"Today, you will build a shelter to protect yourselves from weather and critters," Instructor Hugo announced, his rough voice cutting through the crisp morning air and numerous groans. The group of students stood in a clearing on the outskirts of the academy, their breath visible in the cool dawn light. Around them, the towering trees stretched high into the sky, their dense canopies casting dappled shadows on the ground.

  Tyrus glanced at the heap of tools and supplies laid out before them—basic items like ropes, wooden stakes, tarps, and a few rudimentary cutting tools. It was clear this wouldn’t be an exercise in luxury.

  “A proper shelter,” the instructor continued, pacing back and forth with his usual intensity, “isn’t just about comfort. It’s about survival. It shields you from the elements, provides a defensive position, and buys you time against hostile creatures. Today, you’ll be working in pairs to construct one. I’ll be assessing not only the functionality of your shelters, but also your teamwork and problem-solving skills."

  “Your partners have been pre-assigned,” Hugo said, holding up a solid board with paper on top and a quill. “Check the list posted on that tree, gather your materials, and get to work. You have until the end of class."

  Tyrus made his way to the posted list, scanning for his name. His eyes landed on it, followed by his assigned partner, Lannon. Disappointment and reluctance sunk into his gut, and he turned away from the list and stood in front of the materials.

  "Why do I have to team up with the Demi-human?" Lannon grumbled nearby. "This has to be a mistake. His dumb brain will just slow me down."

  Tyrus rolled his eyes and bent down, grabbing a coil of rope, a tarp, and stakes from the pile of materials. He bit back a retort, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to argue with someone like Lannon. Let your work do the talking, he reminded himself, echoing the advice he sometimes tells himself.

  Lannon wasn’t done, though. He marched up to Instructor Hugo, gesturing at the list with an exaggerated scowl. “Instructor, there’s no way this pairing makes sense. I mean, look at him. He’ll just drag me down. He’s… what’s he going to do? Bark orders? Scratch fleas? Can’t I switch partners?”

  Hugo turned his steely gaze on Lannon, his eyes narrowing in a way that made the air feel colder. “The pairings are final, kid. If you have an issue, take it up with the nearest tree—I’m sure it’ll care more than I do. And you might want to rethink your attitude. In the field, there are no ‘switching partners.’ You work with what you have—or you fail.”

  Lannon opened his mouth to protest, but Hugo raised a hand, silencing him. “If you’d prefer to go solo, be my guest. But let me be clear—your grade will reflect it.”

  With a loud sigh, Lannon finally turned and stalked over to where Tyrus was gathering materials. “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Tyrus didn’t bother looking up. “Good idea. We don’t have all day.”

  Tyrus worked in tense silence as he carried the materials to a spot near the edge of the clearing. Tyrus chose a location between two trees, checking each one so that they provided coverage from both sides. It wasn't the most defensible position, but it would do for now.

  He dropped the tarp and stakes at his feet and grabbed one end of the rope. "Take the other end of the rope and tie it around that tree," Tyrus instructed, pointing to the sturdier of the two trees. "Make sure it's secure, and wrap it twice before you knot it. Otherwise, it’ll slip."

  Lannon glared at him, but begrudgingly grabbed the rope. “I know how to tie a knot,” he snapped, trudging to the tree.

  As Tyrus focused on tying the rope around the other tree, he could hear Lannon grumbling under his breath, but he paid it no mind. His hands worked with practiced ease, looping the rope tightly around the tree trunk and securing it with a firm knot.

  In a way, securing a loop around a tree trunk was the same as tying his boots, except the knot used was different. Through that reasoning, Tyrus found the task surprisingly intuitive. The rhythm of pulling, looping, and tightening came to him without hesitation, as though his hands had done it a hundred times before.

  Actually, he had done it at least a hundred times. Out in the wild, if there was no shelter freely available like an abandoned shack, a hollow within a log, or an uninhabited cave, he had to build one himself. Scavenging for thick, long branches for support was the easy part, but it was the finer details that always demanded focus: ensuring the branches were properly aligned to bear weight, weaving smaller sticks to create a sturdy frame, and finding foliage dense enough to provide cushion and to somewhat protect him from the weather.

  Knowing how to build a shelter and knowing how to hunt for food were a large part of how he was still standing today. For where he learned these things, he held no memory of, but going by what he knew already, he could fashion a guess.

