Morning light crept through the academy's high windows, sharp and pale against the stone chamber where five squires now sat. Adrian, Finn, Edric, Marcus, and Sara faced a semicircle of authority that would have been intimidating even without the night's trauma still fresh in their minds.
Instructors lined the walls—stern-faced men and women who'd trained them for months, who now looked at them with expressions ranging from concern to calculation. Senior knights stood at attention, their armor bearing the marks of campaigns these squires had only begun to taste. And at the center, commanding the chamber like a general on a battlefield, stood Marshal Alaric himself.
But they were not the only ones present.
Seated behind the Marshal on a raised dais, arranged in chairs carved with the sigils of their respective academies, were the six headmasters of Arathor—the legends who commanded the kingdom's greatest warriors, whose very presence transformed this from a simple debriefing into something far more significant.
Commander Brynn of Stonewall sat broad and immovable as the mountain her academy was named for, her scarred armor bearing witness to decades of service. Her expression was carved granite, unreadable and absolute.
Lord Cassius of Silverkeep wore pristine ceremonial armor that probably cost more than most squires' family estates, every gesture refined and deliberate, his sharp eyes missing nothing behind their aristocratic assessment.
Mistress Elara of Ashbourne was sharp as the blade her academy forged warriors to be, her crimson robes matching her academy's colors, her eyes holding the kind of controlled intensity that suggested fire barely banked.
Master Valen of Stormwatch perched like the hawk his academy embodied, his silver cloak catching the light, his lean frame suggesting speed and precision over raw strength.
Headmistress Kara of Ironfang sat with arms folded across scarred leather armor, her presence heavy as the iron her academy was named for. Everything about her suggested immovable force and battlefield-tested steel.
And finally, Headmaster Theron of Dawnspire—serene yet piercing, white robes trimmed in gold glowing in the morning light, radiating an aura of sanctity and power that made even the other headmasters seem diminished. His expression was calm, but his eyes held the weight of someone who saw deeper than surfaces.
Their combined authority pressed down on the five squires like a physical weight, making the spacious chamber feel suddenly claustrophobic.
"Begin," Marshal Alaric said simply, his gravelly voice echoing against vaulted ceilings.
Finn spoke first, his voice steadier than Adrian expected given the yellow-flamed warrior had been kneeling in a chapel just hours ago. He recounted the ambush methodically—the merchant caravan, the arrival at the rendezvous point, the realization something was wrong. His analytical mind organized chaos into clear narrative, though his hands trembled slightly against his knees.
"The merchant was a demon in disguise," Finn said. "A demon noble. When the patrol engaged, the wagon released dozens of lesser demons. They overwhelmed the squires before most could properly react. By the time our squad arrived, seven from the patrol were already dead."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled authority. Seven dead before reinforcements even arrived spoke to devastating efficiency.
Edric continued, his tone rougher, more emotional. He described the battle—the desperation, the chaos, the moment when Brann had charged the demon noble.
"He saw it going for the others," Edric said, his voice cracking. "Saw that thing about to kill more of us. And he just—he charged. Didn't hesitate. Didn't calculate. Just moved." Tears streamed down his face but he forced himself onward. "And it cut him down like he was nothing. Like all his courage meant nothing against that monster."
The chamber was silent except for Edric's ragged breathing.
"That's when colors started manifesting," Adrian said, taking up the narrative. "When Brann died. When the demon noble revealed what it truly was. That's when those of us who'd been hiding our true flames made a choice."
Every eye in the chamber fixed on him.
"I manifested crimson," Adrian said clearly, meeting Marshal Alaric's gaze without flinching. "A color I've been hiding since I arrived at the academy. Because I knew that unprecedented flames would bring suspicion, questions I couldn't answer, assumptions about corruption or demonic influence."
Commander Brynn's expression darkened, her jaw setting like stone. Lord Cassius tapped a jeweled finger against his chair's arm, calculating. Mistress Elara leaned forward slightly, her intensity focusing like a lens.
