The Essence Flow

Chapter 199: Guest Professors

The air in the chamber was still, thick with the scent of healing herbs and the faint, electric hum of potent magic. Selene’s hands hovered over Rheon’s chest, her fingers tracing invisible pathways in the air as a soft, verdant glow emanated from her palms. It was a delicate, intricate dance—syncing her own essentia with the deep, powerful, and once-broken river of his.

Her brow, usually smooth with academic focus, was furrowed in intense concentration. Then, her eyes flew open, wide with disbelief.

“This is… astonishing.” Her voice was a whisper, filled with the thrill of a scholar witnessing the impossible. “The pathways are not just clear… they’re reforged. Stronger. I never thought this was possible.”

Rheon, who had been watching her with a look of calm patience, finally broke his silence. “So? What’s the verdict, doc?”

Selene slowly withdrew her hands, the green light fading from her fingertips. She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Perfect condition. No, better than perfect. It’s like the corruption… scorched the weakness from your channels and the Vital Essentia forged what was left into something new.”

From his lean against the far wall, Lytharos let out a low, appreciative chuckle. A proud, knowing smile spread across his features. “Now that’s what I call a good morning.”

A roguish grin touched Rheon’s lips as he swung his legs off the bed, moving with a fluid grace that had been absent for a year. “I should have tried desperate, near-suicidal measures sooner.”

Selene was not amused. She lifted a finger, her expression shifting to one of stern, academic reproach. “It was an astronomically risky move, and you know it. Attempting to burn the residual corruption out of your channels by supercharging them with your own life force? It’s not a procedure; it’s a gamble with a soul as the ante. How in the world did you even conceive of it?”

Rheon’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes grew more serious. “I didn’t. I’d calculated the odds years ago and concluded it was a one-way trip.” He met her gaze squarely. “But the situation with Sereth left me no choice. I had to use the Vital Essentia. I just… decided to aim it inward instead of just letting it burn out. Turns out, I got two birds with one shot.”

“A rather explosive stone,” Selene remarked dryly, though a glint of professional admiration shone in her eyes. She folded her arms. “Have you told anyone else about your miraculous recovery?”

“Not quite,” Lytharos interrupted smoothly. He pushed off the wall and produced a formal letter, holding it aloft between two fingers like a winning hand of cards. “We’ve been a tad busy accepting a new assignment. We’re for the academy. As guest professors.”

“That’s right,” Rheon affirmed, his gaze turning toward the window, as if he could already see the distant spires of the institution. A softer, more genuine smile appeared. “Gotta check on the boys.” His voice warmed with a fondness that was rare for him. “And Sylra, too.” He hadn’t forgotten the fierce girl who had stood her ground with his students, becoming a part of their strange, cobbled-together family.

The common room was bathed in the gentle, late-afternoon sun, its light catching the steam rising from their teacups like swirling spirits. The air was rich with the soothing, floral-sweet aroma of Rellie’s latest brew—a scent that promised calm, even if the conversation was about to turn anything but.

“Guys.” Alira leaned forward, her voice a hushed, excited tremor that cut through the comfortable silence. “You won’t believe the information I just got a hold of.”

Len arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, setting her porcelain cup down with a soft clink. “Alright girl, out with it. What’s the scandal?”

Across the low table, Elliot and Sylra simultaneously set their cups down, their expressions mirroring a shared moment of pure, stunned appreciation.

“This is… some top-quality tea, Rellie,” Sylra said, her usual sharp tone softened into genuine admiration. She shook her head slightly. “I’ve got to admit.”

A faint, pleased blush colored Rellie’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she carefully poured another serving. Her movements were precise, meditative. She’d been practicing the intricate essentia-infusion technique Voidwalker had shown her for days, the steps now feeling less like a lesson and more like a part of her. She was close. So close.

“So. What’s this spicy info, Alira?” Elliot asked, leaning back in his chair. It was a rare sight—him here, in the common room, instead of buried in some ancient text in the library with Lyris. But even he couldn't resist the dual lure of Rellie’s near-perfect tea and the magnetic pull of his friends.

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The absence of the other Towan was a quiet, unspoken presence in the room. They’d invited him, of course, but he’d declined with a vague, “I’ve got stuff to do.” The statement hung in the air, a mystery they’d all silently agreed not to pry into… yet.

Alira couldn’t contain herself any longer. She shot to her feet, her energy practically crackling in the calm atmosphere. “Guest professors are coming. Today.”

Len’s hand jerked, sloshing a few precious drops of golden tea onto the saucer. “What? Really?”

“Yep!” Alira lifted a triumphant finger, her entire body thrumming with the news. “Someone saw Professor Kaelin himself hustling into the headmaster’s office holding a letter sealed with the official ‘Guest Professor’ wax emblem!”

“I wonder who they could be…” Sylra mused aloud, though the question was rhetorical, her gaze drifting toward the window as if she might see them approaching.

