The dormitory door creaked inwards, revealing a scene of verdant chaos. Thick vines, serpentine and strong, laced up the walls, their leaves whispering secrets in the still air. Ferns, a vibrant green, exploded from every corner, their fronds like welcoming, open hands. A palpable hum vibrated in the air, a thrum of mana that pressed against Kor’s skin, a familiar embrace.

  A flash of amber launched across the room. Talen. Kor steeled himself, the force of the hug still nearly bowling him over. “Kor!”

  “Missed... you... too...” Kor wheezed, winded but grinning.

  Oak’s admonition about gentle handling had clearly been ignored. Talen released him, hands lingering on Kor’s shoulders, his gaze sweeping over him with an unnerving intensity. Kor braced himself, acutely aware of the throbbing violet eye, the gnawing emptiness it held. “Your eye...”

  Kor touched the space where his spectacles used to reside. “Side effect. Like your hair suddenly deciding to be a different shade, I guess.”

  Talen chuckled, the sound a touch too bright, a hand rising to smooth his own thick, amber locks. Then his gaze fell. “And the arm.” A statement, not a question.

  Beneath his sleeve, Kor’s fist clenched. The chill had subsided since he’d replenished his mana, though a lingering discomfort seemed to be part of the bargain. He remained silent, meeting Talen’s gaze. He’d expected this.

  “I knew you were experimenting with dangerous magic, Kor, but this...” Talen’s voice faded, genuine confusion clouding his eyes. “This is unprecedented.”

  “Not all negative, though,” Kor countered, injecting a forced levity into his tone. “No more spectacles.”

  A beat of silence, then a soft chuckle from Talen. “And your diet seems to have finally paid off. That transformation might have pushed you over the edge, though. You’ve gone from pleasantly plump to… practically skeletal.”

  Heat bloomed on Kor’s cheeks. He tugged at the loose fabric of his student robes. “I’ll tell you everything I can, Talen. Though... some of it’s, well, secret.”

  Talen’s eyes gleamed, a spark of mischief igniting within them. He rubbed his hands together, a familiar gesture that was both comforting and slightly alarming. “Marcus mentioned the duel. The entire academy is abuzz, you know.”

  “What’s the date? Nobody bothered to inform the unconscious patient.”

  “Next Lexday. A full week.” Talen paused, his gaze drifting to a small, flourishing fern at Kor’s feet. He prodded it gently with his toe. “Now, enlighten me. Why does Professor Oak harbour such animosity towards my plants...?”

  An hour melted away, filled with whispered explanations and rapid-fire questions. The Crystal Palm at the room’s centre glowed a steady, calming blue, its light catching the facets of the purplish, amber-trapped ant within the Morthus Tree. The Morthus’s fractal leaves quivered delicately, a subtle resonance with Kor’s own profoundly changed magic.

  A sharp knock on the door broke the spell.

  Marcus stood framed in the doorway, his usually immaculate golden-blonde hair slightly dishevelled, his bright blue eyes wide with a blend of shock and apprehension. “By the stars, Kor, what have you done?” The question hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken concern. His gaze traced a path from Kor’s face, fixating on the violet eye, then down to the hidden arm, before finally encompassing the room’s dense, almost aggressively vibrant, plant life. “Your eyes, your arm... even your magic feels… alien.”

  Kor’s jaw hardened. He met Marcus’s gaze, a spark of defiance flickering within him. “I couldn’t afford to hold back, Marcus. I needed every edge.”

  Talen, sensing the shift in dynamics, rose gracefully. “I’ll leave you two. Much planning to be done, I presume.”

  Marcus acknowledged him with a grateful nod, a quick, firm handshake passing between them. Talen slipped out, the door closing with a quiet click.

  Silence, punctuated only by the gentle rustle of leaves. Marcus surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the thriving, almost sentient-plants, before returning to Kor. The worry remained.

  “Don’t fret, Marcus. The alterations… they’re more helpful than they might seem.” He hesitated, then, with a controlled flick of his wrist, unleashed a sliver of the Hunger. A mere fraction, a fleeting glimpse of the raw, devouring power that now resided within him.

