Interesting fact: if this were historical fiction, it would have to take place after the Saxon invasion of Ireland for some of the architecture/technology to make sense.

Not-so-interesting fact: it's not, and such a thing literally doesn't exist, because it's just fiction that uses a real-life language.

chapter three: acadamh

"Hold!"

The leader of the caravan brought the entire train to a halt with one shout and the shrill peep of a whistle, and the six mercenaries - Izuku included - exchanged glances. "It's a little early on for a bandit attack, isn't it?" the man with the bastard sword teased, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips.

"Much too early," the woman with the halberd agreed, her accent decidedly high-class, and Izuku had to wonder why someone like her had taken up arms as a mercenary. "We're not even out of sight of the walls yet."

A glance told Izuku that she was correct - the road ran straight from Eolas, and in the distance, its weathered stone walls rose up above the horizon.

"Come on," one of the two with shields said, speech clipped and expression empty as he stood and stepped down from the back of the wagon. His twin followed in silence, leaving the other four no choice but to stand by their side.

They moved to the front of the caravan together, accompanied by several nervous-looking merchants wielding shortswords and daggers. They probably won't be much help, Izuku mused, but even the temporary distraction of an armed attacker will be enough until we stave off the rest. He was sure there would be injuries, considering that it was nine-on-five if he didn't count himself - and, frankly, he wasn't sure if he should. He was armed and capable of using weapon arts, but he sure as hell wasn't experienced.

The others drew their weapons as if it were the most natural thing in the world to them, expressions ranging from impassive to outright excited. Trying not to let his hands shake, Izuku followed suit, slowly pulling the greatsword from its scabbard and bringing down over his shoulder to rest at an angle to his body.

"One hell of a sword, huh?" the man with the bastard sword mocked, and Izuku henceforth decided to refer to him as Bastard. "I was expecting something flashier. That thing probably couldn't even cut through cow shit."

He didn't give the man the satisfaction of a response, instead training his gaze on the nine growing closer by the second. Within the minute, they'd come within shouting distance, hailing Cean the merchant: "Oi, piggy! Don't you know there's a tax on this road?"

Each wore the same patina-black steel armor with an identical saber sheathed at the hip and a vaguely familiar insignia on the right shoulder, though their clothes beneath were all different, which struck Izuku as a red flag for reasons he couldn't quite understand.

"Tax? There's no tax." Cean ignored the insult and got straight to the point. "We run caravans along this road quite regularly. Do you mean to tell me a tax was implemented within the past month with no announcement whatsoever?"

The men grinned unpleasantly, and the one in the center ushered his horse forward a couple of paces. "That I do, aye. Pay up - five pieces 'f gold per wagon."

"That's ridiculous!" one of the other merchants shouted. "Some of us aren't even carrying that much on us!"

"If yer not willin' ta pay up, we've got nothin' against 'avin' a look fer ourselves," came the rebuke. "Boys?"

Perhaps intending to intimidate, the entire lot of them dismounted, approaching with their hands on the handles of their swords and a swagger in their steps. Swallowing hard, Cean reached into his wallet to placate them, but Bastard stepped up to intercept their would-be assailants, fixing the heavyset man at the front of the group with that wolfish grin of his.

It was likely Bastard's attitude more so than his weapon that caused them to hesitate for the first time - after all, what kind of man would initiate a one-against-nine with such a smile? "You mean ta fight the army?" the armored man challenged, drawing just enough of his blade to suggest a threat. "They'll be after yer heads."

To his credit, Bastard didn't give an inch. "You think you're convincing anyone with that shitty getup?" he countered, the grin retreating from his eyes and turning into a feral bearing of teeth. "Your armour barely fits your fat ass and anyone with half a brain can see you don't have a clue how to handle that saber."

Incensed, but keeping his head, the bandits' leader - Izuku was now certain they were nothing more than thugs in stolen armor, which would explain the nonstandard clothing they wore underneath - let his own smile drop, regarding Bastard with considerably more caution than he'd approached the group with. "And what if yer wrong?" he tried, banking on the formation of doubt, but Bastard wasn't having it.

"I'm not. Now fuck off."

Prepared for an attack, the merchants shrank back, while the rest of the mercenaries stepped forward, weapons at the ready - only for the bandits to step back and the man in front to suggest: "Tell ya what. If ya can beat me in a one-'n-one duel, we'll let ya pass. How's that?"

Caught off guard, even Bastard seemed surprised, but this only lasted a moment; his grin came back in full almost immediately, and he didn't hesitate to agree. "Sounds fair. Get ready to go!" he added, calling back to the relieved merchants. Izuku had an inkling that the mercenaries were familiar with one another, and the way the other four let themselves relax a little told him that perhaps Bastard was, in fact, a competent fighter to back up his attitude. Even so, he kept his guard up, ignoring the less-than-impressed glances from his erstwhile companions. Anything can happen, he reminded himself. That's how I got here in the first place, isn't it? He'd genuinely expected to be at home by now, but here he was, north of Eolas and facing down nine armed men with nothing more than a rusty greatsword and some shoddy stolen vambraces.

