The Citadel of Auris was quiet before dawn, cloaked in a silence that felt ceremonial. The marble corridors shimmered beneath moonlight filtering through stained glass, casting prismatic hues across the gilded floor. Servants tiptoed with practiced discretion, and the golden banners of House Altheon hung still in the cold air.
Elarion Altheon sat alone in the Emperor's Solarium, clad in his ceremonial white-gold robe, which rippled like living flame each time he shifted. His golden-white hair shimmered faintly in the starlight, and his golden-blue eyes were locked on the distant horizon where dawn threatened to rise. Despite his serene exterior, his thoughts stirred like a tempest.
He could still feel it—an echo of the magical pulse that had ripped through Crescent Academy during the duel. It had not just been powerful; it had been unfamiliar. Not Celestial Flame. Not sanctioned magic.
"Another anomaly," he murmured.
A rustle at the door broke his thoughts. High Chancellor Valen bowed low before entering.
"Your Highness," Valen said in grave voice , "a report from the southern province of Caelros. A rebel outpost was raided. Not by our forces."
Elarion stood slowly. "Not rebels either?"
"No. Survivors spoke of... unnatural magic. Constructs that moved like men. One survivor claimed to see a figure in black robes with glowing violet runes in their eyes."
Elarion breath caught.
Rael.
He was supposed to be dead.
---
Across the continent, deep within the shadows of the Shrouded Spires, Rael Veradis leaned against a stone pillar, a violet rune slowly fading from his iris. His breathing was shallow, as though something had just drained him.
A young girl—pale, cloaked in ragged blue—watched him silently from the base of the stairs. She was one of the first he'd saved—Salya, an orphan girl once branded a "defective mage" by the Crescent Council. Now, she was one of his most loyal followers.
"The construct resisted. Too long," she said softly. "Are you... weakening?"
"No," Rael said coldly. "Adapting."
He turned toward a wall where he had etched a map of the empire, with glowing runes hovering above different cities and provinces. One blinked with a new crimson mark—Caelros.
He traced his fingers across the burning rune. "The Archon of Light knows I live now."
Salya tilted her head. "Will he come for you?"
"Yes," Rael whispered. "But he'll come as the Emperor, not the brother I once knew."
---
Back in Auris, Elarion met with his secret council within the Circle of Flame—a chamber lit only by magical fire that bent truth from tongue. His closest allies were present: General Caelis of the Skyguard, Lady Serenya of the Whispered Rose, and High Seer Ilvara of the Flameveil Temple.
"There's no doubt," Ilvara said, her eyes glowing with divination magic. "The mark left at Caelros bears the trait of an ancient magical system—one long forbidden. It is Reversal Magic."
"That system was destroyed in the First Era," Lady Serenya protested.
"Only suppressed," Elarion corrected. "My brother found remnants of it even as a student."
General Caelis tightened his grip on his gauntlet. "We should crush him now. Before the people learn a fallen prince still breathes."
"No," Elarion said firmly. "We move too soon, and the world will brand me a tyrant again. I will not let history repeat."
Instead, he would beat Rael by the book. He would prove, with all the light of the empire, that justice and order would prevail.
---
In Crescent Academy, Lady Seliora Vaelin—a young prodigy from House Vaelin and secret royal descendant—stood in the Moonflower Garden, holding a letter she wasn't supposed to have.
It bore the seal of House Veradis.
She had found it within the Academy archive, tucked beneath an illusion glyph.
The letter spoke of a hidden heir.
A twin.
Her heart raced. She'd always felt... different. As though something greater waited for her. The moment she touched the letter, her magic had flared beyond control.
"Seliora," said a voice behind her.
She turned to see Aeric Thorne, her academy rival and first-sword heir of House Thorne.
He narrowed his eyes at the letter. "You've been digging into bloodlines again."
"And you've been shadowing me again," she replied coolly.
Aeric didn't respond. His gaze remained locked on her hand. "Whatever you think you've found, it's dangerous."
"Truth is always dangerous in a court of liars."
He stepped closer, voice lower. "You're not safe here. If this letter is real—if you are connected to Veradis bloodline—then the Academy will not protect you. You'll be a target."
She smirked. "Then perhaps it's time I stopped hiding."
---
Meanwhile, in a dark chamber beneath Crescent Academy, Master Arvell of House Zareth watched through a scrying mirror. His crimson eyes narrowed as he watched Seliora and Aeric argue.
"She found it," he muttered.
A second figure stepped from the shadows—none other than Headmistress Elvyna, her own robes laced with magic runes of containment.
"It begins again," she whispered. "The prophecy is unraveling."
Arvell nodded. "Then we prepare the second veil."
By dusk, word of strange movements from the Southern Watch reached the capital. Rumors of a masked figure distributing enchanted tomes to peasant mages sparked fear and awe. Among them, whispers grew of a man who could undo magic with a glance, who turned noble fire into harmless light.
The people began to call him: The Thorned Flame.
Elarion stood once again at the balcony of the Solarium, this time with Princess Caelia by his side—his cousin and chief diplomat. She was one of the few he trusted with unfiltered thoughts.
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
He closed his eyes. "Banishing him? No. But lying to the world about what happened that night... perhaps."
"You were both children then."
"He was born with forbidden magic. I was born with a throne. The moment he burned the elder's sigil in protest, we knew our paths would diverge."
Caelia looked down at the city, where lanterns floated like stars.
"He still wears your crest," she said softly. "Even now."
Elarion fingers clenched. "Then I'll reclaim it when I end this war."
---
Across the sea, in the hidden stronghold of Hollowvale, Rael opened a leather-bound tome—The Codex of Magical Reversals, rewritten by his own hand. His room was lined with prototypes of new spellforms, half-alive constructs, and floating glyphs that whispered incomplete sentences.
A knock came.
It was Lira, his right-hand general and the villainess who served his cause with ruthless precision. She leaned on the doorframe, her raven hair unbound.
"We've infiltrated three of the academy's outer wards. The next move is yours."
Rael's violet eyes burned. "Let them gather their armies. We won't stop at rebellion."
He turned to the Codex.
"We're rewriting the world."