Chapter 13 — Ashford Academy
The morning after the ambush smelled of blood and burnt oil. The tavern they left behind still smoked faintly, shutters torn, corpses hidden hastily beneath tarps. The convoy rolled out at dawn, wheels creaking in the silence.
No one spoke much. Even the merchants, usually eager to chatter, rode stiff-backed and watchful. Lucian's arm was bandaged beneath his cloak, though he kept his chin high. Auron walked beside the wagons, dagger sheathed, hands shoved into his ragged cloak. His face was unreadable.
But inside, his mind still played the fight again and again—how the assassins moved, how their blades found the weak points in the knights' formation, how Lucian had almost died before his eyes.
How the killers had called Lucian's name.
Auron's jaw clenched. He'd known beasts in the dark, men who lived by hunger and blood, but this… nobles sending assassins after their own blood? This was another kind of cruelty.
Lucian broke the silence first. "You haven't said a word since last night."
Auron didn't look at him. "Nothing to say."
"You saved me. Twice." Lucian's voice carried something between gratitude and guilt. "I need to know… why?"
Auron glanced at him, eyes flat. "I don't protect masters. I protect people who fight to stay alive. Last night, you didn't run. That's all."
Lucian blinked at the bluntness. Then, slowly, a crooked smile pulled at his lips. "So I passed your test."
Auron didn't answer.
They rode on. The forest gave way to long roads, caravans passing thick with trade. Smoke rose in the distance, not from villages, but from something larger.
The road to Ashford royal academy was paved with black stone that gleamed like obsidian, humming faintly with mana. Caravans rattled over it, nobles passed on horses clad in silver tack, and merchants craned their necks to stare at the silhouette on the horizon.
Ashford royal academy.
It was no ordinary academy, it was a living, breathing city.
Walls higher than any mountain fortress Auron had seen stretched into the clouds, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed with faint, living light.
Towers lanced upward, bridges of steel and stone connecting them like a web. And at the heart, looming above all, crowned with a dome that shimmered with wards.
Even the air changed. It was charged, sharp, as if the world itself bent beneath the weight of the empire's power.
The knights of House Arvel straightened with pride at the sight. Merchants whispered prayers. Lucian's eyes glowed with childlike awe, his bandaged arm forgotten.
Auron said nothing. His gaze lingered, cold and distant. To him, it wasn't awe he felt. It was recognition. This was a cage, vast and beautiful, built not to keep beasts out—but to keep prey in.
–––
The convoy entered through gates large enough for giants, banners snapping in the wind.
Inside, the academy teemed like a hive markets spilling with silks and spices, armored guards patrolling in silver lines, temples glowing with divine wards. Yet all roads, all rivers of people, bent toward the Academy gates.
That was where Auron was stopped.
"Hold," barked a knight in steel chased with gold. He stepped in front of Auron, visor lifted, gaze sharp with disdain. "No crest. No bloodline. State your name."
Auron met his eyes. "Auron Andler. commoner."
The knight's lip curled. "Then you don't enter."
Lucian reined his horse sharply. "He's with me."
The knight smirked. "Then he proves it. Nobles walk through the gates by birthright. Bastards and nameless dogs bleed for entry. You'll earn your place with steel, or you'll crawl back to the gutter you came from."
The knights around them chuckled, some openly. Auron's hand twitched toward his dagger, but he forced it still. Instead, he said, flat and cold: "Where?"
–––
That evening, the Academy's outer plaza swelled with candidates.
aleast two thousand gathered, nobles in fine cloaks glittering with enchanted jewelry, commoners in ragged armor with eyes full of hunger. The air buzzed with tension, rival houses glaring across the square, mercenary-born boys flexing blades, mages muttering incantations under their breath.
Auron stood among them, still in his cotton shirt, the lion-emblem bracelet half-hidden beneath his sleeve. He drew looks. Some sneered. Some looked away quickly, unsettled by his stillness.
Lucian had been ushered to the noble stands above. He kept glancing down, worried, but powerless to help.
Then the air shifted.
A horn boomed, and silence crashed down.
An old man walked onto the dais. His robe was black trimmed in gold, his staff topped with a crystal that burned like caged lightning. His beard was streaked silver, his eyes sharp enough to slice through steel.
Principal Kaelen. direct of Ashford royal academy.
When he spoke, the ground seemed to carry his voice.
"This kingdom was not built by prayers." His words cracked like thunder. "It was not carved by weak hands begging for mercy. Ashford stands because blood was spilled. And here, you will learn what that means."
The runes etched into the plaza ignited, blue fire racing outward in circles. The ground shuddered, stone folding, reshaping. Gasps rose as the plaza sank into a vast arena, walls ringed with glyphs, steel gates opening at its edges.
Kaelen raised his staff. "Nobles inherit power by blood. You enter because your ancestors carved their place with steel. But you—" His eyes swept the commoners. For a heartbeat, Auron swore they locked onto him alone. "—you will earn it. Not with words. Not with dreams. But with your bodies."
He turned back to the arena, raising his staff high. "Trial of Entry!! 300 will stand. The rest will fall. Begin!"
–––
The gates crashed open.
The arena flooded with candidates, some screaming, some roaring, some trembling so hard they dropped their weapons before the first strike.
Auron didn't move at first. He watched. Watched how the first group of boys rushed each other in blind panic, blades clashing, spells flaring wild. Watched a girl in leathers hurl fire that consumed three at once. Watched nobles sneer as their enchanted swords carved through unarmored commoners like cattle.
Then someone lunged at him.
The dagger was in Auron's hand before thought caught up. One step, twist, blade across the throat. The boy crumpled.
Auron exhaled slowly. The scent of blood steadied him. This chaos—it wasn't new. This was the pit again, the cages, the way he had lived since chains first bound his wrists.
But this time, he wasn't prey.
Another came at him with a spear. Auron ducked low, shoulder smashing into the boy's chest, blade slipping between ribs. He didn't wait for the scream—he was already moving, already scanning.
Above, nobles whispered. Some sneered. Some… watched in silence.
"Who is that boy?"
"He moves like a beast…"
"Not trained. Instinct."
Lucian gripped the railing tight. His friend looked more dangerous than any assassin.
But he didn't look feral. He looked calm. Too calm.
Auron's eyes flicked once to the stands. For a heartbeat, golden light pulsed faintly beneath his sleeve. The bracelet was awake.
And somewhere deep, it felt like it was watching.
–––
The trial had only begun.