As the merchants shuffled back to their wagons, the other eight bandits stepped back to form a half-circle in the middle of the road, blocking it off. Their leader stood in the middle of this formation, drawing his blade and assuming a sloppy stance that he might as well have just come up with on the spot; even Izuku, whose experience with combat had so far been limited to spiders and canids, could see the openings in his guard, and he had to wonder just what the man was planning behind his piggy little eyes.

Bastard strode forward to face him, at last taking his hefty blade down from his shoulders, bending his knees, and placing one foot behind the other, as if he meant to charge the larger man the moment the fight began. Apprehensive, Izuku studied the bandits, carefully noting the grins flashing between them. Are they expecting this guy to win against Bastard? he wondered. It's true that I don't know either of their combat potential, but it's striking that they're so certain of themselves.

"Three!" called the bandit directly behind his leader.

The woman with the axes let out a long, slow breath.

"Two!"

A couple of the armored men chuckled.

"One!"

Cean wrung his hands.

"Fight!"

Immediately, the bandits' leader drove his blade into the ground, sending up a wave of solid earth that shot straight for Bastard's head, but the mercenary just laughed, swinging his namesake from the ground to the sky and cleaving straight through the attack before it even reached him.

Wind arts?

Perhaps expecting such a counter, the larger man tore the sword free from the dirt, bringing with it six feet of stone that towered like a wall before him. Unfazed, Bastard took the momentum from his initial strike and spun to his right - "Modh na Borian - Gaoth Rásúir!" - whirling in place and lashing out with a razor-sharp gust of wind that left a deep gouge in the stone. It was testament to his control that his whirling attack only targeted the stone shield before him, but just as he spun again, prepared to slice straight through the rock -

"Modh na Litavian - Briseadh Talamh!"

The bandit's blade slammed into the back of the stone, above the gouge, and the top half of it shattered into a deadly hail of high-velocity shards - Bastard sent a gust of wind back at them and threw himself forward onto the ground, rolling under the barrage and bringing up his sword to slam into his opponent's. The bastard sword, heavier and sturdier than the army saber, forced the man back, and he stumbled and fell, arms flying up above his head and sword burying itself in the dirt.

To Izuku, this seemed a little too clumsy, and the fact that the sword had practically driven itself into the ground told him that something was up - but Bastard didn't seem to think twice about it, letting out a triumphant yell that almost immediately turned into a shout of pain as a spike of earth shot up to strike him in the chest and send him reeling.

He sent an art through the ground under his own body and relied on Bastard's confidence to hit him with it, huh?

The spike didn't stop there - a dirt wall shot up in a ring around the mercenary as he fell painfully to the ground, and while Izuku knew Bastard couldn't see outside of it, he himself bore full witness to the rest of the bandits advancing with their weapons drawn, save one bowman who stood back and trained his aim on where Bastard would inevitably pop up - and when the Borian Wielder launched himself airborne, prepared to fight again, a streak of lightning shot across the ring and struck him in the right shoulder with a crack.

The other mercenaries rushed forward, but Izuku knew they wouldn't reach Bastard's falling body in time to save him from being impaled on the sword that came up to meet his back, and without hesitating -

"Modh na Borian - Anáil Fórsa!"

Familiar pain lanced through his body, but he managed to mitigate some of the damage by swinging the blade himself instead of letting the sword propel itself. He couldn't quite keep up with the speed of the technique, but as he'd used it just yesterday, the motions were at least correct, and a powerful gale swept across the road, sending both the greedy-faced bandit and the (quite literally) thunderstruck Bastard sprawling and staggering the rest.

He didn't stop there - darting forward, he knew he'd have to somehow stave off nine opponents long enough for the other four mercenaries to get it together. If only I had some way to slow them down was the only thing he could remember thinking before the sword flashed pale aqua and he remembered -

"Modh na Caillean - Anáil an Gheimhridh!"

He swung again, recognizing the anáil in the art's name as a "breath" much like the "Breath of Force" he'd just used, but to his surprise, the swing came much more slowly this time; as if the sword were guiding an overeager child, it almost felt like it was restraining his movements instead of dragging him along for the ride.

Several shouts of "what the hell?" came from behind him, but he didn't stop to look, letting out a sigh of relief as frozen vapor rolled down the blade (bringing temporary but much-needed relief to the inflammation in his hands) and a surge of creeping cold swept across the field; it inevitably struck Bastard as well, but inexperienced as he was, Izuku wasn't able to control the sword's wild energy and was forced to accept it as friendly fire.

The other four mercenaries reached him then, and as shaken as they looked, they were clearly prepared to fight; embers flickered along the edges of the dark-haired woman's axes, and Izuku could see a soft, pale-green glow rising from the halberd in the corner of his vision. Shield One and Shield Two both seemed to be earth-based Wielders, their raised shields now bearing as spikes the stone shards from the bandit leader's earlier attack.

Izuku figured that if the other four took on two each, he could take the leader on himself; he wasn't particularly confident in his own abilities, but he was counting on the sheer unpredictability of his own attacks to carry him through the fight, and it wasn't as if the other's strategy was particularly complex: he seemed to be limited to drawing from the earth itself, so if he could stop the man's sword from touching the ground…

The only problem with that is that I'm using a much larger weapon than he is, and he'll be able to swing it down much more quickly than I can stop him.

