A grand gesture of atonement, orchestrated by a mind utterly devoid of genuine remorse, held the pungent scent of cheap perfume. Such contrived sincerity rarely fooled anyone above the age of ten, yet the Empire’s powerful often accepted it, valuing the performance above the truth.
“You call that ‘just that’? How severe. Have you not heard the old axiom?”
Valerius Blackwood reclined against the chair’s back, spine arching, gaze drifting towards the ornate ceiling of the Sanatorium’s private dining room. He crossed his arms. A faint, almost predatory curve touched his lips, a smile that never quite reached his cold, calculating eyes.
“A man is either a beast or a child.”
“...Truly, Valerius.”
“I am no beast. So, whether I accumulate decades or not, we are all just children in different suits. What genuine difference does it make?”
Lord Vane as a beast? The thought was absurd. Valerius unfolded his arms, a dismissive gesture. I watched him, reminded once more that his peculiar logic existed in a sphere entirely his own, untethered by convention.
“Prefect Theron’s summons.”
Valerius straightened, retrieving a small, polished obsidian scrying mirror from his tunic. Its surface glowed with a faint, pulsing light. “Keep watch over my… effects.”
“What effects could possibly–?”
Ignoring my half-formed question, he strode away. He returned shortly, each hand balancing a delicate silver tray. My brow furrowed. His hands, though long-fingered and elegant, seemed too slender for such a feat.
“That isn’t unwieldy?”
“Hardly. It feels quite light.”
One tray held a steaming tea, brewed from arcane herbs. Another, a small, crystal decanter of refined Elixir of Lumina. He placed them onto the table without a murmur of exertion. I stared, momentarily dazed by his casual display of arcane control, or perhaps sheer strength. Observing my blank expression, he clicked his tongue, a sharp, crisp sound.
“Were you captivated by my refined bearing, perhaps?”
That was… an utter miscalculation. His theatrics were wasted on me.
“Simply consume your portion.”
“How might one consume with one’s lips sealed? Thus?”
I ignored his pressed lips as he brought a delicate silver spoon to them. Moments later, he flashed a grin, a flash of white teeth, before settling back into his seat with an unsettling grace.
Selecting my own spoon, I gazed at the small, intricate pastry before me. Its surface was dusted with powdered moonpetal, a luxury ingredient. I lowered my hand, carefully scraping the side. Valerius blew gently on his tea, then set his spoon down, prodding at the pastry with a long, slender finger.
I prepared to take a bite, then paused. My eyes inexplicably fixed on Valerius’s hands.
“I’ve considered this before… Your precision is quite exceptional.”
“Mine? Do you truly believe so?”
“Indeed.”
*Yet, it seems… ill-suited to you.* The thought remained unspoken. Perhaps sensing my unspoken reservation, Valerius narrowed his eyes, then suddenly exclaimed, “Ah!” A sinister smirk twisted his lips.
“So, you observed it.”
“Observed what?”
My question was genuine. What hidden meaning had I missed?
“You feign ignorance, do you not? Very well, you keen-eyed, quick-witted Thorne. I shall bring you into my confidence.”
Into what, precisely? I frowned at his elliptical pronouncements. Valerius’s lips curled.
“Well, when I present myself to Kaelen Vane, there is a certain… scholarly contribution I shall require of you.”
“Whatever… No matter.”
It was almost certainly disingenuous. I offered a halfhearted nod.
Valerius finished his tea first. He tucked his hands into his pockets, observing me with a patient, unsettling stillness. As soon as I concluded my own meal, he inclined his head towards the Sanatorium’s lift access. Then, without a timepiece, he tapped his bare wrist repeatedly, a subtle, insistent gesture.
“I am done. Cease your urgency.”
“Our allotted visiting interval draws short. You dither.”
“By the Serpent, Valerius. Very well.”
“Arise. Swiftly.”
“I am arising, I stated.”
“Hasten and summon the conveyance.”
“Damn it all…”
Muttering under my breath, I moved swiftly and pressed the call button.
“Well done, Julian.”
“Be gone…”
I cast a discreet glare at Valerius. So, this individual, when seeking an outcome, adopted a peculiar, insistent familiarity. It had taken me months at the Academy to discern this pattern. Though, truth be told, I had not actively sought to understand it.
As we waited, Valerius’s fingers brushed the edge of a faint, silver-blue mark tracing his jawline. It resembled a lightning strike, barely grazing the skin, yet it seemed to throb with a subtle, internal light, a carefully maintained illusion of pain.
“Should that mark be… flaring thus?”
