The bar near the lower terraces of the academy district was loud enough to drown out all the world's noise. It gave the students at Emrys Academy an escape, letting them get loose without any supervisors lurking in every corner with a demerit to hand out.
Aurel lounged at the center booth like he owned the place. Technically, he didn't, but socially, he might as well have.
Dorian was halfway through recounting a duel that had definitely not gone the way he was describing it. Mirelle was sipping something violet and expensive, pretending not to be entertained. Rykard had a deck of cards in one hand and a drink in the other.
Aurel and his friends were sitting leisurely and comfortably, with their family guards standing cautiously behind them. The waiters and other guests moved carefully and nervously around them. Every person who sat at Aurel's table was one of high power and prestige... unlike the boy who was weaving through the tables of the bar with a polished tray, his face familiar to the 4 masters.
Aurel spotted him instantly when he came near. He paused from partaking in his group's rowdy conversation to turn his attention elsewhere.
"Well," he said, leaning back, "if it isn't our academy's most dedicated scholar."
The boy stopped beside their table with a quiet groan. He donned a neat uniform, black hair, sleeves rolled, and eyes steady. He had an air of quiet strength about him. His academy crest was half-hidden beneath the apron he wore, but not hidden enough.
"Good evening," the waiter said evenly. "What can I get you?"
Dorian snickered. "Isn't he in your ethics class?"
"Second row," Aurel replied. "Left side. Always taking notes and ignoring us like he is too good. Who would have thought you worked here, Cassian? Waiting on others and serving at our feet."
A few nearby tables murmured and watched as Aurel and his group's laughter boomed through the place. This was playful banter for them, but Cassian's jaw tightened just slightly.
"I work evenings," he said calmly. "To pay tuition."
This was much the case for most lottery students who had gotten into the academy through their own [Will] tenacity and goddesses' luck.
Dorian clasped his hands dramatically. "A tragic hero."
Mirelle rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. He thinks he's clever."
"I am clever!" Dorian corrected quickly.
Aurel looked back at the waiter, snickering at his friend's quarrel. "Relax, Cassian. If we were going to mock you seriously, we'd stand up first."
A few laughs burst from the table.
"This is all in good fun. Live a little."
The waiter exhaled through his nose. Not quite annoyed, not quite amused.
"What will you have?"
"The strongest thing you're allowed to serve students without getting expelled," Rykard replied instantly.
The boy blinked once. "Water, then."
Rykard barked a laugh, and Aurel pointed at Cassian.
"See? That's wit. He'll survive the academy after all."
The waiter's lips twitched despite himself as he turned to gather the drinks. Aurel watched him go, a smile lingering.
"Hey! Come back, I haven't finished."
Cassian stopped in his tracks, his shoulders rising and falling as if he were taking breaths to calm himself. He then turned back and walked to where Aurel sat. Aurel leaned back and threw his hand to one of his two guards.
"Hand me the pouch."
He was given a pouch full of coins, and he lazily grabbed it before throwing it in the air, catching it in his other hand, and pointing it at Cassian.
"Here." He spoke with a smile. "For your troubles."
Cassian reached with his empty hand to grab it, but just then Aurel swiped the pouch back to himself.
"Kiddingggggg!"
They all burst out laughing. Cassian's expression was hidden by his black hair as he stayed looking down to where his hand had reached for the pouch. His eyes were filled with restrained anger, and his jaw clenched. Aurel swiped the pouch into Cassian's hand before he could move it, and this time, he let go, letting the waiter have the coins.
"I was just playing with you! Cmon! What type of guy do you take me for? Don't spend it all in one place."
Without a word, Cassian reluctantly took the pouch and turned around to walk away. Aurel was still looking at him as he disappeared into the crowded tables.
'What a funny guy! Seeing people like that who are struggling for the slightest things makes me want to take pity on them. Man, I'm too generous, seriously!'
Around them, students whispered, heads turned, and a few waved subtly at Aurel. Someone across the room raised a glass toward him in silent admiration. He felt it. The weight of attention. The invisible architecture of hierarchy in which he reigned supreme.
At the academy, power meant [Will]. Raw, blazing [Will] that bent the system and carved the world. The strongest students carried magic that cracked stone and warped air. Aurel had none. Not even a slight spark. No hidden blessing waiting to awaken, and no power too strong for him to handle. Yet, he was at the top of this world.
Because power wasn't measured only in force. It was measured in status as well. People leaned when he spoke. Laughed when he paused. Quited when he lowered his voice. Aurel hadn't climbed this ladder with strength. He'd climbed with charm and charisma. With a silver tongue sharpened finer than any blade. He had read people the way others read grimoires.
Every weakness, every insecurity, and every ambition. He fed others exactly what they wanted, and that kept them obedient to him.
"Respect. Rivalry. Recognition."
That was the Vealthorn house motto, and there was no one better than Aurel to represent it.
He didn't need [Will]. He was [Will].
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The night air felt pleasant against Aurel's flushed skin as he left the bar, the warmth of alcohol humming faintly in his veins. Although Cassian didn't serve them any drinks, Rykard knew his way around the bar and had an ability to sneak bottles from the back shop. Lantern light painted the cobblestone streets in soft gold, and the distant hum of the upper district drifted through the quiet. Between his guards, Garrick and Bram, Aurel walked with easy confidence, hands tucked loosely into his coat as though the entire city belonged to him.
"You're swaying again, my lord," Garrick said with familiar patience.
"I am not swaying," Aurel replied, indignant but smiling. "The street is."
