A labyrinth of polished marble and hushed oak, this vast scriptorium housed some two score of scholars. Everywhere, intellects formed alliances, subtly jockeying for favour. Each individual here navigated the political tides of the Imperial Collegium, their very existence a tightrope walk. Survival demanded a constant, delicate dance. For Elian Vance, this gnawing tension commenced at twelve years old. He had then learned the intricate art of securing patronage, of positioning oneself within the grand Imperial hierarchy. This daily balancing act had been his routine ever since, and it was the unspoken reality for every other aspirant scholar. A cubic maze concealing a rigid social pyramid. That defined the Scholar’s Hall. “Ah…” His forearm, numb from poor circulation, tingled as Elian flexed it. A light tap against his tightly wound stomach offered small comfort. He exhaled a weak breath, his gaze tracing the slumped forms of those before him. Verdant green chalkboards, pale napes of necks. At the elevated dais, the Master Loremaster, ostensibly presiding over Imperial Jurisprudence, sat engrossed in a rumpled gazette, folded in half. Scholars, meanwhile, wrestled with the intricate legal problems he had assigned. Others, having conceded defeat, slumped over their desks, lost to a fleeting slumber. “Rouse yourselves, you somnolent minds,” the Master Loremaster called out, his voice cutting through the quiet as he turned another page of his newspaper. It was already the fifth session of the day. Elian had been meticulously dissecting the fifteenth legal precedent, pausing only to scratch his brow with an index finger before setting down his fine mechanical stylus. His eyes drifted, drawn to the two conspicuously empty seats. As anticipated, neither Lord Caelus Thorne nor Lord Kenric Vellum had graced the hall with their presence. They likely would not appear tomorrow either, unless Prince Caelus suffered one of his notorious unpredictable shifts in temperament, or some unseen drama unfolded between the two. The true nature of such an entanglement remained, to Elian, utterly unknown. He lowered his gaze to the daunting legal quandaries before him. His vision swam with the intricate strokes of ancient Imperial script. There had been a time Elian believed he possessed unparalleled insight into Lord Caelus. He had convinced himself he understood the Thorn Prince better than anyone within these very walls. That conviction had been a quiet source of pride, even when juxtaposed against Lord Kaelen Solis, who had always seemed closer to Caelus than any other. Truthfully, that secret pride had provided a perverse strength, allowing him to endure watching Kaelen and Caelus navigate their complex alliance. Deep down, Elian savoured the hushed certainty that he held a deeper understanding of Caelus’s true machinations. He propped his chin on his hand. The sheer capacity to harbour such manipulative thoughts disgusted him. What would society deem him capable of, were these thoughts to surface? The answer was chillingly clear. He would be relegated to the lowest stratum of the Collegium’s social pyramid, occupying its broadest, most insignificant plane. Such a prospect was terrifying. This insidious craving for advantage, unique to a scheming young scholar in the Argentum Empire, had to remain cloaked. He must inter it profoundly, so profoundly that even the object of his desire would sense nothing. Ultimately, he needed to bury it so completely that even Elian himself might forget its very existence. But Lord Caelus had never bothered with such concealment. Everyone in the Collegium understood his desires. Elian glanced around, lifting his head fractionally. Scholars remained hunched, absorbed. He pressed his lips tightly, then looked forward. Lying forlornly between the rows of desks was a dusty, discarded scroll of Imperial edicts, its vellum marked with faint boot prints. Suddenly, as if sensing an unseen observer, Elian buried his head in his desk, mirroring the pose of his peers. Then he turned his neck, altering his line of sight. His gaze settled on the back row. There lay a face, partially obscured by an arm, as if the scholar had succumbed to sleep mid-collapse. The features seemed delicate, almost sorrowful, imbued with a stillness that bordered on spectral. … Elian found himself staring at Lord Kaelen Solis’s face before his gaze drifted to an exposed arm. Had the already tall Kaelen grown further? The formal Collegium tunic, which had fitted him impeccably at the term's commencement, now left his wrists fully exposed. Circling one of those wrists was a heavy strand of polished obsidian beads—a devotional rosary that stood out vividly. It was a substantial, unmistakable symbol, an integral part of Kaelen’s formidable identity. Before learning of his true lineage, Elian had assumed Kaelen hailed from the lesser districts, perhaps even the same neglected Outer Ward as Lord Kenric Vellum. Despite his intimidating aura, Kaelen did not exude the