Chapter 3: A Lecture Watched by Gods
The lecture hall smelled faintly of chalk and old paper.
Lucien Arkwright stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, facing rows of students dressed in the academy's black-and-silver uniform. Sunlight filtered through tall arched windows, softened by stained glass etched with arcane sigils. The crimson moon had faded, but its presence lingered like a bruise beneath the sky.
He counted forty-two students.
Forty nobles.
One commoner scholarship holder.
And one Crown Princess.
Elowen Viremont sat in the second row, posture perfect, her gaze calm and unwavering. Unlike the others, who whispered or glanced around with curiosity, she appeared entirely focused on him.
Lucien resisted the urge to sigh.
*So this is how I die,* he thought dryly. *Mid-lecture.*
He turned to the board and picked up a piece of chalk. The moment it touched his fingers, a strange sensation rippled through his mind—as if the object recognized him.
He wrote carefully.
ANCIENT HISTORY AND LINGUISTIC THEORY
PROFESSOR LUCIEN ARKWRIGHT
A murmur rippled through the room.
Lucien turned.
"Before we begin," he said calmly, "I must make something clear."
The students straightened instinctively.
"This course is not about spells, enchantments, or power. It is about knowledge."
He paused.
"And knowledge," he added, "has consequences."
Several students exchanged uneasy looks.
The Crown Princess did not react.
Lucien continued, "History is not a collection of dead facts. It is a record of mistakes repeated until someone remembers why they were forbidden."
A noble student near the front raised his hand. "Professor, isn't ancient history mostly… exaggerated? Superstition dressed up as scholarship?"
A few students chuckled quietly.
Lucien's gaze drifted toward the young man.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Edric Halvern, House Halvern," the student replied proudly.
Lucien nodded. "House Halvern lost three ancestors during the Third Suppression Era."
Edric stiffened. "That was—"
"A ritual accident," Lucien finished. "Recorded as such by the Church. The original transcript, however, describes it as an attempt to translate a hymn written in pre-unification Hermes."
Silence fell.
Lucien's chalk tapped once against the board.
"Language," he said, "is not passive. Certain words were never meant to be understood."
A strange hush settled over the hall.
Lucien felt it again—that faint pressure, as if unseen eyes had turned toward him.
He shifted the lecture.
"Today," he continued, "we will discuss the concept of sealed knowledge."
He wrote another phrase:
THE PRICE OF REMEMBRANCE
"As civilizations advanced," Lucien said, "they encountered truths that could not be destroyed. So they were buried. Encoded. Passed down through bloodlines, myths, and dreams."
A student whispered, "Dreams?"
Lucien's eyes flicked briefly toward Elowen.
"Yes," he said evenly. "Dreams are the oldest library."
The Crown Princess's fingers tightened slightly in her lap.
Lucien noticed.
The air grew heavier.
Somewhere beyond the walls, a bell rang—but the sound felt distant, distorted.
Lucien's vision flickered.
For a fraction of a second, the lecture hall was no longer filled with students.
Instead, he saw shadows.
Tall figures standing behind the walls.
Watching.
*Focus,* he said to himself.
He drew a circle on the board.
"Seals," he explained, "require anchors. Places. Objects. Or—"
He hesitated.
"—people."
A sharp intake of breath echoed from somewhere in the room.
Lucien turned.
The commoner student had gone pale.
Elowen finally spoke.
"Professor," she said softly, "is it possible for a seal to fail without being broken?"
Lucien met her gaze.
"Yes," he answered. "When the anchor begins to remember what it was meant to forget."
A low hum filled the hall.
Lucien felt a pulse behind his eyes, painful and cold.
Symbols flickered briefly across the chalkboard—curving characters that were not part of his lecture.
Several students gasped.
Lucien slammed his hand against the desk.
The symbols vanished.
"My apologies," he said calmly, though sweat had formed at his temples. "An afterimage."
No one laughed.
Elowen watched him intently now.
Lucien dismissed the class ten minutes early.
As the students filed out in hushed silence, Lucien remained still, breathing carefully, waiting until the hall was nearly empty.
Only Elowen remained.
She rose.
"You didn't deny it,she asked in calm tone.
Lucien turned. "Deny what, Your Highness?"
"That I am an anchor."
Lucien studied her for a long moment.
"You are many things," he said finally. "Anchor is only one of them."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "And what are you, Professor?"
Lucien felt the whisper stir.
"A survivor," he replied.
Footsteps echoed at the hall entrance.
Three figures entered.
They wore gray robes trimmed with silver—members of the Royal Church's Inspection Division.
The lead inspector smiled pleasantly.
"Professor Arkwright," he said, "forgive the interruption. Routine observation."
Lucien inclined his head. "Of course."
The inspector's gaze slid briefly to Elowen, then back.
"We sensed an anomaly," he continued. "During your lecture."
Lucien's smile was faint. "History tends to do that."
The inspector chuckled politely.
Elowen stepped forward. "I found the lecture enlightening."
The inspector stiffened slightly. "Your Highness."
She ignored him.
Lucien felt something shift.
The inspector cleared his throat. "We will require a private review of your materials, Professor."
Lucien nodded. "Naturally."
The inspectors left.
Elowen turned to him.
"They're afraid of you," she said.
Lucien watched the door close.
"They should be," he replied quietly.
As the hall emptied completely, Lucien felt the pressure finally ease.
Inside his mind, the whisper spoke again.In approval.
Outside, clouds slid across the sky.
And somewhere beneath the academy, something old stirred in its sleep.