The throbbing in his hands and elbows wasn't as bad as it had been the first time he'd swung the sword, but he knew he couldn't afford to hack or smash through any Litavian arts thrown his way. As much as it pained him to admit, he'd definitely lose a battle of attrition to his own physical weakness.

If only there was some way I could just stop him from using his arts...but what kind of technique would do that? He supposed he could try another ice attack - his limited knowledge of the different schools, mainly acquired through reading, told him that advanced Caillean arts could quite literally freeze an opponent in place. It was true that a skilled Wielder could channel their life energy even without swinging their weapon, but this man didn't seem capable of manifesting anything significant if he didn't have materials to work with.

Still, there was no guarantee it would work. He knew that his own life energy wasn't sufficient to pull off such a powerful art, and he didn't even know the name of it, let alone how it would work; if he fumbled it, or it was blocked by another stone wall, he'd exhaust and possibly injure himself for naught.

So what can I do…?

It would be so much simpler to break through the man's defenses until his attacks started landing, but he knew that his abilities were limited, and no element he could think of could simply pass through or ignore solid earth or rock. Life energy itself could - that was, after all, the essence of the Litavian school, which focused on channeling through minerals. If there were some way his own life energy could pass through those fortifications unhindered…

The sword flashed again, grey this time, and a deathly chill settled over his entire body. Once again, the blade had responded to his thoughts, but he wasn't at all sure what this element was, if it even was an element; glancing down at the sword, he realized that the weeds sprouting pell-mell from the road had withered and died under his boots. There was no frozen vapor now, only a thick, clinging miasma of greyish-violet that cloyed unpleasantly around the blade, and as Izuku took a step forward, the grass underfoot continued to shrivel, as if he were sucking the life out of the earth itself…

A shiver ran down his spine as he realized what school the sword was now channeling.

Time seemed to slow as he lifted the sword again, advancing on the man who'd tricked Bastard; he felt oddly calm now, outside of his own emotional control, as if the sword in his hands had taken over his mind as well as his body. He knew the leader could sense it just as well as he, if the fear that flitted across the other man's face was anything to go by, and the earth-user immediately brought up another defensive wall as the bowman nocked another arrow, aiming straight for Izuku.

Momentarily distracted, he turned to face this new threat, but one of the Shields lunged forward, blocking the lightning-infused arrow with an earth-covered buckler. "Go!" he barked at Izuku, formerly dull eyes now gleaming with desperation, and the young Wielder didn't need to be told twice, head snapping back around to face his target as he closed the distance between them. He could sense another sneak attack, coming up directly underneath him through the ground beneath the wall, but he already knew that it wouldn't reach him.

"Modh na Morrigan," he said, voice deathly calm. "Lann na Reapadair."

Blade of the Reaper.

Immediately, the clinging miasma of death-grey life energy clinging to the sword snapped into a projection of the blade itself, punching straight into the ground as Izuku traced the curve of the earth into the wall before him with the tip of the sword; he felt something snap underfoot and the man's life energy withdrew, the attack ceasing altogether as Izuku's art severed the bond between weapon and Wielder. As he finished the swing, the blade arcing high over his head, the crooked shape of a sickle erupted from behind the rapidly-crumbling earthen wall, and the leader of the bandits - bearing no wounds - collapsed, the saber falling from his hand to clatter across the packed earth at the center of the road.

A coward falls, whispered the sword.

Then color and warmth came back into the world and Izuku staggered backwards, the hold on him broken. He managed to keep his balance and his head, swiftly turning to survey the battle no doubt unfolding behind him, but seeing their leader dispatched so easily and their comrades struggling against the other four mercenaries, the remaining bandits ran for their horses, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the caravan as they could.

Nobody bothered to stop them. Without the range and speed of Bastard's wind arts, it would simply have been a waste of effort to chase down their horses, and with his adrenaline fading, Izuku suddenly found himself both very tired and in considerable pain.

The leader was the only bandit to have been killed, but the bowman had been knocked out cold by a well-placed blow to the head, and his companions had quite readily abandoned him and his horse in favour of a wild flight into the trees and down a forest path that swallowed them up in no time at all.

Bastard was still conscious, though a little dazed from the lightning and in pain from the arrow still embedded in his right shoulder. From the amount of bleeding, it didn't seem to be a dangerous injury, but left untreated on the road, it'd definitely end up infected. To his surprise, however, the other mercenaries hadn't gone for medical supplies - instead, the Shields were carrying over the unconscious bowman to lay him on the ground next to Bastard.

The halberdier stepped forward, placing the bladed end of the halberd on the bowman's chest and the haft on Bastard's, and as Izuku watched, that pale green aura enveloped the entire weapon, flowing along the length of it from the unconscious man to the wounded one. Aside from a hiss of pain as the halberdier skillfully pulled the arrow free, Bastard remained silent, and after a couple of minutes, she lifted the halberd, returning it to its sling on her back.

"What was that?" Izuku couldn't help asking.

Fixing him with a look he couldn't quite interpret, the woman nodded to Bastard, who'd started to roll his wounded shoulder as if testing it; to Izuku's surprise, he no longer seemed to be in any pain, and he let out a satisfied grunt as his arm dropped and he got up to retrieve his sword. "It's a Cernian technique," she told Izuku, expression still unreadable. "I used one asshole's life energy to heal another."

He cracked an amused smile, and a little of the tension seemed to leave her brow.

