The silence in my new quarters was a different kind than the one I'd known in Craterhelm. This was not the tense, fearful quiet of a slave waiting for the next command, but the peaceful, secure silence of a day ended. I sat on the edge of my bed—a real bed, with a firm mattress and clean linens—running a hand over the fine fabric of my new tunic.
Victor's protection had transformed my world. The initial fear, the certainty that I'd been purchased for some grim, violent purpose, had slowly melted away. At first, I had been sure Victor was a very bad man, but I was beginning to see that deep down, he was a kind soul, hidden beneath a merchant's shrewd exterior. He had a purpose for me, that was clear, but it was not one of mindless servitude. I was being prepared, groomed. I was on a duty to fulfill my role, and that knowledge filled me with a sense of importance I had never known.
I was fed like a prince and treated like a noble. I had lessons in history and letters; my strength was trained, not exploited. This was the life for me, and I appreciated every second of it.
I stood straight, the posture coming more naturally now. "Yes, sir. How may I assist you today?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "Come in, Trevor. Close the door." He waited until I had done so before gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit. This is not about assistance. It is about conversation."
I took the seat, a flicker of curiosity cutting through my usual wariness.
"You have adapted well to your new circumstances," he began, steepling his fingers. "You apply yourself to your studies. You show control in your training. This is good. It tells me my assessment was correct."
"Thank you, sir," I replied, my voice steady.
"Do you ever wonder why?" he asked, his gaze intense but not unkind. "Why did I bring you here? Why do I invest so much in you?"
"I assume you have a purpose for me, sir." My voice drops to whispers.
"I do," he affirmed. "A great purpose. But it is not one I force upon you. It is one I hope you will choose." He paused, leaning forward slightly. "The world is not as the Eldorias presented it. The lines between hero and monster are blurred, written in ash and blood by the victors. The demons at our gates are not mere mindless beasts; they are a symptom of a deeper sickness, a rift in the very order of things."
He picked up the book he had been reading, turning it over in his hands. It was then I saw the symbol embossed on the cover: a stylized, fractured sun, a sigil I had only ever heard whispered in stories of dark mages.
"The Kingsleys understood this," Victor said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "They were not the villains history remembers. They were the only ones who truly knew the enemy. They fought a war not for power, but for survival. And they were murdered for it."
He looked at me, and in his eyes, I saw not the cold merchant, but the fervent believer. "You, Trevor, are a remnant of that forgotten war. Your strength is not an accident. It is a heritage. I did not buy a slave. I recovered a legacy."
He set the book down between us, an invitation.
"Your role, should you accept it, is to learn. To understand. And when the time comes, to stand where your ancestors fell, and help mend this broken world. That is my purpose for you."
The room seemed to hold its breath. The fine food, the noble treatment, the kindness, it all clicked into a terrifying, glorious picture. He wasn't just giving me a better life. He was offering me a reason for my existence.
The words hung in the air, not as a question, but as a dawning, horrifying reality. The pieces of my fractured life, the unexplained strength, the constant disdain, the cryptic warnings from Jessica—they all snapped into a perfect, terrible picture.
"So all along... I was a Kingsley," I whispered, the name feeling both alien and terrifyingly familiar on my tongue. "A descendant of a dark clan." The truth was a physical blow, a weight that drove the air from my lungs. I slumped back in the chair. "And here I thought I was only a mere slave."
This news didn't just hit me; it unraveled me. It was a tidal wave, and in its wake, a storm of questions erupted in my mind, each one a fresh agony.
Who was my father? Was he a warrior, a scholar? Did he have my eyes?
Who was my mother? Did she sing to me? Did she try to hide me?
Where are they? Are they bones in an unmarked grave, victims of the Eldoria's ambush?
Or... are they out there somewhere? Have they been searching for me all this time, while I scrubbed the floors of their enemies?
I gripped my head, my fingers tangling in my short curls as if I could physically hold my fracturing mind together. A broken sound, something between a laugh and a sob, escaped me.
"Oh god... I was a Kingsley all along..." The revelation cast every moment of my past in a new, cruel light. "This is why I was treated like an animal at the Eldoria estate. They weren't just cruel masters; they were the Kingsleys' sworn enemies. They knew. They all knew!"
The memories flashed, sharp and painful: John's particular viciousness, the Duke's cold, observant eyes that always seemed to be waiting for me to show some sign of my true nature.
"They used to take so much work out of my weak body, especially that John... He was one of them. They didn't just hate me because I was a slave. They tortured me because I was a dark mage. Because I was a Kingsley!"
The injustice of it, the years of pain and degradation founded not on random cruelty but on a deliberate, hidden hatred, ignited a fury in me so pure and hot it was dizzying. My eyes, burning with unshed tears of rage and grief, snapped up to meet Victor's.
The old name, the name of the legend he'd just spoken of, fell from my lips in a desperate, pleading cry for guidance.
"What do I do now, Master Richard?"
Victor's eyes held a complex mix of sympathy and fierce resolve as he listened to your outburst. He let the raw emotion hang in the study's quiet atmosphere, allowing you to fully feel the weight of your heritage before he spoke.
"What you do now," Victor said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the storm of your thoughts, "is you claim your birthright. You step out of the shadows they forced you into and you walk into the light, not as a slave, but as a scion of the most powerful bloodline this world has ever known."
He stood and paced slowly before the grand fireplace, the flames casting dancing shadows across his sharp features.
"The Eldorias, and all who think like them, believe they have won. They believe their version of history is carved in stone. They raise their children in gilded halls, teaching them to fear our name and revile our legacy. They send them to one place to be molded into the next generation of our jailers." He stopped and turned to you, his gaze intense. "The Aetherion Academy."