refined opulence of the truly ancient, wealthiest houses. His deep-set eyes were perpetually shadowed beneath heavy lids, and his faded irises lent him a haunted, distant expression. The sliver of pale sclera visible beneath his pupils added to his sharp, almost gaunt appearance. Kaelen’s overall presence was one of grim, almost ascetic intimidation. Yet, it lacked the frivolous decadence associated with many powerful nobles. Instead, his face seemed marked by a profound sense of self-imposed deprivation, exuding a certain melancholic gravitas. Combined with his imposing stature—he was undoubtedly the tallest scholar in the Collegium—it rendered him doubly formidable. Fortunately, unlike Lord Caelus Thorne, Kaelen’s sharp features possessed a classically handsome symmetry. Without that, scholars might have actively shunned him. Even so, Kaelen’s visage was unsettling, intimidating, and charged with a peculiar, nervous energy. But Kaelen’s inner disposition proved remarkably different. It was not merely that he seemed indifferent to everything; it was as if he actively expunged events from his memory, whether by deliberate intent or an innate detachment. He carried an air of “detached ownership of nothing,” a trait that paradoxically added to his mystique. Most notably, Kaelen exhibited a profound disregard for coin. He never observed how much others expended, nor how much they sought. If the whim struck him, he would casually offer silver chits to a nearby acquaintance without a second thought, as if the concept of currency held no meaning. At times, he would lend funds, only to forget the transaction entirely. There were even whispered anecdotes of scholars returning borrowed coin, only for Kaelen to ask, puzzled, why they presented him with it. Still, he did not offer assistance to just anyone. He might indulge a random plea when in a rare good humour but would coldly rebuff those truly desperate for aid. Even with his closest associates, Kaelen could be harsh. Elian once overheard a tale of how Lord Brennus, upon sighting Kaelen’s prized imperial land-skimmer—a conveyance he rarely displayed—excitedly attempted to board the passenger compartment without explicit permission. Kaelen dislodged him immediately, sending him sprawling upon the cobblestones like a startled field frog. At the zenith of the Collegium’s social hierarchy, individuals like Kaelen Solis and Caelus Thorne shared one defining characteristic: a complete lack of concern for the opinions of lesser men. This profound indifference, in its own peculiar way, was precisely what permitted them to reside at the pyramid’s apex. Why do we, with our own striving hands, surrender the keys to our world to these unbridled predators? No matter how profoundly Elian pondered it, the answer remained elusive. And yet, Lord Kaelen Solis professed adherence to the Silver Creed, a devout Imperial faith. He was the type of wayward noble who reputedly slept with a devotional text beneath his pillow, yet he still claimed to follow its rigid doctrines. He abstained from fermented spirits, from tobacco, from carnal indulgence, and never stooped to theft or extortion from his fellow scholars. Yet the doctrine he followed seemed selectively interpreted—anyone could discern the contradictions concerning the Creed's allowance for certain worldly pleasures. It was said the Silver Creed viewed certain deviations, particularly those Caelus Thorne was rumoured to engage in, as grievous sins. Elian licked his dry lips. He felt a strange, cold relief that he had remained unentangled. Had he been caught in Caelus's web, he would have ended up like that discarded scroll, trampled on the floor. And yet, even in that moment, Elian pondered—if Caelus and he had remained close, as they were merely a few seasons ago, would the Thorn Prince have extended him protection? The thought surfaced against his will, dragging with it memories he desperately wished to suppress. Elian drew a deep breath, attempting to quell the wave of nausea that rose in his chest, as though the midday repast he’d consumed earlier threatened to return. No. Of course not. How utterly laughable, that he had once been so arrogant as to believe such a thing. To Caelus, Elian was nothing. Merely a convenient Collegium associate to while away the tedious hours. He understood this truth now, profoundly, because of the cold amusement in Caelus's eyes when he had publicly dismissed Elian, reducing him to nothing. His gaze had conveyed everything. Elian had not wanted to know the truth, but it had stared him full in the face. Caelus transgressed openly. Elian, too, was a transgressor—but he concealed it. And so, Caelus was ostensibly punished by the Heavens, while Elian remained, for now, untouched. A faint, self-deprecating chuckle escaped his lips, so soft it was audible only to himself. “…So, as long as I avoid detection, that is all that truly matters.” Perhaps the Imperial Heavens possessed a temperament akin to Lord Kaelen Solis’s. His gaze