As his heart slowed and his nerves calmed, though, Izuku realized more and more the gravity of just what he'd done. Not only had he gone directly against Neamhath's advice by using the ancient-looking sword in combat, he'd also displayed three separate schools of weapon arts and - more importantly - taken the life of another human being.

"Messed up" is an understatement. I...don't feel as bad as I thought about having to kill a bandit, though.

At his back, the sword hummed.

They eventually decided on tying up the unconscious bowman and leaving him in the back of the mercenaries' wagon. The trip to Tacaíschoil - the small town whose jurisdiction the magic academy fell under - would last several days, and they figured that they'd give the man a small portion of their total rations to keep him alive until they reached the local jail.

Bastard, whose name Izuku discovered was in fact Donal, regarded him from across the wagon.

"You're something else," he told Izuku, by way of a conversation starter. "I thought you were just some wannabe kid wielding a scrap of secondhand garbage, but those fuckers would've made me into chopped liver if you hadn't knocked everyone over like that. I recognize a good Borian technique when I see one."

Ah. So he's like that, Izuku thought, resisting the urge to laugh out loud. "Thanks" was all he said, keeping his face impassive. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to show it off."

Bastard - Donal - let out what could only be described as a guffaw, and the woman with the axes spoke up. "If Donal here were half as wise as ya, you wouldn't have had ta. How many times have I told ya to pay attention to what your enemies are doin'?" she added, knifepoint glare thrown Donal's way, and he held up his hands placatingly.

"Easy, Aoife. The guy was a pushover, aye?"

"Only because this kid can use Morrian arts," Aoife shot back. "None of the rest of us could've gotten through that tub of lard's earth walls like that, even if he wasn't too skilled himself."

Morrian. School of the Morrigan, raven goddess of war and death. He didn't know as much about it as the elemental schools or even the other energy schools of Life and Light, but Wielders who danced so closely with death were typically assassins or other shady figures rather than heroes or noble warriors. Having seen the effects of a Morrian art for himself, Izuku could guess why - it would be impossible for anyone but a skilled Healer (who could sense the shattered flow of life energy) to determine the bandit leader's cause of death.

"Why did the rest of them run away, anyway?" Izuku asked, directing his question to nobody in particular.

"Same reason Caoimhe's been refusin' to look at ya'," Aoife grimaced, and Izuku followed her gaze to see the halberdier to his right staring hard at the canvas opposite them. "Ya scared 'em. Death arts aren't very common, and no one who uses 'em is good news."

Izuku said nothing, and for a few minutes, the only sound was the rattling of iron-rimmed wagon-wheels across earth worn barren by decades of travel. Then -

"I gotta ask, though - how'd ya pick up three different schools? No matter how hard I try, I just can't do the fire thing with my sword." Donal piped up, arms crossed. There didn't seem to be any hostility in his question, and yet again, it was Aoife who answered him. Out of everyone there, the dark-haired axe-wielder seemed to Izuku to have the most combat experience and worldly knowledge, and his gratitude at her speaking for him was mixed with a surge of unease when he heard what she had to say.

"That's 'cause the way your life energy comes out doesn't change," she cut in. "I've heard of a few stories where people were able ta use other schools after messin' with Life magic, but they lost the ability to use the school they'd been usin'."

Caoimhe, the halberdier, agreed. "Your school is a direct manifestation of the soul," she declared, both her vocabulary and accent far above the vernacular. "The way in which your life energy is given form is an unshakable part of who you are." Donal nodded in what could be safely inferred as agreement, but it was painfully obvious he didn't quite understand what was actually being said.

Izuku, unable to manifest anything without the help of the ancient sword, remained silent.

"So," she went on, looking fully at him for the first time since they'd gotten back into the wagon, "how exactly is it you were able to use arts from three separate schools?"

Think - think! What can you say that isn't going to go completely against everything they've just told you? He couldn't afford to draw attention to the sword, but for some reason, blaming the sword suddenly seemed like the simplest solution to this problem. If he could only come up with a valid reason as to how it could freely access multiple schools…and it's not like I can just claim it was all one school, not when the effects of each art were so drastically different and I clearly stated the name of every technique I used. Ugh.

In the end, he settled on an explanation that, while far-fetched, would at least coincide with the nature of their destination. "I don't know," he lied, figuring that the less he let on, the less questions he'd receive in return. "I've always been able to do this. That's actually why I'm headed to the academy - I want to see if anyone there knows anything about it." The last sentence, at least, was true, but to add an air of plausibility, he threw in: "It's possible that I have a compound affinity."

This, of course, was absolute and utter bullshit. There was no such thing as a "compound affinity", but even though Aoife said as much, her doubt did nothing to snuff out her curiosity, and there was still a burning spark of it in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

"I mean," one of the previously-silent Shields said, "they're all cold, right? Ice, wind, and death, I mean."

Judging from his idiosyncratic need to clarify his own meaning at some point in every sentence he spoke, he didn't sound particularly sure of himself, but if (as Izuku began to suspect) his silence stemmed from a lack of self-confidence, then the fact that he'd spoken up at all would only lend credence to this conjecture, as if he'd thought on it enough to finally form and voice an idea.

