The Chronicles of Krarshe: The Hearts of Men, Volume 1
Chapter 21

Despite his anger and frustration the day before, Krarshe found himself again in the classroom. He sat in his usual seat by the window, but his eye was on the entrance. As student after student entered, he could identify who passed and who failed just on mood alone. Armand was cheerful for once, seemingly gloating to his group of friends. Even Krarshe could see the few of them who put on smiles were fake ones.

Gloating to your friends who failed, huh? Krarshe rolled his eyes.

Tibault walked in, more slowly than usual. Krarshe already saw how he did, but his posture made it all the more obvious. Tibault flopped into his seat and put his head down on the table.

“That bad, huh?” Krarshe asked, feigning ignorance.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. Based on their faces, I suspect a good number of students failed,” Krarshe said as he nodded toward the rest of the class. Tibault let out a muffled groan.

More students arrived as time went by. Eventually, Professor Owyn came in and called for everyone to return to their seats. “I’d like to congratulate those of you who did well on the exam yesterday,” he started as a few students were still sneaking to their seats. “I hope you continue to make progress so that you can advance out of the beginner class. For the rest of you, do your best to keep practicing and taking notes in class. Just remember...”

Krarshe leered at Owyn in disgust and then turned toward Tibault. He seemed to still be dejected, his eyes glazed over. Krarshe couldn’t tell if he was listening or not. Wait... Since when can I see Tibault unobstructed? He looked down at the empty seat between them. The one usually filled by their other friend. “Where’s Bri?” Krarshe whispered.

“Huh?” Tibault grunted, coming back to his senses.

Just as Krarshe was about to repeat his question, the door to the classroom opened. Bri walked in, or rather, staggered in. Her face was expressionless, not even reacting when Owyn addressed her tardiness. Shuffling, she made her way to her seat between Krarshe and Tibault. She sat down quietly, her hands resting upon her thighs, and stared blankly at the table in front of her.

Krarshe watched her for a moment, but she was still as stone. “Bri, you okay?” he asked quietly, trying to not draw attention to them. Bri didn’t react at all. Unlike Tibault a moment earlier, her eyes were clear, focused, but that made it all the more concerning.

“Bri?” Tibault asked.

“You see,” Owyn spoke up. “When you lack punctuality and focus, you will be doomed to fail. Time and again.”

Krarshe looked up to see the whole class watching Bri. He looked toward Owyn. His lips were curled into a wicked smile, sharper than the rest of his features.

“Perhaps, Miss Bulliere, you could pass if you listened for once, hmm?” Owyn added.

Krarshe heard a few chuckles from the students. He turned to Bri. Her eyes shifted to the floor between her knees, her hands clasping the hem of her skirt tightly, her whole body quivering slightly.

*hic*

Bri’s shoulders shook even more, as she hunched forward and twitched with each hiccup. Despite her best efforts to hold back the tears, Krashe saw a single, silvery tear streak down her face and drip to the tip of her nose. Tibault draped an arm around her shoulders, trying his best to comfort her.

“Let Miss Bulliere be a lesson for you all. Now, for today...” Owyn said, turning back to the chalkboard.

Krarshe wasn’t sure if it was the result of seeing Bri’s distress, Owyn’s casual dismissal, or the fact that it all stemmed from what he saw during the exam, but something within him snapped. His temper flared, his eye twitched as his face turned from concern for a friend to an enraged sneer. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He was done.

“E-NOUGH!!” Krarshe shouted, slamming his fists on the table in front of him as he stood. The entire room jumped at the bang. Owyn had visibly jumped as he recoiled toward the blackboard.

“W-w-what... What is the meaning of this, Krarshe?” he asked, still shaken. He composed himself and asked again, “Is there something that you felt you needed to interrupt the class for?”

“Don’t give me that shit!” Krarshe yelled back. “Class? What class?! There is no learning here, you fucking dreg!”

Everyone looked confused. Except Owyn. “Mister Krarshe, if you have issues with my teaching methods-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you spineless slug!” Krarshe interrupted him. He couldn’t stand Owyn’s smug responses anymore. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you DARE fucking say that! You fail half of this class! For what?! Because they actually have any fucking talent?! You lying piece of shit! You and every other fucking krun claiming to be a teacher here. Hungerer take all of you...”

Krarshe felt a hand on his arm. “Krarshe... Stop...” Bri said softly. Krarshe could still see the remnants of tears in her eyes. His rage flared again.

