Chapter 34: Private Lessons

Madeline found him near the eastern colonnade just after the midday break.

Lazarus had been reviewing a short list of low-rank Echoes in a quiet corner of the courtyard, using the time between classes to organize his thoughts. The conversation with Neron from the previous day still sat at the edge of his awareness, unresolved but contained. He had not attempted another observation from the Domain. For now, distance was the safer approach.

"Laz."

He looked up.

Madeline stood a few paces away, yellow hair slightly wind-tossed, golden-brown eyes bright with familiar energy. She carried a slim notebook under one arm and wore the expression of someone who had already decided the outcome of the conversation before it began.

"You’re hard to track down when you want to be," she said, stopping in front of him. "I’ve been asking around for the last twenty minutes."

"I wasn’t hiding."

"Sure." She smiled, unconvinced, and held up the notebook. "I’ve been practicing the Paper Tiger like you showed me. It’s stable now. I can hold it for almost eight minutes without the form collapsing. But I want more."

Lazarus closed the small reference text he had been reading.

"More?"

"Proper lessons," Madeline said. "Not just one Projection. I want to understand how you choose them. How you match them against other summons. The way you explained things after the duel with Zurbluris made more sense than half the lectures we’ve had so far."

She said it without flattery, simply as a statement of fact.

Lazarus studied her for a moment. There was no calculation in her request, only the same straightforward drive she had shown from the beginning. Most students at this stage wanted stronger Projections or higher Integration. Madeline wanted clearer understanding.

That, at least, was easy to respect.

"All right," he said.

Her eyes widened slightly. "Really? Just like that?"

"You already proved you can follow instruction. There’s no reason to waste time negotiating."

Madeline grinned. "Good. Because I already found a place."

She led him across the courtyard and down a side path that curved behind one of the older lecture buildings. The Academy grounds were full of small, overlooked spaces—narrow courtyards, unused practice alcoves, quiet corners where the flow of students rarely reached. Madeline stopped at a low stone wall surrounding a small, empty training square half-hidden by tall hedges.

"No classes scheduled here until next week," she said. "I checked."

Lazarus stepped into the square and glanced around. The space was modest but sufficient. Clear lines of sight. Enough room to summon without immediately drawing attention. He nodded once.

"This will work."

They began with fundamentals.

Lazarus had her summon the Paper Tiger again, then dismiss it, then summon it a second time while explaining the difference between a rushed manifestation and a controlled one. He made her hold the Projection under mild movement, then under distraction, then while answering simple questions about its historical context. Each time the form wavered, he stopped her and corrected the point of failure before allowing her to continue.

Madeline listened with complete attention. She did not argue when corrected. She did not try to skip ahead. When she failed to maintain the Projection under dual focus, she simply reset and tried again without complaint.

After the fourth successful cycle, Lazarus changed the exercise.

"Summon something else," he said. "Anything you already know. Keep it weak."

Madeline hesitated only briefly, then called forth a simple short blade—an Echo of a common soldier’s weapon from the later Classical Era. The steel formed cleanly in her hand, plain and unadorned.

"Good," Lazarus said. "Now dismiss it and call the Paper Tiger at the same time. Not one after the other. Overlap the release and the new summon."

She frowned. "That’s harder."

"Yes."

The first attempt collapsed both Projections. The second produced a distorted half-form of the tiger before it fell apart. On the third try she managed a brief overlap—blade dissolving as the tiger’s shape began to gather—before the strain forced her to stop.

Lazarus nodded.

"Better. The transition is where most Squires lose control. If you can move cleanly from one Projection to another without leaving a gap, you deny your opponent a window."

Madeline wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead and tried again.

They continued for nearly an hour.

Lazarus kept the pace measured but constant, introducing small adjustments only when she demonstrated consistency with the previous step. He avoided high-rank theory. There was no need. What she required at this stage was clean execution and the ability to think while maintaining a Projection. Everything else could wait.

As the session wore on, Madeline’s control improved. The Paper Tiger held longer. The transitions grew less jagged. She began catching her own mistakes before he pointed them out.

When he finally called an end to the day’s work, she looked both tired and sharply focused.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked.

"If you want."

"I want."

She dismissed the last remnant of the Paper Tiger and rolled her shoulders, still breathing a little hard. Then she glanced at him sideways.

"You’re different when you teach," she said. "More... precise. In class you keep your head down. Out here you don’t waste a single word."

Lazarus did not answer immediately.

"Teaching requires clarity," he said at last. "There is no benefit in being vague."

Madeline smiled as if he had confirmed something she already suspected. She picked up her notebook, tucked it under her arm, and stepped back toward the gap in the hedges.

"Thanks, Laz. Really."

She left without waiting for a reply.

Lazarus remained in the training square a while longer, reviewing the session in silence. Madeline’s progress was solid. She had the right instincts and none of the usual impatience. With consistent work, she would pull ahead of most of her class within the month.

He turned to leave—

And stopped.

A figure stood at the far edge of the hedges, half-shadowed by the leaves.

Grayish-white hair. Pitch-black eyes. A still, solitary posture that did not belong to any casual observer.

Nyssa.

She had been watching.

For how long, he could not say.

Their eyes met across the small distance. She did not look away. She did not speak. She simply held his gaze with that same cold, detached calm she carried everywhere, as if she had expected him to notice her eventually and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

Then she turned and walked away, disappearing along the path without a single word.