A labyrinth of polished marble, this silent expanse housed over thirty burgeoning arcanists. Their nascent powers flickered, raw and untested, beneath the grand, vaulted ceiling. Within these hallowed halls, hierarchies formed with an instinctual cruelty, groups solidifying like spell-forged steel. Each young noble had endured precisely eighteen cycles within these walls, their ambition a taut string drawn to its breaking point. Every dawn brought fresh tension; survival, a meticulously choreographed dance.
For Elian, this ceaseless strain began at twelve, when he first mastered the art of subtle alliance, of positioning himself just so. This daily balancing act had been his routine ever since—a truth he suspected held for every other soul in the Lumina Ascendancy Academy.
A gilded cage concealing a crucible. That described the Scholarium Chamber, where eighteen privileged students now sat.
“Ah…”
My arm, stiff from poor circulation, tingled as I rotated my shoulder. I tapped a tightly wound knot in my stomach lightly with the side of my fist. A shallow breath escaped my lips. My gaze swept over the slumped backs before me: the verdant sheen of enchanted slates, the pale curve of countless napes. At the high dais, our instructor of Arcane Ethics, Master Valerius, perused a crumpled scroll, folded carelessly in his hand. Students either grappled with assigned theoretical constructs or, having long surrendered, sagged, lost to the lull of exhaustion.
“Those of you whose minds wander to the dream-plane, stir yourselves,” Master Valerius intoned, his voice resonating with a dry, academic authority as he turned another page of the ancient text.
It was already the fifth period of intensive study. I had been dissecting the fifteenth problem, a particularly knotty dimensional projection, when I paused. My index finger traced a pattern on my temple before I set down my quill. My eyes drifted to the vacant seats. Two in particular gaped like open wounds.
As anticipated, neither Kaelen Vane nor Lord Theron had graced the chamber. They would likely remain absent tomorrow, unless Kaelen’s mercurial temper shifted course or some fresh discord erupted between them—a discord whose nature, for all my calculated observation, I could not discern.
I lowered my gaze, the intricate glyphs of the theoretical construct blurring before my eyes.
There was a time I believed I understood Kaelen Vane with perfect clarity. I had convinced myself I knew him better than anyone in this entire academy. A quiet pride had bloomed within me then, even when compared to Valerius Croft, who moved through Kaelen’s orbit with an almost predatory grace.
In truth, that very pride had served as my shield, helping me endure the casual camaraderie between Valerius and Kaelen. Deep down, I savored the secret knowledge that I held the true measure of Kaelen’s complexities.
My chin rested in my palm. A bitter taste coated my tongue. The capacity for such thought, for such calculating self-deception, disgusted me.
What would they whisper, what would they judge, if the true workings of my mind were laid bare? The answer was chillingly simple. I would be cast to the lowest stratum of our rigid hierarchy, occupying its widest, most forgotten plane.
Fear tightened around my chest. A terrifying prospect. This insidious ambition, unique to a scholar navigating the treacherous currents of Lumina politics, had to remain utterly concealed. I had to bury it so deep, so completely, that not even the object of my machinations would sense its presence. Ultimately, I needed to hide it so perfectly that even *I* might forget its existence.
But Kaelen Vane harbored no such compunction. Every soul in this chamber, indeed, across the academy, knew the breadth of his desires, the depth of his arrogance.
I lifted my head slightly, my gaze sweeping the room. Everyone remained hunched, absorbed in their own struggles. My lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Ahead, a single object lay forlornly between the rows of desks: a dust-stained tome, its gilded cover bearing the clear imprint of a boot.
Suddenly, as though sensing my scrutiny, I burrowed my head into my own desk, mimicking the postures of my peers.
Then, my neck turned, a slow, deliberate movement. My gaze settled on the back row. There, a face lay partially obscured by an arm, as if its owner had collapsed mid-slumber. The features appeared delicate, almost sorrowful, etched with a stillness that bordered on spectral.
“…”
I found myself staring at Valerius Croft’s face. My gaze then drifted to his arm. Had the already towering Valerius grown further still? The academy uniform, which had fit him impeccably at the term’s outset, now exposed his wrists. Around one, a string of dark, polished beads—an ancient amulet, a potent symbol that seemed to vibrate with its own distinct arcane resonance. It was heavy, unmistakable, an integral part of Valerius’s carefully cultivated persona.
