His silver mana pulsed through his twinkling, almost luminous irises. Khonsu flicked his everlasting, scintillating gaze at the shuddering entities. The beasts growled in a low, distorted voice; disconcerted.

He ignored their rather vociferous, aggressive bellows, glancing over to the tallest, most powerful of the uncountable creatures. Khonsu huffed outwards, his glistening silver dispersing. "Now..."

Khonsu inspected the Ciboses - creatures with bodies similar to wolves - he heaved a puzzled, dubious inhalation, stopping time. "Where is it, then?"

He ambled up to the paused entity's cheek, noticing a patch of something glinting. Khonsu immediately grabbed the shimmer itself, eyeing the glistering feldspar. "Hm, good."

Khonsu unpaused the entities from their stopped gaits. He summoned a distortion through the dimension's reality, sailing into the contortion of mana. "This shall help me..."

I scanned the moderately large memorial of a museum. It carried a rather interesting history, for Karasuu. He was keeping himself surreptitious - slashing a statue was foolish.

Foaler occasionally glanced at the flood of students, his azure gaze snapping through us all. Professor Krwn and another one of our chaperones conversed, their soprano and falsetto entertained, or languid.

"This, children." Foaler rumbled in a deferential, grievous voice, eyeing the painting of a war. I, myself, gazed upon the depiction - noting of the Skales and another type of creature. "Is the Exia dimension's Antique-War."

"Between the Loroih realm, too." Karasuu murmured to himself, his gaze blank, inscrutable. He brushed his fingers through his glaive's scabbard, sighing. "Neither sides won the war."

Foaler's despondency about the Antique-War was rather authentic, yet still, it felt aimless; meaningless. My scaled-tour-guide flicked a lollipop into his reverent, silky-smooth lips. "The Loroih's main entities are Cruius."

I remembered these creatures' names. Their fingers were able to exude some type of ice - and could create a moderately glacial atmosphere with their presence itself. Wukong softly groaned; unimpressed.

Karasuu gave him a bemused, bewildered once-over. He scratched his neck, disregarding the susurration creaking from Wukong's cheeky, childish mouth. "Mr. Foaler?"

The tour-guide immediately glanced towards Wryo, my class-mate raising a finger at another painting. Foaler gazed over, chuckling in a humourless, unentertained soprano. "Ah, the end of the war."

"It was believed a deity stopped the war, 1,000s of years ago." Foaler gently informed, the scales of his face warping, sliding towards his hands. He coughed, still sighing. "A god stopped us Skales and the Cruius."

I lifted an unimpressed, incredulous eye-brow. This war was 1,000s of years ago and they decided some type of deity defeated both sides enough for them to create peace. "Maybe the deity was a powerful creature?"

"Perhaps." Krwn interrupted, a bland, listless smirk atop his lazy, yet dry features. My professor grouched something in unfathomability, twirling his signature knife. "Now, check out the museum on your own."

"Foaler, I need your help."

I gazed at the portrait of the Antique-War, my azure irises eyeing the depiction of a floating entity. The paint was blurred. Still, the deity's hair was an obscured blue, their eyes a twinkling, shuddering occluded colour.

Shrugging, Wukong: who watched me in puzzlement or bewilderment for a minuscule second - and I, with Karasuu, all sauntered over to another statue. Karasuu crouched, reading the metal board's illustration.

"The deity Kryonair, unmatchable in his ice abilities." Karasuu lazily mumbled. He climbed back up to his feet, as he and Wukong both nodded, the latter summoning their staff. "I'm gonna obliterate this."

"WAIT A SECOND!"

I merely decided to leave Karasuu and Wukong to their slashing of statues they wouldn't approve of. Chuckling, I noticed Raiqen fiddling with the corners of a painting.

"Raiqen?" I blandly grouched, almost bewildered by the painting. It was a person, carrying a knife and rapier - while stabbing himself in the abdomen. "You into stomach-gashing or something?"

"Yep." Raiqen sarcastically retorted. I detected him channelling mana into his fingers, ripping a-part the painting's material. "Huh, look at this."

Inspecting the slashed open painting, I hummed to myself - observing Raiqen merge in more mana into his hands. He laughed, rolling up the paper. "Look at all this free paper!"

Oh.

Raiqen and I both walked through the museum, ignoring our innumerable class-mates. Sometimes, other inhabitants of the Srooa-Kingdom eyed us in disappointed incredulity.

