Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of Liberia's Capital Hall. Ivory pillars and vaulted ceilings framed the bustling registration process—children murmuring, parents whispering instructions, officials processing names and Macht evaluations without pause. Riley stood in line beside Viscount Sventius, posture impeccable, violet hair neatly braided. Her left arm clung to her father, slight nervousness crawling up her spine as they neared the clerk. Her face, however, remained composed—perfectly poised as an elegant noble lady in her simple dress.
It had been four years since she was taken in by House Vreisz. Riley had changed. From a ragged, empty-eyed child, she had grown into a young noble girl with quiet dignity. Still, deep within her, she remained watchful.
The Macht registration was mandatory for all twelve-year-old children of Fillemina, noble or commoner alike. It recorded their bloodline, their known affiliations, and, most importantly, their Macht status. Macht was known to awaken between the ages of eight and eleven. That was why the registration only took place when a child turned twelve. Commoners and nobles had separate wings for the process, but the overall procedure was essentially the same. All registrants, talented or not, silently hoped to be classified as Thrivers. That status alone could raise one's reputation immensely—especially for commoners. Powerful and wealthy families often lined up, waiting to find a Thriver to adopt or to marry into their bloodlines, hoping their descendants would inherit the gift. But the Vreisz family certainly hoped differently than others.
Viscount Sventius Vreisz stood tall beside her, eyes quietly vigilant. He understood his daughter's nervousness, as he too could feel it tightening in his stomach. Leaning down to her level, he muttered, "You will be fine. Just do as trained. Speak only what is asked. Keep your mind clear. Stay still."
Riley nodded. She inhaled deeply, doing her best to find calm. She had trained herself to keep her thoughts empty whenever the Macht device—the crystal orb used for power assessment—was nearby. Onlookers often gasped when its surface shimmered as powers awakened. Riley needed it still. No flickers meant no suspicion.
When her turn arrived, Riley stepped forward with quiet confidence. Her voice was clear as she recited her birthdate, her titles, and her known background as daughter of House Vreisz. The official pressed her hand against the polished Macht orb. She forced her mind to blankness. They waited for a minute that felt like an eternity, but the silver orb... remained still. No glow. No pulse.
"Registered," intoned the administrator. "Lady Vreisz is classified as Comun."
Sventius let out a silent breath. Riley turned from the desk, her gaze scanning the rest of the hall. The pressure in her chest lightened. For now, she had slipped by unnoticed.
As they exited the hall, a middle-aged man in deep burgundy robes called out to the viscount.
"Sventius? By the skies, it is you! How long has it been?" The man laughed, crossing the polished marble floor to greet him.
"Iudec? You're still alive?" Sventius's usual stoicism cracked—just a little.
They exchanged hearty words, and after a moment, Sventius turned to Riley. "Wait here. This will not take long."
She nodded, and once he disappeared behind the columns of polished marble, she found herself alone and idle. She didn't want to just sit on one of the benches. Instead, she let her feet carry her slowly around the hall. She wandered the outer edges, where less foot traffic passed. The place was vast. Stone floors gleamed beneath golden light pouring from wide glass windows. Notices lined a wide board near the north wing. Out of curiosity, Riley walked toward it.
There were wanted posters—faces of criminals she didn't recognize. Notices of upcoming donation drives. Warnings about counterfeit coins in one of the border cities. Her fingers brushed past the papers until her eyes fell on a single flyer pinned slightly off-center.
It was simple, printed on cream parchment, the crest embossed at the top in dark red and black. It was a school flyer—
Imperial Academy
Her breath caught.
The crest—an intricate design of wings and a sword—seemed to burn into her mind. In the next second, an image surfaced in her thoughts unbidden:
The boy again.
He was older this time, but no older than sixteen, wearing the very uniform featured on the flyer. Black coat. Crimson accent. The crest was emblazoned on his chest. He stood beneath a rain-washed tree, certainly deep in thought, relentless and soaked, yet a flicker of determination remained strong. The image blurred as quickly as it came, but her chest ached with recognition.
She blinked, shaken.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the flyer. She read the bold heading:
"Fillemina Imperial Academy"
She continued reading.
Located on Calnore Island in Ingentyas territory, the Imperial Academy is the most prestigious educational institution in the continent. Known for its rigorous curriculum and elite standards, the Academy accepts both Comun and Thriver students from Fillemina and neighboring kingdoms. Entrance is available starting at age 14, following a successful qualification examination. The standard course lasts five years. Early graduation or extended attendance is determined by academic credit.
Tracks: Common Curriculum and Thriver Curriculum. Wide course selection available in both, including: Imperial History, Strategy, Engineering, Languages, Governance, Military Training, and more.
Annual entrance test in mid spring. Open to citizens of the Empire and affiliated territories. New semester begins after summer.
Her fingers trembled as she gripped the paper tighter.
It wasn't just a school. It was a destination.
It was where the boy was. The boy she had seen through dreams and visions for the past four years since her power had manifested.
She folded the flyer carefully and tucked it inside her coat.
That night, back at the estate in Reverie, she begged.
"Father, please... I want to attend the Imperial Academy."
The viscount's expression didn't even shift. He calmly placed his tea down. "Riley. That academy is for the elite. For future generals. Diplomats. Strategists. The education is great, yes, but so is the pressure, the expectations, the standards. Are you certain this isn't a fleeting interest?"
"I'm certain."
"If you really want to learn something, you can receive the education here. I can invite tutors from the capital. Or send you to the local academies in our territory—"
"No. It has to be the Imperial Academy."
When she met his eyes, her resolve startled him. And in truth, he already suspected this wasn't just about learning. It was about a pursuit—something personal. Something the girl hadn't even fully shared.
The argument repeated over weeks. Ramona listened quietly at first, but soon began to side with Riley. "We cannot shelter her forever. If she's serious, let her try."
Still, Sventius was hesitant.
So they reached a compromise.
"If you're still set on this when you turn thirteen," he told her, "you may attempt the entrance exam. If you pass, I will not stop you. But if you fail, you must stop chasing this."
Riley agreed without hesitation.
From that day on, she poured herself into preparation. For one full year, she studied harder than ever before. She requested textbooks. Learned geography, history, combat theory. Practiced logic problems until her eyes blurred. Sventius noticed her effort but said nothing. Ramona quietly supported her, slipping her extra scrolls and helping her write letters to contacts who had once graduated from the Academy.
When she turned fourteen, Ramona accompanied her to the capital, where the entrance test of the Imperial Academy was held. She was one of thousands taking the test, but she kept her mind steady. Her body calm. Her heart unwavering.
Weeks later, when the results were delivered to the Vreisz estate in Reverie, Sventius stared at the parchment in silence.
"She passed," Ramona whispered, glancing at the parchment Sventius had stared at for quite a moment.
"She did."
There was a long pause. He set the scroll down, then turned to her, finally defeated.
"You'll go. But under conditions."
She stood tall. "Name them."
"You will enroll in the Comun Curriculum, obviously, since you were registered as one. If your Macht ever dangerously activates or you're in a situation prone to it being exposed, you will withdraw immediately. You will also write to us at least once every two weeks. No exceptions. You shall report everything."
"I agree."
"And—" he paused, "if there's ever a time I believe it is no longer safe, you will come home."
"...Alright."
It was a heavy deal. But one she accepted gladly.
Because finally, at last—
She was going to find him.
The boy.
Whoever he was.
Wherever those visions came from.
Even if she didn't understand why, she felt it in her bones.
The answers waited in the Academy.
And she was going to get them.