Before whispers of his origins reached me, I’d assumed Valerius hailed from one of the lesser noble houses of the Outer Reach, the same blighted region as Lord Theron.
Despite his intimidating aura, Valerius did not exude overt wealth. His eyes, deep-set, were perpetually shadowed by heavy lids, and his faded irises lent him a perpetually haunted aspect. The thin sclera visible beneath his pupils only enhanced his sharp, almost gaunt appearance.
Valerius’s overall presence was one of grim intimidation, though it lacked the refined sheen of true aristocracy. Instead, his face seemed marked by a profound sense of deprivation, exuding a kind of melancholic gravity. Combined with his imposing physique—he was undoubtedly the tallest student in the academy—it made him doubly formidable.
Yet, Valerius’s personality could not have been more divergent from this harsh exterior.
It wasn’t merely that he appeared indifferent to everything; it was as if he actively expunged events from his memory, whether by will or by some strange, inherent disposition. He carried an air of “detached ownership of nothing,” a trait that, ironically, only deepened his mystique.
Most notably, Valerius showed utter disregard for material wealth. He never noted what others spent or how much they requested. If the mood struck him, he would casually toss a pouch of coin to someone nearby without a second thought, as if the concept of currency held no meaning. Sometimes he loaned rare arcane components and then forgot the transaction entirely. There were even tales of those returning borrowed artifacts, only for Valerius to inquire, genuinely puzzled, why they were offering him such gifts.
Still, his generosity was not indiscriminate. He would indulge random requests when in a good mood but coldly refuse those truly desperate.
Even with his chosen companions, Valerius could be brutally harsh. I once overheard how Lord Lyra, upon seeing Valerius’s prized arcane construct—a rare device he rarely displayed—excitedly attempted to activate it without permission. Valerius, without a word, slammed him to the polished floor, sending him sprawling like a startled gargoyle.
At the apex of our social hierarchy, individuals like Valerius Croft and Kaelen Vane shared one fundamental trait: a complete and utter lack of concern for the opinions of others. This indifference, in its own way, was the very mechanism that propelled them to the summit of the academy’s power structure.
Why do we, with our own hands, hand over the keys to our world to these uncontrollable forces, these predators in fine robes? No matter how many complex schematics I draw, I still cannot fully comprehend it.
And yet, Valerius Croft proclaimed himself a devout adherent of the Dogma of Lumina.
He was the type of academic delinquent who slept with a tome of ancient scripture beneath his head, yet he still claimed to follow its rigid tenets. He abstained from fermented elixirs, rarely indulged in smoke-leaf, avoided dalliances, and never extorted coin or favor from lesser students. Yet the doctrine he preached was flawed—anyone could discern its hypocrisy from the tenets on material possessions and worldly pleasures alone. I had heard that the Dogma, when interpreted broadly, permitted both.
They say the Dogma views the bending of societal norms as a profound transgression. Is that why Kaelen Vane’s open defiance, his reckless disregard for aristocratic decorum, disgusted Valerius so deeply? I licked my dry lips.
A strange sense of relief washed over me that my thoughts remained unvoiced, unheard. If I had been exposed, I would have ended up like that trampled tome, scattered on the floor. And yet, even in that precarious moment, I wondered—if Kaelen and I had remained close, as we were just a few cycles ago, would he have shielded me?
The thought surfaced against my will, dragging with it memories I desperately wanted to seal away. I drew a deep breath, trying to suppress the wave of nausea that rose in my chest, as though the arcane sustenance I’d consumed earlier threatened to revolt.
No, of course not.
How laughable, that I had once been so arrogant as to believe he would. To Kaelen, I was nothing. Merely a convenient academic companion, a fleeting distraction. I knew this now, because of the cold, dismissive way he had looked at me when he struck me down, when he undermined my most intricate design. His eyes had screamed the truth. I had not wanted to know, but it had been etched into my very being.
Kaelen sins overtly. I, too, am a sinner—but I mask my transgressions. And so, Kaelen is punished by the harsh judgment of the Ascendancy, while I am spared its wrath.
A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips, so soft it was audible only to myself.
“…So, as long as I remain undetected, that is all that matters.”
