The silence in the Grand Hall of the Royal Academy was thick, suffocating. Nobleborn students whispered behind gloved hands, their robes shimmering with enchantments and pride. All eyes, though masked by feigned disinterest, kept drifting toward one figure seated alone at the far end of the obsidian table: Kaelian.
Clad in the modest uniform of a first-year initiate—its dark fabric unadorned by house crests or family glyphs—he was an outlier, a stain on their polished legacy. A bastard prince, a commoner by blood, yet admitted through merit no one wanted to acknowledge.
Today, he would meet Master Elgorn, the Archmage.
A name carved into legend.
Rumored to have turned down the position of Royal Sorcerer, Elgorn was the academy's most feared instructor, known for breaking students with a glance and incinerating careers with a whisper. The man was said to have studied magic lost to history and tread paths darker than the Empire allowed.
Kaelian sat still, his pulse steady, mind racing. This meeting would decide more than his standing at the Academy. It would define whether he remained a pawn—or became a player in the royal game.
The great doors creaked open.
A gust of unnatural cold swept through the hall as Master Elgorn entered. He was tall and draped in a gray robe inscribed with shifting glyphs—symbols that shimmered and twisted like whispers on parchment. His presence halted conversation mid-syllable.
Elgorn's face was sharp and ageless, pale as chalk, his eyes a colorless blue that seemed to pierce the soul.
He walked forward with slow, deliberate steps. When he reached Kaelian, he looked him over like a specimen.
— "So... the bastard prince. The boy rats would hesitate to follow."
Kaelian met his gaze.
— "And you're the man who sold his soul to learn how to destroy others. I'm honored to be judged by someone who understands the value of sacrifice."
A pause.
Then—ever so slightly—Elgorn smiled.
— "Interesting."
With a flick of his fingers, the other students vanished. Not physically—Kaelian realized—but displaced into another plane or room. He was alone now, standing before a man whose presence bent the rules of reality.
— "Do you know why I summoned you?" Elgorn asked.
Kaelian considered carefully. He couldn't afford a single misstep.
— "Because I don't belong here. And yet... I do. That contradiction intrigues you."
Elgorn's eyes narrowed.
— "Correct. The Academy is for blooded nobility. You, Kaelian, are an anomaly. Illegitimate, under-ranked, and yet—intelligent beyond most royal spawn. A threat. A tool. Or... a hazard."
He leaned closer.
— "Tell me, Kaelian. Are you afraid to die... again?"
Kaelian's eyes darkened.
— "No. My first death taught me that this world rewards neither kindness nor caution. It rewards those who are willing to take what others fear to touch."
The silence that followed felt like a test of willpower.
Then Elgorn nodded.
— "Good. I'm going to give you a test. Not one of those fluffy initiation exams. A real one. Fail, and you die here. Succeed, and I will teach you things even the Emperor's council dares not whisper."
Kaelian didn't flinch.
Then the floor vanished beneath him.
****
He landed in darkness.
Cold stone met his knees. As Kaelian rose, the torches lining the chamber lit with pale, unnatural fire. He was in an arena—runes of containment humming along the stone floor.
Elgorn's voice echoed from all directions.
— "This is a reconstructed war chimera. Born from a fractured battlefield memory and laced with real mana. You cannot overpower it. You must outthink it. Survive for three minutes... or die trying."
The chimera emerged from the gloom with a roar.
A three-headed beast—lion, serpent, and raven—its iron-scaled body dragged claws across the floor, each step sparking arcs of magic. Its eyes burned like lanterns of rage.
Kaelian had no weapon. No wand. No grimoire.
Only his mind.
He moved.
Darting to the left, Kaelian scanned the glyphs carved into the walls—runes of old arcane structure, overlapping energies. Not a prison, but a misaligned pattern. Dangerous... unstable.
He took a breath, recalling battle logic. In his past life, he'd written algorithms to guide thousands in simulations of war. Now, it was him alone.
One variable. One field. One mistake = death.
He spotted a dead zone—a junction where the magical currents fluctuated unevenly.
Gripping a loose stone from the ground, Kaelian sprinted across the arena, ducked under a swiping claw, and threw the stone into the unstable glyph.
It exploded—minor, but disruptive.
The chimera roared and turned its attention toward the disturbance. Kaelian sprinted in the opposite direction, heart hammering.
The seconds ticked.
As the chimera surged forward again, Kaelian paused before a cluster of ancient symbols on the wall—etched in an archaic dialect.
Desperate, he spoke the only word he recognized.
— "Keval'tan."
The floor beneath the chimera gave way in a silent, violent collapse. It plunged into a conjured acid pit, screeching as its magical construct began to dissolve.
Kaelian dropped to his knees.
Three minutes had passed.
****
When the air shimmered, and Elgorn reappeared in a vortex of wind, Kaelian barely raised his head.
— "Fascinating," the archmage murmured.
— "You used no brute force. Only environment, deduction, and... a forbidden dialect. Clever."
He stepped forward, offering a hand.
— "Welcome, Kaelian. You are my student now. But know this—" His eyes narrowed. "I do not like you. I respect you. And that is far more dangerous."
Kaelian accepted the hand with a thin smile.
He had survived.
But more than that—he had impressed the most dangerous man in the Empire.
****
The following days were relentless.
Elgorn's instruction was a gauntlet of pain, pressure, and brilliance. At dawn, he challenged Kaelian to logic duels. By noon, magical theory. By dusk, cursed artifact analysis. And at night—simulated battles and forbidden arts.
Kaelian devoured it all.
But his growth did not go unnoticed.
****
In a velvet-draped study elsewhere in the Academy, Prince Theor watched through a scrying mirror, jaw clenched.
— "The bastard is gaining attention."
By his side, Queen Virella sipped spiced wine, her eyes as sharp as ever.
— "Elgorn favors him. That alone is dangerous."
— "He's getting too close. I'll handle it." Theor smirked. "There's a public trial-tournament next month. I'll challenge him. He'll either break publicly or reveal the forbidden magic he's hiding."
Virella didn't smile.
— "Make sure he does not walk away from it unscathed. But don't underestimate him. That's what gets people killed."
****
Back in the Academy's ancient wing, Kaelian poured over dusty scrolls—parchments not meant for first-years. The wards had been weak, and he exploited them easily. One fragment in particular caught his eye—written in encrypted glyphs, wrapped in dried dragonhide.
He decoded it slowly.
And read:
"This world does not need a king of blood. It needs a king of minds. The one who rules those who wear the crown."
Kaelian exhaled slowly, folding the scroll.
— "Then I will become that king."
****
End of Chapter 26
Next: Chapter 27 – First Trials Under Surveillance
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