Drills and practical work were comfortable to Phila. You could explain a concept until you were puffing and panting with the exertion, but those words could be all but useless once you were in the sky.
She missed being able to take recruits on their first flights. Introducing them to the intoxicating rush of wind whipping hair around your ears, the swooping delight, sweetened with anxiety, of relying on the creature beneath you to continue defying the laws of nature.
But, she now realised that delight was a candied poison. An untouchability that need only be disproven once.
If she was to regrow the Knights from the blood-soaked ground up, then she would do it differently. She would ensure her past mistakes never cost anyone their lives again.
Unfortunately, her well-intentioned attempts were belied by a fizzing boredom that left her staring unblinking at a lesson plan. So far all she'd written was: Lesson One: Safety Precautions.
Well, she was never a solo flier. There were many instructors dotted around this academy. She would seek one out and ask their help.
Pacing the halls of Garreg Mach, she eventually lighted on a classroom which was buzzing with activity. Perfect. She lingered in the hallway, the echo of a shamefaced youth ejected from class for bad behaviour.
The class was dismissed, and she slipped into the room. Like a magicians trick, the disappearing students revealed their professor. A professor with a very recognisable collar bristling with eyes. A... Plegian? Her muscles tensed on instinct. Fear and Plegia were practically the same word in Phila's vocabulary. They had killed her. They had... Her Exalt...
But she knew that Plegia was not its King. Just as the previous Exalt had not been hers. She could be civil. Emmeryn would want her to be civil.
'Pardon, I had some questions about... lesson planning.'
After the revelation, her words felt leaden, completely unable to articulate the shock that had slammed into her like a blow to the shoulder.
Teaching is a fickle, inching trick of light. He can't say for sure that he knows how to capture it, but in his own strange way, he knew how to wield it. For light, you bring up a receptacle of light—a mirror canted at an angle to bend its intangible existence. But for teaching, you must conjure some kind of receptacle of learning—a candle, a rose, a fire-proof mannequin. Something a little silly, something a little meaningful. The kids here are different now, but in a sense that they felt like different faces with the same souls. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but at least they were willing to give his classes a shot. (And let's forget the broken windows lining his classroom for a moment, shall we?)
It's interesting actually. No teacher here wanted anything to do with him. He had an easier time with the clerics, priests, and the psychologists over another colleague in his ranks. (But he couldn't blame them; not when Henry was barely a professor at all, let alone a capable one.) Maybe he could give Rhea a ring. Hang that noose over her head, and have a cup o' tea or something. But hey! Would you look at that! A sorry soul inching through the door! He straightened up, shard of broken glass glittering in his hands.
"Ahaha~ Oh, I'm sure you don't mean that." But, he was already teeming with curiosity; could it be that she wasn't afraid of him? She looked a whole lotta fun—like maybe the Cherche-type of fun. Stern, polite, and scary as hell. "...Or maybe you do?" Thoughtfulness tinged the tail-end of his question, as he lingered on the possibility that someone might actually want something more out of him.
"Asssssssss you can see, my last glass— I mean, class— kinda had the misfortune of shattering all the windows to my place. I think Seteth's going to have a conniption!" His laughter rung like church bells, echoing through the now-empty hall. A couple of his crows sat idly by the windowsills, picking at spare shards. To be honest, he didn't really make it easy on any responsible human being to be around him. (Because it was sooooo much more fun keeping them on their toes.)
"But if you're so sure, let's smash our heads together, nya ha ha! I'm positive we can come up with a lesson plan that'll have 'em by the neck."
With a little PLINK, he flicked the glass into a pile he had collected against the wall of the room. "What do you teach?" Circling around the room, he had his arms wide with all the possibilities racing through his head. "If it's swordsmanship, I recommend summoning a hoard of Risen to let your kids at 'em. And if it's Lance, you can ask me to enchant a couple of piñatas to pop out from the ceiling. Oh! Oh, or—"
"Actually, do you want a paper to write these all down? I think I can go on all day."
He scooted up on his desk, legs hanging off loosely as he leafed through the drawers for some spare parchment. To be honest, if she didn't want 'em, he'd use these plans himself. "What's your name by the way? Mine's Henry."
"Aha! Here we are." He pilfered a spare writing board, an ink pen he had enchanted to fountain ink, and some old scrolls for her use. "At the end of the day, if it's not fun, what's the point?"