The schoolmaster's cane struck the desk with a crack that made the other boys flinch.
Elias Veyne didn't move. He kept his eyes fixed on the wooden surface before him, where years of nervous students had carved initials and curses into the grain. His own thumbnail dug into the soft wood, tracing the same jagged line over and over.
"Again," Master Harkin said, his voice like gravel. The old scholar leaned down until his yellowed beard brushed Elias's shoulder. "What is the first law of the sun?"
Through the open window, Elias could hear the rhythmic clatter of training swords from the courtyard below. If he turned his head just slightly, he'd see them—rows of boys in crisp white uniforms, their movements sharp and synchronized. And among them, standing taller than the rest, his brother Theron.
The sun's light is the right of Solas.
The answer sat bitter on his tongue. He'd recited it every morning since he could speak. But today—
Why?
The question had been gnawing at him for months, ever since Theron had been selected for the royal academy. Why them and not us?
Harkin's cane slammed down again, this time catching the edge of Elias's fingers. A sharp pain shot up his wrist, but he barely blinked.
"You disgrace your brother," Harkin hissed. "Theron earned his place in the sun. You? You'll be lucky to dig ditches."
A few snickers rose from the back of the room. Elias's face burned, but not from shame.
Because in that moment, he saw it clearly—the way Harkin's robes were frayed at the cuffs despite his posturing. The way the other boys flinched at every movement, already trained to obey. The way the sunlight streaming through the window fell in perfect lines across the floor, as if even light knew its place.
And Elias understood:
Power wasn't given. It was taken.
That night, long after the lamps had been extinguished, Elias climbed onto the roof of the scribe's quarters where his family lived. From this height, he could see the entire city sprawling beneath him—the cramped lower wards with their smoking chimneys, the merchant squares still bustling even at this hour, and beyond them all, the Solas Palace.
Its golden domes glowed faintly under the moonlight, as if hoarding the last remnants of daylight.
Somewhere in those halls were books that contained answers to questions no one dared ask. Texts from Veymar's ice monasteries, scrolls from Kharaz's merchant-lords, maybe even fragments of the lost Echo Walk from the Unnamed Isle.
A shadow moved at the edge of the courtyard. Theron, on night watch. Even from this distance, Elias recognized his brother's posture—back straight, hand resting on the hilt of his practice sword. The perfect Solas soldier.
Elias's fingers curled into fists.
I'll show them.
He waited until Theron's patrol took him around the corner. Then, with one last look at the palace, Elias began to climb down.
The library's eastern window was always left slightly ajar—a fact he'd noted months ago.
Tonight, he would steal his first truth.