"The past always knocks at the door. And sooner or later... someone opens it."
The Royal Academy rose like a sleeping monster, with a thousand shuttered windows and spiraling towers that pierced the clouds. It wasn't beautiful. It was solemn. Massive. Silent.
Ashen — now Caelen — often stopped in front of the great black iron gates. He stood motionless, fists clenched in the pockets of his tunic.
This place... he didn't know it.
And yet, he feared it.
Not because he had died there — he had never seen it while alive.
But because it was here that his fate would shift.
He was no longer in the shadow of a dungeon. He was no longer a court dog. He was no longer the king's Fool.
He was Caelen Sareth.
And it was time the world learned that.
On the day of the opening, the Academy's inner courtyard buzzed.
Dozens of young mages, wearing cloaks in the colors of their houses, flowed in through the wide stone alleys. Some arrived by carriage, others on horseback, others still on foot but escorted by guards.
Ashen walked alone.
His cloak was black, without a crest.
He felt the eyes on him. No nobility. No allies. No family.
Just him. And the weight of all he carried.
A sound rang out: a deep, ancient bell.
Then a voice, magically amplified, boomed across the courtyard.
— FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS. WELCOME TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF MAGIC. YOU ENTER A FAMILY THAT FORGIVES NO WEAKNESS.
Ashen looked up. At the top of the main staircase, a man in a purple robe was speaking, arms spread wide.
— I AM RECTOR AERNIAS. HERE, YOU BEAR ONLY YOUR WILL. NOT YOUR NAME. NOT YOUR BLOOD. THOSE WHO FAIL... ARE FORGOTTEN.
A shiver ran through the crowd.
Ashen clenched his fists.
It was perfect.
The students were guided to the dormitories. Ashen received a modest room on the second floor of a side wing. Two beds, a small bookshelf, a narrow window. He had no roommate. Not yet.
Good.
He threw his bag onto the bed, then sat in silence.
In his pocket, Caldor's letter. He didn't open it. He already knew it by heart.
"Do not seek to shine. Seek to endure."
That evening, the students were gathered in the great orientation hall. A vast stone nave, twisted columns, a ceiling animated with magical illusions. Silhouettes floated in the air: ancient mages, legendary duels, dragons and constellations.
The Rector spoke again.
— Tomorrow the evaluations begin. Not to see what you know... but to discover what you're worth.
The nobles nodded arrogantly.
Ashen stood when everyone else left. But a hand grabbed him as he passed.
— You. The crestless one.
A girl. Tall, upright, piercing gaze.
She had black hair tied in a braid, a scar on her left cheek, and eyes... curious.
— What's your name?
He hesitated.
— Caelen. Caelen Sareth.
She stared at him for a long moment. Then slowly nodded.
— Not in the registry. Strange. You come from no house? No fief?
— No.
— Good, she simply said. Lineages make you weak.
And she walked away.
Ashen remained frozen.
She hadn't recognized him.
No one recognized him here.
Not his face.
Not his voice.
Not even his name.
He was no longer Ashen Valemyr.
He was no longer the Fool.
He was a stranger.
Free.
That night, he dreamed.
The round room.
The 43 chairs.
The Poet stared at him, a sad smile on his lips.
— You play your role well... but do you still know who you are?
Ashen did not reply.
He sat in his chair.
And whispered:
— I am the Fool. I am the Silence. And now... I will be the Judge.