"Crimson," Elara said, her voice carrying controlled fire. "The demon's color, manifesting in human flesh. How... intriguing."
"It killed the demon noble," Adrian countered. "After that creature had slaughtered Knight-Captain Thorne and Sir Gregor—two veteran knights with true colors of their own. My crimson flame ended a threat that had defeated experienced warriors. Does that sound like demonic corruption to you?"
"It sounds like a question worth investigating thoroughly," Elara replied, though something in her eyes suggested fascination rather than pure hostility.
"The girl who was escorted away separately," Master Valen said, his voice carrying the precision of a hawk's strike. "She manifested violet flame. True violet—the legendary color that hasn't been seen in three centuries. And you were there when it happened."
"I was," Adrian confirmed. "When I revealed crimson to fight the demon noble, she revealed her violet. And her companion manifested orange—the guardian flame of House Elbrecht, the oath-keepers sworn to protect the Halebright bloodline."
The implications of that hung heavy in the air. Everyone in the chamber understood what orange flame protecting violet meant.
Headmaster Theron leaned forward slightly, his serene expression brightening with unmistakable interest. His gaze shifted from Adrian to Finn.
"And this one," Theron said softly, his voice carrying the cadence of a blessing or prayer. "The boy who manifested yellow. The purifying light—uncommon outside Dawnspire's halls, yet the standard of our chosen. For such a flame to appear spontaneously in battle, without our guidance..." He paused. "Most intriguing."
Finn stiffened under that penetrating gaze but managed a nod. "It manifested when the demon noble used blood anima, Headmaster. When it consumed the blood of the fallen to enhance itself. The horror of witnessing that technique—seeing our friends' deaths fuel the enemy's power—that's what triggered the awakening."
"Blood anima," Headmistress Kara growled, speaking for the first time. Her voice was like grinding stone. "That forbidden technique hasn't been used in fifty years. For a demon to employ it now suggests desperation. Or escalation."
"Both, I suspect," Marshal Alaric said grimly. "Which brings us to the tactical significance of these manifestations." He looked at Finn. "Your yellow flame disrupted the blood anima, correct?"
"Yes, sir," Finn confirmed. "The purifying properties of yellow light destabilized the stolen life force. Without that, the demon noble would have been too powerful to defeat."
"Convenient," Lord Cassius observed, his aristocratic tone impossible to read. "That precisely the color needed to counter the demon's technique manifested at precisely the right moment."
"The lecture material was accurate," Finn said defensively. "Instructor Halbrecht taught us that yellow flame could disrupt blood anima. When I saw the technique being used, that knowledge triggered the manifestation."
"Or you're lying about when your color emerged," Mistress Elara suggested. "Perhaps you've been hiding yellow flame just as this one—" she gestured at Adrian "—was hiding crimson."
"I wasn't," Finn said firmly. "My flame was white until that battle. Ask anyone who's trained with me."
"We will," Elara assured him.
Marshal Alaric raised a hand, commanding silence. "The sequence of events has been corroborated by multiple witnesses. The demon noble used blood anima. Multiple colors manifested in response to extreme stress—crimson, violet, orange, yellow, and green." His gaze swept across the five squires. "Five unprecedented or rare manifestations in a single battle. That alone is historically significant."
"It's suspicious," Commander Brynn rumbled. "Too many coincidences. Too perfect an array of colors."
"Or it's what happens when you push young warriors to their absolute limits," Master Valen countered. "Colors emerge under stress. Always have. The fact that multiple manifested together simply means the stress was extraordinary—which, given the casualty count, seems evident."
"The princess was there," Headmistress Kara said bluntly. "Her identity exposed. Her violet flame revealed. That alone transforms this from a simple demon ambush into a matter of state security."