  The effect was instantaneous. What had been a gentle draw of mana became a maelstrom, a swirling vortex of pulsing need. Plants recoiled, their leaves curling inwards as if from a sudden, biting chill. The Crystal Palm flared a vivid, warning crimson, and the Morthus Tree shuddered, emitting a faint, high-pitched hum.

  Marcus stumbled backwards, his eyes wide, one hand flying to his chest. “By the Void, Kor…” His breath hitched, ragged and uneven. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, a mixture of awe and a touch of something almost… feral. “You’re truly transforming into something monstrous, aren’t you?”

  Kor swallowed, the knot in his stomach constricting. “As long as tentacles remain absent, I believe I’ll be fine.”

  Marcus laughed, the sound abrupt and a little strained. “I’ve secured a cultivation chamber for you. Tomorrow evening, four hours. It was the only available time.”

  Kor’s brow furrowed. “I’ve read about those. Aren’t they… restricted? Reserved for the wealthiest students?”

  Marcus’s grin broadened. He produced a small, crystalline badge, emblazoned with the Tallow seal. Its surface pulsed with Marcus’ unique mana signature.

  “What exactly do they do?”

  “They are used as a specialised type of insight training Kor. Not for refining spells, but for honing concepts. There really is nothing else like them. Even royalty clamours for access.”

  “That scarce?”

  “The experience is… unparalleled. The expense? Exorbitant. Countless magical artifacts, precious reagents… all utterly consumed in a single use. A profligate waste of power, truthfully, suited only for the truly elite.”

  “How much…?”

  “Typically? Around twenty thousand credits for a full session. But finding someone willing to give up their slot...” Marcus shrugged, the gesture tight with unspoken difficulty.

  Kor’s eyes widened. He started to protest, but Marcus silenced him with a raised hand.

  “Anything you require, Kor. I’ll supply it. This isn’t merely about friendship. Both of our futures rest on this.”

  Kor nodded, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.

  “The first time in the chamber… it’s unrelenting. To wrest the most benefit possible, Kor, you must accept the truths it unveils.”

  “What kinds of truths, Marcus? Is this about specialisations?”

  “Not entirely, Kor. The most difficult truths are often deeply personal. Your magic is an extension of yourself. Without self-understanding, your magic will remain unclear.”

  “That sounds rather profound. Have you used it often?”

  “Only twice. The first time I failed spectacularly. I just couldn’t accept what it was showing me. But the second time…it transformed me. Propelled me to a new level of comprehension.”

  Marcus paused, his gaze falling, his shoulders slumping slightly, a rare departure from his usually impeccable posture. He took a sharp, almost imperceptible breath, his hand briefly clenching into a fist at his side before he forced it to relax. He looked up, meeting Kor’s gaze directly. “My specialisation, Kor… I’ve never disclosed it to another student.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s Compounding, Kor. My specialisation is Compounding magic.”

  Realisation struck. “Those coins you utilise… I suspected a mathematical principle, perhaps linked to the currency itself.”

  “A useful misdirection,” Marcus admitted. “Like your snowflake feint. The coins were merely a conduit, a convenient manifestation to disguise my true power.”

  Kor’s mind raced. “Compounding… as a concept, Marcus, that’s… staggering in its potential. I’ve heard some people call it the most powerful force in the universe.”

  A spark ignited in Marcus’s blue eyes.

  Kor continued, “That’s why you start encounters slowly! You’re buying time for your magic to build, and at the duel’s climax, you appear to be a cataclysmic force. Most adversaries exercise caution initially, searching for vulnerabilities…”

  “Precisely. It’s to my advantage that most people start off a duel slow, probing each other before committing to anything.”

  “...And all the while, your magic is escalating, compounding upon itself.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “Well,” Kor said, “whilst we’re unveiling truths… I have a few more to share.”

  Marcus leaned forward intently.

  Kor paused, his gaze intense. “I can’t share everything, but my specialisation is…”

  The shared secrets and strategic discussions wound down, a comfortable silence settling between them. Marcus gathered himself, a subtle shift in posture signalling his impending departure.

  “What are your plans now, Kor?”

  “Training.” The word was a solid, determined weight. “There are still a few hours of daylight left. I need somewhere… isolated. Somewhere I can truly unleash these new abilities.”