  Tyrus was at least ninety percent sure Wanderer was the woman in his dreams given the evidence, that being their affinity for the dark element and carrying the same scent. His nose had always been sharp, picking up subtleties others might miss, and the familiar scent he associated with the woman lingered in those fragmented memories.

  It wasn’t just the scent, though. The skills he accumulated—building shelters, finding food, staying hidden—felt like they had been taught to him, not learned through trial and error. Wanderer must have been the one to teach him, though why she’d done so, and what her role in his past truly was, remained shrouded in mystery.

  To this day, he still thinks about the memories that resurface from time to time, yet nowadays, none have appeared. Why was that? Was it because there was nothing else to remember? That would be impossible. There were still gaps in his knowledge that needed to be filled, yet no new ways that would help him were revealed.

  For as long as he was in the academy, one of the missions he created were to visit the library and look for information regarding the Beastfolk Kingdom, like a history book or something similar. However, in a place teeming with books of various subjects, he could find none that fit what he sought. In his search, he would glance at the titles written along the spines, and if none seemed remotely related, he moved on to the next.

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  Maybe I should stop stalling and ask the librarian for help. I didn't want to be a bother and decided to search anything remotely related to the Beastfolk Kingdom, but at this rate, I'll be out of the academy.

  Tyrus finished tying the rope and stood back, shaking off the thoughts that threatened to distract him. The past could wait—right now, the present demanded his attention. He turned to see Lannon fumbling with his side of the shelter, his face flushed with frustration.

  “Why isn’t this working?” Lannon muttered, his knot slipping loose for the third time. He kicked at a nearby rock, muttering curses under his breath.

  “You’re not wrapping it tight enough," Tyrus said.

  “I know that!” Lannon snapped, yanking the rope free and trying again. His hands moved with quick, angry motions, but the knot came out even worse than before.

  Tyrus approached, gesturing toward the rope. “Here, let me—”

  “I said I’ve got it!” Lannon barked, smacking his hand away. “Why don’t you just focus on your side?"

  “Fine,” Tyrus replied, standing and stepping back. “But if that falls apart, don’t blame me.”

  Lannon grumbled under his breath as Tyrus returned to his side of the shelter. Tyrus’s hands moved with practiced ease, weaving branches into the framework and anchoring the stakes deeper into the ground. Every motion felt natural, automatic, like his body was being possessed by an expert carpenter.

  Behind him, Lannon’s frustration boiled over. “This is stupid! Why do we even need to build a shelter? We’re supposed to be sorcerers, not builders! Why is this dumb class even required?”

  “If you can’t handle this, you won’t survive a night in the field. Shelter isn’t about comfort—it’s about staying alive.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re just showing off. Acting like you know everything.”

  Tyrus paused, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not showing off. I’m just doing what needs to be done. Honestly, do you want to pass, or are you just going through the motions?"

  “Fine. You do it then, since you're so great at this."

  He threw the rope at Tyrus’s feet, stepping back as Tyrus grabbed it without a word. He stood as he worked the rope around the tree. He looped it twice, pulled it taut, and tied a secure knot, giving it a final tug to ensure it wouldn’t slip. The job wasn't finished; Tyrus focused on weaving branches along the rope and into the dirt and layering foliage over the top. It was messy and sweaty work, making sure the foliage stuck to the sticks, but it would hold together even in weak winds and rain.

  When he was done, he stepped back and examined the shelter with a critical eye. There were some gaps in the structure, but it was far from being in tatters. He had to make do with the materials given to him. The rope was used to connect to each tree so that he could throw the tarp over it. The stakes were then used at each end of the tarp to hold it down while the branches were stuck underneath, creating a makeshift frame that provided extra stability. Throw in some leaves and other soft materials for a bed, and he had himself a decent shelter.

  Tyrus wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and turned to Lannon. “There. It’s done. I think Instructor Hugo will give us great marks for the structure."

  Lannon stepped closer, crossing his arms as he inspected the shelter. He gave a skeptical snort. “It’s okay, I guess. Not as good as what I could’ve done, but it’ll work. Not surprising even you can make a shelter out in the wild. You're practically an animal; a bird finding scraps to scavenge for a nest."

