The Imperial Training Grounds sprawled across five acres of meticulously maintained terrain. Lysander entered to find hundreds of elite soldiers arranged in precise formations, their armor gleaming in the morning sun. At the center stood Crown Prince Darius, resplendent in ceremonial battle gear trimmed with the royal purple he favored.
At twenty-six, Darius was everything an imperial heir should be—tall, commanding, with the Aurelian silver-white hair cropped short in military fashion. His violet eyes, identical to Lysander's own, narrowed slightly as he noticed his younger brother's arrival.
"The failed prince graces us with his presence," Darius announced, loud enough for nearby officers to hear. "Come to see how real imperial power manifests?"
Lysander approached with measured steps, offering a respectful bow. "I wouldn't miss an opportunity to learn from Valterra's finest military mind."
Confusion flickered across Darius's face. In their previous interactions, Lysander had either avoided such events entirely or responded to provocations with wounded pride. This calm deference was unexpected.
"Well," Darius recovered quickly, "perhaps something will finally take root in that head of yours."
Several Drakos generals chuckled dutifully. Lysander noted their insignias and faces, mentally comparing them to his memories. General Thorn, who would lead the assault on the Academy during the civil war. Commander Vex, whose tactical brilliance had nearly defeated Lysander's forces at the Battle of Thornwood Valley.
"I understand you depart for the Academy soon," Darius continued, circling Lysander like a predator. "Father finally tired of your mediocrity at court."
"The Academy offers unique opportunities," Lysander replied evenly. "I'm grateful for His Majesty's wisdom in sending me there."
Darius halted, genuinely surprised by the lack of resistance. "Indeed. Though I wonder what the Academy's elite will make of an imperial prince who can barely conjure a Lumina light."
The gathered officers tensed at the blatant insult. Even in a court accustomed to subtle cruelties, this directness was unexpected.
"I suppose I'll find out," Lysander said with a slight smile. "Now, I believe you were about to demonstrate the new Ignis formations? I'm particularly interested in seeing how you've incorporated the Drakos battle techniques."
Darius studied him suspiciously before turning back to his troops. "First Division, take formation for the Crimson Phoenix maneuver!"
Soldiers moved with practiced precision, arranging themselves into an arrowhead formation. At Darius's command, they began channeling Ignis magic, their hands glowing with controlled fire energy.
"The key innovation," Darius explained to the assembled generals, deliberately raising his voice so Lysander could hear, "is the concentrated channeling through multiple mages simultaneously. When properly executed—"
The front line of soldiers thrust their hands forward in unison. Streams of fire converged into a massive phoenix shape that soared across the training ground before dissipating harmlessly above the safety barriers.
Applause erupted from the observers. Lysander joined in, nodding appreciatively while his mind raced. This technique—the Convergent Ignis Stream—hadn't been developed until months later in his previous timeline. Darius was advancing his military preparations more quickly this time.
"Impressive," Lysander commented. "Though I wonder about the magical drain on your front-line soldiers. Sustained channeling of that magnitude must be exhausting."
Darius's eyes narrowed. It was a legitimate tactical concern, one that had plagued the technique in actual combat scenarios.
"Our soldiers are well-trained to handle the necessary exertion," Darius replied stiffly. "Perhaps such considerations are beyond your limited magical understanding."
"Perhaps," Lysander conceded with a humble nod. "Though even I know that magical fatigue was a significant factor in the Eastern Border conflicts during Grandfather's reign."
Several generals exchanged surprised glances. The historical reference was not only accurate but demonstrated unexpected knowledge of military history from the supposedly disinterested prince.
Before Darius could respond, a palace messenger approached with a bow. "Your Highness, Her Imperial Highness Princess Seraphina requests Prince Lysander's presence in the Whispering Gardens."
"It seems our sister demands your attention," Darius said. "Run along, little brother. These military matters are better left to those who understand them."
Lysander bowed again. "Thank you for allowing me to observe, brother. It was most educational." As he turned to leave, he added casually, "Though if you're concerned about magical fatigue, the historical texts suggest rotating channelers might preserve formation integrity during extended engagements."
He departed before Darius could respond, aware of the thoughtful looks exchanged among the generals. A small seed of doubt planted—nothing overt, but enough to make them wonder if the failed prince might not be quite as failed as commonly believed.
The Whispering Gardens occupied the eastern wing of the palace complex, a magnificent maze of exotic flora where courtiers conducted their most delicate conversations. The gardens' unique acoustics created pockets where whispers carried to specific locations while remaining inaudible elsewhere—perfect for the political machinations of the imperial court.
Seraphina waited beside the central fountain, engaged in conversation with Lady Celestia Blackstone. At nineteen, Celestia was the jewel of House Blackstone, with midnight-black hair and amber eyes that missed nothing. In Lysander's previous life, she had been one of Seraphina's most effective spies.
"Brother," Seraphina called as he approached. "How kind of you to join us."
"I came as soon as I received your summons, sister," Lysander replied, bowing to both women. "Lady Blackstone, a pleasure as always."
"Prince Lysander," Celestia responded, her voice melodic but cool. "I was just telling the Princess how much we'll miss your presence at court."
"You honor me with the suggestion that my absence would be noticed," Lysander said with self-deprecating charm.
Celestia's perfect eyebrows rose slightly. The failed prince she remembered had alternated between wounded arrogance and sullen withdrawal. This poised young man was unexpected.
"Celestia, would you excuse us?" Seraphina requested. "I need a moment with my brother."
After Celestia departed with a graceful curtsy, Seraphina guided Lysander deeper into the gardens, to a secluded alcove surrounded by blue luminescent flowers imported from the Lunaris Isles.
"You've changed," she stated without preamble. "First our conversation yesterday, then I hear you attended Darius's military demonstration willingly, and now Lady Blackstone reports you've developed social graces overnight."
"Perhaps the prospect of the Academy has motivated me to improve myself," Lysander suggested.
Seraphina studied him with the penetrating gaze that had unnerved hardened diplomats. "No. This is too sudden. Too calculated."
"Calculated?" Lysander smiled. "You give me too much credit, sister."
"I've never given you enough credit, apparently," she countered. "What game are you playing, Lysander?"
"No game. Merely accepting reality and making the best of it."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "Darius won't like this new version of you."
"Darius has never liked any version of me," Lysander replied with a shrug. "But I'm not his rival, sister. I'm just trying to find my place."
"Everyone in the imperial family is a potential rival," she said softly. "You'd do well to remember that at the Academy."
"I'll keep it in mind," Lysander promised, recognizing the warning for what it was—both threat and strangely, a form of advice. "Was there something specific you wanted to discuss?"
"Yes," Seraphina said, her expression softening into the mask she wore for court functions. "I've arranged a gift for your departure—appropriate attire for Academy life. Consider it a gesture of... familial support."
In his previous life, Lysander had been pathetically grateful for this "kindness." Now he recognized it for what it was—clothing embedded with subtle monitoring enchantments to track his movements and conversations.
"How thoughtful," he said with a warm smile. "I'll treasure it."
The game continued, and Lysander had no intention of losing this time.