We hurried and pressed our backs as hard as possible on the wall adjacent to the doorway, assuming the door would have swung open the other way, leaving us untouched.

Just how much mana is he pulling that even I can feel him drawing it through the door? I thought, feeling the hairs on my arms and neck standing up.

I sensed the rippling mana stop as quickly as it began, allowing a split second of pure silence. As the air became still and the pressure grew, it compressed our bodies like we were at the bottom of a lake. The pressure was released, and the resulting boom cracked the air around us. It bent the door inwards, releasing screws and nails from their positions, as a turquoise wave of mana smashed through the door, obliterating it.

Even though my ears rang, I was glad to see that my accident was fully extinguished.

As we recovered from the shockwave, we noticed all of our bedding had been redecorated in our room, like some scary story a parent would tell their child. Overturned bunk beds, mattresses, pillows and sheets were strewn about the room, and the palpable smell of evaporated piss didn’t help the situation either.

We stumbled back from the doorway, looking back in awe. Honestly, I don’t think any of us had ever seen such destruction inside the living quarters before, and I knew that whatever came next would not be a pleasant experience.

We coughed due to the pungent steam and smoke from the now-charred blankets, making our eyes tear up as a result. The Master's silhouette stood in the doorway, backlit by a wall lamp that caused it to flicker. Two pairs of yellow eyes glowed in the doorway's frame; one was his, while the other was Bernar’s.

Doo-do-dooo, I’m dead. Long live the Dipshit, I played the fanfare in my head as soon as I felt his gaze on me.

As he stepped through the doorway, I saw the Master wearing a loose white shirt with laces around the chest and neck, with his sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearm. His gray cotton pants were tailored perfectly to his height, preventing any material from dragging on the ground as he walked. He also wore leather-soled slippers that muffled the sound of his footsteps.

He moved forward, his hands clasped behind his back, holding his head high like a walking statue. We looked at him in fear, not knowing what came next. Bernar, his right-hand man, stepped in behind him with a noticeable amount of less grace and fluency than the Master, nearly knocking over a cup that had been on a bedside table nearby.

He wore the same style of clothes as the Master, though they were a little dirtier. The thick, smoky air was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and coughing. I caught my brother's eye, but he only sighed in response. The Master flinched his right eye at the sound behind him, but decided not to turn around.

“Boys,” his voice rang out. “I understand the mischief youngsters find themselves in more often than not. However, I would like to know who attempted the Pyrus spell," his eyes quickly landed on me.

Ah, shit, I felt my pulse quicken, already knowing he’d traced the residual mana back to me.

The others gazed at each other, bug-eyed and shaking nervously. “It was me, Master,” I sighed, accepting my fate. “I was the one who attempted the spell and lost control of it,” I bowed, staring at the ground beneath me.

While I didn’t see his expression, I heard the Master give a small grunt after shifting his weight to look at Bernar, who I knew would shake his head as subtly as he could. The Master said nothing, but turned and faced us again.

“That was very foolish of you, Thoma. However, I won't give you a lecture here. Follow me to my quarters,” he commanded firmly. The moment the word quarters left his mouth, I knew I was in for it, shuddering at the thought. “Yes, Master,” I quickly replied. As the Master turned on his toes, I looked over at the others who were just as shocked as I was.

This is it. This is how I’m going to die. Goodbye, gentlemen, I tried to transmit with a pained, thin-lipped smile, which earned me a few crisp salutes in response.

I looked at my brother, who showed mixed emotions of awe and shame. I stepped forward and followed the Master and my brother through the destroyed doorway, avoiding the small splinters in my path. The stone hallway was cold and barely lit, with large corner stones at every angle.

Wooden torches wrapped in cloth and liquified troll fat hung on the walls in iron sconces, dimly lighting the cold corridor. Due to our heel-toe walking technique, the sound of our footfall was nearly inaudible on the cold stone floor.

On a real mission, one could walk silently across almost any surface while moving quickly. Our leather-soled boots aided in silencing our steps. However, the thin slippers I wore out of bed didn’t do much to keep the cold from the stone floors from reaching my feet.

