The Imperial Gardens did not exist on Aethelgard. They existed within the Emperor's will. It was a pocket dimension, a bubble of perfect, perpetual spring tethered to the Aetherial Throne. Here, the sky was always a gentle azure, the breeze always carried the scent of blossoms that never wilted, and the grass was always the perfect shade of emerald green. It was a place of serene, unchanging beauty, a stark contrast to the decaying reality of the empire it represented.
Princess Seraphina Solarius walked along a path paved with smooth, white river stones, her silver-blonde hair catching the artificial sunlight like spun moonlight. She moved with a practiced, hypnotic grace, her silk gown flowing around her like water. To any observer, she was the perfect picture of a princess at leisure, a beautiful ornament in a beautiful garden. The observation would be dangerously incomplete.
She was here for tea with her brother, Prince Valerius. And in the Solarius family, "tea" was never just tea. It was politics. It was strategy. It was a delicate dance of veiled questions and calculated revelations.
She found him by the Crystal Lake, a body of water whose surface was a single, solid sheet of flawless quartz, with koi made of liquid light swimming in its depths. He was seated at a small, wrought-iron table, a chessboard set up before him. He wasn't playing; he was simply staring at the pieces, his amber-gold eyes, deliberately dimmed, tracing invisible lines of attack and defense across the board. A single, untouched teacup sat before him.
"You're brooding again, brother," Seraphina said, her voice a soft, melodic chime. She sat down opposite him, pouring herself a cup of the steaming, fragrant tea that had been waiting for them. "It gives you wrinkles."
Valerius didn't look up from the board. "Wrinkles imply the passage of time. A concept I find increasingly tedious." He moved a black knight, placing it in a position that threatened the white queen. "The new students have all arrived at the Academy."
"So I've heard," Seraphina replied, taking a delicate sip of her tea. "Another crop of ambitious young nobles, all eager to prove their worth and slit each other's throats for a better ranking. The same story, every year."
"Not entirely the same," Valerius murmured, his focus still on the board. "This year's crop has several points of interest. The Pyralis heiress, Isabella. All fire and fury. Politically useful, if aimed correctly. A cannon that needs a steady hand to point it."
Seraphina smiled faintly. "You see a cannon. I see a bonfire waiting to burn down the forest. She is too passionate, too unpredictable." Her unique talent, her Emotional Cartography, had allowed her to study the girl from afar. Isabella Pyralis was a storm of rage, pride, and a surprising, deeply buried insecurity. A dangerous combination.
"Passion can be manipulated," Valerius countered. "It is a lever. Then there is the Glaciem heir, Elara. The opposite problem. All logic, no passion. She is too neutral to trust, but too brilliant to ignore. She will likely remain a spectator unless given a compelling, data-driven reason to intervene." He tapped a white bishop. "She is a fortress. Impenetrable, but also immobile."
";A fortress can be undermined," Seraphina said softly. She had read the reports on Elara Glaciem as well. The girl was a prodigy of cold logic, but her file also hinted at a profound, unacknowledged loneliness. Even a fortress has a foundation, and every foundation can crack.
Valerius finally looked up from the board, his gaze meeting hers. "And then there is the curiosity. The charity case. A human from the under-crust, admitted as a 'political gesture' by Father." He made a dismissive gesture. "Kaelen Dusk. A symbol of the Imperium's 'inclusivity'. A lamb being led to a slaughterhouse full of wolves. He will be eaten alive before the first week is out."
"Perhaps," Seraphina said, her expression unreadable. "Or perhaps a wolf that tries to eat a stone will break its teeth. The under-crust breeds survivors, not politicians. He might be more resilient than you think."
Valerius gave a small, humorless smile. "Your optimism is, as always, charmingly misplaced. He is a non-factor. A piece of fluff on the board." He leaned back in his chair, his posture one of deliberate, casual power. But Seraphina, with her heightened senses, noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed a silent, agitated rhythm on the table. He was more distracted than usual. More calculating.
"Something is troubling you, Valerius," she stated. It wasn't a question. She could feel the hum of his mind, the rapid-fire calculations happening behind his bored facade. "And it's not the new students."
He was silent for a moment, his eyes returning to the chessboard. "I was reviewing the quarterly maintenance reports from the Academy," he said, his voice low. "A tedious but necessary task. And I found… an oddity."
Seraphina leaned forward, her interest piqued. Valerius did not deal in "oddities." He dealt in threats, weaknesses, and opportunities. For him to use such a vague word meant he was genuinely perplexed.
"For the past several centuries," he continued, "House Vex'Arak has been the primary contractor for all major structural and spatial projects at the Academy. Their work is, by all accounts, flawless. Their prices, reasonable. But their incident reports… they show a pattern."
"Incidents?"
"Minor things. 'Contained spatial distortions.' 'Residual reality tears.' Always attributed to natural phenomena, always resolved without issue. But the frequency has been increasing over the last decade. There were three in the last year alone." He looked at her, his amber eyes sharp. "It's statistically anomalous. There is nothing concrete, nothing I could bring before the Council. But it feels… wrong. Like a web being woven in the dark."
Seraphina processed this. Her brother's intuition was a formidable weapon. If he sensed a pattern, there was a pattern. House Vex'Arak, the secret apostates, the Doom's architects. She knew their history, their hidden corruption. Valerius saw a political conspiracy, a play for power. She, who had studied the forbidden texts, suspected something far worse.
"What do you intend to do?" she asked.
"Observe," he said simply. "And I need a better vantage point. I want you to attend the entrance examinations personally."
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Me? I haven't attended the examinations in years. It's so… loud."
"Your presence is less disruptive than mine," he explained. "When I attend, everyone is on their guard. They perform for the Prince. But you… you they trust. They will be more natural. You can observe them, feel them. Your 'Emotional Cartography' will see things my informants cannot." He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Watch the Vex'Arak students. Watch the instructors. Watch for anything that feels out of place. Be my eyes, sister."
She held his gaze. She knew this was not a request. It was a command, wrapped in the velvet glove of sibling affection. He was using her, as he always did. But this time, their interests aligned. She was as curious about this Vex'Arak "oddity" as he was. And perhaps, while being his eyes, she could also be her own.
"Very well," she said, a sweet smile gracing her lips. "I will attend. For you, brother."
"Thank you, Seraphina," he said, his own smile returning.
They both knew she was lying. They both knew he knew. It was all part of the game. She would go to the Academy. She would be his eyes. But the information she gathered, the secrets she uncovered… those would be hers alone. The velvet dagger was always kept hidden until the moment it was needed.