  Marcus considered this, his brow furrowing slightly. “Advanced Training rooms?” A shake of his head. “No. Too public. You need complete privacy.” He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You can use my personal training facilities in Spire Beta. Nobody will be able to observe you there.”

  Kor blinked. “You have your own training rooms?” He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, a mixture of disbelief and wry amusement. “Of course you do.” A grin stretched across his face.

  Marcus’ gaze shifted to Kor’s still-concealed arm. “Until then, it’s probably best to keep that… concealed. I doubt even Darius is anticipating something like that.”

  As they reached the door, Marcus paused, hand on the ornate handle. “I’ll have my tailor start work on a glove for you. Should be ready by tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Marcus,” Kor said, a genuine warmth in his voice. “I’m really starting to appreciate the perks of having a wealthy friend.”

  Marcus’s smile was bright, almost dazzling. “Well, don’t stay poor then, Kor. Once you’ve flattened Darius, focus on making some real money. Recruiters will be practically throwing themselves at you, offering fortunes.”

  Kor’s response was a noncommittal, “Uh, yeah…” The Tome-Wardens would have to remain a secret until he got Ether’s permission to share the secret more widely. He shifted his weight, a slight awkwardness creeping in. “I’m going to skip classes for the next week. Focus entirely on preparation. That won’t cause any problems, will it?”

  “No. Though some professors might raise an eyebrow.” Marcus shrugged, a casual gesture that didn’t quite mask the underlying calculation in his eyes. “I doubt Terrak would normally allow it, but given the circumstances, he’ll likely make an exception. Besides,” a flicker of steel entered his gaze, “I wouldn’t put it past the Solarians to attempt another underhanded tactic.”

  Kor nodded, a grim understanding passing between them. They clasped forearms, a firm, brief grip. Then, with a last nod, they parted ways, Kor heading towards the secluded haven of Marcus’s private training spire, his mind already racing with the possibilities that awaited.

  The next day, after deliberately skipping classes, a knock echoed through the dense foliage of his dorm room. He opened the door, Lena. A small gasp escaped her, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Her violet eyes, usually calm and reserved, widened.

  “Darkness Fend, Kor, what has happened to you?” It wasn’t reproach, but a hushed question, laced with awe.

  Her unwavering gaze fixed on his right eye. A warmth spread up his neck, a faint blush staining his cheeks as she stepped closer. The proximity was unsettling, yet… exhilarating. She peered intently, as though attempting to unravel some cryptic message hidden within the void-touched iris.

  “It’s… a rather involved tale,” he said, voice a touch unsteady.

  She shook her head, a small, sharp movement, her long, black hair shifting like liquid shadow. Her gaze remained locked on his. “Tell me everything.” The command was almost fierce, utterly unlike her usual quiet self.

  He guided her to his bed. A small island amidst a sea of scattered plants. He recounted the events, as much as he dared, describing the Hunger, its void-born origins, the harrowing transformation. He watched her closely, anticipating revulsion, perhaps fear, but neither appeared.

  “How did you even discover such a technique?” She leaned closer, almost without realising, her hand suspended in the air, as if fighting the impulse to touch his face.

  He hesitated. “I’m afraid I can’t say. But… do you have some insight into this?”

  Lena bit her lip, her gaze darting away, then back, uncertainty clear on her fine-boned features. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, Kor.”

  He nodded, a silent pledge.

  “You’re aware that most Netharians have dark hair and eyes? A select few, like myself, possess violet eyes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Our ancestors believed we were descendants of the Void. Hence the colour of our eyes… though none so intense as yours.”

  “Wait. So you’re familiar with the…”

  He was about to mention the humanoid Voidlings, but quickly recalled Dean Velleth’s spell and halted mid-sentence.

  “After your metamorphosis, the Hunger consumed every stray trace of mana within you. You needn’t fear being spied upon any longer, Kor,” Lentus’s mental voice held a measure of amusement.

  “Yes,” Lena continued, her voice drawing him back. “Voidlings aren’t just beasts. They have a civilisation of their own.”

  “Do all Netharians… do you all consider them relatives, then?”