"Aye, that's right!" Donal half-shouted, clapping his hands together and rousing the still-snoozing bowman (Caoimhe had explained that he'd be asleep a while due to the arts she'd used to heal Donal's injury) enough for the man to let out a noise somewhere between a snore and a groan. "Dead people and the north wind are just as cold as ice! Aye, maybe it's a new school or somethin'."

Only the halberdier had any doubt left in her eyes at the end of this discussion, which Izuku himself only observed, but he supposed that only having one person not fully believe him was better than having five.

When Ochako found the dormitory kitchen's spice rack empty, she groaned audibly.

The student lodgings were divided into sections, and as most of the single rooms were currently empty, her section was limited to herself, Unconscious Fire Girl, and "Todorokiette". There were only two people besides herself (and the staff, though she didn't think they'd steal from student kitchens) who could have raided the spice rack, and considering the other girl typically spent all of her time in the dorm resting, the only reasonable culprit was Todoroki.

"Todoroki...ette?" she called, knocking politely on his door. "Have you seen the spices from the kitchen? I was gonna cook some dinner and we're out of pretty much everyth - "

The door swung open and Todoroki, his face dusted with a fine coating of what could only be garlic powder, greeted her.

"Uraraka. I was just working on my makeup."

She gaped soundlessly like a fish out of water for a solid five seconds before she found her voice. "I'll...I'll leave you to it. Sorry to bother you."

He closed the door. Ochako planted her face in her hands and groaned again.

Already dressed in her uniform, Ochako slipped on her boots, fixed her hair, and headed out, resigned to the task of purchasing new spices with the limited funds she received as an orphan and a "priority research subject". The late summer sun burned halfway between noonhigh and dusk, throwing golden light and long shadows across the academy campus; here and there, students lounged or studied or played, indistinct voices carrying on the gentle breeze, and Ochako felt a familiar pang of lonely yearning.

About ten meters off the paved path, some boys played with a ball, batting it back and forth until one of a giggling group of girls used wind magic to send it flying away from them. It rolled and bumped across the grass, coming to a halt by Ochako's feet, and there was a long moment in which she stared at it, unsure how to respond. Then -

"Sorry about that," one of the boys called to her. "Mind tossing that back to us?"

He probably doesn't know who I am, she guessed. That means I can make a good impression on them, right? Feeling a little heartened, she figured she would have some fun, holding out her hand and exerting the only Force magic she could manage to send the ball flying up to meet her palm.

She was certain she could pass it off as wind magic - but then she forgot to release her influence over the ball and, when she went to throw it back, it went skyrocketing, much to the confusion of everyone nearby. Embarrassed, Ochako gave a meek wave, let the ball go, and was out of the courtyard before it hit the ground.

Great first impression.

She slowed her pace when she reached the stone footbridge between the academy and the town of Tacaíschoil - the academy was typically referred to as being "attached to" the town, but the way Ochako saw it, things were the other way around: Tacaíschoil was a charming little place, but there was really no reason for anyone to visit. It sat plain and pleasant on the northwestern coast of Áit Dearmadh, a town of farmers and fishmongers and foresters who harvested the pines growing tall and thick across most of the territory, and peacefully paid its taxes to the capital every year. It was the academy, situated on an island just off the coast, that brought in travelers and traders and gave the town what importance it held.

Ochako paused in the middle of the bridge to gaze out across the sea, trying to calm her nerves. On her worst days, she'd often come here to relax and clear her head in the salty air, watching the waves crash into the cliffs and spray over the rocks by the shore. A couple of times, when she was younger, she'd dreamed of mastering her Force magic, of using it to dive from the bridge and skim the water's surface like a gull, but as she grew up and her magic didn't, this dream died.

Not that that bothered her - she was used to it by that point.

It was on the way out of the gate at the end of the bridge that her routine began to deviate from the norm, starting with the boy coming around the corner at exactly the right pace and place for Ochako to walk right into him before she had a chance to stop herself.

Several hours earlier, Izuku Midoriya's caravan had pulled into Tacaíschoil, and after a brief dispute with the merchants and other mercenaries over payment, he'd grudgingly accepted enough money to pay for a couple of nights at the local inn and food to boot. After checking himself in and taking a much-needed bath, he'd had the cheapest meal he could find (potato and leek chowder) and asked around town for directions to the academy.

The place was, he thought, a gorgeous sight, an idyllic little hamlet located just a few days' travel away from the bland, flat expanse that was Túschic and only a couple from the hustle and bustle of Eolas. Once out of the cluster of buildings, the bridge he'd been told to look for came into clear view further up the coast, and he set off at a stroll, deciding he'd take his time and enjoy the moment. Once on academy grounds, he figured he'd simply ask the first person he saw about where he could take a magical artifact and proceed from there.

Colliding with a girl his own age, however, threw a wrench into his mental state.

She didn't seem nearly as dazed as he was by accidental contact with the opposite sex, and while his brain was still struggling to piece together a greeting, she spoke. "Are you okay?" she asked him, concern written across her face, and he managed a nod, taking a step away from her to get some much-needed air.

"Yeah, I'm - I'm fine," he got out, at length. She seemed unconvinced, but any urge to reassure her that he was completely okay, thank you vanished when he realized that she was wearing a school uniform. Plaid skirt down to just above the knee, white button-up blouse, knee-high socks - without a doubt, she was a student, and judging from the direction she was heading, it was safe to assume she attended the academy. "Are you?" he went on, figuring a bit of rapport couldn't hurt if he could get some information out of her, and he managed to calm down a little at the thought of this being nothing more than a logical exchange of knowledge.

