The carriage rocked gently as it rolled over cobbled stone. Cade sat in silence, eyes half-lidded, spine straight, his sword resting against his thigh like an old truth he no longer needed to speak aloud.
He wore the Wenblood colors for the first time in seven years—a black button-up coat lined with royal blue, the family's lightning sigil stitched over his heart. Black combat gloves covered his hands. His pants were fitted for mobility, military in cut, ironed with precision. On his waist, sheathed at an angle for a knight's draw, was a cruciform longsword, forged by the Ironheart family as a farewell gift.
It wasn't ornate,It was honest.
And beside it, strapped across his back by a shoulder harness, was a short sword, lighter and curved slightly. That one he had carved the handle of himself.
Across from him, two of his siblings sat stiffly, sharing more glances than words.
Next to her sat Talek, broad-shouldered and clean-faced, still golden from summer tournaments. The family's chosen son. His posture screamed nobility, but his hands fidgeted with the clasp of his cloak.
Neither spoke, I didn't minds tho I was taught that when silence fills the air those with ignorance fills it with their voice.
Past the gates of the provincial cities, past the wandering merchant caravans, past the whispering forest that bordered the lower dominion. All roads curved toward a single peak—the one spire that pierced the heavens like a god's blade.
Virethorn Academy.
The black iron gates loomed ahead, flanked by stone statues of knights and mages locked in eternal combat, magic spiraling up their arms, swords frozen mid-swing. A long line of carriages was queued ahead of them, and more behind. The gathering of bloodlines.
It was tradition for all students—noble or common, rich or poor—to arrive and disembark at the same point. No one walked through those gates before another. On school grounds, every title was stripped away.
At least… in theory.
When their carriage stopped, the door creaked open. A footman bowed low.
Talek stepped out first, stretching his limbs and forcing a half-hearted grin to the growing crowd. Aela followed, her steps delicate but sharp, her chin held high.
Cade stepped out last.
And then the world took notice to the sound of thunder but never saw lighting.
His scar caught the light first—a thin, pale line that ran from above his right brow down to his cheekbone, barely missing his eye. Rumor claimed he'd earned it slaying a high-tier Fallen. Cade didn't confirm or deny it.
He didn't have to.
Then the crowd whispered.
"That's him… the one who lived with the Ironhearts."
"He's bigger than I expected…"
"Didn't he get disowned?"
"Wait, is he back with the Wenblood?"
"What's that sword…?"
Some voices were in awe, others in mockery, some in confusion.
He didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Just stood there, the black coat brushing against his knees in the mountain wind, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the Ironheart sword. He hadn't drawn it since his last duel at the border estate.
He didn't plan to draw it today.
But he wouldn't hesitate either.
They moved as a group, the Wenblood siblings forming a triangle with Cade at the rear. More families joined them—daughters of healing clans, sons of flame-forged empires, bastard heirs of fallen houses, and commoners with nothing but grit in their eyes and fire in their veins.
All of them headed toward the Steps of Calling—a wide marble terrace that led into the academy's inner sanctum. Stone slabs bore ancient names carved into the stairs, remnants of champions who'd risen through blood and ruin. Cade's foot stepped over the name of a dead queen. He didn't slow down.
His white robes shimmered with mana-thread, and a mantle of feathers lined his shoulders, drifting slightly as though caught in wind only he could feel. His beard was silver, but his voice—when it rang out across the crowd—was thunder made law.
"Welcome to Virethorn, You stand now where thousands have fallen, risen, and transcended. Some of you were born into magic. Some into steel. Some into nothing. That ends now, From this moment forward, your worth is not in your blood, but in your will. You will suffer. You will bleed. And if you endure—what you become will outlive kings."
The wind gusted. The banners of each house rippled. Cade stood still, eyes on the spire's peak.
The whispers had faded. The moment now belonged to all of them. And yet, somehow, it felt like it belonged to him most of all.