"Is that all your luggage?" Priest Duran asked, his voice calm but tired.
Miles nodded. His bag was light. Just a few linen shirts and pants, nothing more. He and his father hadn't owned much to begin with.
He had barely slept. All night, he sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, eyes wide, mind racing. When he checked his mana core, it was no longer red. It had turned orange. Not deep orange, but the initial stage. Still, it was shocking. Most people spent years to advance even a single stage. Through meditation, practice, and constant spellcasting.
If he had to guess, it was what happened on the cliff. When his mana core turned white for a moment.
Something had changed him. Since that moment, memories that weren't his started to surface. Whispered thoughts and fragments of battles and conversations. The name Ajax floated in his mind often, along with something else. Revenge. A hatred toward the Emperor of Arcasia.
"This is Loren, your escort to the Citadel," Duran said, pointing to the man beside the carriage. "He has an earth affinity and is at the green core stage. He will accompany you on the way to the Citadel."
A green core magic knight as my escort?
The man stood tall, clad in golden armor with red detailing. A sword in his sheath by his side. His expression was unreadable, his arms folded behind his back like a statue.
Miles had never seen a magic knight up close before. The man looked like he belonged in a storybook. Chiseled, composed, and dangerous. There was something about the way he stood, as if even at rest, he was one move away from violence.
"Let's get going. We'll arrive at the Citadel in 5 days, Luminous willing," Loren said, already climbing into the carriage.
Luminous. The god worshipped by nearly all citizens of Arcasia. The Church enforced their teachings strictly, and speaking against it could mean exile, or worse.
Miles climbed in after him.
The interior of the carriage was far more spacious than anything he had ever ridden in. Padded seats, a polished wooden floor, and crates in the corner holding food supplies and camping tools in case they had to spend a night in the woods.
The coachman snapped the reins, signaling the horse to run. Their journey towards the Citadel had begun.
He looked out the window in silence.
"Is it true?" the knight asked after some time.
Miles didn't answer immediately. The man had no visible mana aura. That was a sign. A subtle one, but clear to someone like him now. Ajax's knowledge reminded him: mages who reached the green stage or higher could conceal their mana aura with perfect precision. This man was no ordinary escort.
"What is?" Miles replied, careful not to sound defensive.
"That you have two affinities."
There it was again. The same question and the same tone. Like he was some kind of creature on display.
He was tired of it.
Miles opened his right palm and summoned a small flame, then lifted his left and called forth a swirling gust of wind. Both spells were harmless, but controlled. The flames curled into a spiral before dying out. The wind danced then stilled.
The knight watched in silence, then nodded once.
"You don't have to prove anything to me," he said, voice low. "But I had to see it for myself."
Miles said nothing.
They both looked out the window.
"Elarion Academy is a merit-based institution. Or that's what the Empire claims," Loren said after a long pause. "In truth, it's a den of politics and family names. Those who come from places like ours... don't usually have an easy time."
Miles turned his head, brow furrowed.
"You mean commoners?" he asked.
Loren smirked faintly. "That's the polite word for it. Noble brats will look down on you the second you step inside. And the instructors? Some are worse. They'll push you harder than the rest. Hoping you break. Some want to 'weed out the weak.' Others just don't like what you represent."
Miles leaned back in his seat. He already knew this. Ajax's memories had shown him a darker side of the Empire. He'd seen how things worked beneath the surface. The way nobility clung to their power, and how they used bloodlines and magic potential to draw the line between 'us' and 'them.'
The memory of Ajax, bleeding on polished marble floors while nobles laughed from their seats. He had been told to thank the instructor for the correction. Elarion polished you or it shattered you. There was rarely an in-between.
Still, hearing it from Sir Loren made it heavier. More real.
"The news traveled fast to the Citadel, kid," Loren added. "A village nobody's heard of. A boy with dual affinities. Fire and wind. And you killed a hollowed beast? That's something."
Miles lowered his head. "I only landed the final blow. My father… he weakened it first."
There was silence. Loren nodded, respectfully this time.
"From what I heard, he was an Imperial Guard in Silverlake City. That's no small feat. May Luminous guide his soul."
He clasped his hands together for a brief prayer. Then he looked at Miles, tone more serious.
"You'll be protected from external threats while you're in Elarion. But within its walls? You're on your own. You've got a target on your back, whether you like it or not."
"I know," Miles replied, his voice steady.
He clenched his fist. His father's death replayed in his mind. So did the whispers and the promises. The strange thoughts that felt both foreign and familiar.
I have to get stronger, he thought.
Not just for himself. Not just for his father. But for something bigger. Something he was starting to understand, even if it scared him.
The voice came again, like a breath against the inside of his skull.
Make them pay.
He didn't flinch this time.
They both wanted something. Ajax had chosen him. For power. For vengeance. For purpose.
I will, Miles thought back.
The wind picked up outside, brushing the trees. Leaves scattered across the trail behind them.
It sounded like laughter.
Good.