The quill scratched against parchment, its rhythm steady in the dim flicker of a single candle. Adrian Valorian hunched over the scribe's desk, his fingers stained with ink, transcribing a merchant's ledger in a cramped village archive. The air was thick with dust and the weight of his thoughts. At nineteen, he was no longer the noble son of House Valorian, but a shadow named Adrian Corveth, scraping by in a world that had forgotten his family's name.
Five years ago, the Valorians had been pillars of Eldoria's court, their magic a beacon of strength. Then came the accusation—treason against the crown. A forged letter, a bribed witness, and the king's wrath had stripped them of titles, lands, and honor. Adrian's parents were exiled, his elder brother vanished, and he, the weakest of them all, was spared only because his feeble magic posed no threat. The court had laughed as he was cast out, a boy born to power yet cursed with a spark too faint to wield it.
He dipped the quill, his jaw tight. The shame burned, but so did his vow: he would restore his family's name and unmask the traitors who'd framed them. House Draven, with their serpent smiles and boundless ambition, sat at the heart of his suspicions. But suspicions weren't proof, and proof required power—power he didn't have. Yet.
A knock shattered his focus. The archive door creaked open, revealing Old Maren, the village keeper, her face lined with urgency. "Boy, there's a herald in the square. Royal Academy's offering a scholarship. One spot for a commoner. You're quick with words—go."
Adrian's pulse quickened. The Royal Academy was Eldoria's crucible, where nobles honed their magic and forged alliances that shaped the kingdom. It was a den of vipers, but also a stage. If he could enter, disguised as a commoner, he might find the evidence to expose the Dravens. The risk was immense—discovery meant death—but he'd grown tired of hiding.
He grabbed his cloak, its threadbare edges a far cry from the silks he'd once worn, and slipped into the square. The herald stood atop a crate, his voice booming over the gathered crowd. "The Academy seeks talent, not blood! Prove your worth in the trial tomorrow, and earn a place among the elite!"
Whispers rippled through the villagers. Most scoffed—commoners rarely survived the Academy's cutthroat halls—but Adrian's mind raced. The trial would test wit, not just magic. He could work with that.
By dawn, he stood at the trial grounds, a windswept field outside the village. A dozen hopefuls shivered in the morning chill, facing a stern examiner in Academy robes. Her name was Professor Elara, her gaze sharp enough to carve through lies. "You'll solve a puzzle," she announced, gesturing to a table of scattered objects: ropes, weights, and a single crystal pulsing with faint light. "Use these to lift the stone block ten feet. No magic allowed."
The others grumbled, their hands clumsy with ropes. Adrian studied the setup, his mind tracing patterns. The crystal caught his eye—it wasn't just decoration. He'd read of such devices in his father's library, relics that amplified force when aligned correctly. The others ignored it, focused on brute strength, but Adrian saw the trick.
He looped the rope through the weights, tying it to the block, then positioned the crystal at a precise angle, its light refracting onto the knot. With a gentle tug, the rope tightened, and the block rose smoothly, hovering ten feet high. The crowd gasped. Elara's eyes narrowed, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Name?"
"Adrian Corveth," he said, voice steady despite the lie.
"You're in," she said. "Report to the Academy in three days."
The journey to the capital was a blur of dusty roads and sleepless nights. When Adrian arrived, the Academy loomed like a fortress, its spires piercing the sky. Students in fine cloaks strutted through the gates, their magic crackling in the air—flames dancing on fingertips, winds swirling at their command. Adrian's own magic, a faint hum in his veins, felt like a mockery. He clutched the scholarship letter, his ticket to this world of predators.
Inside, the grand hall buzzed with new students. A noble boy, his tunic embroidered with House Draven's serpent crest, shoved past Adrian, sneering. "Commoner filth. You'll be gone in a week." Adrian's fists clenched, but he swallowed his retort. Words were weapons, and he'd choose his moment.
Professor Elara led them to a lecture hall, her voice cutting through the chatter. "This Academy is no sanctuary. Here, you earn your place or lose everything. Your first task: a strategy game. Pair up and outwit your opponent."
Adrian was matched with the Draven boy, Cassian, whose smirk promised cruelty. The game was simple: move pieces across a board to claim territory. Cassian's magic let him sense Adrian's moves, an unfair edge. But Adrian didn't need magic. He feigned hesitation, luring Cassian into overextending his pieces, then struck, claiming half the board in one move.
Cassian's face reddened. "You cheated!"
"Strategy isn't cheating," Adrian said coolly. Elara, watching from the sidelines, nodded once.
As the hall emptied, Adrian lingered, his heart pounding. He'd won a skirmish, but the war was just beginning. The Dravens were here, their influence woven into the Academy's walls. Somewhere in this maze of ambition and deceit lay the truth about his family's fall. He'd find it, no matter the cost.
Outside, the capital glittered under the setting sun, a city of splendor hiding a rotten core. Adrian adjusted his cloak, the weight of his vow settling deeper. The disgraced heir was no longer a shadow. He was a spark, and he'd burn his way to justice.