As twilight descended over the Academy grounds, Lysander made his way to the east garden. The partial unblocking of his magic had heightened all his senses, making the evening air feel electric against his skin. Each plant and insect glowed with life force in his magical perception as he navigated the carefully maintained paths.
Elara Silverwind was already waiting in a secluded alcove surrounded by luminescent blue flowers similar to those in the palace's Whispering Gardens. Her silver-streaked hair caught the fading light, and her strange bracelet pulsed with magical energy.
"You came," she said, sounding mildly surprised. "I half-expected you to reconsider after our morning conversation."
"I'm not easily intimidated," Lysander replied, taking a seat on the stone bench across from her. "And I suspect we have mutual interests."
"Such as?" Elara raised an eyebrow.
"Understanding the true nature of magic in Valterra. Particularly why some talents are suppressed while others are artificially enhanced."
Elara studied him with new intensity. "You speak as someone with specific knowledge rather than mere suspicion."
"Let's say I've recently become aware of certain inconsistencies in magical theory versus practice." Lysander leaned forward. "Your family rose to prominence through technological innovation rather than bloodline. That gives you a unique perspective on the empire's power structures."
"And makes us perpetual outsiders among the High Houses," Elara agreed. "Despite our elevation, we're reminded daily that we lack 'proper lineage'—as if magical ability were solely determined by ancestry."
"But you've proven otherwise with your innovations."
Elara held up her bracelet. "This device measures magical output without relying on traditional methods. It consistently shows discrepancies between claimed bloodline strength and actual magical potential." Her eyes locked with his. "Including your own remarkable readings, which fluctuate wildly between minimal and extraordinary."
"What else has it shown you?" Lysander asked carefully.
"That throughout Valterra, magical ability is being artificially controlled—enhanced in some, suppressed in others. The question is why." She paused. "And who benefits from this system."
"Those who created it," Lysander answered simply. "The architects of the Covenant."
Elara's eyes widened slightly. "You know about the Covenant's true purpose?"
"I know it wasn't created merely to regulate magic after the Calamity, as official history claims." Lysander watched her reaction carefully. "What do you know?"
"House Silverwind has been collecting data for decades." Elara lowered her voice. "There's a pattern to Awakening incidents across the provinces—increasing exponentially in recent years. We believe the Covenant is failing."
This aligned with Lysander's knowledge from his previous life, but Elara's early involvement suggested House Silverwind had been monitoring the situation longer than he'd realized.
"Your family supports these Awakenings?" he asked.
"We support understanding them." Elara tapped her bracelet, projecting a small holographic map of Valterra with glowing points marking Awakening incidents. "These occurrences shouldn't be possible under established magical theory. Either the theories are wrong, or something fundamental is changing."
Lysander studied the map, noting the concentration of incidents in areas he recalled being significant in the coming conflict. "What does your family hope to gain from this research?"
"Preparation," Elara replied frankly. "If magic is becoming available to those previously denied it, Valterra's power structure will inevitably shift. House Silverwind intends to be on the correct side of that shift."
"A pragmatic approach."
"We're nothing if not practical." Elara dispelled the hologram. "Now, Prince Lysander, perhaps you can explain why your magical signature transformed overnight, and why you're practicing Anima magic in secret."
Lysander weighed his response carefully. Full disclosure was unwise, but he needed Elara's technological expertise—and potentially her family's support.
"Someone placed blocks in my magical pathways when I was an infant," he explained. "Those blocks are being systematically removed."
"By Professor Thorne," Elara guessed.
Lysander neither confirmed nor denied. "What matters is that I'm reclaiming abilities that were suppressed—abilities that might help understand the changes occurring throughout Valterra."
"And your siblings? Do they know?"
"No," Lysander said firmly. "And it must remain that way."
Elara nodded slowly. "Your secret is valuable to me. Information is House Silverwind's currency."
"Then perhaps we can establish an exchange rate," Lysander proposed. "Your technology could help accelerate my recovery, while my position could provide access to information unavailable even to High Houses."
"An alliance?" Elara considered him thoughtfully. "Temporary, of course. Until our interests diverge."
"Of course," Lysander agreed with a slight smile.
They spent the next hour discussing specific terms—what information each would share, what boundaries would be respected. Elara promised to provide a modified version of her sensing bracelet that could help Lysander monitor his own magical development, while Lysander offered insights into court politics and the Academy's secret archives.
As they concluded their meeting, Elara said, "One last question, Prince Lysander. Why were your abilities blocked in the first place? Who would benefit from suppressing an imperial prince's magic?"
"That," Lysander replied, "is exactly what I intend to discover."
Returning to his room, Lysander found Marcus studying intently at his desk. The flickering candlelight highlighted the conflict in his magical signature—Terra training battling Ignis heritage.
"Long day?" Marcus asked without looking up.
"Enlightening," Lysander answered, settling at his own desk. "How are you finding Terravian faction?"
"Exactly as expected," Marcus replied with a hint of resignation. "Solid, dependable, utterly predictable."
"Like House Thornwood itself," Lysander observed.
Marcus finally looked up, a flash of something—defensiveness perhaps, or frustration—crossing his features. "We can't all belong to revolutionary factions like Arcanum."
"True. Though I wonder if faction placement always reflects our true nature." Lysander began organizing his notes casually. "I've noticed several students who seem at odds with their assignments."
Marcus stiffened slightly. "The Discerner doesn't make mistakes."
"Perhaps not mistakes," Lysander conceded. "But it can only assess what's present and accessible. If certain abilities were... hidden or suppressed, it might not provide a complete picture."
"Why are you telling me this?" Marcus asked cautiously.
Lysander met his roommate's eyes directly. "Because I believe talents should be recognized and developed, regardless of origin. Don't you agree?"
The implication hung in the air between them—an acknowledgment of Marcus's secret without directly exposing it. A test to see if Marcus was ready for trust.
After a long moment, Marcus nodded slowly. "Some talents are better left undeveloped. Safer that way."
"Safer for whom?" Lysander asked quietly.
Before Marcus could answer, a sharp knock interrupted them. A student messenger handed Lysander a sealed note bearing Professor Thorne's insignia.
The message was brief: "Tomorrow night. Same time. Bring no one."
Lysander burned the note using a small candle flame, another step toward reclaiming his power set in motion. The Academy's facades were already beginning to crack around him, revealing the complex web of secrets and suppressed truths that had shaped Valterra for generations.
In just over a week, he had gained an ally in Elara, planted seeds of trust with Marcus, and begun the process of removing his magical blockage. The pace was faster than his previous life, accelerated by his foreknowledge and deliberate actions.
But with acceleration came risk. Already, his brother's agents were watching. The faculty was divided in their assessment of him. And somewhere, the architects of his suppression might be realizing their creation was breaking free.
Lysander smiled to himself as he prepared for bed. Let them worry. By the time they understood the true threat he represented, it would be far too late to stop him.