist towards the ground.

  “I was just a child, and I wanted to survive. I could only follow his words.”

  Ayn nodded, understanding how deep the hatred Jacob held for Sol ran. He destroyed his home, was the indirect reason for the deaths of his parents, and took him away to a foreign land.

  “And what about your brother?”

  A pained and grave expression appeared on his face. Ayn regretted asking that, most likely, his brother had died along the way, or something similar.

  “He joined Sol, as his right hand man.”