"He says for the bajillinth time."Bram chuckled.
Aurel grinned at them both. He liked this. Walking without ceremony, without servants trailing behind him, without the suffocating silence of the estate halls. Hell, he didn't even consider Garrick and Bram to be his servants! They were more like his older brothers on a payroll. Out here, he could pretend he was just another student with too much wine and not enough responsibilities.
"Your parents won't return until next week?" Garrick asked.
"So I've been told," Aurel replied. "Father sends letters full of strategy, and Mother sends ones full of warnings. Between the two of them, I'm practically governed from afar."
"And your siblings?" Bram asked.
Aurel shrugged lightly. "My brother is busy sharpening lightning bolts, and my sister is perfecting whatever terrifying thing she does. They don't have time to concern themselves with me."
He kept his tone airy, casual. He had practiced that tone for years.
The useless son.
The charming one.
The heir with no Will.
It didn't sting anymore. Or at least, he had convinced himself it didn't. His siblings could split stone and bend air. Aurel could command a room with a smile. That had to count for something.
Aurel saw the castle in the distance. The three had entered a shortcut through the forest that they created themselves. It was their own little secret. The vibe of the moonlight shining down on them as the dark trees huddled around was breathtakingly beautiful. The atmosphere was enough to distract the trio from the sounds of falling branches and crunched leaves.
"I am glad you don't let it bother you, young master," Bram said with an encouraging smile.
"Why should I?" Aurel replied with a small laugh. "[Will] is only one language of power. I speak several."
Garrick glanced at him sidelong. "There goes that never-ending optimism of yours."
Aurel smirked. "Good. Then I'll infect the entire capital."
The next sound was soft—so soft that for a heartbeat, Aurel thought he had imagined it.
A wet exhale.
*Grrk!*
Garrick's body jerked beside him.
Aurel turned just in time to see blood pour down the front of Garrick's armor. His throat had opened in a clean, impossible line. The moonlight reflected in the red as though it were wine.
The world slowed as Garrick fell without a word.
.
.
.
*SHING!*
Bram reacted instantly, drawing his blade with a shout that split the night. Steel clashed against something unseen, sparks erupting into the dark. Aurel stumbled backward, heart slamming violently against his ribs as he tried to understand what was happening.
'An assassination.'
The word formed cold and clear in his mind.
A shadow moved between the lanterns, fast, precise, and silent. Bram roared and struck again, but the second exchange lasted less than a second. Aurel saw Bram's arm separate cleanly at the elbow before the pain even registered on his friend's face. A final flash of steel ended him.
.
.
.
Silence returned.
*Huff!...Huff!*
Aurel could hear his own breathing. It was ragged and thin. His guards--no...his brothers were dead. What was left was just him and the dead of night. The masked figure stood several paces away, blade angled casually downward, blood dripping off as if this were nothing more than routine.
'Run,' Aurel's mind screamed.
But his legs felt locked in place.
He dropped beside Bram's body and seized the fallen sword. It was heavier than he expected, slick with blood. His hands trembled as he forced himself into a stance he had seen a hundred times during training sessions he was never meant to need.
He had no [Will], which was why his mentors took combat training extra seriously with him. He wasn't helpless with a sword. Quite the opposite.
*Fwip!*
The assassin moved.
The impact nearly tore the sword from his grasp. Pain vibrated up his arms as he staggered back, barely deflecting the second strike. A shallow cut opened across his shoulder, heat flooding outward a moment later.
'It's too fast!'
The assassin's footwork was economically flawless. No wasted motion and no hesitation. This was not personal rage. This was professional certainty. Aurel lunged recklessly, trying to disrupt the rhythm rather than win. Their blades locked for a breathless instant, and he strained to glimpse a face beneath the hood.
'It's too dark dammnit!'
"WHO ARE YOU!?"
'As if he's gonna answer that...'
The pommel of the assassin's sword crashed into his ribs. Something cracked as air fled his lungs, and he collapsed to one knee. Another strike carved into his thigh. He tried to stand anyway, swinging wildly, but the assassin stepped inside his guard with effortless precision.
*Shiiiiiik!*
The blade slid into his abdomen.
It did not feel real at first.
The sword withdrew, and Aurel fell onto the cold, wet grass beside Garrick's body. His fingers twitched uselessly around the hilt of the borrowed weapon. He lay slumped against a tree, head hanging low, with only the boots of his killer within view.
'So this is it,' he thought distantly.
All his charm. All his carefully constructed gravity. The laughter in the bar. The way people leaned toward him when he spoke. None of it mattered here. Steel did not care about charisma and status. Death did not care about fairness.
Blood pooled beneath him, warm against the cobblestones. His vision blurred at the edges as the assassin stepped back into shadow without a word.
He hadn't even seen their face.
Aurel stared up at the night sky, moonlight flickering above him. He had climbed to the top of the social hierarchy with nothing but his words and a smile. He had told himself it was enough—that he could stay there forever without [Will]...
His optimism had always felt untouchable. Now it was just a useless and fragile thought that lingered in his subconscious.
Cold crept inward from his fingertips.
'I am not weak,' he tried to think. 'I am not—'
Hot, frustrated tears trickled down his face, contorted in agony. It hurt. Not just physically, but more than that. It hurt to think it was all for nothing. What was the point of his life?
'God dammnit! I just wanted to be loved...'
.
.
.
After some grueling and cold seconds, finally, darkness swallowed Aurel. Just like his killer wanted, he suffered to his death.