“About magic - how much can you circulate?”

“You mean, what level of mana do I have?”

“Yes, exactly.” 

The first question, being from Nemo, arose following the realization that the gauntlet required more magic than he was previously aware. He had witnessed the students attempt to breach that breaking point. None succeeded. The second question, being from Tilo, regarded the odd phrasing Nemo used.

Most people categorized people and artifacts based on magic input and output, with input based on the levels of magic a person could circulate within their body (otherwise known as ‘mana levels,’ or sometimes just ‘mana’), while output regarded the assignment of levels based on the mana required for the use, whether it be of an artifact, or just a magic circle. To say something like ‘how much mana can you circulate’ indicated that the speaker wasn’t regularly exposed to similar questions.

This was especially true of Nemo. Despite its relevance to society, few people openly discuss mana levels, unless they planned to attend an academy. Most people viewed mana levels as either a strength or a weakness, something that ought to be kept except from those they cared about most. Academies were one of the few places in which mana levels were shared practically on a daily basis, if only because many of the projects required even the most personal of information to be conducted properly. Often a person’s individual mana level was never given a proper value unless it had a relationship with the a position being sought after, such as enchanter. Nemo, having neither the ability nor desire to continue his family business, never felt like he needed a measurement, especially given the costs of actually receiving one.

That, however, didn’t mean he couldn’t be curious about others’ levels.

“I can’t believe you never asked. One of the higher levels, I believe,” was Tilo’s answer. 

“Did you ever get a proper measurement?”

“I’d say that’s a bit personal, but no - I never needed one.”

“You could stand to be a little bit more personal,” Nemo replied, mouth full, pointing a fork in Tilo’s direction.

At that moment, they were seated in the classroom, on the floor, for a lunch break, one that was just about finished. If they truly wished to listen, the sounds of students milling about the hallways could be heard. It was one of the three times a day in which they could actually speak to one another, though the first day was so busy they only had one chance. Nemo was bewildered by the amount of work Professor Krylin forced upon them in her place, from hallway monitoring and dining duty, to extra study work for class that Krylin ‘just so happened to forget.’ 

Despite only having one class to teach, they were busier than Nemo had been in his entire life. The only class they had lasting a few hours long certainly didn’t help - this was only the second day of teaching and the pair were drained. Time spent neither eating nor working would be spent sleeping; thus, there were only three times a day they had a chance to speak with one another.

They had finally reached the point in which casual conversation felt possible, following their late night confessional. That conversation hadn’t been especially productive, but it had allowed Nemo to realize that forcing discussion wouldn’t be effective. It was Tilo’s mantra at work - communication was best done in the midst of things. Or, more accurately, as the questions and comments arose. 

“I thought that you were required to do a measurement to attend here.”

Tilo pointed at himself, forcing the last bits of the bite of his food down. “I was considered a special case.”

“Sounds pretentious.”

“Oh, it was. It’s the only reason they pulled me away from scholarly studies. The kingdom of Mirell thought I’d be a good investment. However, because I’m not a citizen of Mirell, they had to find other methods to recruit me, though none worked. And none of them would’ve.”

“You’re not from the kingdom of Mirell?”

“No, and as of right now I’m unable to become a citizen, though I don’t see a need to. Could you pass some of that red sauce?” 

Nemo pushed a sauce cup towards Tilo, remaining quiet as Tilo continued. “Ah, have you ever done a mana level measurement?”

“No, it’s too expensive, and because I’m not planning on attending an academy, I wouldn’t receive financial assistance. Besides, it wouldn’t matter, given that I can’t use any artifacts. I can’t even light a circle, for the gods’ sake.”

“Are you certain? I would have thought… ah, nevermind.” 

“If you see something I don’t, by all means let me know.”

“Just that if your parents are gifted with mana, you ought to be too, to some extent.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Nemo replied, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. “I’m not that saddened. In my opinion, if I’m not gifted in magic, I must be gifted elsewhere. I just need to figure out what it is.”

“A tidbit of brotherly wisdom?”

“I’ve got plenty to spare,” Nemo smirked.

“And you’re sure you can’t use magic circles? Why didn’t you mention this before? I’ve never met someone who can’t use even a simple one.”

“Sadly, yes. My parents don’t know that, though - assuming we’re heading to Furvoe, you’ll be seeing them again, so I’m asking you not to tell them. They’re precisely why I didn’t mention it.”

Tilo choked on a spoonful of beans. “They don’t know?”

“As I told you before, I’m not taking up the family business, so it’s not as though it’s heavily influential on my life, even if it seems like it should be. I just… I just don’t want them to think that I’m someone who needs to be protected the way I was when I was younger. And besides, I want to look good for my siblings.” 

“I promise not to tell them.”

“I would appreciate that a lot.”

“Ah, so you do have secrets.”

Nemo turned red. “I don’t exactly keep it on purpose, I just don’t go around telling anyone.”

“Isn’t that what a secret is?”

Nemo’s silence spoke volumes. 

For a moment they didn’t speak, neither young man certain of what they should say or ask next. Fortunately for them, the bell for the next class rang, heralding hall monitor duty.

Tilo hopped up from the floor, scooping his trash into his arms. His eyes lit up as he recalled what he had forgotten to mention.

“Ah, Rayden decided lunch would be a brilliant time to try and relieve me of my valuables. I’ve managed to catch wind of what he’s planning, and though I'm not entirely sure of what it is, I just thought you might need a warning. Something about cheesecake.”

Nemo sighed. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”