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Chapter 33 — Gates of the Capital
The capital of Aerlon didn't rise from the horizon so much as it dominated it — a layered fortress of white stone, its tallest spires catching the sunlight like spears.
Kael had seen cities before, but never one where every street seemed carved with purpose. The walls were thick enough to stop a dragon's charge, and the banners along them bore the kingdom's crest: a silver sun split in half, the black void of night on one side, dawn's light on the other.
—Imposing, SIDE remarked. For humans, anyway.
Kael adjusted the strap of his travel pack. "Try not to insult the people guarding the place we're about to enter."
The academy grounds lay inside the second wall, visible from the main gate. Even from here Kael could see the training fields, the sprawling library tower, and the dueling courts where steel flashed in the sun.
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The crowd outside the academy gates was a strange mix — silk-clad nobles with their personal guards stood alongside lean, hard-eyed commoners who carried their own weapons.
A herald stepped forward. "Applicants for the Royal Academy of Arms and Arcana will be tested today in two phases: mental aptitude, followed by physical capability. Failure in either will result in immediate dismissal."
SIDE's voice was amused. —Brains before brawn. That should keep the sword-wavers nervous.
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Phase One: The Mind
Kael was ushered into a vaulted hall, each candidate seated before a single sheet of parchment. The proctor explained the rules — five problems to be solved using logic, tactics, and a knowledge of magical theory.
One question described a battlefield scenario where forces were outnumbered three to one. Kael traced the answer quickly: a feint to draw the enemy into a bottleneck, then concentrated fire from elevated positions.
Another question asked for a countermeasure to a hypothetical spell that could destabilize gravity in a radius. He scribbled: Anchor runes on perimeter, disrupt caster focus with kinetic barrage.
When he set his quill down, SIDE purred. —You know, for someone who prefers stabbing problems, you're not bad at thinking them through.
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Phase Two: The Body
The training yard was split into stations — strength trials, reaction courses, and weapon drills.
Kael stepped into the dueling ring where a knight-instructor waited with a practice spear. "Name," the man barked.
"Kael Cromwell."
The knight lunged without warning. Kael sidestepped, sword flashing up in a parry, the strike sliding past his ribs by inches. He let the momentum carry him forward, pivoting into a feint that drew the man's guard high, then tapped the tip of his practice blade to the man's chest.
"Again," the knight growled, but there was respect in his eyes now.
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By day's end, Kael was among the few whose names were posted on the acceptance board. The nobles eyed him with that same quiet calculation he'd felt since the hunt. The commoners nodded to him as one of their own — though Kael wasn't sure he belonged to either side.
SIDE's tone was calm. —You've made it in. Now the real game begins.
Kael glanced back at the academy gates as they closed behind him. He had the feeling SIDE was right.
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