A rueful smile that he couldn't quite read spread across her lips. "I've had better days, but it's got nothing to do with you, don't worry. Were you going to the academy?"

"Ah, uh, yeah. I was…" You were? You were what? Say something or it'll get weird! After a moment, he reached for the sword - intending to show it to her and give himself something else to look at while he asked where he could take it - but she flinched, raising one hand as if to protect herself. Immediately, he was tossed ten feet into the air, and with a startled yelp, he came hurtling back down, slamming hard into the dirt with a grunt of pain. What the hell!? he wanted to shout, but he was far too winded to speak, and besides, she looked horrified enough as it stood.

"Oh - oh gosh, I'm so sorry," she stammered, mouth running a mile a minute. "You, um, you weren't actually going to attack me, were you?"

Coughing, he took a moment to catch his breath, pushing himself into a sitting position and leaning on his hands. "What? No, I just meant to ask you where I could take this thing. I need to know who to go to if I want an artifact checked out," he managed to get out, in spite of his shock, irritation and back pain.

"Ugh. I'm really sorry, I'm just...on edge today, and I don't like when...yeah," she finished, lamely. "Here, let me - "

She took a step forward to kneel behind him, and a stunned Izuku could only stare straight ahead as her hands went to his back, palms pressed firmly to his shirt.

"Percuro."

Her voice was soft, her touch gentle, and as the warmth from what could only be healing magic filled his body, Izuku shivered in relief, feeling the pain of both the fall and the injuries he'd sustained using his own weapon arts gradually melt away.

"Thanks," he mumbled, grateful but also more than a little uncomfortable. On the one hand, she was clearly a Life mage - possibly even a full Healer - and close to his own age; on the other, Izuku wasn't good with other people, and physical contact was something he both craved and despised.

Before he could think on this any further, she withdrew, quickly standing, brushing off her knees and extending a hand to help him up. Still wary, he nonetheless accepted, sweeping his hands across his backside in a way that told him there was absolutely still dirt all over the seat of his trousers.

"Tell you what," the girl said, brightening. "'Cause I just attacked you, I'll take you to the research building as payback. How does that sound?"

"That sounds fine," he replied automatically. Wait, where were you going in the first place? Why were you leaving the academy if you were fine with just turning around and coming right back? What's more, she's kind of weird...her mood turned around as quickly as she did. Oh, well. At least I'm getting a free tour out of it, I guess.

As he followed the girl back across the bridge, her shoulder-length brown hair bouncing along behind her, he remembered one of the foundations of communication, things he knew by proxy but didn't often put into practice. "I'm Izuku," he told her, studying the sun as it sank into the sea.

"Ochako," she responded promptly, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "Sorry again for throwing you into the air like that."

"It's fine, really. You've already more than paid me back for it."

"Still, I…"

Ochako seemed unwilling to finish her sentence, and after a few more seconds of silence, he asked one of the questions on his mind. "You're a student, right? What kind of magic was that? I didn't feel any wind…"

For whatever reason, her shoulders and expression both went stiff. "I use Life magic," she told him, her tone robotic, rehearsed, as if she'd already said it dozens of times. "It's the only affinity I have."

...Ah. That might explain a few things. Only having one affinity at a magic academy sounds like the key ingredient in a recipe for a poor social life, Izuku mused, knowing full well what it was like to be judged for something you couldn't at all help, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the girl now walking beside him. "You could be completely mundane and not have any affinities," he offered. "I don't."

"You what?"

From her tone, this was the last thing she'd been expecting, and Izuku almost laughed. "I don't have any affinities," he repeated. "I couldn't cast a spell to save my life, and my life energy circulates, but it doesn't do anything else."

"Wait, so you're not a Wielder?" Ochako asked, lips pursed. "But you're travelling with a sword anyway? That takes guts. I've read stories about Wielders who were bandits. You wouldn't stand a chance."

He actually did laugh this time. "That's kind of complicated. I don't really wanna go into detail, if that's okay, but it's related to why I came all the way to the academy."

"That's fine," she shrugged. "Everybody's got stuff they don't like telling other people about, and we just met, so it'd be kinda dumb for me to expect you to go spillin' your guts."

Silence fell between them once more, but to Izuku, it felt more comfortable now that the barrier of anonymity had shattered. She seems reasonable. he mused. If I were staying here, I think I'd want to keep in touch, especially if she has to deal with people looking down on her for something she can't help.

As if it were reading his thoughts - and perhaps it was; it was definitely sentient - the sword hummed, and he heard it whisper into his mind for the third time.

This one…

Ochako shot him a sharp glance, and for a moment, he was afraid he'd actually said it aloud, or the sword had somehow spoken - but then she frowned and asked: "Did you hear a bug fly by just now?"

"No. Did you?"

She sighed, letting her shoulders slump as she faced the academy again. "I thought I did. I must be more tired than I realized."

He bit his lip and said nothing.

They drew stares upon entering the academy courtyard, or rather Izuku drew stares, and it wasn't difficult to figure out why: a boy young enough to be a fellow student showing up with a greatsword was not, he imagined, a common occurrence here.