Perhaps the Ascendancy itself, or whatever divine force governed our fates, possessed a temperament akin to Valerius Croft’s.
My gaze shifted to the desk near the instructor’s dais. This was unusual, but today, a pang of something akin to pity stirred within me for Lord Theron. Poor soul, caught in the clutches of that daemon Kaelen. You lacked the internal fortitude, the strength of will, to resist that monstrous, seductive power. Fragile, helpless Theron, so unlike the imposing figure his name implied. You should have fled the moment I offered my veiled warning, you fool.
I knew I was not a virtuous soul. I was selfish, utterly self-serving, and perhaps that was my own punishment. Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I even entertained this thought: If one must be ensnared, why not by intellect and cunning such as mine? At least then life would be less a tragedy, more a calculated engagement. Why fall for someone so transparently earnest, so utterly innocent, only to suffer so profoundly?
These days, my thoughts had shifted.
Yes. Of course no one could ever genuinely care for someone like me. I knew myself too intimately to entertain such a fantasy.
There was a time when I believed I could wield it all. Arrogant, conceited Elian Thorne. Elian, who thought he understood the subtle machinations of power at eighteen. Wicked, vile Elian. Pitiful Elian, who had no one to offer solace, so he endured every slight, every wound, alone.
That day, I could not unravel the fifteenth question. I feigned a sudden malaise, slumping over my desk, a quiet, bitter thought echoing in my mind: *At least I am not as irrevocably ruined as Kaelen or Theron*.
Whispers about Kaelen and Theron spread like wildfire through the academy’s corridors. Whether they were exaggerated or grounded in truth, no one could say for certain. There was no way to ascertain the facts. Kaelen’s cadre had vanished from the academy as if ripped out by the roots. The few who remained were too engrossed in forging new alliances to concern themselves with past dramas, inadvertently fueling the rumors even further.
“Master Elara, pardon, but who currently holds the strongest connection to Kaelen Vane?”
“Kaelen… No, Valerius Croft.”
I overheard this exchange as I passed by on my way back to the Scholarium Chamber before dismissal. An instructor, Master Elara, had inquired, and one of my peers had answered. Pretending I had not heard, I entered the room. Master Valerius glanced nervously between me and the empty seats, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the dais. Then, as if abandoning some unspoken contemplation, he announced:
“Let us conclude.”
The moment dismissal was granted, I gathered my arcane satchel. As I slung it over my shoulder, Valerius Croft tapped me lightly on the back.
“Thorne. Accompany me after today’s studies.”
I looked at his face. I knew. I had always observed Kaelen and Valerius’s every movement, so I knew that the person Valerius most frequently invited to his exclusive, post-lesson gatherings was always Kaelen. After a brief pause, I offered a casual dismissal.
“Cannot. I have a private session with Master Lyra.”
“And after that?”
“Further research. You should simply seek out one of your companions.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Why not?”
“Lingering too close to lesser minds merely drags me down.”
“Ha.”
A short, sharp laugh escaped me at the sheer audacity of it.
Right. This was precisely why I had been able to tolerate Valerius better than anticipated. Our twisted values, our pragmatic cynicism, aligned in such peculiar ways.
“So, Lord Lyra, Lady Seraphina—they are ‘lesser minds’? Even Master Lorien’s apprentice?”
“If you insist on such precise classification, then yes, largely. But you are… distinct.”
The backhanded compliment left a faint, unpleasant chill trailing across my skin.
“What is that supposed to signify? You are truly dreadful.”
“I am not.”
“No, you are quite dreadful.”
“Hmm. It is enshrined in the First Precept of Lumina: ‘Speak only the truths revealed.’ I am merely being honest, Thorne.”
Honestly, Valerius was worse than I. At least I did not blatantly classify my aristocratic peers, however delinquent, as garbage.
“That is why I am a virtuous individual.”
“…Indeed.”
“Since I am such a virtuous individual, may I accompany you to your personal chambers?”
Valerius Croft blinked twice, his expression unreadable. I held his gaze for a moment before offering a slow nod.
“Very well. Why not.”
As long as his presence did not interfere with my own intricate designs, there was no logical reason to refuse him. To secure one’s place in the hierarchy, one had to… adapt. And observe. Always observe.
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