No Class Found

Doc held the door open as the group filed out of the Archmagister's office and into the corridor. Ironha walked beside him, her fingers brushing the strap of her medical satchel. Calen followed with Mira and Cassira just ahead, Fish padding silently at the rear.

The hallway was quieter now. Most students had retreated to lecture rooms or dormitories, leaving the passage empty except for the occasional magister carrying scrolls between offices. Their footsteps echoed against the vaulted ceiling as they descended the main staircase and crossed through the entrance foyer.

Calen pushed the heavy oak door open, and cold northern air rushed in.

Sunlight hit the Academy courtyard at sharp angles. The stone was swept clean, frost clinging only to the edges where shadow still held. A few students lingered near the far colonnade, but the space was otherwise open.

Doc stepped through the doorway and stopped.

A half-giant stood at the base of the steps.

He wore blackened plate armor, fresh scratches running across the pauldrons. A wolf-pelt cloak hung from his shoulders, torn at the hem and stiff with dried mud and frost. His war axe rested across his back.

He looked like he had spent weeks traveling through the open country without proper rest.

His eyes found Cassira.

Relief crossed his broad, scarred face. It lasted only a moment before his gaze dropped and his jaw tightened.

Then he sank to his knees before Cassira, his armor striking the flagstones with a sound that carried across the courtyard. One knee down, fist pressed against the ground, head bowed.

The posture of a knight who had failed his charge.

“My lady.” His voice was low and rough with exhaustion. “I was meant to protect you. When you needed me, I was not there.”

He kept his head bowed. His shoulders remained rigid beneath the armor, and he did not look up at her.

“I am sorry.”

Cassira stood at the top of the steps. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her gray-blue eyes, usually so composed, filled with tears.

She walked down the steps with her gaze fixed on half-giant and wrapped her arms around his bowed head.

Mar did not move. His fist stayed pressed against the stone. His breath caught once, a sound too quiet for anyone but those closest to hear.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Cassira said. Her voice cracked on the second word. She pressed her forehead against the crown of his head, her fingers gripping the cold steel of his pauldron. "Serin told me. You went out looking for me. You never stopped."

Mar's hand lifted from the ground. It hovered uncertainly near her arm.

"You did your duty," Cassira said. She pulled back enough to look at his face. Tears ran down her cheeks, unguarded in a way Doc had never seen from her. "I will not have you punish yourself for what someone else chose to do. Do you hear me?"

Mar stared at her.

The half-giant's eyes were dark and steady, but something cracked behind them. A tension that had held since the moment she vanished from the inn released, slowly and without sound.

He nodded.

Cassira's hand squeezed his shoulder once before she stepped back, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm.

Mar rose to his full height and turned toward Doc and Calen. He looked from Calen to Doc. Then he bowed his head to them both, lower than courtesy required.

"You brought her back." His voice carried no embellishment. "If you ever need anything, you need only ask."

Doc met the half-giant's gaze and smiled.

"No problem. Anyone would have done the same."

Beside him, Ironha looked at Doc. She shook her head and whispered under her breath.

"Not everyone, Doc."

Cassira raised a hand as they turned to leave. She had regained her composure, though her eyes were still red. Mar remained at her shoulder.

Doc lifted his hand in return.

“Take care of yourself, Cas.”

Cassira nodded. Then she turned and walked back into the Academy with Mar beside her. The heavy doors closed behind them.

The group descended the broad staircase into the Arc Quarter's main thoroughfare. Doc walked alongside Ironha, with Calen and Mira just ahead. Fish drifted up from the rear and fell into step beside Doc, her dark fur catching the late afternoon light.

They passed through the Academy checkpoint without incident.

"Mira."

She turned her head, still walking.

"You alright?"

Mira opened her mouth, closed it, and then gave a nervous laugh.

"Not really." She tucked her hands deeper into her cloak. "I just want to see my ma and pa. I miss them, and I'm sure they're worried sick."

"Almost there," Doc said.

She nodded and kept walking, her pace quickening just slightly.

They left the Arc Quarter through the lower gate and entered Splitstone Row. The district was busy despite the lingering curfew, merchants hauling crates between storefronts and a pair of miners arguing about something near the entrance to a tavern. A blacksmith's hammer rang out from the forge district above them, the sound bouncing off the carved rock walls.

Doc noted the increased watch presence. Pairs of city guards stood at intersections that had been unattended a month ago, some tabards bearing Imperial insignia, others the markings of the clans. One of them tracked the group as they passed but made no move to stop them.