To her credit, Ochako didn't even spare the other students a glance, choosing instead to seize his hand and half-drag him along behind her as she strode for what he could only assume was the research department. Part of Izuku wanted to stop and sightsee, since the odds of him coming back here after this visit were slim to none, but he also didn't want to keep Ochako waiting while he blinked stupidly at the towering stone roofs and ancient, gnarled trees that dotted the academy campus. Here and there, fat grey pigeons pecked at the grass or sat atop any ledges they could find, and more than once, he made eye contact with one and hastily looked away.

"Can anyone really just walk in here whenever they want?" he asked her, as they entered a building that vaguely resembled the Eolas library both inside and out.

"More or less," Ochako said, leading him past the front desk and into the maze of dusty bookshelves until an oak staircase sprung up out of seemingly nowhere before them. "There are eyes pretty much everywhere, though. They say they don't watch us in our rooms, but sometimes I have to wonder…"

"Watch?" Izuku repeated. "What kind of magic lets you watch people?"

"I learned in one of my classes that some really skilled Life mages can actually see through the eyes of an animal if they're able to tap into its life energy," she explained, sounding like a proper schoolgirl now. "My magic falls a little closer to direct manipulation, like healing, but I might be able to do something like that if I have enough time to practice…you saw the pigeons sitting on the roof when we came in, right?"

"What about them?" he asked, though he could already guess what was coming.

"Well, they're not just there for show. The guy across the hall from me always covers the bathroom windows in ice when he's in there so they don't see him peeing. He's...kind of weird. Actually, he's the reason you 'n' me even ran into each other - he stole all the spices from the dormitory kitchen, so…"

So who was watching me, then?

He tried his best to listen to her rambling - he really did - but in the end he simply couldn't keep up, falling back on the tried-and-true strategy of nodding whenever she paused and mumbling his agreement whenever he picked up on an upward inflection in her tone. On the inside, however, his mind raced, nervous at the prospect of learning more about the sword that had taken him from his home and family.

At what he assumed was the fourth floor, the two of them stumped through a doorway into a something like a reception room, dark-blue carpet covering the entire floor and dust covering the entire carpet. To their left, a robed man sat behind a polished oak desk, nose buried in a book, and it wasn't until Ochako cleared her throat that he even noticed they were there.

"Uraraka," he greeted her. His voice was strong, deep, and as his gaze shifted from Ochako to Izuku, his eyes narrowed. "Who might this be? You aren't a student. If you've come for weapon arts," he added, nodding at the sword, "you're at the wrong academy."

"No, I'm here for an artifact appraisal," he replied, deciding to get straight to the point. "A smith in Eolas directed me here after I asked him to fix up this sword." He reached back over his shoulder for the sword again, and while Ochako didn't attack him this time, she definitely flinched, causing the robed man's lips to pull into a tight frown of disapproval. It wasn't until the sword was in his hands that the frown vanished, only to be replaced with something closer to anxiety than either curiosity or surprise.

"Young man," the mage asked him, "where did you find this?"

Izuku could already tell how the man would reply, and he sighed before answering honestly. "In the Críoch," he said, voice and gaze both as level as he could manage. "Please don't try to swing it. It will break your arms."

"A sword from the Críoch that injures those who wield it?" The other sounded skeptical, but he heeded Izuku's advice; he'd seen too many of his fellows injured or even killed by artifacts they'd ridiculed as absurd or impossible. "How did you figure this property out?"

"It's...a little hard to explain." How am I supposed to explain that it tore off the arms of the last person who tried to use it, but it lets me do whatever I want?

"I'll hear it. Take your time."

It struck Izuku then that the more information the mages had, the more they could likely tell him about the sword, so he resigned himself to explaining exactly that property.

"Someone tried to take it from me and now she has no arms," he said, as bluntly as possible. "I can use it, but I don't think anyone else can."

The mage's face scrunched up. "A sword that only one person can use? Is there anything special about it, or is it just cursed?"

Shit. Izuku bit his lip; on the one hand, the sword's special ability wasn't something he'd ever heard of before he laid his hands on it, and Neamhath had been the only person so far to know anything about it...but if it's in a book, he reasoned, this place should have some kind of documentation on it, right?

"It lets me use weapon arts."

"Can't any old sword do that?" Ochako cut in, frowning, but Izuku shook his head.

"Did you already forget what I told you on the bridge?" he asked her.

She paused for a moment, placing a finger to her lips, then her eyes shot open wide as saucers and she blurted out: "You don't have any affinities!"

"Yeah." Turning back to the mage, he elaborated: "I can't use weapon arts, but this sword lets me use arts from any school."

"So, let me get this straight," the mage said. "You found this sword in the Críoch and just happened to be the only one who can use it?"

"The only person I've met so far," Izuku shrugged. "I'm not really looking to test it on anyone else. Most people like having their arms attached, anyway."

"And it lets you, someone with no affinities whatsoever, use any school of life-force manifestation?"

"Uh...yeah. That's the gist of it."

The mage stared long and hard at the sword, and for several long seconds, the room was silent save for the fluttering of a pigeon on the windowsill at the outer wall. Then -

"Well? Is it somethin' you guys know anything about?" Ochako prodded, rocking back and forth on her heels with her hands behind her back. "Is it special?"

