Rivers of the Night

Theron blinked and then smiled.

"Hello, Teacher Fern. How have you been?"

Teacher Fern was about to answer when she suddenly remembered that she was very angry.

She pulled back on her embrace and grabbed Theron's shoulders.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Theron?! This isn't the gentle boy I remember! Why are you suddenly going around provoking everyone?!"

Theron's head tilted slightly. "Self-preservation."

Teacher Fern had a whole speech she wanted to go in on, but the moment Theron said this, it felt like a lump had formed in her chest.

She pulled Theron into her chest, tears falling from her eyes. No longer trusting her voice to speak, she didn't say anything.

There was an odd flicker in Theron's eyes. Honestly, this was the first time Teacher Fern had ever hugged him. And quite frankly, it had already been almost a year since a person had last hugged him like this. He had almost forgotten what it felt like.

"I'm sorry. I've caused you so much trouble."

Theron remained silent. In truth, Teacher Fern wasn't responsible for much of anything. Everything that happened after her absence was his own doing.

The Merchant Greycoat business had kicked off things that he couldn't stop even if he wanted to, from the culling, to the Thistles moving in on the branch academy, down to this very moment right here.

All things considered, what she had done was just a blip. He would have ended up like this anyway because he was embroiled with Daggers of the Night.

"It's not your fault," Theron said gently. "The world is just like this."

The gentle calmness in Theron's voice only made Teacher Fern cry harder.

"Alright, Fern. You've suffocated the child enough."

A voice surprisingly just as gentle as Theron's spoke out, finally allowing the latter some breathing room. Given what most said about this old woman, you would never expect for her voice to sound so soothing.

"Theron, this is Dean Pennel."

Theron's expression didn't change, but his mind focused quite sharply on the elderly woman before him.

Pennel? That was the last name of one of the Empire's two Grand Duke families.

It wasn't a surprise that such an important pillar of the Nightingale Clan was controlled by one of the strongest families. But it was still a surprise that Teacher Fern had a relationship with this person.

"Take a seat, Theron."

"Dean…" Teacher Fern tried to speak, but was cut off by a wave of a wrinkled hand.

Theron felt that something was wrong, but there wasn't really much of a choice. So he did as he was told.

"You killed my disciple. How do you plan to compensate me?"

Theron's eyes narrowed at the nonchalant phrase. His mind spun as he tried to recall who that could have possibly been, but he drew nothing more than a blank.

A dark chuckle came from the old Dean, one that was almost eerily gentle in an odd way. It was so soothing, and yet you couldn't find it in yourself to relax the slightest bit.

"It seems that you've killed so much that you can't even recall."

Dean Pennel tapped a sharp nail on her black oak desk. A black fog took shape before twisting and turning until it formed the face of a familiar young man.

Moreno.

Theron didn't know much about this young man, but everyone else in the Imperial Academy did. This was the young man who killed a disciple of a Duke Clan and somehow survived despite being from a mere Knight Clan.

It seemed that the reason for that was on the table now.

Theron, though, was much more focused on something else. If the Dean wanted revenge, she would have just killed him unless she had a sadistic desire to see him squirm in retaliation.

No, he was instead far more focused on the control.

Dark Mana was notoriously difficult to wield. It was very foggy and loose. While Fire Mana was unwieldy because it always wanted to combust everything it came into contact with, Dark Mana was levels beyond that in terms of just how much it wanted to dissipate and spread out.

Yet, this Dean had managed to use it to form the perfect replica of a person's face.

It wasn't just this. She hadn't just formed an outline of a face, but she was controlling how much light each edge, fade, and corner absorbed, making it look as though this face was interacting with the light in the room just like any other object.

This was clearly against the normal properties of Dark Mana, which always wanted to absorb all light.

"Wow…" Theron said softly.

He wasn't acting; the words slipping out of him without much care because it didn't seem like it needed to go through his filters at all.

This level of control was no less impressive than his polarization control. But it was far more delicate, and it carried an artistry to it that was truly special.

Dean Pennel blinked. Even she wasn't expecting this sort of response.

Theron raised a finger and tapped it on the desk as well. A swarm of Water Mana took shape and began to form a head.

First, he started with a perfectly smooth sphere, and then he tried to change its form and shape. But he was shocked to find that he was having difficulty just forming a face, let alone a recognizable face.

This was also despite the fact his Mana control had reached a shocking level after his Third Eye awakened not just once over, but thrice.

Theron frowned, his finger tapping again as he tried once more.

He closed his eyes and his track of time vanished.

An hour…

Two…

Three…

Beads of sweat fell down his brow before he finally managed to reconstruct a face he knew better than anyone else's—his father.

It was the face he saw every time he closed his eyes at night, the final face before his entire family was wiped out by a bolt of lightning.

'It's still not good enough,' Theron thought to himself.

"Stop."

The forceful word of Dean Pennel shattered the figure.

"You will overdraft yourself if you continue. Check the state of your Core."

Theron turned his attention into his body to find his Silver Core had turned into a dry desert.

When had he used this much Mana?