Photography had not yet become the ubiquitous eye it was on Earth.
In this world, images were captured on silver plates—expensive, fickle, and prone to blurring. Most identification relied on the "Golden Trio" of bureaucracy: clothing, age, and general physique. It was a system built on the assumption that honest men didn't change their faces, and criminals were easy to spot.
I'm sorry, Mr. Ludger, I thought, staring at the polished brass of the train station's interior. But the dead don't need a career, and the living aren't ready to die.
The real Ludger Chelysie was at the bottom of a ravine, but his identity was a suit of armor I desperately needed.
"Oh my God," Veronica DeVille whispered, her hand hovering over her heart. "A Senior Professor at Sorenth. I knew the magic I saw back there was... different. It had such weight."
Her tone had shifted instantly. In the Aethelgard Empire, a Sorenth Professor was more than a teacher; they were a national asset, a person whose mind was considered a weapon of the state. Even the police officer, who had been eyeing my youthful face with suspicion moments ago, snapped into a frantic bow.
"I... I deeply apologize for the intrusion, Professor!" he stammered, his face turning a shade of beet-red. "The chaos of the attack... the protocol... please, do not hold it against the Leathevelk Department!"
"It's forgotten," I said, my voice cool and dismissive. I had found that the less I said, the more "professorial" I seemed.
"We shall escort you to the gates, sir!"
"That won't be necessary," I started, but they weren't listening. They treated me like a porcelain vase. I was guided through the swarming, frantic crowd of the station by a phalanx of guards.
I reached the station exit, the brisk air of the city hitting my face. I needed to vanish. I needed to find a back-alley alchemist, buy a new face, and disappear into the industrial fog of Leathevelk.
"I've come far enough," I told the guards, stopping near a row of black carriages. "I'll move on my own from here. I find the escort... burdensome."
"Of course, Professor! Safe travels!"
The guards saluted and retreated. I let out a long, shuddering breath, my shoulders finally dropping. I had done it. I was clear. I just needed to walk away—
"Professor Ludger Chelysie?"
The voice was soft, like the rustle of old parchment, yet it froze the blood in my veins. I hadn't heard a single footstep. I hadn't felt a ripple in the mana around me.
I turned slowly. Standing behind me was an elderly gentleman in a immaculate, charcoal-grey suit. He stood with a slight, modest slouch, his hands folded neatly in front of him. His eyes were clear and sharp, tucked behind gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Yes?" I asked, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "And you are?"
"My name is Wilford," the old man said, offering a shallow, perfect bow. "I am an attendant of Sorenth Academy. We received word of the attack via the emergency mana-relay. I was dispatched to ensure your safe arrival."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward a magnificent black carriage. It was a marvel of magi-tech: the body was lacquered obsidian, and instead of horses, it was hitched to a massive, steam-hissing golem shaped like a stallion, its brass joints whirring with clockwork precision.
"Please, sir. The Principal is anxious to meet you. Your luggage has already been loaded."
I looked at the carriage. I looked at Wilford. The old man looked back with a polite, vacant smile that didn't reach his eyes.
This man is dangerous, I realized. He isn't just a butler. He's a watchdog.
Escape was no longer an option. If I ran, he'd have me pinned before I cleared the curb. If I refused, the suspicion would be instantaneous.
"Lead the way, Wilford," I said, stepping into the plush, velvet interior of the carriage.
The Fortress of Reason
As the steam-golem pulled us through the streets of Leathevelk, I watched the city go by. It was a cacophony of gears and ghosts. But as we crossed the bridge over the Great Canal, the industrial grime vanished, replaced by the sprawling, impossible grandeur of Sorenth Academy.
It wasn't a school; it was a sovereign city-state.
The gates were five stories tall, wrought from cold iron and inscribed with enough defensive runes to level a mountain. As the carriage passed through, I felt a heavy hum in the air—the sensation of a thousand "eyes" of magic scanning my soul.
Wilford sat across from me, his posture iron-rod straight. "You look troubled, Professor. Is the carriage not to your liking?"
"Just the aftereffects of the explosion," I lied, leaning back against the red silk cushions. "It's been a long day."
"Understandable. Though, from what I heard, you handled yourself with the poise of a seasoned combatant. Rank Four at twenty-six... the rumors did not do you justice."
I kept my face a mask of stone. Note to self: The real Ludger was a genius. Stop acting like a commoner.
The carriage stopped in front of the Crown Spire, a white stone castle that served as the Academy's heart. Wilford opened the door and led me inside. The interior was a dream of the Belle Époque—soaring ceilings, floating candles, and floors of polished marble that reflected the stained-glass windows above.
Students in crisp, navy uniforms scurried past, their whispers trailing behind them like smoke.
"Is that him?"
"The one from the train? Look at his eyes..."
I ignored them, following Wilford to a massive brass elevator. We ascended in silence. When the doors opened on the thirtieth floor, I was greeted by a single, long corridor lined with a red carpet. At the end stood a pair of oaken doors.
"The Principal is waiting," Wilford said, stepping aside. "Good luck, Professor."
I took a breath, adjusted my sleeves, and knocked.
"Come in," a voice called out. It was a drowsy, melodic sound, like honey poured over velvet.
I pushed the doors open.
The office was vast, filled with the ticking of a thousand clocks and the smell of ancient books. Sitting behind a desk of dark mahogany was a woman who looked no older than twenty-five, though her presence filled the room like a physical weight.
She was the Principal. A Sixth-Rank Lexure—one of the most powerful mages on the continent.
Her hair was a cascading waterfall of white, with subtle streaks of pink hidden underneath. Her eyes, a piercing, liquid gold, fixed on me with a terrifying intensity.
"Professor Ludger Chelysie," she said, leaning her chin on her hand. Her golden eyes seemed to peel back the layers of my skin, looking for the truth beneath the lie. "I heard you had a... spirited... journey."
I didn't flinch. I couldn't afford to. I stood in the center of the room, my long hair tied back, my black coat still smelling of the winter wind.
"I am here," I said, my voice echoing in the silent room. "I trust my delay has not caused an inconvenience, Principal."
She stared at me for a long, agonizing minute. Then, a slow, predatory smile spread across her face.
"On the contrary, Ludger. I think you're going to make this semester very... interesting."
I looked at her, and for the first time in twenty-seven years, I felt like the "Eye" my mother had warned me about was wide open.
I was in the lion's den. And the lion was hungry.