As we walked, Bernar glanced back at me and sighed inwardly before seemingly returning to an unspoken conversation between him and the Master.

I know what I did was wrong, but why do I feel like I’m going to be executed over this? I felt my stomach turn in an unnatural way. I think it’s trying to send the remnants of dinner back the way they came, or perhaps toward the other end at this point, I grimaced.

Either way, I just have to calm down. I’m sure things will work out… right? I thought, feeling guilty enough as it was, with my heart beginning to race as we climbed a flight of stairs.

Ah, yes. The executioner’s chamber, I nodded as I saw the heavy cedar door that marked the entrance to the Master’s study.

My mouth was dry and I could swallow nothing but a cotton ball of spit. The heavy door creaked open and I hesitated to go inside. Bernar, however, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and led me into the room, following closely behind the Master.

As we crossed the threshold, I caught my brother’s grin out of the corner of my eye. Torches immediately appeared to light themselves in a clockwise circle around the room, revealing the interior fantastically.

Did he use mana to light those? A bit dramatic, but still impressive to say the least, I wondered.

The room had eight walls, four of which had bookcases taller than the average man, all fully loaded with countless books and scrolls. Some were old, dusty, and covered in cobwebs, while others appeared to be newer, or at least more frequently used.

I noticed a green-banded book on the third shelf from the ground, near the border of the bookcase itself. Other weathered books surrounded it, yet it seemed to have been used recently. However, before I could draw any conclusions, Bernar gave me a light shove forward as we walked toward the furthest wall where the Master's desk was.

“Sit down, Thoma,” the Master gestured to the wooden chair in front of me. I shot my older brother another questioning glance, but he simply nodded and urged me toward it.

The maple chair had been hand-carved in Hjalfar, far to the North, by an old boat maker who had given it to the Master as a token of his gratitude for slaying the Mother Ochelon of the town.

I stared at the detailed carvings, utterly befuddled by their accurate depiction of the creature.

The ochelons were tall, humanoid creatures, whose thick fur and skin helped keep it alive during the winter months in the Northern Countries. Their sharp claws were excellent for hunting, and they generally resided in deep caves near bodies of water. This posed potentially hazardous conditions for anyone who decided to settle near such a place.

I hesitantly sat down, analyzing the carvings as I ran my finger along them. They told the story of the battle between the Master and the Mother Ochelon in intricate detail. From stances to displaying movement, the carvings had almost appeared to come alive as I looked over them.

It was at that moment that I realized my feelings were mixed, and I couldn’t decide whether it was awe or fear of the Master. After all, I had just followed the Master to his chamber to have what I knew to be more than a little midnight chat.

“I’m glad to see you like the chair, but do you remember how the Synners first came to be?” the Master asked calmly, snapping me out of my musing. “I vaguely remember the legend, but no specific details, Master,” I slowly shook my head. “Then allow me to refresh your memory,” he said with a chagrined smile.

“A little over one thousand years ago, when monsters first slipped through the cracks of the Underworld, the gods descended from the heavens. They came not as angelic beings, but as humble beggars to avoid unwanted attention,” he began, folding his hands atop the desk.

“The six who descended found themselves close to a town near ruin, with only a few formidable warriors remaining after the monsters had razed it to the ground,” his face shifted slightly.

He talks about it as if he were there, I noted, maintaining my outward attentiveness.

Bernar shuffled. “I had always heard it said that one of the monsters was so heavily encased in mana that it blew into little red chunks after an arrow had struck it,” he interrupted, causing the Master to purse his lips and lift an eyebrow at him. His brow furrowed, and his irises instantly went from an intense yellow to a flaming orange, making Bernar flinch.

“Please do not interrupt me while I'm schooling a young pup who just so happens to be your younger brother,” he sighed, relieving the sting with a small smile that caused the scar on his right cheek to wrinkle. “Forgive me, Master,” Bernar instantly replied, bowing his head and stepping backwards.

“Now, where was I?” he asked no one in particular.