This was… unexpected.
Ian hadn't thought he'd run into another fellow human. Though "fellow human" might not be the right phrase, Lambert was from this world, while Ian wasn't even from the same universe. Technically, they weren't the same species. Still the meeting was a good direction.
"Crovan, huh…" Ian muttered to himself "Might be able to squeeze some info out of him. Just the basics, for now."
On the other side
Thessalia hadn't moved from her seat. Legs crossed, posture relaxed. The cup in her hand stayed untouched, its surface steaming lightly. Across from her, Lambert poured tea into her cup with practiced ease. His movements were steady, careful and respectful.
Thessalia finally broke the silence. "Well. What do you think?"
Lambert set the teapot down and exhaled. "Not sure."
She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "Not sure?"
He gave a slight shrug. "Yeah. I mean, he's human, that much I'm certain of. But his bloodline's unfamiliar. Doesn't match anything I know."
Most mutations have a trail, some root you could track, even if it took digging through a billions of generations. That's how some of the bloodline based paths worked: trace the twist back to the source.
Thessalia's gaze narrowed slightly. "You think he might belong to an entirely new kind?"
Lambert turned that over in his head for a second before answering. Her phrasing wasn't careless.
A separate species.
The thought wasn't ridiculous. If humans evolved under entirely different conditions, let's say in another universe or isolated ecosystem, their kind would be very different. A different direction, same starting point.
But still human, mostly.
Lambert shook his head. "That's a bit extreme. He's not that far off. There's overlap, core components in his blood are still shared with ours. It's not a total divergence."
She didn't interrupt. Just waited, sipping her tea.
"My guess?" he continued, "He's the first of a new line. Maybe tied to the Ancestral Lands."
That earned a glance from her.
She caught the look in his eyes and spoke softly, "You think he came from there. That someone powerful, on the human side, is moving pieces behind the scenes."
A pause. Then she added, almost thoughtfully, "Well... you might be right."
Lambert met her gaze. "You think so too?"
Thessalia gave a slow nod. "After a certain point, the information around him stops. Intentionally sealed. I even asked my teacher."
Lambert's expression hardened slightly. "Even he couldn't access it?"
"Yes, not even with his level of clearance," Thessalia said. "It's locked out of the elven archives entirely."
Lambert exhaled through his nose, slow and thoughtful.
Her teacher was a Fourth Order, one of the highest-ranking beings on this planet. If even he couldn't access it, then there was no question. Someone didn't want that information found.
"Then someone high up, on both sides, wants him kept off the radar."
Thessalia sighed. "For now… let's not get involved."
Lambert gave a short nod. "Right. Keep things surface-level. Nothing more."
If Ian could've overheard the conversation, he might've been more confused than flattered. The truth wasn't nearly as elaborate. His bloodline was different, yes, but only because it came from a completely separate universe, one shaped by a different evolutionary path. The so-called similarities were likely the result of Mindbloom's adaptation process, altering only what it had to, reshaping parts of him just enough to survive here, to blend in. It made him closer to humans in this universe, but not identical.
Still, he couldn't blame them. With what little they had, their guesses were surprisingly reasonable.
What would've puzzled Ian more was the same thing that bothered them, the fact that someone had restricted his information before Lylva. He didn't know who would've done that, or why. It was one thing if the data was missing, after all, he hadn't existed here. That made sense. But for someone to deliberately seal it… that was something else entirely.
Ian returned to the group and told them about the encounter.
Myrra looked surprised, humans were rare on this planet, and Ian had been the only one she'd ever met in person. Enira's reaction was more restrained, but her eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued.
Still, Ian's impression of Lambert seemed to carry weight. Myrra eased a little as he spoke about him, if nothing else, Lambert had earned a quiet degree of trust by proxy.
After that, they continued with the dinner, bid goodbyes to each other and drifted off to their own space.
The days passed in their usual rhythm, training, study, the occasional minor task. The only real change was Yelthara. She'd joined their group at some point, though it quickly began to feel like she'd taken over. Her reasoning, casually offered, was: "Well, it's interesting here. A lot going on. Maybe I'll get to beat some people up."
This girl is was clearly making them as a source of entertainment. Still, Ian and the others let her be. Her intentions weren't exactly pure, but her attitude wasn't malicious either. And for some reason, she seemed genuinely respectful toward Reina. That alone was enough, Ian still has enough trust in Reina to take care of things.
Plus he didn't have the time to dig into her background anyway. His attention was elsewhere, on the Quiet Testament.
Through Enira, he'd heard that some members of the group were growing impatient. There were whispers of movement. The good news was that they only knew about Rulmose. Most had no idea about Myrra. Phyraa herself had reassured her, saying very few could detect the Lord's blood in her body so she shouldn't worry much about it and do her work as usual.
That brought a measure of relief. But the danger still loomed. The mystery couldn't wait forever.
