Glass shattered into a thousand glittering teeth as Ren threw his weight against the heavy wooden frame. Shards of glass rained down onto the stone ledge below, cutting through the tense quiet of the midnight estate. Cold air rushed to meet him, biting at his face and filling his lungs with the sharp scent of upcoming winter. Splinters of wood clung to his sleeves as he balanced on the narrow ledge, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Behind him, the private sanctuary of the Velthorn estate was bathed in a fading, eerie blue light from the vision that had just fractured. Metal prongs bit deep into the skin around his right eye socket, cementing the silver suppression device in place. Every blink was a chore, the heavy lens filtering his vision into a dull, greyish hue while his left eye struggled to adjust to the darkness. He could feel the pulse of suppressed magic throbbing against the glass, a caged beast desperate to break free. Golden light flickered just beyond the manicured tree line of the private gardens, a phantom shape darting through the darkness like a dying spark. Flickering like a dying ember, the golden shape had danced across his windowpane just moments before the glass broke. It wasn't a natural creature, nor was it a simple spell; it possessed a strange, intentional movement that felt like a summons. He had felt an instinctual pull to follow it, a calling that resonated deep within his bones. Reaching out, he gripped the cold, splintered wooden sill and vaulted into the open air without a single second of hesitation. Gravity claimed him instantly, pulling him down toward the dark, quiet grounds of the Velthorn estate. He prepped his body for the impact, tucking his shoulder and pulling his limbs close to his chest to minimize the noise. Rolling as he hit the soft earth, Ren absorbed the impact, his knees bending to take the shock before he sprang back to his feet in a fluid motion. Quiet hung over the gardens, an unnatural, stifling silence that felt entirely wrong for a midsummer night. Not a single cricket chirped in the bushes, and the wind had died down to a breathless, frozen halt. Stately hedges and marble statues of ancient Velthorn heroes lined the gravel paths, now looking like silent sentries in the gloom. Dew-soaked grass clung to his boots as he straightened, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of the training saber at his waist. He looked around, his left eye straining through the gloom while his right eye, covered by the heavy glass of the monocle, felt completely blind to the natural world. Something was terribly amiss, a heavy weight pressing down on the very atmosphere of the estate. Two yards away, a perimeter guard lay slumped against the base of a marble fountain. Breathing shallowly, the man’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed as if gripped by a sudden, irresistible slumber. His weapon remained untouched in its leather sheath, his hand resting limply on the stone rim of the fountain. Panic flared in Ren’s chest as he rushed over, pressing two fingers against the guard's cold, damp throat. A steady, slow pulse beat beneath his fingertips, proving the man was alive, but no amount of shaking could wake him. He was completely unresponsive, locked in a deep, magical sleep that defied natural physics. Kneeling on the wet earth, Ren checked the soldier's gear, finding the imperial crest stamped onto the leather breastplate. These were elite household guards, trained to withstand mental assaults and physical ambushes alike. To see them neutralized so effortlessly sent a chill down his spine, highlighting the terrifying power of their uninvited guest. Searching the immediate area, Ren realized the entire patrol had met the exact same fate. Ahead, three more soldiers were scattered across the gravel path, their bodies limp on the dew-kissed grass. None of them showed signs of struggle, indicating a silent wave of power had washed over them in an instant, knocking them out before they could draw their blades. His silver eye, hidden beneath the glass of the newly acquired monocle, hummed with a strange, localized vibration. Warmth radiated from the metal frame against his skin, a warning signal that heavy magical forces were at play nearby. He gripped his sword hilt, his knuckles turning white as he realized the golden entity had led him directly into a trap. Slowly, the golden light he had been chasing gathered at the center of the courtyard, condensing into a single, blinding point. A figure stepped out from the thick mist, the golden glow receding into a small, metallic object held in his palm. The intruder carried himself with an absolute, terrifying authority that made Ren's blood run cold. Clad in the pristine, blood-red robes of the High Inquisition, the man’s presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air. Ren recognized him instantly; it was High Inquisitor Malakai, the Emperor’s hand of judgment. A cold dread settled deep in Ren's stomach, threatening to paralyze him where he stood. Between his fingers, Malakai held a glowing golden compass that clicked and whirred with erratic, violent speed. Sparks of pure light dripped from the device, sizzling against the wet grass before vanishing into nothingness. Pointing the device left, Malakai watched as the needle dragged itself back to Ren with a sharp, metallic click. Swiveling it right, the needle snapped back instantly, vibrating so hard the glass casing threatened to crack. Whirring like an angry hornet, the compass glowed brighter, casting long, harsh shadows across the stone courtyard. Ren felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. If Malakai discovered his true nature as a commoner raised by nobles, everything Veren had built would crumble in a single night. 'Anomalies always leave a trail,' Malakai murmured, his voice smooth, like silk dragged over broken glass. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his polished boots crunching softly on the gravel path. Golden eyes, matching the light of his magic, scanned Ren’s face, lingering on the silver monocle covering his right eye. Under that intense gaze, Ren felt as though his very skin was being peeled back to reveal the commoner blood underneath. Drawing his steel sword, Ren let the weapon clear its scabbard with a sharp, metallic ring that broke the silence. He fell into a defensive stance, his feet planted firmly on the dew-kissed grass. With a flick of his wrist, Malakai dismissed his compass, letting it vanish into his heavy sleeve. Light gathered in his right hand, solidifying into a long, gleaming lance of pure, condensed energy. Thrusting the weapon forward, Malakai didn't offer a warning, sending a beam of searing white light straight at Ren's chest. The attack was blindingly fast, a strike meant to incinerate or force the target to reveal their magical defenses. Clanging steel echoed through the empty garden as Ren brought his training saber up in a desperate arc. Muscles screaming from the sudden exertion, Ren diverted the lance's tip, sending the beam digging into the stone path. Pain shot up his forearms, the heat of the construct singeing the hair on his wrists and scorching his sleeves. He refused to back down, drawing on every hour of brutal training Veren had forced him through. Veren's voice echoed in his mind, reminding him of countless dawn practices: *Never fight magic with magic you cannot control; use the weight of their own momentum against them.* White-hot energy crackled as Malakai swept the lance in low arcs, aiming to take Ren's legs out from under him. Ren leaped over the burning light, the heat rising to singe the soles of his leather boots. Sparks flew as Malakai raised his left hand, blocking the steel blade with a hastily conjured shield of golden light. The impact sounded like a hammer striking an anvil, vibrating through Ren's teeth. Breathing hard, Ren spun on his heel, using the momentum of the rebound to launch a rapid sequence of thrusts. Each strike was aimed at a different vital point, a flurry of steel that forced Malakai to step back. Twisting his hips, Ren stepped inside the lance's guard, executing a textbook parry that forced Malakai's weapon downward. Deflecting the light-construct with his physical blade, he felt the sheer kinetic force vibrating through the metal. Sliding his blade along the shaft of the light lance, Ren aimed a blunt strike at the Inquisitor’s shoulder. The move was bold, born of sheer desperation to keep the inquisitor at bay. Heavy, suffocating pressure suddenly erupted from Malakai, a wave of raw authority that forced Ren back three paces. Ren’s boots skidded across the wet grass, leaving deep tracks in the lawn. Satisfied that his basic physical training had kept him alive, Ren lowered his stance, keeping his sword raised defensively. He had proven his training under Veren wasn't in vain. Malakai smiles, lowers his lance, and says, 'You hide your eyes, boy, but your soul smells of the Abyss. We will meet at the upcoming Imperial Academy Trials, where no monocle can save you.'

Chapter 5: When the Light Blinds