The blade gleamed like falling starlight.
Kael spun.
The crystal dome above shattered outward as the assassin dropped into the light, dagger aimed straight for Kael's spine.
Gasps erupted from the council tier. Ardyn stepped back, his composure cracking. Several guards hesitated—unsure whether this was part of the trial or something far worse.
But Kael didn't hesitate.
He shifted his weight, planted a foot, and ducked. The blade grazed his shoulder, slicing through fabric and drawing blood, but it missed the kill.
The assassin landed hard—too hard.
They adjusted in an instant, silent and fluid, whirling to strike again. But Kael had already drawn a glyph from memory and burned it into his palm with a flare of stored mana.
"Dariun," he whispered.
The glyph surged. Light cracked beneath his feet in a sigil-shape, and a pulse of force blasted outward. The assassin flew backward, crashing into the marble pillar.
One of the councilors finally shouted, "Guards! Seize them!"
But the cloaked figure didn't flee. Instead, they vanished in a shimmer of distortion, dissolving like mist caught in firelight.
A portal spell.
Someone had sent this killer through a rift—and just as easily pulled them back out.
Kael looked to the rafters, then the walls. Nothing remained. Only silence.
The council was in chaos. Half had risen, shouting. Ardyn barked orders. But Kael barely heard them.
His blood ran cold—not from the wound, but from the realization.
This wasn't punishment. This was a cover-up.
The assassin had been prepared to strike regardless of Kael's answer. The entire trial was a distraction. The illusion of choice.
And he had walked right into it.
Professor Salen's words echoed in his mind: "Don't make the mistake of thinking this is still a school."
Lia. She had to know.
Kael turned—only to find four guards blocking his path, swords drawn. Not a warning. Not a formality. Blades pointed at his chest.
"Kael of the Learners," one guard said. "By order of the Royal Council, you are under arrest for inciting violence within sacred chambers and unlawful use of offensive magic."
Kael didn't flinch.
"You saw the assassin."
No response.
"You all saw it," he said louder. "That wasn't me."
Still nothing.
Ardyn descended the steps. His voice, cold and slow, echoed through the chamber.
"No one else saw anything."
The silence became suffocating.
Kael looked around, at every masked face. No sympathy. No recognition. Just eyes locked on him like a verdict.
"You're erasing me," Kael said quietly.
The woman in blue smiled. "We're correcting an imbalance."
Kael closed his fist. A dozen spells hovered in his mind—he could blast through the guards. Maybe even escape.
But then what?
They would brand him a fugitive. A traitor. He wouldn't survive the week.
Unless…
He exhaled. Let his hands drop.
"I'll go," he said. "If I'm to be judged, I want the world to see."
Ardyn laughed. "The world already has."
Kael was shackled.
Iron rings etched with suppression runes closed around his wrists. His mana stilled. His strength dulled. The guards flanked him, shoving him forward.
As he walked out of the council chamber, he didn't look back.
But from the rafters, behind an unbroken veil of silence, someone else watched.
Lia.
She had followed him, against his orders. Used a cloaking artifact her mother had left behind—the kind that masked both body and soul signature. It was draining her, but it worked.
She saw the assassin. Saw the council's silence. Saw the betrayal.
Her hands were trembling.
She whispered to herself, "They're going to kill him."
She slipped away, faster than sound, heart racing.
She had one chance. One person she swore never to turn to.
But if Kael was going to live, she'd need her.
The woman who bore the Myth-tier blessing. The one who abandoned the royal court in exile.
Her sister.