The carriage swayed softly on the cobblestones, but Kayian didn't feel the lulling rhythm. He stared at his hands, clenched into fists, replaying the events of the final over and over.
She knew about the regression. She said she "remembers too." But Crow claims she's not a regressor. Then who is she?
He opened the system interface. The new quest hung before his eyes: [Identify the regressor]. The reward was 200 Fate Points. A massive sum. But Kayian suspected completing it would not be easy.
He switched to other parameters:
[Fate Points: 85]
[Level: 1 (progress to Level 2: 15%)]
[Temporal line influence: 0.7% alteration]
[Keepers' attention: moderate]
0.7%, he thought. Barely a hundredth. And Crow has already appeared. What will happen when I change Father's fate or destroy Damian?
The carriage stopped at the Wellstream manor. Kayian stepped out and headed for the entrance, but at the threshold he was met by the butler with a tense expression.
"Lord Kayian, your father awaits you in his study."
"Alone?" Kayian asked.
"Lord Damian is already there."
Kayian nodded. He knew this would be more than just a conversation.
His father's study was on the second floor, in the eastern wing of the manor. The heavy oak doors stood open. Kayian entered and saw them both: his father sat behind a massive desk, his face like stone; Damian stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"Close the door," Lord Wellstream said.
Kayian obeyed.
"I hear you disgraced our House," his father's voice was even, but Kayian sensed the suppressed anger beneath. "You lost the final without even making a single move. You surrendered."
"Yes, Father."
"Explain yourself."
Kayian glanced at Damian. His brother wore an impassive expression, but the system showed his true state:
[Damian Wellstream: satisfaction +12. Anticipating brother's public humiliation.]
"I could not win," Kayian said, addressing his father. "The girl I was meant to fight possesses power beyond anything I have seen. Instead of a pointless battle, I chose to conserve my strength for the future."
"The future?" Lord Wellstream raised an eyebrow. "What future?"
"The Academy has only just begun, Father. The tournament was merely an entrance test. The real studies start in a week. I decided not to reveal my true capabilities ahead of time."
"True capabilities?" Damian interjected. "Brother, you have two first-rank schools. That's barely above average. What true capabilities are you talking about?"
Kayian turned to him. There was no anger in his gaze, only cold calm.
"You're right, brother. For now, I am weak. But I intend to remedy that. The Academy provides access to resources unavailable at home. I will focus on training, not on showy victories."
Damian started to retort, but Lord Wellstream raised a hand, stopping him.
"Your logic has merit," he said slowly. "But you are forgetting one thing: the name Wellstream rests not only on strength, but on reputation. Your cowardly surrender is already being discussed in aristocratic circles. Our enemies will use it against us."
"Let them," Kayian replied. "Let them think me weak. That will give us an advantage when the time comes to strike."
Lord Wellstream studied his son for a long moment. Something like surprise flickered in his eyes.
"You have changed," he said finally. "Before, you were more… impetuous."
I died, Father, Kayian thought. That changes a person.
"I have matured," he answered aloud.
"Very well." Lord Wellstream leaned back in his chair. "You have been admitted to the Academy, and that is what matters. The rest is a matter of time. Go rest. Tomorrow you begin training."
Kayian bowed and left. Damian followed, catching up to him in the corridor.
"You wriggled out of that neatly," his brother whispered, undisguised malice in his voice. "But don't think Father bought your fairy tales. He is merely giving you a chance. If you don't show results at the Academy, you'll be expelled from the House."
"Afraid I will show results?" Kayian asked calmly.
Damian smirked.
"With your two first-rank schools? Don't make me laugh."
He turned and walked away, leaving Kayian alone.
Kayian watched him go, a cold smile forming on his lips.
Laugh, brother. Laugh while you still can.
In his room, Kayian sat at his desk and opened the journal he had begun keeping after his regression. He added a new entry:
"Day 2 since return. Tournament concluded. My assessment: satisfactory. I showed enough to be admitted, but not enough to draw undue attention. Damian is convinced of my weakness—this is a plus. Father suspects I am hiding something, but is not pressing me yet. The hooded girl is the main problem. She knows about the regression. I must find out who she is before she makes a move. Crow said she is a 'door.' I need to understand what that means."
He set down the quill and opened the Fragment Shop. 85 Fate Points—a small amount, but it could be spent wisely.
He selected the "Information on Opponent" option, not for the final, but for the unknown girl. The system processed the request and displayed:
[Target: ???
Name: unknown
Origin: unknown
Magic School: unknown
Status: temporal line anomaly
Additional data: target registered at the Academy under the name "Mira." Information clearance level: zero. Personal observation advised.]
Kayian swore under his breath. Even the system couldn't penetrate her defenses.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Fragments of information swirled in his mind: Crow, the Keepers of Time, the anomalous girl, Damian, the assassination attempt on his father in three months.
Too many variables. I need to stick to the plan. First—survive the Academy. Second—find allies. Third—destroy Damian and save Father. Everything else comes after.
He opened his eyes and looked at the black feather lying on the nightstand. It shimmered faintly in the darkness.
And fourth—figure out who Crow is and what he wants.
Kayian lay down in bed, but sleep wouldn't come. He stared at the ceiling, remembering the executioner's face, Loren's gaze, Damian's smile on the scaffold.
"I won't lose this time," he whispered into the void. "I swear it."
Outside, the wind howled, and at last the first snow began to fall upon the roofs of Askar, cloaking the city in a white shroud.