“It is vexatious. It interferes with the calming wards.”
Before I could respond, the lift doors opened with a soft hiss. Valerius stepped in, immediately pressing the floor button for the higher-level convalescence suites. As we ascended, he glanced at the mirrored panel, baring his teeth in a peculiar, almost feral grimace. “Remarkable. Still aligned.”
I stole a glance at him. He leaned slightly towards his reflection, hands still in his pockets, an air of refined delinquency clinging to him. He was absurdly tall, casting a long shadow even in the confined space. While I instinctively observed him, dissecting his every move, the lift reached our floor in moments.
The corridor lay in utter silence. Valerius gestured with his chin towards a specific suite entrance.
“That is the designated chamber.”
His lips were slightly parted, his downward gaze laced with an arrogant satisfaction. As the lift doors began to close behind us, we stepped out. Valerius, however, did not immediately advance towards the suite. I paused behind him, awaiting his next move.
After a brief, suspended moment, he resumed walking, his unusually long legs striding with measured grace. His ring finger scratched at the edge of the faint arcane mark on his jaw. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, he peeled away the illusory energy, banishing the silver-blue trace completely.
“Ah. Confound it. That tingles.”
The discarded illusion seemed to dissipate into the air, a wisp of arcane light. Valerius turned, his gaze fixing on me.
“...”
His jaw, now unblemished, looked entirely normal. Yet, the memory of the fabricated mark lingered, an unsettling phantom. He grinned, a confident, utterly disarming smile that felt strangely eerie. Especially combined with that perpetually aloof cast to his features—as if he perpetually schemed.
“How do I present myself? Sufficiently convincing?”
Valerius Blackwood. Always full of calculated deceit. Every pronouncement seemed spontaneous, yet entirely self-serving. He possessed an uncanny knack for attempting to persuade me with blatant absurdities, and at times, even ensnaring himself within his own grandiose delusions.
“...Who can say.”
Suddenly, a memory surfaced, a fragment from a conversation mere days ago.
He had spoken of it as if recounting another’s tale—how he had last visited the Imperial Arcanum’s grand library seven cycles past. Since his First Arcane Attunement at eleven, it was his first return. His transgression? Neglecting the ancient texts for seven cycles. He admitted he had only gone because his father, Lord Blackwood, would have admonished him. The Arch-Librarian had stated that approaching scholarship with such shallow motivations was problematic.
“Ah, my apologies for that.” He had intended to depart, yet found himself reciting an ancient blessing in place of the Arch-Librarian. The venerable scholar had been flustered. Valerius had only realized his error after stepping away from the Lectern of Whispers. “I wished to sink through the floor in utter mortification. Why, in the Serpent’s coils, do they have the rites inscribed so prominently right there?”
Yet, Valerius Blackwood was most certainly not visiting the Arcanum this week either. That was simply his immutable nature.
“My father and various Arcane Circle members perpetually inquire why I have not been attending. Is that their sole discourse? What recourse have I but to maintain consistency?”
Valerius snickered. Seeing the others around us merely glance away, I nodded. Yes, in his own peculiar, self-serving manner, he was consistent. And that consistency had never once placed me at a disadvantage.
I raised my hand, gently brushing the faint burn mark on my forearm, a residue from a minor arcane backfire during my own solitary practice that morning. A small, convenient symbol of shared ‘hardship.’
“This should suffice, yes?”
A pale red line marked my skin, fading slightly but still visible. Valerius observed me with a faint, knowing smile, his eyes curling with amusement.
“You comprehend why Kaelen Vane is such an utter simpleton?”
Valerius lowered his head slightly, bringing his face close to mine. He whispered, his voice a low, silken rasp.
“He possesses no foresight. No capacity for strategic thought. He fails to perceive that if he persists in such conduct, his life’s trajectory leads directly to utter ruin.”
*Tap, tap.* His thin fingers drummed lightly near his pocket.
“He should have heeded his father. They assert that if one attends to one’s progenitors, prosperity follows.”
*And do you attend to your own progenitors?* I swallowed the words before they could escape. In a perverse way, it did seem he did. *Indeed, whatever.* Valerius’s voice was laced with an almost cruel amusement. We soon arrived at a grand double door. Instead of opening it, he simply waited.
For a brief, suspended moment, I attempted to dissect my own motivations. Why had I followed him to this point? Why was I complicit in his calculated charade? The most compelling reason I could summon was the perverse desire to witness Kaelen Vane’s downfall with my own academic eyes. And perhaps, to understand the intricate machinations of true power.