"Princess Alice's testimony has already been recorded," Alaric said, his tone suggesting that line of questioning was closed. "Her account aligns with what these squires have reported. She confirms that Adrian Blackthorn's crimson flame saved her life and the lives of the surviving squires."
"Convenient," Elara repeated. "The princess vouching for the boy with demon-colored flame."
"She's vouching for the warrior who killed a demon noble," Adrian said, his voice hard. "Who used unprecedented power to end a threat that had slaughtered two knights. You can call it suspicious all you want, but the fact remains: I fight demons. I don't serve them."
Headmaster Theron's expression shifted to something that might have been approval. "Passion. Conviction. And power willing to reveal itself to save others." His gaze locked on Adrian. "Tell me, young Blackthorn—do you know why your flame is crimson?"
"No, Headmaster."
"Do you know its limits? Its capabilities beyond what you've demonstrated?"
"No, Headmaster."
"Would you be willing to undergo testing? To help us understand this unprecedented manifestation?"
Adrian met those penetrating eyes steadily. "Yes. I revealed crimson knowing investigation would follow. I'm prepared to face whatever tests you deem necessary."
"Even if those tests are uncomfortable? Invasive? Potentially dangerous?"
"I've already survived a demon noble using blood anima," Adrian said flatly. "I'm not afraid of tests."
Theron's lips curved in what might have been a smile. "We shall see."
Marshal Alaric straightened, signaling a shift. "The tactical debriefing is complete. The surviving squires' accounts are consistent and corroborated. The manifestations are documented. Knight-Captain Thorne and Sir Gregor died honorably in combat against overwhelming odds. Nine squires fell before they could truly begin their paths. One—" his voice softened slightly "—Brann Halborne, charged a demon noble to protect his comrades and paid with his life."
The weight of those names settled over the chamber.
"Training resumes tomorrow," Alaric continued. "Though given the circumstances, the surviving five will be excused from morning drills to attend the memorial service. After that—" his eyes swept across them "—you return to your duties. The tournament approaches. The fallen deserve to be honored by those who survive becoming worthy of their sacrifice."
He looked at the assembled headmasters.
"Any further questions for the squires can be posed during individual interviews. This formal debriefing is concluded."
The scrape of chairs and shuffle of boots followed as the chamber began to empty. The five squires stood, exhausted and emotionally drained, as authority figures filed past—some offering nods of acknowledgment, others studying them with expressions impossible to read.
As they moved toward the door, Adrian noticed someone waiting in the corridor beyond.
A maid stood at the far end, hands folded neatly at her waist. She wore simple livery, but embroidered on her collar was a crest Adrian recognized from heraldry lectures: the sunburst sigil of the Valebright royal household.
Her gaze fixed on him with quiet certainty.
"Squire Adrian Blackthorn?"
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
The maid inclined her head. "My lady requests your presence. It is not an order from the academy, but it is the wish of House Valebright."
Finn and Edric both turned to Adrian sharply, eyes wide. Marcus and Sara had already disappeared down another corridor, too traumatized to linger.
"House Valebright," Adrian repeated slowly. The royal family. The name that commanded more power than armies. "And who is your lady?"
The maid's expression didn't shift. "That, she wishes to tell you herself. Though I suspect you can guess."
Adrian's jaw tightened. Alice. The princess. Violet flame and royal blood, wanting to speak with him privately after revealing crimson.
"Very well," he said after a moment. "Lead the way."
The maid's eyes softened slightly. "This way, my lord."
As Adrian stepped after her, Finn caught his arm briefly. "Be careful," the yellow-flamed warrior said quietly. "Royal attention can be as dangerous as demons."
"I know," Adrian said. "But I'm done hiding from either."
He followed the maid into the academy's depths, toward whatever conversation awaited with the princess whose life he'd saved and whose secrets he now shared.
Behind him, the debriefing chamber emptied, its occupants carrying knowledge of colors that would reshape Arathor's understanding of spirit flames.
The investigation was only beginning.