Whenever we're together, it's usually with Ilya making some noise, Randel being a nervous wreck, or me just not caring to hold a conversation with him.
'I've never really given him a chance to be anything beyond vague. I kinda feel bad that I've just labelled him as suspicious and moved on.'
And when I looked closer, like really looked, he seemed less like some hidden threat and more like another student trying to survive Aetherion in his own weird way.
Maybe that was my mistake.
Quiet doesn't always mean dangerous.
Sometimes quiet meant hesitant.
"Ryn," Junio said, interrupting my enlightening thoughts.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Would it be ok if I gave you some advice?"
I shrugged, slightly puzzled by what he would say.
"Um, sure, but you didn't have to ask permission if you wanted to."
He looked mildly surprised.
"Ah. Sorry. I didn't want to come across as haughty or rude."
I nodded slowly.
Then paused.
'What the hell does haughty mean?'
Junio glanced at me.
"Is everything alright?"
"Hm? Yeah. Yeah, continue. Advice. You were saying you had some advice for me."
He studied me for a second, then continued.
"Even though Ilya is a sub-tier higher than you, the gap between you is not as large as it appears."
"That's generous of you, but unfortunately, my face disagrees."
"She is Ignis Master, yes, but her strength is concentrated in close-quarters combat. You are close to Ignis Master yourself, and your output seems higher than the average Ignis Adept."
I frowned.
"Ok, I get that. Make your point."
"My point is that right now, you create distance using the same spells you use to attack."
"So?"
"So, every time you need separation, you must choose between attacking, defending, or repositioning. You are using offensive spells to do all three, and you are not yet skilled enough to chain them instantly into a complete sequence."
"Gee. Thanks."
"I didn't mean it as an insult; what I mean is— well, it's hard to explain, but basically what I'm trying to say is that you need a different way to create separation in battle. One that does not consume the chaining of your attack."
Junio paused briefly before finishing his point.
"You need to learn a movement technique. A traversal art, to be precise."
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Annoying, most of his points made a lot of sense, except for one.
"A traversal art, you say?"
"Yes, a traversal art."
I stared at him, and then nodded slowly with my eyes closed as if in complete agreement.
"Interesting," I said.
Junio waited for the rest of my response, which I was about to give.
Until I realised there was a problem.
"What's a traversal art?"
For the first time since I had interacted with him, Junio laughed in a way that was not just polite.
It was quiet, but warm.
The anticlimax broke the awkwardness between us, and I found myself smiling despite my bruised back and aching jaw.
"A traversal art," he explained, "is a technique used not for attacking, defending, or restraining, but to improve how a mage moves. Depending on the technique, it can increase speed, change direction suddenly, extend jumps, soften falls, cross difficult terrain, or reposition quickly during combat."
I sat forward.
'A movement technique? Interesting. I never thought of something like that.'
Something that can create or close the distance between my opponent and me.
Not a Cutting Draft, or any one of my offensive spells.
A decisive way to move.
The idea hit me so hard I nearly forgot my back hurt.
"My main affinity is Ventus as well..."
"There are many that would suit you," Junio said. "If you could create distance without spending a Cutting Draft, Ilya would have struggled much more to close in. Against beasts, it may be even more important."
I stared at him.
He was right. Specifically, annoyingly, incredibly right.
Blatantly so.
'If I had a traversal art, then I could fire, reposition, and then fire again. I could avoid those annoying charges Ilya makes without affecting my attack rhythm. It would even increase my chances of surviving against something faster.
I looked at Junio, and this time really looked.
He had been watching my spar, not just casually, like I do, but with kind of meticulous care that he noticed a problem I had and offered the exact type of solution I needed.
That was...
Kind.
Suspiciously kind, maybe, but kind nonetheless.
"What?" Junio asked with a bewildered face.
"Nothing," I said. "I'm just a bit surprised."
"That I helped you?"
I quickly shook my head.
"No! No! That's not it."
His mouth curved.
"Relax. I'm only messing with you."