They turned south onto a descending lane that cut between a chandler's shop and a leather goods stall. The path narrowed, the buildings pressing closer together. Overhead, laundry lines stretched between upper windows, and the smell of woodsmoke and tallow thickened the air. A woman leaned from a second-floor window to dump wash water into the gutter below, noticed Fish, and pulled her shutters closed.

The lane opened into a wider road leading toward the east gate. Foot traffic thinned as they moved farther from the center of the city. The buildings grew simpler, stone foundations giving way to timber frames and patched roofs. A cart loaded with firewood rattled past, pulled by a shaggy mule.

Calen walked with his hands in his pockets. He said nothing, but he stayed close to Mira’s left side. Doc had noticed him doing that since they left the Academy.

They passed through the city gate without being stopped.

Beyond the walls, the road leveled out. Thornwick Rest came into view ahead, its pitched roof catching the last of the afternoon sun. The door was closed. Two city watch guards stood at the front, but they recognized Mira and stepped aside without a word.

Mira pushed the door open.

The common room was dim and warm. Garrik stood near the bar with Rurran, both bent over something laid flat on the counter. Elara emerged from the kitchen doorway carrying a stack of clean linens.

All three looked toward the door.

Elara dropped the linens.

"Mira."

The word left her mouth as breath more than sound. The stack hit the floor in a soft heap, and Elara crossed the room in four steps. Garrik was already moving. Whatever composure the goblin normally held went out of his face.

Elara reached Mira first and pulled her daughter against her chest. Her hands pressed into Mira's back, gripping the fabric of her cloak. She didn't speak. She just held on.

Garrik reached them a heartbeat later. He closed whatever space remained and got his arms around both of them. He was shorter than his daughter and his wife, but it didn't matter. He pressed his forehead against Mira's shoulder.

Mira's composure shattered.

She made a sound Doc couldn't have named. Her hands found her father's vest and her mother's sleeve, and she gripped them and did not let go.

Elara pulled back just enough to look at Mira's face. Her eyes were bright and wet, her lips pressed together as if holding back every word she had stored over the past weeks. She cupped Mira's cheeks with both hands.

"You're here," Elara said. "You're home."

Garrik said nothing. He had one arm around his daughter's waist and rested his other hand on the back of her head. His eyes were closed.

Rurran stood quietly at the bar, watching with an expression Doc recognized. The gnoll had seen reunions like this before.

Doc stood near the doorway with Ironha and Calen. Fish sat beside his leg, her amber eyes tracking the scene with patient stillness.

Heart rate elevated by twelve percent, Lux noted.

Doc didn't react. He watched Garrik's hand on Mira's hair, the way Elara's fingers trembled against her daughter's face. The way Mira held onto them like the ground might fall away if she loosened her grip.

He thought of his mother. The kitchen on Nexus Prime where she kept dried herbs in glass jars above the sink. The way she hummed when she thought no one was listening. Her voice over the comm link during his last assignment, steady as it always was, telling him to come home safe.

He wondered how she was doing.

A hand touched his arm. Ironha stood beside him, her eyes searching his face.

"Are you alright?"

Doc nodded.

"Yeah." He watched Mira laugh through her tears as Elara brushed hair from her face. Garrik finally opened his eyes and looked at his daughter with an expression that needed no translation. "I'm just glad I could bring her home."

Ironha's hand lingered on his arm for a moment before she withdrew it.

Over her daughter's shoulder, Elara looked at Doc, then at Calen.

Thank you. She mouthed

Both Doc and Calen nodded in acknowledgment.

The door to Thornwick Rest closed behind them.

Doc remained on the front step for a moment. The two watchmen stationed outside glanced at him, then returned their attention to the road.

Inside, Mira’s voice rose and fell between Elara’s quieter replies. Garrik said nothing, but the silence no longer felt tense.

Doc and the others turned south and started walking.

They continued through the narrow lane without speaking, their breath fogging in the cold.

They passed a woman carrying a basket of root vegetables, a boy chasing a tabby cat between two sheds, and an old man repairing a boot on his front step.

Ironha broke the silence.

“Are you truly alright?”

Doc kept his eyes on the lane ahead.

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “Watching Mira with her family just reminded me of my own, is all.”

Ironha walked quietly beside him for a few steps.

“Would you tell me about them one day?”

Doc looked at her and smiled, softer than usual.

“Yeah,” he said. “That would be nice.”

The answer surprised him with how much he meant it.

After a moment, he looked ahead again. There was still work to do.

