The dawn over Élindor Palace was unusually somber. Pale mist still clung to the marbled courtyards as though reluctant to let go of the shadows that had danced during the night. From his chamber window, Kaelian watched the fog curl like serpents over the training grounds below. In less than a week, he would no longer sleep under this roof.
At least not as a pawn.
The failed poisoning attempt, though narrowly avoided thanks to a nameless ally, had shifted the game. Every whisper in the corridor now carried weight. Every glance was a calculated gesture of allegiance or suspicion. And through it all, Kaelian moved like a ghost: silent, invisible, gathering.
He knew the Academy entrance exam would not just test his magical and intellectual prowess. It would also be the perfect opportunity for his enemies to strike again.
He had to be ready.
"If I fail," he murmured, eyes narrowing at the pale horizon, "it won't be because I lacked preparation. It will be because I underestimated the rot."
The first item on his agenda was securing knowledge. Forbidden knowledge.
In the dead of night, cloaked and silent, Kaelian descended through a hidden passage known only to royal bastards and exiled maids. The palace archives, buried beneath layers of forgotten history, held tomes unfit for daylight. His fingers brushed the spine of one such book—"A Treatise on Thaumaturgy and Blood Sigils."
He read in silence for hours, committing ancient glyphs to memory. Blood magic was taboo, yes—but it pulsed within him, a legacy embedded in his very veins. To deny it would be to fight blindfolded in a battlefield rigged with traps.
When the sun crept back into the world, Kaelian had already returned to his bed, feigning a peaceful sleep. No one would know the truths he now carried.
The next step: leverage.
He met with Lyssa in the herbarium two days later. Under the guise of discussing herbal remedies, they whispered war strategies among the mint and belladonna.
"You're going to the Academy," she said, tone too casual to be innocent. "Do you know what they'll do to you there?"
Kaelian smiled faintly. "Teach me, humiliate me, try to break me. Possibly all three."
She leaned closer. "And you'll still go?"
"I don't intend to stay weak forever."
There was a pause, then she handed him a satchel. Inside: a vial of powdery silverroot, a rare substance known to disrupt magical detection spells.
"Protection," she whispered. "For your secrets."
"Thank you," Kaelian replied. But even as warmth stirred in his chest, part of him wondered: Who had told her about his secrets?
Still, he would use what he could. Until the blade revealed itself, every hand was a tool. Every ally a temporary advantage.
The day before the departure, Kaelian was summoned.
The throne room was nearly empty when he entered. Only three figures awaited him: the King, robed in twilight-blue silk; the High Magister; and Prince Théor, standing far too close to the King's side.
His half-brother's smugness was palpable. His smile oozed menace.
"Kaelian," the King said with deceptive calm. "Your request to attend the Royal Academy has been reviewed. Against all expectations, it has been… approved."
A long pause.
"Conditionally."
Kaelian inclined his head. "I expected no less."
The High Magister stepped forward, a scroll unfurling in his hand.
"You will be required to pass not one but two sets of exams," the old man intoned. "A public one, for display. And a private one, tailored to... special cases."
Kaelian's eyes didn't flicker. "By special, you mean illegitimate."
The High Magister's brows twitched. Théor chuckled.
"Exactly," the King replied, voice flat. "And failure in either means expulsion. Not just from the Academy… but from the Court."
Kaelian bowed deeply. "Then I will not fail."
But in his heart, he noted every word. Every smile. Every calculated cruelty.
If this was a trap, it would be a very public one.
Perfect.
Later that evening, Kaelian sat at his desk, composing letters.
One was to a low-ranked scribe in the administrative bureau. Bribed two months ago, he now served as Kaelian's eyes within the bureaucratic maze of the Academy.
Another was to a blacksmith. Commission: a pendant to house a drop of blood.
A third was to an apothecary Kaelian had saved from scandal—a favor he intended to call in for an alchemical enhancer to boost his magical signature temporarily, just enough to seem 'noble.'
He sealed them all with wax and marked them with the symbol of an ancient philosopher: the ouroboros, the snake devouring its own tail. Infinity. Renewal.
Survival.
The final preparation was not of magic or mind, but of body.
Kaelian had never been a soldier in his past life. Strategy, tactics, diplomacy—those were his arenas. But this world cared little for minds that could not also wield steel.
In the secluded north courtyard, under moonlight, he trained.
Not alone.
Sir Varek, a knight fallen from favor for siding with the wrong heir in a past war, had agreed—reluctantly—to teach the bastard boy.
"You fight like a scholar," Varek grunted, parrying Kaelian's blade. "Which is to say, you think too much."
"Better than dying with a clean swing and empty mind," Kaelian replied, dodging low and sweeping Varek's legs.
The knight grunted, hitting the ground.
For a moment, they both laughed.
And then Varek's face turned grim. "At the Academy, they won't care that you beat me in practice. They'll want to break you. Publicly. Bloodily."
"I know," Kaelian said. "That's why I must break them first."
Departure day.
The courtyard was silent as Kaelian stepped into the waiting carriage. No fanfare. No blessings. Only the chilling weight of unspoken threats.
Théor stood on the stone steps, arms crossed, a thin smirk tugging at his lips. "Try not to disgrace the royal name too quickly, little brother."
Kaelian met his gaze. "I'll try not to disgrace the blood we share. But I make no promises for the name."
He climbed into the carriage.
But before the driver could snap the reins, a figure appeared beside the door.
It was the King's advisor—Lord Dorn Valek.
Soft-spoken, always watching, ever unreadable.
He handed Kaelian a sealed scroll.
"A personal letter from His Majesty," he murmured. "To be opened only upon your arrival at the Academy."
Kaelian took it, but his gaze lingered. "And if I don't?"
Valek smiled. "Then you might survive. But you'll never understand."
The carriage pulled away before Kaelian could reply.
He stared at the scroll in his hand. The wax seal bore not the royal crest…
…but a snake with two heads.
End of Chapter 15
Next: Chapter 16 – The Academy's Trial: Gate of Fire and Mind
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