“If I need to have you removed from the premises,” Owyn started, “I can call for the city guard to step in.” Owyn’s face remained even tempered, but his eyes were smiling. The evil smile Krarshe had seen time and again. The condescending look that made this man the most detestable creature Krarshe had the displeasure of knowing.

“You...” Krarshe’s breathing was ragged. His fists were clenched so tightly they were going numb. He saw the frightened look on the students’ faces, on his two friends’ faces. “You...” he repeated, trying to think of what to say. He couldn’t think of anything. He had no power here, unable to get the revenge against Owyn he sought without affecting his classmates. He held himself up against the table, head hanging defeated. “I’m sorry, Bri. Tibault,” he said quietly. He wasn’t even sure they heard him. He raised his head once more, glaring at Owyn. “I’m done.”

“Good, then if you’ll sit back down, I-”

“No. I’m done... with this fraudulent school. Done with these phony teachers. Done with Professor Wild Brow here. I’m done. With all of it.”

“Wh- Wh- What?!” Owyn’s facade cracked. “What did you call me?!”

“You’re a fake. A phony. All of the teachers are, but you are the chief of them. A failure of a mage, more concerned with his own shit reputation because he couldn’t compare to the skill of his own students. Scared they’ll surpass him,” Krarshe said, staring straight into Owyn’s eyes. “You don’t want mages, you want pawns, people to fill the battle lines and die for you so you can keep this cushy lifestyle.”

The students all turned to look at Owyn. He froze for a moment before speaking. “P-preposterous! Wh-Why would I,” he swallowed hard, “an esteemed professor at this prestigious school be afraid of my own students?” He gave an uneasy laugh.

“You gave disproportionately difficult exams for students who excelled.”

“W-We give e-exams to adequately test them!”

“You do it in hopes they’ll fail. You said it yourself. What were your words again? During Bri’s exam? It’s getting more difficult to fail her? You wished she’d withdraw from the school so you didn’t have to put on that charade? Weren’t those YOUR words after she left?!”

“I-” Krarshe caught Owyn’s eyes dart to the class before continuing, “I n-never... Wait. What evidence do you have? The exams aren’t open to other studen-”

“You gave her a spell from the advanced class, a spell even the other teachers were astonished at. AND SHE CAST IT PERFECTLY!” Krarshe slammed his hand on the desk again. “And you had the audacity to fail her. Not because she failed, but because you didn’t want her to pass. You said those words yourself after she left!” Owyn was left speechless, cornered like a wild animal. “The same goes for over half of this class!” Krarshe shouted, gesturing to the rest of the students. “Those who failed had complex spells, compared to those who passed. And yet you lavish praises on the few who passed, and then belittle those who fail! Call their dreams of other schools of magic an embarrassment to the academy, laughing at their struggles. This whole school is a cesspit...” He looked over at Tibault and Bri. They were watching him, shock and awe all over their faces. “... And I won’t be a part of this any longer. Bri, Tibault, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. When I replace a real teacher, I’ll replace you. ... I pray you both replace Wisdom in my absence.”

Krarshe slid past them and made his way to the door. Owyn remained stunned as he left. Before closing the door, he took another look at his two friends, the two he spent over two cycles with, laughing, crying, struggling alongside. Then he turned to the class. “Wisdom replace all of you. Wisdom to realize what this place truly is. Wisdom to know there is better out there for you than this.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

He had barely gotten halfway across the courtyard when he heard the door slam open behind him. “You lowly elf scum!” Owyn yelled. “You think you can insult this institution?! Insult me?! And just leave?!” He stomped after Krarshe, who disregarded his boisterous insults.. “I will have you answer to the city guards! An elf, infiltrator, Thalas’anir spy, sent to disrupt our institutions! You and your co-conspirator friends will be beheaded!”

Krarshe’s patience was nearing its end. He just breathed heavily and increased his pace.

“Listen to me, you fucking spr-” Owyn grabbed Krarshe’s wrist. BZZZZT! Owyn’s legs gave out immediately as he pulled his hand back reflexively from the electric shock he received. He breathed heavily as he looked at his twitching hand.

“Do... not... TOUCH... me...” Krarshe said looking back at Owyn, his brilliant blue eyes flashing with white-hot rage, hotter than a bolt of lightning. He turned forward again, leaving his former teacher quaking where he sat. Leaving the hate-filled bricks he once called a school. Leaving the friends he’d miss desperately.