“Speaking of catching up, how’s the depot? They were still pulling out rotted floorboards when I left.”

Ironha laughed.

“From what Bran told us over the radio, the repairs slowed during the lockdown, but they never stopped. And now…” Amusement showed in her eyes. “Now they should have the materials and expertise needed to finish.”

“Materials and expertise,” Doc repeated. “That’s a very specific way to put it.”

Ironha only smiled.

The lane turned east and widened where it joined the wagon path running along Glasshold’s outer wall. The trade depot stood ahead, built against the rocky shelf.

Doc stopped.

The building barely resembled the one he had left.

The warped cargo doors had been replaced with heavy timber panels on new iron hinges. Fresh mortar sealed the cracks in the foundation. The upper walls had been reframed, and the shutters now hung level, each fitted with a bronze latch. Overlapping stone tiles covered the roof where rotten planks had once sagged.

The enclosed yard had also been cleared. The weeds were gone, and the ground had been packed flat beneath fresh wagon tracks. A low stone wall bordered the approach.

Three wagons stood inside. One was the trade wagon, its curved roof and yellow duck flag immediately recognizable. The other two were cargo haulers loaded with crates, lumber, and construction supplies.

Workers moved between them, unloading the wagons.

Doc recognized several of them from Foroughfore.

Brenn stood behind the second wagon, directing two workers as they lowered a heavy beam. One hand steadied the rope while the other guided the timber into place.

Then Doc heard a voice he had not heard in weeks.

“No, no, the lattice goes inside the casing, not around it. Around it just makes a very expensive rattle.”

Carl stood near the depot entrance, gesturing at an open crate of components. Dulric stood beside him with his arms folded, wearing the expression of a man who had heard this lecture before and expected to hear it again.

Mazoga leaned against the doorframe, her warhammer secured across her back.

Doc looked at Ironha.

“What are they doing here?”

Her smile widened.

“Edda wanted this place running as soon as possible. She needed Carl and Dulric’s expertise, so they came with the shipment.”

Mazoga noticed them first. She straightened and lifted her chin in their direction.

Carl turned. His glasses caught the low sun, and his face broke into a grin.

“Doc!”

He left Dulric beside the crate and hurried across the yard.

Fish trotted forward to meet him, her tail swaying once. Carl barely slowed to scratch behind her ears before continuing toward Doc.

“You’re alive.”

Doc steadied him with one hand. “Last time I checked.”

Carl pulled him into a quick hug anyway, arms wrapping as far around the armor as they could reach.

“I told everyone you were fine,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “Mostly.”

Dulric approached at a slower pace.

“He told us you were probably fine,” the dwarf corrected. “There was considerably less confidence each time he said it.”

Carl released Doc and adjusted his glasses.

“That is not how I remember it.”

“It rarely is.”

Doc smiled. “It’s good to see both of you.”

Dulric gave him a firm nod. “Good to have you back.”

Mazoga crossed the yard and stopped in front of him.

"How bad was it?"

Doc gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "They were polite."

Mazoga snorted and gripped his shoulder once.

“Come on. You’ve got more people to say hello to.”

When she stepped away, Brenn had joined them. The relief on his face was clear enough. He clasped Doc’s forearm once before returning to the beam waiting behind him.

More workers had stopped now. Foroughfore folk stood beside the wagons and along the depot wall, watching him. Several raised their hands in greeting. A familiar voice came from the open doorway.

“Are you all planning to stand outside until dark?”

Bran stood inside the depot with a wooden spoon in one hand. Steam drifted through the doorway behind him.

“Food’s nearly ready,” he continued. His eyes moved over Doc and Calen. “And from the look of you, I made the right amount.”

Calen stared at him. “How much did you make?”

“Too much.”

“Then you made the right amount.”

Bran pointed the spoon toward the interior. “Inside. Before Carl starts another argument in the yard.”

“It was not an argument,” Carl said.

The workers began moving again. Conversation returned to the yard, mixed with the sounds of ropes tightening and crates being lowered.

Doc remained near the entrance for a moment.

The depot had changed while he was gone. People from Foroughfore moved through the place as though they had always belonged there.

Heart rate elevated again, Lux observed. No physical cause detected.

Doc looked toward Ironha.

She stood nearby, watching him with a small smile. Calen had already followed Bran inside. Fish waited at the doorway and looked back at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Doc told Lux.

I was not worried.

“Good.”

Doc stepped into the depot.

Behind him, the yellow duck flag moved in the evening wind.

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