"Kids become mages when they're 17." Raiqen mirthfully mumbled; entertained. He laughed to himself in his own disbelief, sliding the paper into his pouch. "And they won't be used in battles, or tasks, only adults."

I was rather aware of this. Perhaps a 1,000 year-old war played a part for the Exia dimension's hesitance in allowing children to learn the crafts of magic; it was impolitic. "Indeed."

"And a deity!" Raiqen cheekily groused to himself, his falsetto booming, yet gentle. My class-mate tapped his pouch, a humoured grin decorating his listless, lazy visage. "What was their name?"

"Kryonair."

"I believe higher beings exist, still...Would they interfere with lowly entities' wars?"

"No, they wouldn't bother." I acerbically chuckled back. Slipping my hands inside my pockets, I sauntered through another corridor, ignoring the statues and paintings. "Raiqen, you believe in destiny?"

It was something I was rather bemused about, for destiny was allegedly decided, predestined. I could only surmise my own destiny. Perhaps I would die, maybe my friends would perish.

"Nah." Raiqen languidly dismissed, his nose rasping. He stepped onto a statue's platform, gazing through the atmosphere for an infinitesimal minute. Huffing inwards, he slouched. "You can decide it on your own..."

"I concur."

I walked towards the entrance of the museum, suppressing my mana signature. Professor Krwn was powerful enough to still feel my presence. Still, for most of my class-mates I would be undetectable.

Channelling mana into my legs, I drifted onto a roof-top - immediately eyeing the Srooa-Kingdom. I noticed the ruler's palace, scintillating with innumerable barricades, all peerless, unmatchable.

I glanced back at the museum, peeking through the window as my class gathered up. Clicking my teeth, I hopped through the empire, keeping my presence itself low.

I settled into a rather concealed intersection, scanning one of its paths. I walked through it, desiring something more exhilarating than a monotonous museum expedition.

"Vasura?" Mr. Yorano's throaty, bewildered falsetto murmured. He flicked his tie, sauntering over to me, lifting a bemused, dubious eye-brow. "Why are you on this lane?"

"Checking out the Srooa-Kingdom." I lackadaisically informed, shrugging. Scanning my immediate-sector, I noted of the feeling of dispersed mana, the traces of a spell. "Perhaps my connector was forged?"

"You got less than a week, patience is a helpful ability." Mr. Yorano mumbled back; entertained. His scales scurried onto his cyan, keppel hair, creaking. "Still, you always puzzle me."

I bemused him. It was rather unanticipated - for I seldom conversed with him. Coughing in his signature, guttural soprano, Mr. Yorano's mature, everlasting cyan gaze shivered. "Return to your class. This place isn't safe."

Mr. Yorano's scales converged into a shuddering, yet large hand. He propelled himself onto a roof-top, drifting back to his shop; perhaps. His warning was almost disconcerting, or concerning.

I detested being bored.

I was pretty certain smacking and obliterating paintings, or statues, with Karasuu. was rather unhealthy for my psyche. Chuckling, I shrugged - crashing my staff onto another statue.

"Why are we exterminating statues?" I grouched to myself, shrinking back my staff. Twirling my favourite tool, I returned it to its centre - the place connected to summoned weapons. "We're gonna need to pay for this, huh?"

"The statues and paintings are good targets." Karasuu flippantly murmured, his glaive's symbols shivering until he slashed through the paper of a painted depiction. "And, remember, I can regenerate them."

"You're healing magic is idiotic." I childishly whined, sliding my hands into my pockets. My clinical, scientific-wanna-be buddy chuckled; humoured. "Heh, I'm always gonna be stronger."

"Keep on deluding yourself."

"Oh, you little-"

"Enough!" Professor Krwn - the gloomy - vociferously groused. He still carried his knife, gyrating his signature weapon in between his glacial, listless fingers, sighing. "You were pretty-"

"WHO THE HELL WAS OBLITERATING THE STATUES AND PAINTINGS?!"

"IT WAS ME AND KARASUU, YOU DUMBASS!"

"Wukong, you're the dumbass..."

Karasuu and I sailed through the atmosphere, professor gloomy occasionally glancing towards us. His telekinetic abilities were moderately perturbing.