“... And so, that’s what happened?” Valerie asked, leaning against the door frame of Krarshe’s room.

Krarshe nodded. He looked at his school uniform, thinking whether they were worth taking with him. They had cost a lot, and he didn’t have many clothes, but something about them gnawed at him. He reluctantly stuffed them into the sack Valerie had brought him. He grabbed his traveller’s cloak from when he was a merchant and held it up; it was a bit long for him now. He took the faded black fabric in both hands and, with all his strength, tore the bottom off it. He looked at it again and draped it over himself. It was still quite long, but short enough to work.

“Well, it’s not my place to say if it was the right or wrong way to approach that. But, what’s done is done. What do you plan to do now?”

“I have an acquaintance in a nearby village that’s also studying magic.” Krarshe looked around the room, checking if he had forgotten anything. The sack was only half full. He hadn’t realized just how few possessions he had. “I’m going to see if she’ll take me under her tutelage as well.” He slung the sack over his shoulder and made his way into the hallway past Valerie.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll miss you. Speaking of... What are you going to say to Na’kika?”

Krarshe stopped, looked back at Valerie for a moment, then faced away again. “I... Could...” Krarshe hesitated. “Do you think... YOU could mention it?”

Valerie stood there silent for a minute. Krarshe could feel the look she was giving him burning into the back of his head. “No. No way. You’re not just disappearing on her.”

“Val...”

“No. You should at least have the decency to say goodbye yourself.”

“If I say anything to her, she’ll either stop me from leaving or demand to come with me. You KNOW she would.”

“... Still. It’s not right.”

Krarshe turned to Valerie. Her gaze was downcast. “I know. I feel like we both realized this the last time it came up.” Valerie didn’t respond, so Krarshe continued. “Just... Tell her I’ll be back to visit. That I promise to visit.”

Valerie turned back to Krarshe. “You damn well better, or may the Wanderer replace you. ... I still think you’re an idiot for not saying anything.”

“Oh, and see if you can replace someone to teach her to defend herself.”

Valerie’s brow furrowed as she cocked her head in confusion. “That’s... a weird request.”

“Just... thinking back to that one night... I know she has you and the rest of the staff, but still. I can’t help but worry about her.”

“Well...” Valerie brought a finger to her lip as she thought. “I think... I might know a man.”

“Oh, here.” Krarshe stopped and dropped his bag onto the floor. He rifled through his belongings until he pulled a gold rose from his coin pouch. “If they ask for payment,” he said, tossing the coin to Valerie.

She caught it and looked it over. “You really are a good person, you know?” she said with a soft smile. “Even if you ARE an idiot.”

Krarshe smiled. “Thanks. For everything,” he said with a small bow, picked up the sack and headed downstairs. As he approached the dining hall, he peeked around the corner. Na’kika was nowhere to be seen. He pulled his hood up and adjusted the sack he was carrying and, as quickly and quietly as he could, made his way out the door.

He walked about half way down the street before he turned back, a final look at the place he’d called home for two cycles. It really hadn’t been that long, but now, it felt as though it had been a lifetime.

As he walked the streets of Feyfaire, a vagrant as he had once been, he felt a strange sense of emptiness. Travelling was nothing new to him, but this time it was different. This time he’d grown to know people. He’d been a part of their lives, just as they were a part of his. As a merchant, every interaction was fleeting. Rarely did he see the same person twice. Any time in the caravans he’d been part of were spent largely alone in your own cart. In the few cases where you socialized with your fellow merchant, it felt as though they had their guard up. Like they knew the interaction was transient, never letting themselves become too involved. He must have instinctively done the same, rarely giving details about his own life, rarely opening up to others.

This was different though. Before he realized it, he’d opened himself up to Na’kika, Valerie, and the rest of the inn’s staff. He’d grown to know Tibault and Bri, and their families, as they had grown to know him. Krarshe choked up for a bit as he walked, thinking about everyone he’d met. Not that they know me truly. Perhaps I still have my guard up. He stopped and thought for a moment. I have to visit all of them.

Krarshe sighed. He’d never been this sentimental before. It was odd. But he kind of liked it. He enjoyed having people he could call friends. A place where those friends awaited his return.

“Well,” he said aloud. “Each step is a new journey. Right, do’mro?” He smiled to himself as he set out toward the village of Valenfort, in search of his new master.