On the charred plain, Maxwell growled, his pride bleeding through clenched lips. Quintella watched him glare at the colleagues who had dared to interrupt his execution of Adam. When his voice ca out, it sounded like the hiss of the basilisk, or poison dissolving through flesh. She wasn’t sure.
"Viktor and Astride defending him—I understand. Diane makes sense, as well, and so does Rector Haldris." He snapped his gaze to Grimhilde, his eyes locking on her extravagant red glasses. "You? With your past contention, you should have struck him down."
Grimhilde flung a lock of dark purple hair over her polished cuirass. Planting her hands on her hips, she strode past him with a snarl. "He’ll be mine to torture by the end of the sester. Don’t you dare lay your hands on my prey."
She looked at the stunned students, and before hearing her shout to return to class, Quintella slipped away. She rushed to the Common Hall, finding Adam patting Elliot’s back at their House’s table. Desmond tried to shove a piece of tart into the crying boy’s mouth. The tears dripping onto the crè brûlée must have turned it salty. Poor tart. She wouldn’t eat that.
With a shake of her head, she sat across from them. She held Bao back from jumping at Adam, preferring to listen as Desmond talked.
"See the bright side, Elliot." Desmond pointed at the ranking board shimring on the wall. "We’re comfortably seated in the top three!"
Adam leaned closer, his voice soft. "I’m sad too, but we can make a new golem."
"I don’t care about any of that," Elliot sniffled, not even noticing Quintella’s arrival. "It won’t be the sa... won’t carry the sa weight. We beca friends while crafting it. Now it’s... it’s gone. And Teacher Maxwell... he almost killed you."
"No one will forget our small golem. He went up with style. Grieving is normal. I understand. But don’t let sadness or Maxwell veil the most important." Adam’s hand fird around the boy’s shoulder, the other lifting his chin. "You won. It was hard; you must have felt incredible pressure. But against it all, against veteran students at the archmage rank, you, a ten-year-old mage, destroyed their crystal. You won, Elliot."
"Yeah. You were our team’s wildcard, so cheer up." Desmond puffed out his swollen cheeks in a pout. His wounds stung less than the lack of credit as he muttered to himself. "Don’t ntion how I distracted their defense team."
As Adam rolled his eyes at Desmond, Elliot shook his head. "I just followed your plan. Alone, I couldn’t... Because of , you almost—"
"We’re a team in which each of us acted perfectly," Adam interrupted with a gentle smile. Then he nodded at Quintella. "Why don’t you ask a spectator’s opinion of your play?"
Elliot’s gaze finally landed on Quintella. She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression turning cutely solemn. "You were very cool back there. And the students! None could even peep a word. Too busy gasping. Even Teacher Maxwell shrieked like a scared girl!"
"Really?!" Elliot dried his tears with the handkerchief she handed him.
"Yes. You are sad now, so you can’t see it. But tomorrow you’ll be proud of yourself." She circled the table to slap his back with a little too much strength. "Stop crying now."
"A-alright," Elliot grunted, his frown slightly easing. But he remained silent, eyes locked on his fuming cup of tea in contemplation.
With Elliot calm, Bao leapt from Quintella’s shoulder. She landed against Adam’s cheek, rubbing it with a gentle paw, before burrowing into his shirt and pawing at his chest as if to check for wounds.
Chuckling, Adam gripped her by the fur of her neck and petted her head. "I’m fine."
But Desmond wasn’t. He frowned at Adam, his voice growing darker. "Elliot won’t say it out loud, so I will. I’ve seen you care for that brat and know you don’t abandon friends, but you went too far this ti. I really thought you would die. We all were. I nearly summoned it, you know?"
"Glad you didn’t." Adam sighed, knowing Desmond referred to the unbroken blade of Orrivandrel.
Before he could continue, Quintella chid in. "Don’t lump with you. I thought my big brother would have killed this bad teacher like the... Well, the bad n from last ti."
"Maxwell’s a douche, but he doesn’t deserve death. Even if he did, a magus is too powerful for ." Adam massaged his brow. "What do you even take for?"
"The best." Quintella tilted her head as she answered matter-of-factly.
’My hero,’ she added to herself.
Adam shook his palm to end the conversation. "It was my choice. Perhaps not the best, or the most logical, but mine. End of the discussion." He walked to the exit, shaking his head. "Try to get so rest. We’ll see each other tomorrow."
Quintella glanced at Elliot’s guilty face before trotting behind Adam. She knew he blad himself more than he grieved his golem. Though he looked better, he would need to sort through his emotions. Tomorrow, she’ll cheer him up. After all, she didn’t dislike him.
Soon, they returned to their room, and night draped the campus in a canvas of shimring stars. The moon glowed on the regrown grass of the plain. From the incident, nothing remained but the whispers and awed glances of students the following day.
Elliot recovered day by day. Praise from Viktor and cheers from fellow disciples helped. But not more than Quintella’s complints. Sohow, Adam felt the boy didn’t want to appear weak in front of her... or him. In the end, Elliot refused to build a new golem, declaring he would do it on his own this ti.
Desmond revelled in his glory. Now third in the House ranking, he taunted all the students who had scorned him for years, which warranted him... well, more scorn. Not that he seed to mind it now that he had true friends. At least, the beating he suffered was worth it, Adam thought.
As for Quintella, she trained harder than ever with Bao. She shared Grimhilde’s remarks with him, swearing she would never let that sadistic witch win their wager. She didn’t skip improving her reading, writing, and counting skills.
And between his own lessons, challenges against the other classes—with Elliot growing in confidence and Desmond earning more death threats after each victory— and their growing bonds, nine weeks passed in a blink.
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