Professor Trillin stood at the front, chalk in hand. He had intended to explain the complex and, in his opinion, fascinating system for categorizing plant species. Instead, he turned slowly, caught the sea of unfocused gazes, and sighed like a desert wind.

"Children," he said, deep voice rumbling, "there are days when trying to instruct you feels like speaking to zombies." He set the chalk down with exaggerated care. "Very well. Let us make use of your buzzing minds in another way. Ask me questions about the creatures or plants you encountered on our excursion."

That broke the tension. A dozen hands shot up at once. Faya was waving her hand frantically and half standing. He ignored her.

"Yes, Dalren," Trillin said, pointing to a boy with ears that stuck out like sails.

"The viper turtles, sir!" Dalren blurted. "They weren't supposed to be there, were they? I mean south of here, during the excursion. My uncle's an outrider. He swears they only live up north."

Trillin's eyes narrowed. "An astute observation. Viper turtles should not be in that region at all. Which means something drove them south."

The chatter rose at once.

"Other predators drove them south?"

"Goblins, bet it was the goblins! My cousin saw their tracks last year…"

"No, it's revenants. They lure beasts out for fun, I heard."

"Silence." Trillin raised his hand. His rings glinted faintly as the murmurs died. "There are three plausible causes. First, invasion of territory by a stronger predator. Second, displacement through goblin migration. Third, a natural disaster. Flood, corruption, or fire. Of these, the first two worry me most. Viper turtles are stubbornly territorial. They do not leave unless forced."

He tapped the table with one finger. "If something stronger now stalks the northern marshes, we must know what. And if goblin warbands press south, we must know even sooner."

The hush that followed carried weight. Even the prank-minded boys in the back stopped smirking.

A girl with a braid of copper wire lifted her hand timidly. "Professor, those blue reeds, when we brushed against them, they made that sound, like humming strings. Were they dangerous?"

Trillin's mouth softened into something like approval. "A resonance plant. They vibrate when disturbed, creating a sound that travels better underwater than in air. A natural alarm. Fish, amphibians, even certain turtles like to live near them because they warn of intruders. Some flee, but other could attack if you enter their domain and announce your presence by touching a resonance plant. To harvest the plant safely, one must either bind the stalks with silence spells or cut during windstorms when the hum is drowned."

Several students scribbled notes. Others looked impressed simply that a plant could be weaponized.

Another hand rose. "And the beetle, sir. The one with the crystal shells?"

"A shard-scarab," Trillin replied. "Their shells mimic local minerals. You were fortunate not to provoke it. A swarm can strip the flesh from a bear."

That earned some pale faces.

"Professor?" Darken finally piped up. "There was some pale fungus, the one that puffed out clouds of dust or pollen…" He turned to the class. "Did anyone else taste almonds when we crossed that place?"

Laughter rippled nervously, but Trillin didn't smile. "Spore-veil fungus. Its cloud contains cyanide traces. Enough to kill rabbits, sometimes wolves. For humans, it can be debilitating. You should be grateful it was a small patch."

Trillin let silence stretch, then exhaled. "I can hear a few of you whispering about siege turtles. That is an interesting topic indeed."

That pulled everyone in. Even Weylan leaned forward, frowning.

"Siege turtles," Trillin began slowly, "were not born. They were made. Ritualists of the chimera arts took three bases: viper turtles, for venom and aggression; island turtles, for size and fortitude; and traces of a minor blue dragon for its breath weapon. The result: a beast with armored shell, a disintegrating lightning breath, and the brute strength to batter fortress gates."

Gasps, mutters.

"Creating chimeras that powerful is illegal, right?" Dalren whispered loudly.

"Illegal for centuries," Trillin said flatly. "But prohibition does not erase knowledge. Some still seek forbidden methods. And should you ever meet one of those beasts, remember this: run. Their shells are like fortress walls and they are able to absorb attacks by infusing their shell with mana. Even a squad of battle mages can't pierce that protection. The usual tactic is to batter them until their mana is depleted and they become docile. Then they are led away. Try to kill them though, and their Second Wind enchantment will refill their reserves and cause a berserk rage that can devastate whole kingdoms."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Darken spoke up. "Can they be controlled by mind magic?"

Trillin scoffed. "No, of course not. They are completely shielded against any such attempt. The only way to control them is by using a control amulet, bound specifically to that siege turtle. There is only one of those known to exist and it is in the royal treasury. Can't be used, since it only works on someone from the Cathurian emperor's direct family line. And none of those are left, as professor Dullmere surely already taught you."

Embarrassed mumbling indicated, that yes, he'd probably mentioned it, but no, none of the students had found the ancestry of a fallen empire noteworthy.

Finally, the professor turned to Faya who had been waving the whole time. He sighed. "Yes, Faya? What is your question?"

"My familiar had a fight and used up most of his mana reserves. Is there any magic plant in your greenhouse it could eat to replenish them?"

The professor blinked. "No."

"But…"

"There are hundreds of rare specimens of herbs and magical plants. All of them are needed for study or alchemical experiments. They are not food for your pet."

Weylan interceded. "Even that green vine in the glass cage?"

Trillin chuckled. "Oh… The Greenfire Vine. Sure. You can have that." He paused and arched an eyebrow. "But you do remember, its poisonous?"