I lifted my head, meeting Valerius’s gaze. Placing a hand lightly on his back, I spoke in a quiet voice.
“Let us proceed.”
The instant I uttered the words, Valerius smirked, as if my assent had been precisely what he awaited. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, deliberately disheveling it, then hunched his shoulders slightly as he carefully pushed open the doors. He stepped in first, and I followed him into the hushed confines of the suite.
Kaelen Vane lay upon a cot, pale and still, tethered to arcane monitors. Beside him sat a visage I knew all too well—Lord Vane, his father. Honestly, I was taken aback. I had not truly expected his presence.
“My apologies for our tardiness, Lord Vane. I am Valerius Blackwood,” he stated smoothly, lifting his chin with brazen confidence. Though momentarily startled, I swiftly masked my reaction and offered a slight, deferential bow.
“Greetings, Lord Vane.”
As soon as the words left my lips, the old man’s gaze, which had been fixed intently on Valerius, shifted to me. A flicker of surprise crossed his weary features.
“...You, young Thorne? Are you not Julian?”
“I encountered him in the Sanatorium’s grand hall, Lord Vane. Is he here on a visitation?”
Before I could formulate an answer, Valerius interjected, playing the innocent, befuddled acquaintance with practiced ease. The seamless naturalness of his lie, as casual as a polite greeting, was truly impressive. He must have perfected such deceptions countless times. His utter shamelessness rendered me speechless, yet I merely offered a small, complicit smile and played along. There was no other recourse.
“Yes. Merely a visit.”
“Ah… But, well…”
Lord Vane’s expression, already troubled, faltered further. It was patently obvious he wished to utter something, yet hesitated, betraying precisely what he intended. Ultimately, Lord Vane himself broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Thank you for coming, young Thorne. I am certain Kaelen would have appreciated your presence. But Julian, I apologize, might I prevail upon you to step outside for a brief interval? There are certain matters I must discuss with young Blackwood.”
“Oh, certainly, Lord Vane.”
I nodded, withdrawing from the room without hesitation. For a fleeting second, I considered leaving the door ajar, a small aperture for clandestine listening. But Lord Vane’s gaze, fixed so piercingly upon me, made such a risk unthinkable.
So, I remained ignorant of the true nature of their conversation within.
With naught else to occupy myself, I turned towards the window. Azure clouds drifted slowly across the vast Imperial sky. It was difficult to ascertain if the elapsed time was too brief or too protracted for a discussion concerning forgiveness, or perhaps, retribution. Eventually, however, the door opened, and Lord Vane emerged.
“Julian.”
“Ah, Lord Vane. Have your discussions concluded?”
I turned swiftly, offering another shallow bow. The soft tread of his polished boots grew nearer. Only then did I lift my head to observe the man who had, albeit indirectly, contributed to my brother’s first significant academic setback. He had aged significantly. It had been mere months since our last formal encounter, yet his face was more deeply etched, his shoulders more stooped, inspiring a peculiar, disquieting unease.
“My apologies for abruptly dismissing you thus. Kaelen has been acting so… imprudently of late. Yet you still made the journey here. I truly appreciate it. He is presently under the influence of powerful arcane sedatives, so he shall not awaken.”
“Oh, no need for concern, Lord Vane. It was my duty to come, of course. Though it is a pity I shall not have the opportunity to converse with him.”
“Yes, thank you for your understanding.”
Lord Vane let out a low sigh. It was so faint, so utterly depleted, that it seemed pitiful. There remained none of the furious, roaring authority that used to react to Kaelen’s every minor transgression—only a fragile, weary middle-aged noble. I could not comprehend why he appeared so despondent. It seemed implausible he was this broken merely because his son had suffered a few setbacks.
“I had hoped that associating with diligent scholars such as yourself would help Kaelen find a more principled path… But lately, he has only involved himself in greater difficulties, falling in with ill influences… And now this…”
“...”
“By some chance, Julian, do you know a young acolyte named Elias Thorne?”
Elias Thorne.
My fingertips trembled, a barely perceptible tremor. The familiar dread, cold and sharp, began to uncoil in my gut. I was so utterly weary of this intricate dance.
“Elias? Yes, Lord Vane. He is… my younger brother.”
“What manner of youth is he? Do you possess any knowledge of his recent activities?”
“He is… diligent. Quite intelligent, perhaps even moreso than myself in certain arcane theories. But his position, our family’s standing… it is precarious. Even so, he always strove to excel at the Academy….”
“And?”
“Then, one particular incident…”