"I can regenerate them, professor." Karasuu silkily laughed, everlasting, exalted humour playing on his burnished, imperious lips. Tapping his glaive, he chuckled. "You won't need to use your pay-check."

Karasuu collapsed onto the terrain. He instantly climbed back up to his feet, flexing all of his flesh. My scientific, entertained companion twirled his blade, stabbing it through the museum's surface.

The air itself contorted, blossoming with a clang of sapphire, scintillating energy. The crumbled smithereens of the paintings and statues dispelled, re-growing back into their original shapes.

"Now, Wukong, I leave you to be in trouble!" Karasuu cheekily informed, drifting over to the professor's blethering students. "Hah!"

I growled to myself in umbrage - immediately summoning a zephyr as it danced towards Karasuu. He toppled onto the concrete, healing his gashed complexion. 

Professor Krwn walked forwards, clicking his fingers. I flew through existence itself, my vision distorting into a daze. If only I could stop professor gloomy. "Staff!"

I summoned my weapon, its shape instantly growing. I smacked it onto Krwn's glossy, languid face - watching him collide into the regenerated paintings. "You okay, professor gloomy?!"

"You're not going to be."

I detested Hurl-The-Wukong. Sauntering back into my flood of class-mates, I slipped my hands inside my fire-brick pants' pockets. The tour-guide Foaler Winsn - or something - guided us through some type of mythology.

My staff - called Horuss - dispersed back towards its centre - while Foaler stepped through another, floating platform of an antique, rusted arena.

"This is where the Skales decided who would rule their armies." It was bootless to battle over the title of army-leader. The strongest of the entities would be fit to rule. "My ancestor was one of these army-rulers!"

I detected Foaler's presence itself converging, his scales crawling through his skin - onto his neck. My rather haughty tour-guide chuckled, licking his loli-pop. "Still, it was a few hundred years ago."

Karasuu's blade danced, clanging with a boom of regenerative mana. His energy percolated towards the paintings, the paper writhed, reconnecting to the depiction. 

Foaler disregarded Karasuu, ambling through the lower-steps of the arena. He snapped his fingers, calling his centre before summoning a rapier. The blade twirled in the atmosphere, symbols frolicking atop its scabbard.

"Krwn wanted me to use the Skales' fighting-style." Foaler casually laughed, flicking another lollipop into his calloused, yet glossy lips. He glanced over to me; his gaze elated; unconcerned. "Wukong, you-"

"Could I, perhaps?" A smooth, bland, dry soprano grouched. Osiris' crimson irises scanned my mana itself; unimpressed. He created a knife, his power pulsing; convulsing. "You're Foaler. The glacial-incarnation."

Foaler clicked his teeth; humour playing on his entertained, pitted lips. He snapped his sapphire irises towards Osiris, stepping into the arena. "Kids, to the seats, please!"

Osiris immediately canalized mana into his feet, the knife scintillating with its own energy. The scales sliding through Foaler's neck growled, forming a scaled-blade. The ability to create weapons was incredible.

Still, something in Osiris' bland, interested visage was familiar. His gaze was almost similar to Khonsu's, the one who incapacitated me. My class-mate smirked dryly; still unentertained. Foaler chuckled, his scales contorting.

Osiris inspected the tour-guide's lackadaisical, unperturbed stance. He gyrated his knife, the crimson inside his pitiless, unimpressed irises booming, his fingers stretching, and his muscles flexing.

He was rather stubborn on keeping up his speed with only mana canalization. Osiris' magic could manipulate the climate or atmosphere itself. He could form fire, water, and zephyrs - stupidly powerful.

Okay, perhaps I was being dramatic. Still, Khonsu's and Osiris' features were moderately similar, a pale, smooth complexion and a bland distortion atop his visage. "He and Khonsu are definitely related."

Foaler's rapier's slashes were immediate, everlasting. He slashed through Osiris' stance, my creepy class-mate's knife collided into the blade. Osiris merely chuckled; unbothered. He backpedalled, his crimson gaze shivering.

The tour-guide laughed back, his scaled-glaive slicing over to Osiris' neck, the latter flipped above the weapon. Osiris' mana pulsed - as I detected the air sizzle. "He's using warmth, then..."

This was good.

Osiris chanelled mana through his body, distorting the atmosphere. Foaler merely chuckled, scanning the contorting air. The tour-guide dispersed his scaled-weapon, still laughing.

Keen eyes watched.