No Class Found

Doc stood in the Academy's upper courtyard, palm raised, watching flame dance above his prosthetic hand.

The flame was small, barely larger than a candle flame, but it held steady. Doc adjusted the mana feeding it, and the orange shifted toward pale blue as the heat increased.

"Conversion is holding at seventy-two percent," Lux reported. "Temperature remains stable. The same shaping process appears to work with fire as it did with ice."

Doc nodded slowly. The books had been right. Ice still came easier, likely because of whatever the creature had left behind, but it wasn’t the only thing he could shape.

Mana was mana.

What mattered was what he did with it.

He was planning his next test when Fish rose from where she'd been resting against the courtyard wall. Her ears turned toward the entrance. A moment later, she went still, listening.

"Detecting mana signature consistent with Mazoga," Lux confirmed. "Range: forty meters and closing."

Doc looked toward the entrance. Several magisters were already moving that direction, their robes swaying as they quickened their pace.

He dispersed the flame and started walking.

By the time he reached the gate, Mazoga stood beside a wagon driven by one of Marron’s regular traders. Canvas covered the bed, stretched over a broad torso and limbs that didn’t quite sit where they should.

Doc stopped a few paces back as Lux began scanning.

"Analysis in progress. Necrotic signature detected. Structural composition indicates advanced biomass integration. Preliminary assessment: similarities to previously encountered adaptive undead."

Doc's jaw tightened.

The clearing came back—gray skin, black stitching, the way it had moved. The thing pulling itself deeper onto his blade, claws finding the breach in his suit. The thermal purge that finally killed it.

He shook his head slightly, pushing the memory aside.

Great. More of them.

Fish pressed against his leg, a low rumble building in her chest.

"I'm okay," Doc murmured.

He moved closer as the Archmagister and Serin arrived. Kaine's expression remained neutral, but his eyes tracked the shape beneath the canvas with sharp focus. Serin stood half a step behind him, one hand resting on her staff.

Doc nodded to both of them and waited.

Mazoga spoke with the Archmagister. “Found it leading a horde. Forty-plus draugr. Thing killed two adventurers before we got there, absorbed one of them whole. Kept growing as it fed.”

Kaine's gaze didn't leave the wagon. "How did you kill it?"

"Took the head." Mazoga gestured toward the covered form. "Didn't go down easy though."

The Archmagister stepped closer to the wagon, one hand rising as if to pull back the canvas, then stopping. He turned back to Mazoga instead.

"I would like to interview you about this encounter. In detail."

Mazoga nodded. "Can do. But I'd like to go back and rest first. Been a long week."

"Of course." Kaine's tone remained even. "There's no rush. I intend to study this… specimen. If you could return tomorrow, I would appreciate it."

"Tomorrow works."

The magisters began coordinating the wagon's movement toward one of the Academy's secured chambers. Mazoga turned away, and Doc stepped forward.

She spotted him immediately and smiled. "Why am I not surprised you're here?"

Doc fell into step beside her as they walked toward the gate. "I was just about to head back to the depot."

"Want a ride?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

The wagon turned into the Outer Approach and slowed as traffic thickened around the depot.

Doc had seen most of the changes happen a little at a time.

Mazoga had not.

She leaned forward on the bench as they approached the yard.

“When did all that happen?”

Doc followed her gaze.

Four wagons stood outside the depot now. Two of them wore the yellow duck flag of Foroughfore. The other two belonged to local merchants waiting near the loading area while workers moved crates to them.

A line had formed beside the smaller service window Marron had added to the front of the building. Most of the people waiting carried baskets, sacks, or wooden boxes.

“Been getting busier.”

“That is more than busy.”

The wagon rolled through the gate.

Near the front wall, a woman handed over a wooden token and received a sack of fresh Hearthgrain in return. Behind her, an older man was collecting two crates packed with Ashroot and Moonbulb.

Foroughfore produce had become common enough that Glasshold merchants bought wagonloads of it now, but people who came directly to the depot paid less.

Apparently word had spread.

Mazoga watched another family leave carrying enough vegetables to fill a small cart.

“You’re running a market now?”

“Not exactly.”

“That looks like a market.”

“They ordered ahead.”

Mazoga looked at him.

“That does not make it less of a market.”

Doc smiled.

The driver brought the wagon to a stop near the rear of the yard.

Fish jumped down first.

Doc followed, then stepped aside as Mazoga climbed down after him.

Someone called from beneath the covered work area.

“Move that end up.”

Doc recognized Rald’s voice.

A younger boy stood opposite him holding one end of a timber frame while Rald checked the joint.

Ren.

Or Renny, as everyone around the depot had started calling him after the confusion became impossible to ignore.

The first week had involved far too many people yelling for Ren and getting either the clinic receptionist or Calen’s younger brother.