shifted to the desk near the Master Loremaster’s dais. This was unusual, but today, Elian felt a pang of detached pity for Lord Kenric Vellum. A poor soul, caught in the clutches of a devil. He lacked the inner fortitude to resist that monstrous, seductive power. Fragile, helpless Kenric, unlike the towering physical form he presented. He should have fled the moment Elian’s subtle warnings were offered, the fool. Elian knew he was not a virtuous man. He was self-serving, manipulative, and that, perhaps, was his own form of retribution. Sometimes, he even entertained this thought: If one were to pursue such forbidden affections, why not select someone sly and calculating like Elian? At least then life would be simpler, less fraught with exposure. Why fall for someone so transparently innocent and earnest, only to inevitably suffer for it? These days, his thoughts held a different, colder clarity. Indeed. Of course, no one could ever truly cherish someone like him. He understood himself too well to harbour such a delusion. There was a time he believed he could possess everything. An arrogant, conceited Elian Vance. Elian, who at eighteen seasons, presumed to comprehend the entirety of the Imperial world. Wicked, vile Elian. Pitiful Elian, who found no comfort from another, and thus endured every burden alone. That day, he could not overcome the fifteenth legal question. He feigned a sudden malaise, lying slumped over his desk, thinking to himself: Well, at least his ruin was not as public as that of Caelus Thorne or Kenric Vellum. Rumours regarding Caelus and Kenric propagated like wildfire through the Collegium’s network of whispers. Whether they were embellished or grounded in stark truth, no one could state with certainty. There was no direct avenue to ascertain either. Prince Caelus’s immediate circle had vanished from the Collegium’s regular attendance, as if uprooted entirely. The few scholars who remained from that periphery were too preoccupied with forging new alliances to dwell on the past, inadvertently fueling the scandalous whispers further. “Master Vance, forgive me, but who possesses the closest association with Prince Caelus?” “Lord… No, Lord Kaelen Solis.” Elian overheard this exchange as he passed by on his way back to the Scholar’s Hall before the day's dismissal. The Master Loremaster had inquired, and one of his lesser associates had answered. Feigning complete deafness, Elian walked into the room. The Master Loremaster glanced nervously between Elian and the two empty seats, drumming his fingers against the podium. Then, as if abandoning some unspoken thought, he announced: “Let us conclude for the day.” The moment dismissal was announced, Elian gathered his satchel. As he slung it over his shoulder, Lord Kaelen Solis tapped him lightly on the back. “Elian. Let us convene after this session.” Elian looked at Kaelen’s composed face. He knew. Elian had always observed Caelus and Kaelen’s every interaction, so he knew that the individual Kaelen most frequently invited for private discourse had always been Caelus. After a brief, calculated pause, Elian offered a polite refusal. “I regret, Lord Solis. I have pressing research commitments.” “And following those?” “Further dedicated study. Perhaps you might seek the company of your usual companions.” “Unnecessary.” “Why so?” “Proximity to lesser intellects merely impedes one’s own ascent.” “Ha.” Elian allowed a short, almost imperceptible scoff to escape at the sheer audacity of Kaelen’s candour. Precisely. This explained why he had, against all initial expectations, found a strange common ground with Kaelen. Their twisted values seemed to align in peculiar ways. “So, Lord Brennus, Master Orion—they are lesser intellects? Even Master Gareth?” “If you choose to phrase it so, then yes, largely. But you are different, Elian.” That backhanded compliment left Elian feeling acutely uncomfortable. “What precisely does that imply? Your assessments are remarkably harsh.” “No, they are merely truthful.” “You are exceedingly severe.” “Hmm. It is an axiom of the Silver Creed: ‘Thou shalt not offer falsehoods.’ I merely uphold sincerity, Elian.” Honestly, Kaelen was perhaps more brutally pragmatic than Elian himself. At least Elian did not openly disdain his associates as mere hindrances. “That is precisely why I consider myself a man of principle.” “…Indeed.” “Since I am such an unyielding man of principle, might I accompany you to your personal archives?” Lord Kaelen Solis blinked twice, his expression utterly unreadable. Elian regarded his face for a moment before offering a slight, measured nod. “Very well, if you insist.” As long as Kaelen did not directly interfere with Elian’s own intricate machinations, there was no compelling reason to refuse. To secure one’s precarious place in the Imperial hierarchy, one often had to engage with unlikely allies. A momentary alliance, perhaps, with a predator no less formidable than the absent Thorn Prince himself. ---

Chapter of Silent Scrutiny