  “Perhaps… to an extent. But this was epochs ago, Kor, so ancient that even our historians are merely speculating. Countless millennia, reaching back to the very genesis of our world.” She shook her head, a small, almost defeated gesture. “None of us know the truth of it. But… something about the light in your eye… it appears so untainted, Kor. Such a profound violet. Very few of our people possess such a deep violet. The First Magus is perhaps the only one I know of currently.”

  He stammered, overwhelmed by the intensity of her scrutiny. “I… well… your eyes are a striking violet as well, Lena.”

  She flinched, as if suddenly aware of their closeness, a delicate flush rising on her cheeks. She drew back, a hand fluttering to her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear.

  She averted her gaze, her voice barely a whisper. “My family… we adhere to the ancient customs. We strive to maintain the purity of our bloodline, as my father incessantly reminds me.”

  “Oh.” He leaned back, a slight, almost imperceptible movement, putting a sliver more distance between them. His fingers brushed lightly against the smooth scales of Lentus, seeking a point of grounding. “So, does that uh... does that mean it’s expected...that you’d...only, you know... court other Netharians?” He winced internally. Court? Who even uses that archaic word anymore?

  She looked back at him, her expression tinged with sadness, a yearning he’d never witnessed flickering in her violet eyes. “Yes. Those who carry the ancient blood.”

  Kor’s breath caught. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the weight of her words, the subtle sadness in her voice, left him floundering. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the gentle rustling of the leaves in his room. “I… I need to speak with my father,” she finally said, her voice a touch unsteady. “About this. About you, Kor. With these… changes…” She gestured vaguely towards him, the sentence unfinished, but the implication clear. “My family must be informed.”

  “Right… of course, Lena.”

  She reached out, a hesitant gesture, her fingers grazing his right arm, the one still concealed beneath his sleeve. The brief contact sent a shiver through him. She’d witnessed the monstrous aspect of him, and it hadn’t driven her away.

  “I’m relieved you’re unharmed, Kor.” She embraced him briefly, the scent of exotic blooms, the familiar and comforting fragrance of her shadow magic, surrounded him. His heart thrummed against his ribs, a frantic cadence that had nothing to do with the Hunger.

  She rose from the bed, the movement sudden, almost abrupt. She smoothed down her already pristine robes, her gaze flitting around the room like a trapped bird, avoiding his eyes. As she moved towards the door, she almost tripped over a sprawling vine, her foot catching on a thick tendril. She stumbled, a small, startled sound escaping her lips.

  “Oh! Stars, sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She glanced back at Kor, a fleeting, almost apologetic look in her violet eyes, then quickly looked away again. “I… I’ll, um, speak with my family next Nethday. I should… go.”

  She turned towards the door again, her movements hurried, almost frantic. Then, at the threshold, she paused, turning back to face him. Her gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto his. “Darkness Fend, Kor.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

  “Darkness Fend,” he echoed, his voice catching slightly.

  And then she was gone, practically running from the room, the door closing with a decisive click behind her. The nearby plants rustled softly in her wake, the only evidence of her flustered departure.

  Kor stood there, his heart still beating a little too fast. He touched a hand to his chest, the spot where she’d hugged him still feeling strangely warm, even through his robes. He blinked, a slow, confused movement.

  “Lentus… she’s looking at me differently. Consulting her father?”

  “Yes, she certainly holds an interest in the Void.” Lentus’s dry amusement pricked at Kor’s confusion.

  “Do you think that… maybe she is open to a relationship?”

  The Crystal Palm at the room’s centre flared, a kaleidoscope of colours swirling within its depths. Kor’s gaze snapped to it. A warmth bloomed in his chest, a buoyant feeling lifting him, the same sensation as back when he’d watered it for Talen.

  “Less contemplation of romantic prospects, Kor. More concentration on your impending duel. I have no desire to become a slave’s companion.” Lentus’s mental voice carried a distinct thread of amusement.

  “Hah. Of course. The last thing I’d wish is to cause you any inconvenience, Lentus.” He grinned, reaching up to stroke the smooth, cool scales of his familiar.

  The Cultivation Chamber beckoned. Only a few hours remained. He reached into his satchel, retrieving the fractal trainer, his fingers already manipulating the complex, evolving pattern of his redesigned barrier, a physical representation of his burgeoning power. Time for final preparations.