"But nothing. Zavier expended a lot of mental energy in trying to deal with the mysterious illusionist master. So, the best you can do for him right now would be to leave him be."
Nadia couldn't argue with Kacie'a logic. She was always right. But that didn't mean Nadia was always happy with her approach. But this was one of those times where Kacie had left no room no Nadia to maneuver. So, Nadia sighed in exasperation as she grudgingly got out of bed. Mumbling something about not having enough time with Zavier in a long while. Kacie paid her no mind. She snapped her fingers at her, egging her on;
"Yeah, yeah, get on with it. Keep it moving piglet."
Having successfully gotten Nadia out of the way, Kacie once again played the role she had so often played in Zavier's recovery right from time past. She popped out a vial from her pouch and raised it up to the sunlight to confirm it was the one she intended to gift Zavier. It was a small glass vial, about five centimeters long, and in it was a dark blue liquid. After examining it, she tossed it to Zavier.
The blue vial soared through the space between the both of them and Zavier expertly snatched it mid air. He looked at it queerly, and even though he knew it was some kind of potion already, he still couldn't resist asking for clarity;
"What's this Kacie?"
"It's just a little something that is supposed help restore your mental strength. Make sure you take a couple of sips before you go to bed tonight. You should feel much better by the next morning."
This was just perfect. It was exactly what Zavier needed at the moment; a powerful potion that had all the healing properties which was necessary for the recuperation of his mental energy! And he also suspected that it was laced with some kind of sedative that would help him sleep better. It was really perfect seeing that mental exhaustion didn't go well with. Lack of rest.
Kacie was a genius! Who else would have been able to engineer such potion that was tailored to meet his exact needs at this point? Only Kacie. She was the only one who had the mind to dream up this kind of help, and also had the will to carry it out and see to it that Zavier got it. Truly, this was the kind of girl Zavier thought would make a great wife for him. There was simply no contesting it.
She was perfect in every way, and she had everything that would make a great wife. Kacie was careful, she was observant. She wasn't as boisterous as the obnoxious Nadia, and she didn't have Shiranui's zest for revenge. In fact Zavier was glad for that particular trait. The fact that she wasn't as vindictive as Shiranui only added to the feathers on her cap. Zavier's mantra was; there was no man more doomed that a man who eventually falls for a vindictive woman.
Zavier had to catch himself before he found himself falling for the virtuous Kacie. Sure, she would make for a perfect spouse. But unfortunately, they were blood. And even though it was virtually legal here, as a modern man, he just couldn't stomach the thought of marrying his relative. It was a morbidly disturbing thought. The best he could do was hope that the man who would marry her would appreciate her worth. But of course, the chances of that happening were pretty slim.
Meanwhile, back in the plush, spacy and well-furnished office of the president Caesar University, a new situation was brewing, and it wasn't looking too good at all. Galen was the man of the hour. The self-made, accomplished seventy year old man was the president of Caesar University. Galen had attained the age where all he needed to do was sit back and enjoy the hell out of the fruits of his labor. He had truly reached the golden age. For those in public service, and academia, seventy years was the age of retirement.
For a prominent man like Galen who had spent the better part of his time in service to the university, he should have been looking forward to relaxing and enjoying retirement. Especially after decades of nothing but hard work, and long hours spent in the handling of administrative duties. It had been a long and tedious journey that had brought him here. And after all this while, he was supposed to lean back and enjoy retirement. But unfortunately for the president, it was looking like that was out of the picture- for him.
Galen found himself in a bit of a dilemma. It was the kind that wasn't based on morals, neither was it an ethical problem. He had faced many of those in the past and successfully came out unscathed. But right now, it was looking like this particular problem was going to take something precious that he was running short of- time. The sound of the ticking grandfather clock in the background often helped him to still his thoughts and reason more carefully. But each tick was a constant reminder that he didn't have much time left.
Hence the problem.
The main issue at hand wasn't time itself, no. Time was merely part of the whole thing. The real problem, (much like some of the worst problems in history) came down to a single word- DAWN. As innocent and as bland as the word was, it was a name that made the seventy year old president worry. Dawn was a mysterious organization whose recent activities had come to the limelight, and as such, they just couldn't be ignored. Their timing couldn't be worse.
It wasn't like Galen couldn't just up and leave. After all, he had paid his dues and no one would fault him for leaving this problem to the younger generation. But as it stood, the old man was one of the few SSS level mages left, not just in the school, but in the whole world at large. So, his very presence and experience was needed in the fight against Dawn's incursion.
Glen shook his head as he deliberated on the matter.
'Damn, the members of Dawn really are a senseless bunch! If they had any atom of sense at all, they would have waited for me to retire first before plunging into the deep! Now look, I have to deal with them right on the edge of my retirement! DULLARDS!! Incompetent, fickle headed dullards!"
Of course Glen was simply venting. He knew that it would be preposterous of him to hope that Dawn would hold back their affairs and heinous activities simply because an old man who ran some university, was about to retire. But he really couldn't be blamed. Galen actually planned to retire and enjoy the rest of his old age in peace and quiet. Maybe do a little gardening, and keep some livestock, and write a couple more books. Galen sighed. From the top floor, he stared into space.
Who was he kidding? Deep down, he knew what he had to do. He hated the way things were looking at the moment, but it genuinely seemed like his dreams of early retirement were going to have to wait. As he stood gazing down at the university's grounds, watching apprentices and staff trot about on the feet, prancing up and down like characters in a play, Galen watched them all as his instincts screamed what he was trying to avoid; if he didn't deal with Dawn now, he probably wouldn't enjoy the rest of his life.
"Damn it!" he cursed inwardly again, as he pulled himself away from his window to sit back at the desk and chair that had served as the base of his workspace for the past decade or so. It seemed like the reward for hard work is more work. Galen wasn't the type to complain. He was the man that people were supposed to complain to, since he was the president of such a prestigious university. He pulled up the intelligence report concerning the group's activities.
In a matter of time, within a short while, Galen soon forgot about his initial reservations and submerged himself in the bulk of his work. This was how Galen had stayed trapped in academia (and its politics) all these years. He truly loved this work. It brought out the best and the worst in him. And as he analyzed the long logs of intelligence reports, the president submerged himself deeper and deeper into the same problem he had been wanting to toss aside just a few moment ago.
As president, Galen had been doing this for several years. He had probably gone through thousands of reports in the past, and consequently, his eyes and mind had been trained to spot any irregularities or discrepancies. But suddenly, out of nowhere, Galen stopped. His eyebrows raised themselves up, almost as if they had a mind of their own, and a frown followed. He looked up as if something was there, and spoke as if he was addressing an invisible entity;
"You know, I'm getting pretty tired of this whole routine…it's getting pretty predictable…"
The resounding silence that echoed back at him was embarrassingly scornful. Still, the old man sighed,
"No, I am serious this time. Use the door next time, instead of the window. It's unseemly of you."
To a regular mind, the whole scene might appear a bit weird, a bit derivative even. Here was an old man, sitting alone in his office, and yet conversing with something that wasn't there. Dementia wouldn't be far off from being the logical conclusion of any sane mind.
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