Renny had apparently decided the nickname was easier than arguing.

He adjusted his grip on the frame.

“Like this?”

“Higher.”

Renny lifted it another inch.

Rald checked the alignment.

“There.”

He noticed Doc and Mazoga near the wagon.

“Back already?”

Mazoga frowned.

“I’ve been gone for over a month.”

Rald shrugged. “Feels shorter when you’re not the one traveling.”

Renny looked over and gave them a small nod before returning his attention to the frame.

Mazoga watched him for a moment.

“That one of Calen’s siblings?”

“His brother. Ren. Everyone calls him Renny now.”

“They finally made it up here?”

“About a month ago.”

Mazoga nodded, looking back toward him. “Good. Calen waited long enough.

Across the yard, the clinic door opened.

Two people came out together, followed by a woman Doc had started seeing around the clinic several weeks ago. She carried a stack of folded cloth under one arm and disappeared back inside before he could remember whether Ironha had ever told him her name.

Mazoga slowed.

“She hired more people?”

“Had to.”

Mazoga looked through the open doorway. Another unfamiliar assistant crossed the treatment room while Maris spoke with someone near the back.

“Clinic got bigger while I was gone.”

“Busier too.”

They crossed the yard together.

Inside, the depot was just as busy.

Crates had been stacked along one wall beneath chalk markings showing names and pickup numbers. Someone had added another desk near the front, and a local woman stood there arguing politely with one of Marron’s workers about whether she had ordered four sacks or five.

Talia stood behind the main counter checking items against a ledger.

She looked up when they entered, her attention settling briefly on Mazoga before moving to Doc.

“You’re back.”

“For a little while.” Doc nodded toward Mazoga. “This is Mazoga. Calen’s mentioned her.”

Talia’s expression shifted with recognition.

“Oh. You’re Mazoga.”

Mazoga looked at Doc. “Should I be worried about what he’s been saying?”

“Probably.”

Talia smiled slightly. “I’m Talia.”

“Calen’s sister.”

“Yeah.”

Mazoga nodded. “Glad you two finally made it up here.”

Before Talia could answer, the clinic door opened.

Ironha stepped through and spotted Mazoga almost immediately.

“There you are.”

Mazoga sighed. “I was hoping you’d be busy.”

“I am.” Ironha crossed the room toward her. “That doesn’t mean you’re getting out of this.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are.” Ironha pointed toward the clinic. “Come on.”

“I’m healed.”

“I know.”

“My health is full.”

“I know.”

Mazoga looked toward Doc for support.

“Don’t involve me.”

“You’re useless.”

Mazoga allowed herself to be pulled through the doorway.

Doc followed a few steps behind, still smiling.

Ironha took Mazoga to one of the beds near the back of the clinic.

Doc followed and pulled over a chair.

The room was busier than Doc remembered it being a few weeks ago. A second treatment area had been added along the far wall, separated from the others by curtains. Maris was working there with one of the newer assistants, talking a man through something while she checked the bandage around his forearm.

Ren sat at the front desk with a stack of papers beside him, directing people toward empty chairs as they came through the door.

Ironha pointed at the bed.

“Sit.”

Mazoga sat.

“You know, I came back here because I wanted food.”

“You can eat afterward.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Ironha placed two fingers against Mazoga’s wrist.

Mazoga watched her.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“And I heard you.”

“That usually means you stop checking.”

“No, it usually means I check anyway.”

Doc leaned back in his chair.

Mazoga looked at him.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

Ironha closed her eyes.

Vital Sense settled over Mazoga.

Doc could feel the mana shift slightly around Ironha as she worked. It had become easier to notice things like that over the past few months. The flow was familiar, moving through her skill almost without effort.

After several seconds, Ironha opened her eyes.

“You’re exhausted.”

Mazoga shrugged.

“I’ve been traveling.”

“This isn’t from traveling.”

Ironha moved one hand to Mazoga’s shoulder, then down along her arm.

“Your mana reserves are low.”

"Low. Not empty.”

Ironha ignored her.

How hard were you pushing your skills?

Mazoga thought about it.

“Hard enough.”

Mazoga sighed. “I was chaining them.”

“There it is.”

Ironha stepped away and opened one of the cabinets.

Doc watched Mazoga roll one shoulder.

“What happened out there?”

Mazoga looked toward him.

“You saw the thing.”

“The body.”

“Body tells most of it.”

“Not how strong it was.”

Mazoga shifted on the bed.

“Strong enough that I had to work for it.”

That got Doc’s attention.

Mazoga was level forty-nine now. He had watched her go through draugr, monsters, and armored fighters with enough force that most things stopped being problems once she reached them.

“It pushed you that far?”

“Yeah.”

