Chapter One – The Professor Who Should Have Been a King
They say a teacher builds minds. But I've learned, in time, that minds are the easiest things to break.
*****
The hall was older than memory, and colder than winter.
Stone arches loomed above like cathedral ribs, flanked by iron sconces that hadn't burned true flame in decades—only flickering spells and the occasional complaint of the wind. The wooden desks creaked with the ghosts of past generations, scratched with runes and initials no one remembered. And seated at the farthest edge of this echoing chamber, the students waited.
Young. Quiet. Watching.
They expected a lesson.
Instead, I told them a story.
"What is a teacher?" I asked, voice ringing softly against the stone.
"A figure of knowledge? A speaker of truths? A vessel for approved information?"
I paced slowly, gloved hands behind my back. My cloak dragged faintly along the cracked floor, just loud enough to keep their attention.
"No," I said. "Not anymore. Not here. Not in this place."
Their faces remained still, but their eyes sharpened—one by one.
Good.
"A teacher," I continued, "is a myth with blood. A living fable students measure themselves against. They don't remember the facts. They remember the tone of your voice when you challenged them. The way you stood when you defended them. The silence you left behind when you chose to say nothing at all."
A few of them blinked. One smirked. One wrote something down.
None of them understood yet. That was fine. The real lesson hadn't begun.
I moved to the blackboard behind me. Chalk hovered in my palm, untouched. Still white, still clean. A perfect slate, like each of them—unwritten on the surface. But I knew better.
"They call this The Arcadia Academy," I said. "The pinnacle of magical learning. A place where the Empire sends its brightest, and its boldest."
"But I've seen the files." I turned to face them. "I know your secrets."
A flicker of discomfort. They were listening now.
"Some of you were banished from noble houses. Some are orphans. Some are spies. One of you killed your mentor."
"That's fine. You're here because you were chosen. Not for who you are—but for what you might become."
A murmur. Just one. Quickly silenced by the gravity in the room.
I walked toward the nearest desk—sat on its edge.
"You want to know why I'm here, don't you?" I asked.
"Why a man like me—born in gold and marble halls—teaches in a rotting tower with no windows and no sunlight?"
They said nothing.
"I'll tell you." I paused, voice lowering. "Because knowledge here is no longer meant to protect. It's meant to test."
I stood again, stepping into the center of the hall. My voice softened, like memory curling into smoke.
"I was born with a golden spoon. You know the phrase. Everything I wanted, I had. Tutors. Servants. Swords. Magic. Power."
"But I learned nothing in that palace. Not really."
"It wasn't until the Empire fell, and my name became a curse, that I understood what teaching meant."
Now they watched me not as students, but as something else. Witnesses. Participants.
"I do not teach spells. I teach consequences. I do not offer comfort—I offer fire. Because the world beyond these walls is cruel. And crueler still… is truth."
The old bell tolled somewhere high above, muffled by ivy and time.
"Class dismissed," I said.
They didn't move. Not at first. Not until I turned my back and wrote one word on the board:
"Choice."
One by one, the students filed out in silence. But I saw it in their eyes—something had shifted.
And I knew: this class would not pass through unscathed.
No student ever had.
End of Chapter One.