"It's definitely special," the mage admitted, swallowing hard. "Let's - I'll just - young man, what's your name?"

"Ah - Izuku. Izuku Midoriya."

"Sir Midoriya - I'm going to have to take this into the back for the rest of our researchers to perform some tests on it. Is that okay with you?" For whatever reason, the man's attitude had taken a turn for the respectful - not that Izuku was complaining, but it was definitely strange. Worried but spurred onward by the curiosity burning ever stronger in his gut, he agreed, and the mage hurried from the room, disappearing through a door that Izuku was fairly certain hadn't been there several seconds prior.

The moment the door closed, Ochako spoke up.

"I feel sorry for you."

Surprised, Izuku glanced sidelong at her, pursing his lips, and she looked away. "Why?" he asked.

"Just...the research department doesn't always get a lot done when something's important," she shrugged. He turned at the waist to look her in the eye, but she continued avoiding his gaze, staring down at the carpet. Expression unreadable, she went on: "I dunno what that sword is, but you might be stuck here a while if that guy's reaction to it means anything."

He shrugged. "It's nothing I'm not used to. People with power don't seem to do anything good with it a lot of the time. What I'm wondering is...why didn't they ask me to demonstrate any arts?" he added, more to himself than Ochako. "That Healer asked me to…"

The door opened again, and a different mage came out, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties carrying something shiny in her palm. She held it out to Izuku, who let her drop it into his open palm.

"What do I need a key for?" he asked, but before she could answer, Ochako jumped in, whipping an identical key out of her pocket.

"That's a dorm key," she told him, biting her lip and glancing up at the woman. "Hey, why're you givin' him one?"

"Sir Midoriya, we're going to need a few days to look into your sword more carefully," the other informed him, ignoring Ochako entirely. "Please have Miss Uraraka take you to the single-bedroom dormitories. Your room for the time being will be 203. If you need anything, Miss Uraraka will help you with it." Her eyes glinted, dangerously, and Ochako swallowed hard; clearly, whoever this woman was, she held some sway over the girl.

"R-right. Uh, Midorba, right?" Ochako asked, pointing at him with both index fingers. A worried half-smile spread across her face, and he sighed, shaking his head again.

"It's Midoriya. Please just call me Izuku."

The room he'd been given was mostly clean save for the thick layer of dust coating every visible surface, and he and Ochako (whose room, 202, was directly across the hall) spent about an hour dusting before it was even remotely clean. He dropped his limited belongings on the bed, relieved that the money he'd been given for protecting the caravan wouldn't have to be spent on lodging, and paid as much attention as his increasingly-tired mind could manage as Ochako explained the basics of dormitory life.

"...And that's why you should never leave food out uncovered," she finished, actually out of breath from talking. "On the bright side, Todoroki was able to make them into mouse kebabs."

Izuku, no stranger to rodents (nor eating them) himself, nodded sagely. "Mice are best kebabed," he declared, having never eaten a kebabed mouse. In all honesty, he'd never eaten a mouse at all, only squirrels from the woods, but it was painfully clear that the poor girl didn't have anyone else to talk to, and as a loner himself, he could sympathize. Her chatter was even starting to grow on him, and the smile on her face when she realized someone was actually talking to her almost brought out one of his own; he could feel it tugging at the corners of his lips when she looked at him. "But have you ever had rabbit?"

"No! I can't even imagine eating a bunny!" Ochako seemed shocked, and Izuku could understand why: rabbits were cute, and the few times he'd shot one with a bow and arrow, its dying screams had been nothing short of heartrending. "Is...is it any good?"

Okay, so not too shocked to not be hungry. "It's decent. A little greasy, I think, but fresh rabbit is pretty light. They're better around this time of year, when they're putting on weight for the winter," he told her. "You guys don't have a spit roast, do you?"

"Don't tell me you're thinking of killing one of the bunnies on campus."

"No, of course not. I'll hunt one down in the woods around town."

"That's not any better!"

After he'd gotten settled, they stayed up a while, talking about pretty much anything that crossed their minds; to his delight, Ochako was an avid reader, and they'd even read a few of the same popular books. She pitched recommendation after recommendation at the literature-starved Izuku, who - lacking a quill or pencil - knew he'd forget most of them, but he appreciated the conversation nonetheless, etching a few of the more interesting titles into his memory: The Áit Dearmadh Kelpie, Branches for Aíscasch, Eggs and How to Make Them Pay. She even lent him a particularly strange tome etched with a symbol of an eye, which turned out to be the thrilling autobiography of a highly skilled but highly voyeuristic Life mage with a fascination for watching people do laundry through the eyes of waterfowl.

After Ochako went to bed, Izuku read a while; the book wasn't entirely about using ducks to watch linens dry, but that was about forty percent of it, spread evenly between exponentially more interesting tales. It wasn't until the writer had started to describe the sensation of swimming a kilometer under the sea that he'd felt through a whale that his eyelids began to droop, and with a heavy heart, he placed the book on the nightstand, snuffing out the candle he'd been reading by and laying back on his pillow with a long, slow sigh.

I'll take it easy for a couple of days, he decided. Once they give the sword back, I can decide what to do from there.

Outside, a pigeon cooed.