"Even for a familiar that is part plant?"

The professor sighed and sat down on his desk. "Sadly, yes. It's also a potent herbicide. Greenfire does not like competition."

Faya looked disappointed. "Can you at least point me at some magic plant we could find in the wild?"

Trillin thought about that. "I don't know… Everything useful gets harvested, everything dangerous destroyed. There's not much that isn't one of those categories. I'll think about that and come back to you if anything comes to mind."

Faya leaned back disappointed, while the question-and-answer session continued.

After class everyone hurried to get to the next classroom.

* * *

The classroom emptied in a swirl of chatter and footsteps, the noise fading down the corridor until only dust motes and silence remained. Faya lingered by the windowsill, one of the last to leave as always. Her satchel sat half-packed beside her while she absently stroked the Verdant Hare's ears.

She nearly jumped when a voice spoke behind her.

"Stay a moment, priestess."

Valen Aldrich leaned against the doorframe, his usual air of aristocratic superiority softened by something almost… hesitant. Faya tilted her head, uncertain whether to brace for mockery or one of his veiled jabs.

"Yes?" she asked carefully.

He glanced around, as if ensuring they were alone, then lowered his voice.

"Two courtyards west of the stables, behind the thorn wall, there's a thicket of moonberries. They're ripe this time of season." His gaze flicked to the hare in her arms. "Your familiar looks like it could use them."

Faya blinked. That was… not what she'd expected. For a heartbeat she'd been sure he meant to flirt, to arrange some noble's version of a moonlit walk. The thought amused her. Aldrich, of all people, asking her out?

"You're… telling me where to find berries?" she asked, her lips curving.

He crossed his arms, half defensive. "Not just berries. Those bushes are cultivated, and few even know they exist. Moonberries are highly magical. Their magic's limited in use, but potent. Your hare deserves better than scraps."

Her healer's mind caught up at once. Moonberries. Of course. Every academy had its whispers, and she'd heard about moonlit drinking parties fueled by the so-called moonfire liquor. Brewed in secret from those same berries. Their juice instantly turned into a strong alcohol when mashed. Perfect for illicit parties since proper brewing equipment was banned on campus. The fact that Aldrich had revealed their location was far more meaningful than she'd thought. He all but ensured for the nobles losing their main source of alcohol.

Her amusement softened into something warmer. "That's truly thoughtful," she said, stroking the hare's fur. "Most wouldn't risk sharing something like that."

Aldrich looked away, a faint color rising to his cheeks. "Don't make more of it than it is," he muttered. "I just thought the creature might need it. That's all."

Faya smiled. For once, Aldrich hadn't tried to outshine her. She also didn't get any flirting vibes. No arrogance, no rivalry. Just quiet kindness.

"I'll remember it," she said softly.

Their eyes met for a moment. Then he gave a curt nod and turned, his cloak swaying behind him as he left.

Faya looked down at the hare nibbling curiously at her sleeve and murmured, still smiling, "Well… perhaps even peacocks have a few hidden feathers."

* * *

Weylan slipped away from the rest of the class, turning down a quiet side corridor.

After a quick glance to make sure no one was around, Selvara shimmered into view and landed lightly on his shoulder.

"Well? Any luck?" he asked, voice low but hurried. They didn't have much time before the next lesson and he still needed to grab lunch.

The raven shook her head. "No. The book-goblins are excellent at avoiding eavesdroppers. Out in the open, they prattle about nonsense all day, but the moment they think they're alone, they grow suspiciously focused. I didn't hear a single meaningful word. And I couldn't find any of the Grllka either."

Weylan frowned. "I got one of them to admit there's only a single Grrlka on campus. Seems not to be that common to cut off half your ear to commemorate a folk hero. He sighed. "Something's going on, but I can't tell what. They don't seem hostile toward the academy or the students. If anything, they're protective. Not as much as of the books, but still…"

Selvara tilted her head. "There is something strange. I overheard several teachers complaining about missing alchemical ingredients again. And even equipment. They're blaming the revenants."

Weylan grimaced. "Probably right, at least for some of it. The revenants must be brewing that Lightning-Dust somewhere. I'm sure of it."

Selvara's feathers ruffled. "Where's Mirabelle? I didn't see her among your classmates."

Weylan's brow creased. "You're right. Alina said she overslept and would join for second class. Probably."

The raven turned her head, listening. "I think I just heard her greeting someone. You check on the priestesses, I'll keep scouting."

He nodded, and as Selvara took off with a soft flutter, he hurried after his classmates.

By the time he caught up, the others were queuing outside the cafeteria. Down the corridor, Mirabelle came rushing toward them.

"Mirabelle!" he called, smiling broadly. "We missed you in class."

She turned with a faintly forced smile. "I hope I didn't miss anything important."

"Just a question-and-answer session about local plants and animals," he said. "Nothing serious. You can copy my notes if you want."

A real grin spread across her face. She chuckled. "Thanks, but I'll take Alina's. I still can't for the life of me read your chicken scratches."

He laughed softly, studying her out of the corner of his eye.

No sparks. Freshly showered. The faint shadows under her eyes you'd expect from someone doing another all-nighter. So, exhaustion, not dust.

Good, he thought. She's stopped using it.

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