“It might be Lytharos,” Elliot said casually, as if mentioning an old friend rather than a living legend. He took a slow sip of his tea. “I think he mentioned he got the offer. He just didn’t know if he’d accept it.”

The room went still.

Len and Alira turned their heads in perfect, synchronized unison, their eyes wide.

“You mean…” Alira breathed, her voice full of awe, “The legendary adventurer Lytharos? The one from the ballads? You know him?”

Elliot’s eyes widened for a split second, as if he’d just realized he’d said something extraordinary. Then, a slow, proud smile spread across his face. He gave a simple, nonchalant shrug that was anything but.

“Of course,” he said, as the steam from his tea curled between them. “He’s my teacher.”

The silence that followed Elliot’s revelation was profound, broken only by the gentle clink of Sylra’s cup as she took another deliberate sip. Her eyes were closed, as if she were savoring the tea’s flavor and the weight of the moment simultaneously.

He looked directly at her, his casual confidence wavering just slightly. “I must have mentioned it sometime… right?”

Sylra lowered her cup, opening her eyes to reveal a look of mild amusement. “I… actually don’t know.” Her tone was light, but it carried the unspoken truth that Elliot’s idea of ‘mentioning’ something could often be a muttered aside during a sparring session, easily lost in the clash of practice blades.

“Wait, you

knew?” Len’s head swiveled from Elliot to Sylra, her expression a mix of betrayal and curiosity. Her gaze then snapped to Rellie, who was calmly pouring herself more tea. “And you! Aren’t you even surprised?”Rellie’s face remained a placid lake, utterly undisturbed. “Yeah,” she said simply, not looking up from the stream of steaming liquid. “Towan mentioned it back when we worked at the Drunken Hound. He said Lytharos was Elliot’s teacher and Leon’s old friend.” She said it as if discussing the weather, a simple fact of life she’d long since filed away.

Before Len and Alira could process being the last to know and ask who even is Leon, a wave of sound crashed into the common room from the hallway beyond—not cries of alarm, but a rising tide of exhilarated screams and excited chatter, growing rapidly closer.

“Did they come already?” Alira was on her feet in an instant, darting toward the door to peer down the corridor toward the academy’s main entrance.

Elliot drained the last of his tea, the exceptional flavor not lost on him even now. He set the cup down with a definitive click and rose to his feet, a grin tugging at his lips. “Well… this is a nicer welcome than last time.”

He stretched, his demeanor shifting from relaxed to ready. “It’ll be a pain to get through that crowd, though.”

The cacophony from the entrance hall swelled, a clear indicator that the legendary guest professors had, indeed, arrived—and the student body was already in a frenzy to catch a glimpse.

The sea of students rippled and then parted, flowing back to press against the walls of the grand hallway as if making way for royalty. A hushed, anticipatory silence fell, broken only by the confident, echoing footfalls of two figures approaching down the cleared path.

First was a man who seemed to draw the very light toward him—tall, broad-shouldered, with a mane of jet-black hair and a presence that commanded the vast space. He moved with the easy, rolling gait of a lifelong adventurer, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Lytharos. Whispers of his name traveled through the crowd like a sudden wind.

Beside him, a half-step behind out of respect rather than subservience, walked another man. He was slightly smaller in frame, but every line of him spoke of coiled, lethal precision. The simple, well-worn hilt of a longsword rose over his shoulder, a silent testament to a life dedicated to the blade. This was a face known across the kingdom from portraits and proclamations.

“Sir Varras?!” Len’s voice cut through the silence, sharp with pure, unadulterated amazement. She was a noble, taught to recognize the most esteemed figures in the realm, and the Kingdom’s Weaponsmaster was at the very top of that list. (and the fact that he was her bodyguard not too long ago)

Alira’s hand flew to her own cheek, her tactical mind already racing. “Looks like they brought the kingdom’s finest blade to whip us into shape next semester,” she murmured, a mix of dread and excitement in her tone, understanding the academy finally gave a voice to those who wanted to use weapons

Lytharos’s scanning gaze found Elliot in the crowd. His stern expression melted into a brief, unmistakable smile—a flash of recognition, mentorship, and deep pride. It was a look that said, ‘Look how far you’ve come.’

Elliot’s own smile was instant and brilliant, a wave of relief and happiness washing over him at the sight of his teacher safe, sound, and here.

Nearby, Sylra offered no grand gesture. Her eyes met Lytharos’s and she gave a single, slow, respectful nod—the greeting of one warrior to another. From Lytharos, she received an almost imperceptible incline of the chin in return. No words were needed.

“This way, new workmates!” Professor Kaelin’s voice, always a little too loud for indoor spaces, boomed with cheerful authority as he gestured for the legends to follow.

From the other side, Professor Khalvar was already trying to restore order, his voice a weary counterpoint to Kaelin’s enthusiasm. “Alright, everyone, the show’s over! Please disperse and return to your classes. Move along, now.”

But nobody moved. They were all still staring, utterly captivated by the living legends walking their halls.