The Laveniya estate stretched across a vast expanse of manicured courtyards, towering marble pillars, and elegant water gardens. Morning sunlight spilled across its grand stone walls, golden rays filtering through intricate stained-glass windows that told the story of generations—heroes, bloodlines, and betrayals all etched in colored light.
But to Reinhard Laveniya, the youngest son of the house, none of it mattered.
He stood motionless by the balcony of the east wing, overlooking the circular fountain at the center of the estate. The water danced in rhythmic spirals, gleaming as if mocking the silence within him.
"Brother…"
The whisper escaped his lips without intent, a ghost of a thought that lingered like the scent of ash after a flame had died. His hands clenched the stone railing. The morning breeze caught his silver-white hair, letting it flutter like a torn banner in the wind.
Arman Laveniya. His elder brother. His role model. His protector.
Gone.
Murdered by the Veil Walkers.
Or so they said.
---
Reinhard descended the stairwell, his boots silent against the velvet-lined steps. Laveniya nobles prided themselves on discipline, grace, and restraint. Emotions were like swords—dangerous unless sheathed.
As he entered the dining hall, the quiet clink of cutlery and porcelain welcomed him. A table stretched far too long for the three who occupied it.
At the head sat Edward Laveniya, his father. Stoic, regal, and cold as steel. Beside him sat Lady Mirelda, his stepmother—sharp-eyed and distant, always draped in navy silks like a perpetual mourner of something unspoken.
They barely acknowledged Reinhard's presence. That was customary.
He didn't expect warmth. Not since Arman.
Still, Edward gestured silently to a seat across the table. Reinhard obeyed without a word.
The meal was slow, deliberate, mechanical. Each bite chewed with precision. Each movement restrained.
And yet, Reinhard could feel it again—the weight pressing on his chest, the scream buried in silence, the ache of something stolen too early. He remembered the last duel Arman had shown him, the laughter afterward, the promise—
"One day, little brother, we'll stand side by side. As equals. As protectors."
A servant approached. "Master Reinhard, a letter has arrived for you."
He blinked, looking up.
"A letter?"
The servant bowed and handed it over with both hands.
The wax seal bore an unfamiliar insignia—an ivory spiral with thorns surrounding a quill. Not the Laveniya crest. Not any noble crest he recognized.
He broke it open cautiously, fingers already preparing to burn it if needed.
> To Reinhard Laveniya, heir of steel and ice,
You have been chosen to attend Arcanthus Academy. A path lies ahead—of magic, of mystery, of awakening.
But remember: not all truths deserve to be known.
Signed, Headmaster Elarion Vey.
P.S. Bring only what you're prepared to lose.
His pulse quickened.
---
Later that day, he found himself in the inner library. Not by accident.
His older brother's sword hung above the fireplace here—untouched, revered, like a monument. The blade was said to drink moonlight, a ceremonial relic now stilled forever.
Or so the house believed.
The letter trembled in his hand.
"Arcanthus…" he whispered.
A place where the brightest mages were trained. The academy of prodigies, monsters, and legends. A place of power—and of hidden agendas.
Reinhard had heard whispers—how the veil between the mortal world and the unknown grew thin at Arcanthus. How even noble scions returned home... different.
"Why now?"
Footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
A tall figure with obsidian hair and striking amber eyes entered, carrying a stack of books under one arm.
"Asher," Reinhard said, surprised.
Asher Faelorne, the son of a lesser noble branch, had been one of the few who dared speak to Reinhard after Arman's death. Many avoided him, fearing the cold air that trailed him like a ghost.
"I heard," Asher said, placing the books down. "You've been summoned."
Reinhard nodded. "So it seems."
"You'll go?"
Reinhard stared at Arman's sword.
"I'll go," he said.
Asher gave a small, knowing smile. "Then you'll need someone to watch your back."
Reinhard turned, half-curious. "You're applying too?"
"Accepted, actually," Asher said, tossing a folded parchment onto the table.
Reinhard raised an eyebrow.
"You're smarter than you look."
Asher shrugged. "And you're colder than a glacier, but here we are—still talking."
A flicker of amusement crossed Reinhard's eyes.
It faded just as quickly.
"Arcanthus is no ordinary academy," Reinhard murmured. "If you're coming with me, stay sharp. This isn't about grades or noble rankings."
Asher leaned forward, his tone quiet. "You think they'll be there, don't you?"
Reinhard didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Asher sat back, sighing. "Well then. I guess we hunt shadows together."
---
That night, Reinhard stood in the moonlit courtyard, dressed in his travel uniform. A black cloak lined with silver, and a satchel containing only a few essentials.
Lady Mirelda didn't bid farewell.
Edward gave only a nod.
"You carry our name, Reinhard," he said, voice flat. "Don't tarnish it."
Reinhard said nothing.
What would a name mean, anyway, once he uncovered the truth? Once he carved the Veil Walkers out of this world root by root?
Asher joined him at the gate, already mounted.
"You always walk like you're heading to war," he said.
Reinhard mounted his steed.
"I am."
And without another word, they rode into the dark horizon, toward Arcanthus.
Toward secrets, lies, and truths that cut deeper than any blade.