I stopped.
Then laughed once.
Not loudly, but it was enough to make Ilya briefly stop her beatdown—spar with Randel and look over at us to see what we were doing.
For the first time, Junio felt warm like a real person.
Well, not fully. Not like Ilya's blazing nonsense or Randel's anxious sincerity.
But he was warm in his own way.
Junio looked back toward the spar.
"I know that sometimes I can come across as cold and distant," he said.
His words surprised me.
He did not look at me as he spoke.
"It's not that I want to be. It's just..."
Silence settled between us.
This one was different.
Less awkward and more fragile.
I scratched the back of my neck.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, man. No need to force yourself."
Junio turned his head toward me.
For a second, something moved in his eyes.
Surprise.
Then something softer.
"Thank you," he said. "But it is fine. I wanted to say it anyway."
I said nothing.
So he continued.
"The son of a branch leader of House Thornevale killed my older sister."
The words were quiet.
But hit hard.
I looked at him.
Junio's expression remained calm, but it was no longer empty calm. It was the kind of calm built over something buried deep down.
"He was not punished," he said. "Not appropriately. There were excuses. Some claimed it was a misunderstanding; others called it poor control or youthful arrogance. Compensation was offered, and apologies were written by people who never meant them."
He gripped his hands tightly.
"But," he said, pausing briefly, "My family couldn't let it go. The hatred spread through us like a disease. Every conversation was a reminder of how we failed her. Every gathering. Every meal. Grief quickly became anger, and anger soon became the only thing anyone knew how to share."
I listened intently, my gaze always following his.
The training ground fell silent.
Ilya said something loud and idiotic to Randel, but I barely heard it.
"Eventually," Junio said, "We retaliated. We were punished. Then we retaliated for our punishment. It escalated until no one remembered how to stop." He looked down. "Until they decided to stop us themselves."
Hesistantly, I asked Junio. "What do you mean?"
"They obliterated my village. Innocent lives taken. Women and children, families who were both old and young, were wiped off the continent. All because they found our revolt—"
Junio took a second to compose himself, and I could see him digging his nails into his palm until they bled.
"All because they found our retaliation annoying."
Something cold passed through me.
For a split second, I was not on the bench anymore.
I was somewhere else.
Mud under my knees.
Smoke heavy enough to choke on.
A hand over my mouth.
Someone whispering "Run."
A scream cut short.
Flashes of Aether in the dark.
And then I was back.
My fingers had tightened around the bench.
Junio didn't notice.
Or maybe he had and chose not to say anything.
"I was lucky," he continued. "If you can call it that. I escaped. My uncle lived in a village around five miles from Aetherion. I stayed with him, and later, Academy recruiters found me."
I swallowed.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I had no idea you went through something like that."
"Don't apologise." His voice remained gentle. "You did nothing."
"Still."
He looked toward Ilya and Randel again.
"Every commoner experiences at least one horrific event during their journey through life."
I didn't answer.
Because the bitter part of me understood exactly what he said.
All too well.
Junio's eyes remained on the spar.
"Such is our fate."
The words settled between us like ash from a burning tree.
I didn't like them.
I hated them.
I hated how easily he could say them
I hated how every fibre of my body wanted to agree.
On the training ground, Randel's body shield flickered brighter as Ilya launched a rapid series of punches against his arms. He held for three seconds.
Then four.
Then five.
Then Ilya grinned and hit him once in the side.
Randel folded slightly.
"PLEASE, ILYA!" he shouted. "A BREAK! A BREAK! PLEASE!"
Ilya laughed.
I looked at Junio.
He was watching them quietly, with the faintest smile on his face.
He was still a strange person to me. Still slightly off.
But maybe not as distant as I had initially thought.
Maybe there was more behind that calm demeanour than suspicion.
Maybe, like the rest of us, he was just carrying something.
I leaned back against the bench, bruised, tired, and still tasting stone.
For the first time, I wondered if I had judged Junio too quickly.
And for the first time, I decided I would try my best not to.