  The smile on Tyrus' face faded as he watched Lannon saunter off, snickering toward Instructor Hugo. Lannon’s attitude grated on him, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. The shelter was built; the task was complete, and that was all that mattered.

  Tyrus let the insult slide off him, focusing on gathering the leftover materials into a neat pile. As he finished tidying up, he noticed Instructor Hugo making his rounds, stopping to evaluate the other pairs' shelters.

  The instructor approached their shelter with his usual no-nonsense demeanor. His sharp eyes scanned the structure, taking in the taut ropes, the woven branches, and the secure stakes anchoring the tarp. Tyrus stood silently, his arms crossed, while Lannon slouched nearby with a bored expression.

  “Not bad,” Hugo said, nodding slightly. “It’s stable, functional, and looks like it could hold up in a storm. Good use of materials. Whose idea was it to use the branches as a frame?”

  Tyrus opened his mouth to answer, but Lannon cut him off. “Mine, of course,” he said, straightening up and flashing a smug grin. “I figured we needed extra stability, so I suggested it. As the second-oldest son of Solomnus Kevish, financial advisor of the Imperial Court, you learn a thing or two about shelter building when traveling for business purposes."

  Solumnus? Tyrus thought. Where have I heard that name before? Wait, that's not important right now! This guy is stealing my credit!

  Instructor Hugo's eyes flickered between them. "Solomnus Kevish you say? Never heard of him, nor do I care. If you were the one who came up with the use as branches to use as a frame, you don't mind if I ask a question, do you?"

  Lannon blinked, his confident smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. “Uh, sure, Instructor. Go ahead,” he said, trying to maintain his composure.

  “Tell me, what’s the best method for weaving branches into a frame to ensure it doesn’t collapse under stress? Specifically, how do you balance weight distribution while maintaining flexibility?”

  Lannon’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He glanced nervously at the shelter, then back at Hugo. “Well, uh, you just weave them tightly, I suppose? Make sure they’re secure?”

  Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Weave them tightly, you say. And how, precisely, do you prevent weaker branches from snapping under pressure?”

  Lannon’s face turned red. He stammered, “You… you just pick the strong ones, obviously.”

  “Interesting,” Hugo said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned to Tyrus. “And you? Care to enlighten me on how this shelter was actually constructed?”

  “I used the thicker branches for the main supports and wove smaller, more flexible ones into a net," Tyrus said. "That way, the structure holds together without putting too much strain on any single branch. The stakes and rope anchor it to the ground, and the tarp provides protection from the elements."

  “That’s the correct answer. And judging by the quality of this shelter, I’d say you’ve done this before.”

  Tyrus gave a small nod. “Yes, sir. I’ve had practice.”

  Lannon’s face twisted into a scowl. “He’s just guessing! Anyone could’ve—”

  Instructor Hugo silenced him with a raised hand. “Enough. I’ve seen all I need to see.” He gestured toward the shelter. “This is solid work, but I’ll be marking you down for teamwork. Passing off someone else’s effort as your own is not only dishonest, but also undermines the purpose of this exercise. Survival isn’t about ego—it’s about trust and collaboration. Tyrus, go around and help those struggling.”

  Lannon opened his mouth to protest, but Hugo’s glare made him think better of it. He snapped his jaw shut, his fists clenched at his sides. Tyrus gave a curt nod, watching as the instructor moved on to the next group. As soon as Hugo was out of earshot, Lannon spun on Tyrus, his face dark with anger.

  “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Lannon hissed. “You’ll regret making me look bad, animal."

  Tyrus shrugged. “I didn’t make you look bad. You did that all by yourself. That's like shooting yourself with an arrow and placing the blame on someone else for your mistake. You only have yourself to be angry at."

  For a moment, it seemed like Lannon might lash out, but then he turned and stormed off, muttering under his breath. He knew this wasn’t the end of it—Lannon didn't seem like the type to let something like this go—but for now, he was content knowing he had done what was right.

  This better not be a pattern of me angering someone and them looking for revenge. I can't just start or be involved in fights or else I'll lose my silver pin. Losing my benefits would be worse than anything I can experience in the academy.

  Tyrus ran a hand through his hair as he walked around the clearing, feeling the warmth of the sun increasing with each passing minute.