The carriage stood ready in the courtyard, its lacquered wood gleaming beneath the washed-out light of dawn. The storm from the night before had passed, but the ground was still wet, the air crisp and heavy with the smell of rain-soaked earth.
Lucian adjusted the clasp of his traveling cloak, its black fabric trimmed with silver thread. His sword hung at his side—not a practice blade, but the real steel gifted to him by his father. The weight was reassuring, a constant reminder of both duty and promise.
Adrian darted down the steps, nearly tripping over his own boots. "You're really leaving…" he said, voice tight with the effort of holding back tears.
Lucian knelt, steadying him. "I'll be back before you know it. And when I return, you'll hardly recognize me."
"I'll recognize you," Adrian said fiercely. "You're my brother. You'll always be my brother."
Lucian allowed himself a smile. "Then you'll recognize me when I've made the whole empire remember the name Ardelion."
Adrian hugged him tightly. Lucian held him for a long moment, imprinting the warmth into memory.
When Adrian pulled away, Selene approached. She was regal even at this quiet hour, her presence filling the courtyard as though it were a throne room. Her hand lingered on Lucian's shoulder.
"You carry more than your father's hopes, Lucian," she said softly. "You carry the memory of our house. Do not forget who you are."
"I will not forget," he promised. I could never forget—not after living through the ashes.
Her gaze softened, but her voice grew sharp. "The Academy is not merely books and blades. It is daggers hidden in smiles. Watch carefully. Trust few."
Lucian met her eyes with calm certainty. "I know."
Her lips parted as if to question how he could know such things at fifteen, but she stopped herself. Instead, she kissed his brow.
"Then go," she said. "Return stronger."
The carriage door closed with a dull thud. Horses snorted, hooves striking the wet cobbles as the driver snapped the reins. Slowly, the Ardelion estate faded behind him, swallowed by mist and distance.
Lucian sat in silence, watching the world blur past. Fields slick with dew, villages waking to labor, distant hills still shrouded in fog.
But his mind was not on the scenery.
It was on the parchment map folded in his satchel. The web of names, the enemies marked. Malrik's name circled dark. Cassian's name crossed. Others yet untested.
The Academy was no simple school. It was the forge of the empire's elite, where heirs and rivals sharpened themselves into weapons. It was also where, in his first life, Lucian had stumbled, faltered, and been marked as weak.
This time, it would be different.
A shadow flickered outside the carriage window.
Lucian's hand went instantly to his sword. The shadow resolved into a rider, cloaked and hooded, keeping pace with the carriage at a distance.
Too close for chance.
The driver called nervously, "My lord, should I—?"
"No." Lucian's tone was calm, almost cold. "Keep driving."
The rider did not attack. He simply watched. Followed. A reminder, not a strike.
Lucian's lips curved faintly. So Malrik sends eyes even here.
He leaned back in his seat, feigning nonchalance, though every sense stayed sharp. If they struck now, he was ready. But they did not. The rider peeled away after several miles, vanishing into the trees.
Lucian tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword, thinking. Not meant to kill. Meant to remind me I am seen.
The first move of many.
The carriage reached a crossroads inn by nightfall, where Lucian would rest before the final stretch to the capital. The common hall was warm, filled with firelight and murmured conversations. Nobles' sons and daughters crowded the benches, all bound for the Academy as well.
Lucian entered quietly, his cloak hooded. He moved through the room like a shadow, unnoticed at first.
But soon the whispers began.
"That's Ardelion's heir, isn't it?""Didn't his house fall from grace last year?""No, they say he humiliated Cassian Deyros in the ring…""…or maybe Cassian threw the match…"
Lucian ignored them, taking a seat in the corner. He ate little, his attention fixed on the room.
Future rivals sat here. Future enemies. Some smiled too brightly, some laughed too loudly. He watched their hands, their posture, the way their eyes slid to measure each other.
It was a nest of serpents, and he was already in their midst.
One boy approached his table, smirking. Blond-haired, broad-chested, the crest of House Marrow stitched to his cloak.
"So it's true. The crownless prince still dares show his face."
Lucian set down his cup, meeting the boy's gaze with cool indifference. "And you are?"
The boy blinked at the lack of recognition. "Dorian Marrow. Perhaps you should learn the names of your betters."
Lucian's lips curved in a thin smile. "I remember every name that matters. Yours was not among them."
A ripple of laughter moved through the hall. Dorian's face flushed red.
"You'll regret that," he snapped. "At the Academy, you'll find no throne to hide behind."
Lucian rose smoothly, towering by calm presence alone. His voice was low, but every word carried.
"You're mistaken. The Academy is the throne. And I will sit it."
The silence that followed was thick. Even Dorian faltered, muttering something under his breath before retreating.
Lucian sat again, sipping his drink as though nothing had happened. But inside, he felt the weight of every eye on him. Exactly as intended.
Let them watch. Let them whisper. The web is already spinning.
That night, in his chamber, Lucian unrolled his parchment map once more. He added a new name: Dorian Marrow. He drew a thin line, marking him as minor, but loud—a tool or distraction, not a true rival.
Then he stared at the bold circle around Malrik Veynar.
The spider's shadow stretched even here.
Lucian dipped his quill, writing beneath the name: First blood must be his.
The candle guttered, throwing his face into shifting light and shadow.
He whispered into the silence, the words a vow and a curse:
"This time, Malrik… you will not laugh at my fall. You will choke on it."
The storm outside growled again, as if echoing his words.
And so, with enemies already circling, with shadows watching from the trees and whispers rising in the halls, Lucian Ardelion stepped into the path of destiny.
The boy who had once knelt at the executioner's block now walked willingly into the serpent's den.
Arc One ended where betrayal's shadow fell deepest.
Arc Two would begin with the fire he carried into the Academy.