Ironha returned with a small bottle and shook one tablet into her palm.

Mazoga looked at it. “What’s that?”

“Stamina supplement.”

Mazoga took it from her. “And this is supposed to help?”

“It’ll help replenish what you burned through.”

Mazoga turned the tablet between two fingers.

“What do I do with it?”

“Swallow it.”

Mazoga looked at her.

“Whole?”

“Whole.”

Ironha handed her a cup of water.

Mazoga gave the tablet one last suspicious look, then did as she was told.

Doc waited until she lowered the cup.

“What made that thing different?”

Mazoga rested the cup on the table.

“It just kept getting back up.”

Doc frowned.

“I broke bones. Crushed ribs. Took pieces off it.” Mazoga tapped the side of her own chest. “Didn’t matter much. Long as it could move, it kept coming.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah.”

Ironha returned the bottle to the cabinet.

“But yours sounded smarter,” Mazoga said. “This one just kept feeding. Didn’t seem to care what it took in.”

Doc frowned. “Draugr too?”

“Anything it could reach.”

Doc thought about the shape beneath the canvas.

The uneven arms.

The swollen torso.

“So some version of the same thing.”

“Maybe.”

Mazoga rubbed one hand across her jaw.

“The adventurers said it swallowed one of theirs whole and fed on the draugr they killed. Got bigger every time.”

Ironha folded her arms.

“And you decided the appropriate response was to fight it alone.”

“I had people with me.”

“Were any of them standing next to you when you fought it?”

Mazoga paused.

“No.”

Ironha stared at her.

Mazoga smiled.

“Worked out.”

“That is not the point.”

“It usually is.”

Doc looked toward the clinic entrance.

Another patient came in. Ren greeted them, checked something on his list, and waved one of the new assistants over. Maris moved past with a tray, already on her way to the next patient.

The clinic kept moving around them.

Ironha checked Mazoga once more before stepping back.

“Rest tonight. Eat. And give your body time to recover.”

Mazoga sighed. “I was planning to.”

“Good.”

Ironha pointed toward the door.

“Now you can go find your food.”

Mazoga stood.

“Finally.”

She headed toward the depot.

Doc remained seated for another moment.

His thoughts had already gone back to the body they had left at the Academy.

Whatever the creature was, it was close enough to the one from the Waste that he didn’t like calling it coincidence.

And now the Academy had an intact specimen.

The Academy examination chamber had been sealed.

The researcher checked the outer ward one more time before stepping inside.

The creature lay on a stone table in the center of the room.

Its head rested separately in a metal tray near the far end.

Even dead, the body was difficult to look at for long.

One arm was thicker than the other. The torso had grown unevenly around layers of flesh that seemed to have been added wherever there had been room. Beneath the skin, bone pushed against bone at angles that made little anatomical sense.

Three other researchers worked around the table.

One recorded measurements while another examined a section of exposed tissue near the abdomen. The third stood beside a crystal array that had been positioned around the body to track necrotic mana.

The researcher leaned closer to the display.

“Still holding?”

“Barely,” the woman beside it said. “The signature is weak, but it hasn’t dissipated.”

“That can happen with draugr.”

“Not usually this long after death.”

He made a note.

The chamber door opened.

Archmagister Kaine entered with Serin behind him.

Neither approached the table immediately.

Kaine looked over the body.

“This is the one Mazoga recovered?”

“Yes, Archmagister.”

“And you’re certain it absorbed other undead?”

“That matches her account. We’ve already identified tissue that does not belong to the base body.”

Serin looked toward the separated head.

“She killed it by removing that?”

“That appears to be what stopped it.”

Kaine remained quiet for a moment.

“The creature Mister Duckworth encountered in the Waste also became stronger through consumption.”

The researcher nodded.

“There are similarities.”

“Similar enough to be related?”

“Too early to say.”

Kaine accepted that.

“Continue the examination. I want samples preserved before decay compromises anything.”

“Yes, Archmagister.”

Kaine and Serin left a few minutes later.

The work continued.

They removed a small section from the creature’s side and placed it into a sealed glass container. The necrotic readings were taken again. Measurements were checked twice.

Eventually, one by one, the researchers began leaving.

The unnamed researcher remained long enough to finish his notes.

He stopped beside the body before heading for the door.

The neck ended in a ragged mass of dark tissue where Mazoga’s hammer had torn the head free.

Nothing moved.

The researcher lowered the protective cover over the table.

He extinguished the nearest crystal lamp and left.

The wards sealed behind him.

Silence returned to the chamber.

For several minutes, nothing changed.

Then, beneath the edge of the cover, something shifted inside the ruined neck.

A thin strand of flesh pushed slowly through the torn tissue.

It stopped.

Another formed beside it.

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