Chapter 1 – The Mask Beneath the Crown
The Everhart estate, once a symbol of brilliance forged through blood and honor, now lingered in quiet dignity at the edge of the kingdom. Ivy crept up the stone walls like the passage of time itself, and the great hall—once echoing with laughter and the clang of goblets—stood silent, its light dimmed not by dusk, but by memory.
In the heart of that stillness, a single candle flickered upon a grand oak table. Seated before it was Kian Everhart.
The flames danced across his face, carving shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones and across the weary lines of his youthful brow. Behind him, the Everhart crest loomed above the fireplace: a phoenix bound in chains, flames rising from its wings, scarred into the stone as if in protest.
The room reeked of parchment and dust. Ancient scrolls lay half-unfurled beside leather-bound tomes and faded maps—ghosts of knowledge offering no answers to the question that had gripped him since the fall of his house.
Who betrayed us?
Kian leaned back in his chair, arms folded, silver hair tousled and untamed. Where the light caught it, streaks of black could be seen singed along the edges—markings not of dye or fashion, but of magic sealed too young. His appearance was nothing like the sons of court. No elegance. No gold-threaded robes. Just a quiet presence, coiled like a blade hidden beneath velvet.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Still awake?" came a low voice.
Aris Velden stepped inside, his cloak brushing the stone floor. He was Kian's retainer, once the right hand of the late Grand Duke, now one of the few who remained when loyalty became dangerous. Retainer. Protector. Friend. Sword.
"I leave at dawn," Kian said, eyes fixed on the candlelight. "No point in sleeping. The academy only accepts the strong."
Aris arched a brow. "You're not going in as Grand Duke Kian Everhart. Just a minor noble from the borderlands."
"That's the point." A faint smirk touched Kian's lips. "Let them underestimate me."
Silence settled for a moment. Then Aris stepped forward, hesitant.
"Do you really want to hide who you are?"
Kian rose slowly, the chair creaking beneath him. His fingers brushed over the folded letter on the table—his official invitation to the Academy of Claus Kingdom, delivered under a different name.
He turned to Aris, eyes steady.
"A boy who walks into a den of lions wearing a crown," he said, voice quiet but sharp, "dies before the first class begins."
He turned away, walking to the window. Beyond the glass, moonlight blanketed the open fields of his family's domain. Land once defended with fire and fury now slept under the weight of silence.
"But a boy with no name?" Kian continued. "He learns their secrets."
His hand pressed against the window frame, knuckles pale with tension.
"I'll find out who orchestrated my father's fall. I'll find the one who sealed my magic." His voice dropped to a growl. "And when the time comes—"
His fingers clenched.
"I'll burn down their throne."