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Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: The Masked Court

 Mourning dawned over Crescent Academy with golden clarity, but within its marbled halls, tension moved like a serpent in silk. 

Prince Caelum Solmere walked into the Grand Convocation Chamber, where nobles, House scions, and scholars convened under the pretense of harmony. Above them spun the Solar Prism, a massive floating gem that reflected the status of the Realm's stability in flickering rays—today, its glow was faint and erratic.

A bad omen.

Seated at the highest dais was Archduchess Virelle, his aunt, clad in obsidian silks veined with gold. Her gaze sharpened on him like a dagger wrapped in lace.

> "The Crown of Light graces us early today," she said, voice smooth. "Have the halls of dusty truth brought you clarity… or confusion?

He bowed slightly. A bit of both, Your Grace.

Around them, the heads of noble factions—House Dalthorne, Velmir, Saelis, and Arcoran—whispered among themselves. The academy's political undercurrents stirred, magnified now that Caelum had passed the Radiant Trial. No longer just a royal heir, he was a threat. A beacon. A chess piece.

> "We were discussing security," said Lord Velmir. "Rumors of rebel movements in the eastern cliffs, near the ruins of Tharvalon."

Caelum ears pricked. Tharvalon—the place where the other heir had stirred.

> "I propose a mission," said Caelum. "Send top scholars and strategists to the ruins. We must understand what power is awakening there

Murmurs rose.

> "The boy fancies himself a tactician," Virelle murmured, not quite quietly. "Careful, dear nephew. Not every mystery desires to be solved.

But the Convocation voted.

Mission approved

Later that evening, in the academy Celestial Garden, Caelum trained in silence. His sword—a flame-forged relic known as Solbrand—cut through illusions conjured by the court's instructors.

Watching from a shadowed archway was Seren Elowen, a scholar-warrior of House Saelis and the Academy's most respected prodigy. Golden-brown hair tied in braids, silver glyphs glowing softly beneath her sleeves, she stepped forward

> "Your form lacks conviction," she said, matter-of-fact. "You hesitate. That won't serve you in the east."

He stopped mid-strike, sweat beading on his brow And you came to offer guidance, or judgment?

Seren tilted her head. "Both. You're not just a prince anymore, Caelum. You're a symbol. They'll test your flame from every angle."

> "Even you

> "Especially me.

They exchanged a long look. There had been a time, before court politics, before the Crown, when things had been simpler. When Seren had laughed.

But war was coming And laughter was expensive. 

Far away, beneath Tharvalon ruins, the Thorned Heir meditated within a reconstructed spell circle. Magic spiraled around him like smoke and fire, glyphs dancing across his skin.

Before him stood Valtros, a rogue academy instructor exiled for magical extremism.

> "Your runes have matured," Valtros said. "You reverse spells now without even touching the core."

> "Not fast enough," the Thorned Heir replied. "The Crown moves. He sent scholars.

Valtros grinned, teeth sharp. "Then let them come. A fire tests the strength of the forge."

"I will show them what truth really looks like," the heir whispered. "No illusions. No sanctified history. Only what they buried. 

He stood.

And magic bent around him like glass before heat. 

Back in the academy, Seren handed Caelum a sealed scroll.

"This was intercepted from the eastern border," she said. "Marked with a thorned sigil

He unsealed it.

Inside were runes written in violet flame, a message pulsing with power. 

> "When gold forgets its roots, the thorns shall remind it."

Caelum jaw clenched.

> "Then I will remind them what gold can do when tempered by fire."

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