One lesson at the Academy of Sorcery.
Cyrus, first in his class, decided to give a master class to the graduating mages. He had heard that the latest cohort was performing poorly, and their discipline was even worse.
“The top student will show these fools of instructors how to properly train these inept mages,” Cyrus muttered.
Entering the classroom, he saw young people, among whom one particularly arrogant young man stood out. He came to class with a hookah and smoked, filling the room with smoke. It was clear that the young man was not well-rested, as he often yawned loudly and chatted with a girl sitting nearby.
“Oh, I forgot that my son is studying in this course,” Cyrus thought sadly.
“Zehir, put out the hookah. Please.” The word “please” sounded so maliciously that Zehir immediately obeyed and extinguished it, for the first time in all his years of study, he fell silent and did not show himself again.
“So, who is absent and…”
“NaziriTariz is absent,” the girl interrupted him, chattering desperately and swallowing the endings.
“Who are you, girl?” Cyrus said, and if snakes could say something before striking their prey, they would say something similar to what Cyrus said: “Who are you, girl?”
“I’m Ora, the class monitor. Ora seemed not to notice that she had interrupted Cyrus, or that he didn’t like it. Nazir went to war, and Tariz will join him in two days.
“War… and I forgot that I sent reinforcements there: my worst mages and my phantom double. And Nazir is one of the worst… not Zehir, of course,” Cyrus remembered this pretty boy – Nazir. He was most worried about the beauty of his sweet face; he was terribly afraid of fire and blood. Cyrus grinned maliciously: how is this dandy doing in the war? “I should still make an appearance at the end for the story, let them think that the Silver League…”
Cyrus was distracted from his political thoughts by Ora, who began to chatter.
“Nazir went to war, there are battles, there are spells, destruction,” Ora shook her fists. “Fire, lightning, magic, everything burns and explodes.”
“Where does this passion for Chaos magic come from? He comes from a good family,” Cyrus thought again. “Tomorrow I’ll go and craft an artifact that will make her shut up. But how can I make her wear it… hmm, I’ll make it in the form of a headband, like we have an Arabic style now. And then I’ll send her somewhere far away… to guard caravans.” Cyrus could not be proud of his malice.
“Enough,” he said, directing all his mystical power at Ora. “Sleep!”
Ora reluctantly yawned and fell asleep. Cyrus was amazed at how difficult it was to make her fall asleep, just like a hundred paladins at once.
“So, did anyone do their homework?”
“I did,” a neat young man raised his hand – student Narhiz.
“Well, come on, show me what you learned,” Cyrus was surprised that someone had learned something. This almost never happened anymore, not even in his youth.
Narhiz got up, went to the blackboard, and meticulously talked about the mechanics of resurrection, peppering it with terms. Cyrus was about to feel like he was starting to understand, when he heard something greedily crunching.
“Stop, what’s that sound?” Cyrus was surprised that he had managed to interrupt Narhiz’s lecture. “Sit down.”
“But…”
“Sit down!” he said, pointing his finger at one of the swarthy students. “What do you have in your bag?”
“Nothing…” the student began.
“Name.”
“Student Hafiz.”
“Ah, yes, you’re the one who is always hanging out with the gremlins. I saw you playing that strange game… hmm, paintball.”
“Well, sometimes,” Hafiz blushed.
“Aren’t you afraid that during the game, a projectile might hit you in the eye, for example? And all the older gremlins wear protective glasses.”
“Rather, a succubus will rule the Griffin Empire than gremlins will aim at my eye,” Hafiz said defiantly.
“Yes, yes, and gremlins, and goblins, and orcs, they are all our friends. And we need to treat them kindly, then they will respond in kind,” Hafiz’s classmate, a blond cherub, babbled. Cyrus seemed to know his name was Faiz.
Cyrus felt that these students were starting to annoy him. He looked around the classroom; on the back benches sat a female djinn and a lanky student.
Cyrus knew them both. The girl just needed to complete a mage course to get the rights to control an elephant. Unlike her friend Jalib, who got them purely by chance. Nur turned green from boredom and would have fallen asleep long ago if she could.
“Laker,” Cyrus thought about Jalib.
“So, Razzaq, what do you know about the mechanics of resurrection?”
“I don’t know anything about it. And in general, your magic is just to scare children. Soon, everything will be decided by tank wedges and carpet bombing, and cyborgs with two sabers.”
Cyrus was already used to the statements of this eternal student. “Life will teach you,” Cyrus decided once for himself and no longer bothered Razzaq, who was now busy pouring liquid from different shot glasses.
“What are you doing, Razzaq?” Cyrus still couldn’t resist his curiosity.
“I’m getting nitroglycerin. Oh, it will be a truly powerful substance. The main thing is to remember safety precautions,” Razzaq was not afraid of anything except early-onset senility. “Remember safety precautions.”
Cyrus sighed and was about to ask someone else about the mechanics of resurrection.
Just then, Tazis burst in. Tazis had red eyes, probably from sleepless nights, but his face was glowing, although it was covered in stone dust.
“Master Cyrus, look, I created a new, more powerful gargoyle,” Cyrus had heard about the student who was placed on the gargoyles; apparently, Tazis was one of them. “Its health is 35, damage is 3-7, defense and attack are 17. Here, look, it’s still a test and doesn’t fly well, but that’s easy to fix, and you can make any stone gargoyle like this.”
In his hands was a new gargoyle; it was unclear how such a frail young man could hold such a heavy thing. But the gargoyle flapped its wings and began to rise higher and higher… but then something happened: the gargoyle tilted, wobbled, and crashed onto its creator. A terrible crunch of bones announced that the Academy had one less student.
“Well, we won’t have any gargoyle specialists or cheating gargoyles,” Cyrus decided.
The bell rang, ending the lesson. Cyrus left the classroom, deciding that the Academy had no future. He walked towards the computer room; today he had arranged a game of three-player chess with Godric. And sooner will a succubus rule the Griffin Kingdom than he will lose again.