Ian had been making plans, slowly piecing things together. But first, he needed to reach First Order. Without that, there was no point starting anything.
Ian also met Master Malon. who was surprised, impressed even, to learn that Ian was working with High Scholar Durlan. That connection alone seemed to earn him a measure of respect. Malon offered him a small internship-like position, which Ian accepted without hesitation. He wasn't the only one, of course; several students held similar roles but Ian was the first to join this early as a freshman. But it meant Ian now visited Ian Themar two to three times a week for work.
It wasn't just a valuable experience, it came with a steady stream of income. Combined with the rewards he'd received from Thessalia, he was finally in a solid position to begin gathering the materials needed for his advancement to the First Order of the Eldritch Path.
---
Combat class was brutal today.
The instructor seemed unusually fired up, more excited than usual. And the result was five battered students now sprawled across the training grounds, tending to their wounds and groaning in pain.
The one from the Physical Path had it worst. He was practically crying, clutching his side like something might fall out. Ian almost felt bad for him, almost. The instructor had really gone in on him, though not without purpose. Everyone knew these beatings, while harsh, helped push them past their limits. Besides, they were only flesh wounds. Painful, sure, but nothing serious.
Ian's got his share of hits too. A bruise on his side, something sore in his arm, but they're already fading. The Eldritch Path helps with that, his body repairs itself quickly. Except Yelthara, she looked like she'd just finished a light workout. Not a scratch on her. It seems like even the instructor didn't want to deal with her.
They sat in a rough circle on the edge of the field, still recovering.
"Why was he so excited today?" one of the others asked, wincing as he stretched his leg.
"He said this is going to be the new normal," someone else replied. "Get used to more beatings."
Ian raised a brow. "Any reason?"
"Apparently one of the new joiners advanced to the First Order," the physical path guy said. "Already."
That got a few glances.
"Wait... what path?"
"Psion."
A small silence followed. That wasn't a path known for quick progress. Psions took time to build control, refine precision. Advancement in a few months was rare.
"That's why the instructors are pushing us harder now," another said.
Ian leaned back, letting that settle in.
Even though each path had its own nature, most of them still relied on channeling energy. And under pressure, that energy moved more. The more it moved, the stronger the body's foundation became. The instructor wasn't being harsh for no reason, he was helping them build that base and indirectly pushing them towards first order.
It just happened to hurt along the way.
Class ended, and Ian dragged himself out with the rest of his group, sweat sticking to his skin, bruises blooming under his clothes. His limbs felt heavier than usual.
Myrra spotted and came over, concern showing immediately. "You look like you got hit by a boulder," she said softly, offering him some drink.
"Feels about right," Ian muttered, taking it with a thankful nod.
She crouched beside him, eyeing a cut that was already closing over. "Did they go extra hard today?"
Ian nodded.
On the other side of the field, Cailen came limping, almost crawling. His shirt clung to him, drenched, and he looked like he'd aged ten years in the last hour. That guy still hadn't finished his hundred laps.
Myrra saw him too and let out a small giggle, trying to hide it behind her hand.
"That's unfair, Myrra..." Cailen wheezed, flopping down near them. "You care so much about Ian, and me... nothing?"
Sylve raised an eyebrow.. "That's because the context is different. If the instructor beat you like he beats Ian, even I'd offer you my shoulder."
Cailen groaned. "Might as well ask me to wrestle a dragon blindfolded."
He turned his head toward Sylve, half-expecting her usual sigh-and-help routine. But this time, she was already dusting herself off and getting to her feet.
"I won't be able to help you today," she said.
Cailen looked genuinely alarmed. "Why...?"
"Change in schedule," she replied. "One of our Runic Casting instructor's going on temporary leave, so a replacement's taking over. The time's been shifted."
Myrra blinked. "What happened to your original instructor?"
"No idea," Sylve said. "But the new one's apparently well-known. Her name's Anarzee."
Sylve looked at them expectantly, as if waiting for a spark of recognition, some impressed reaction. But none came. They didn't study runes, after all.
With that, they dispersed.
Seeing Cailen slumped so pitifully on the ground, Ian sighed and offered a hand. Cailen didn't even argue this time, just groaned and took the help.
Later that evening, Ian sat in his room, cross-legged, quiet.
He'd been ready to step into the First Order for some time now. His foundation was stable, his control precise. Holding back had been a deliberate choice, first to sharpen his base, and second, to avoid the kind of attention that came with advancing too early.
But that concern was gone. Someone else had crossed the line first, and the world hadn't paused to look. There was no point waiting anymore.
Ian already knew the process intimately. He'd been attending the Architect classes consistently, absorbing every detail about the transitions, lattice design, and mental structure formation. The theory was clear. The hard part was always execution, but even that didn't worry him much.
He didn't think he'd need any external mental energy resources just yet. His own reserves would be enough. Still, it was good to have contingencies. He could acquire those later.
The real decision was something else, something foundational.
What material would his very first mental lattice be based on?