The name hung in the air, charged with significance. It was the pinnacle of privilege and power, a place you had only ever heard of in whispers a dream for others, an impossibility for you.
"It is a fortress of their ideology," Victor continued, a strategic edge entering his tone. "But even the strongest fortresses can be subverted from within. I propose you enter it."
He let the audacity of the suggestion settle. You, a former slave, walking the same halls as royalty.
"I have the influence. The wealth. I can forge documents of lineage. You will enter as Trevor, the son of my brother who died during the Great War. You would enter the academy."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "While the children of nobles learn to control their parlor tricks and elemental whispers, you will be there for a different education. You will learn their ways, their secrets, their weaknesses. You will listen to the lies they teach about your own blood, and you will know the truth. You will find others who question the official history. And you will learn to master the power inside you, not in a hidden cellar, but in the very heart of their world."
He walked back to the desk and placed his hands flat upon it, his expression unwavering.
"This is not about hiding, Trevor. It is about infiltration. It is the most dangerous assignment I could ever give you. One misstep, one flicker of uncontrolled power, and you will be exposed. But if you succeed… You will gain the knowledge and the connections to truly begin your work. You will learn who you are meant to be, not from me in this room, but by facing the world that tried to erase you."
He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And yes, Elena Eldoria will be there. See her not as your enemy, but as your ultimate test. Can you walk beside the daughter of your family's destroyer and keep your purpose clear? Can you learn from the enemy without becoming them? And Trevor, there will be a friend with you as well. He would be your colleague and would help you in that academy. His name is Zachary. And he is from Nepheliem as well, but he is a different breed.. He is a Warrior, not a mage like you. But you would work with him, and something tells me you two would be real good friends."
Victor let the silence stretch, allowing the image of this potential ally to settle in my mind. A friend. The concept was so foreign that it was almost unsettling. In Craterhelm, my only companions were suspicion and the weight of the chains.
"Zachary's family," Victor continued, pulling me from my thoughts, "the Stoneharts, have served the Kingsleys for generations. They were the steadfast earth to my family's formidable shadow. When my house fell, they were scattered, hunted nearly to extinction for their loyalty. Zachary was raised on the same stories you were just told, not as history, but as a personal vendetta. He knows the Fulcrum's betrayal and the Eldoria's cruelty as the reasons for his own fractured childhood. He has been training for this his entire life, waiting for the day a Kingsley would reemerge to stand against the darkness."
The grand gates of Aetherion Academy didn't just open; they swallowed me whole. They were arches of woven sunlight and enchanted silver, humming with a power that made the air crackle. Beyond them, pathways of flawless white marble wound through manicured gardens where flowers bloomed in impossible, crystalline colors. Spires of quartz and obsionage pierced the sky, connected by graceful bridges where students in elegant robes laughed and conversed, their movements effortless.
It was a world of impossible beauty, a stark, breathtaking slap in the face to the dusty yards and straw pallet of Craterhelm. I stood there, amidst a stream of arriving nobles and wealthy commoners, each accompanied by proud parents and wagons of luggage. You had none of that. You carried only a single bag supplied by Victor and the crushing, world-altering truth he had entrusted to you.
I was no longer Trevor the slave. According to the meticulously forged documents in your pocket, I was Trevor Morley, a nephew of Victor Morley.
With that, I walked towards the front desk, only to see 3 sections amongst them. The first one was for the royalties, like the princes, the princesses, and their kind. The second section was for nobles, and then there was the section for the Children of wealthy people. Well, I was here as a relative of Victor, who was a very big merchant and a trader.
Inside, the air changed. It was cooler, smelled of polished stone and ambition. And the whole place was divided up like a map of everything I was supposed to hate.
To the left, under a banner with that stupid obsidian fist sigil, were the Royalties. Fulcrum kids and The Children of Ironvales. They looked bored, like they owned the very air they breathed. Probably because they did. One of them, a guy with hair as dark as mine but way too perfectly styled, caught my eye for a second. He didn't smirk or frown; he just looked... empty. Like a well-dressed predator waiting for something to pounce on. I forced myself to look away.
The middle section was packed with Nobles. I scanned the colors, the faces, my heart doing a weird stutter-step. Was she here? Would I even recognize her outside the gardens of that cursed estate? Part of me hoped I wouldn't. The other part, the part that still ached with a stupid, old feeling, hoped I would. I crushed that part down. Not your enemy, but your test. Victor's words were a cold splash of water. Right now, she felt like both.
I turned to the right. The Wealthy section. No ancient names here, just new money and power. This was my mask. My disguise. I took a breath, pulling the persona around me like a cloak. Trevor Morley. Nephew. Rich. Arrogant. Safe.
The receptionist at the counter didn't even glance up. "ID, please," she droned, already sounding bored with me.
I slid the forged parchment across the smooth counter. Then I leaned in, just a little, pitching my voice into something lighter, cockier, a voice that had never known a day of hunger or fear. It felt foreign on my tongue.
"Hi, I'm Trevor," I said, the lie smooth and easy. "And I'm the nephew of the richest guy in the capital, Sir Victor Morley."
The change was instant. Her head jerked up, her eyes going wide. The name was a spell all its own. Suddenly, I wasn't just another applicant; I was a transaction she needed to handle with care.
"Of course, Mister Morley! My apologies, we were expecting you." Her voice was all syrup now. She stammered something about an observatory and Victor's generosity, stamping the parchment with a hurried thump. She handed me a crystal token that felt cool and alive in my hand. "West wing, third floor, room seven. The best accommodations, naturally."
"What about the Entry test? When would that be conducted?" I asked her in a confused voice, according to me, the exam should have been first but this was totally different.
The receptionist offered a practiced, placating smile. "Oh, you're quite right, normally it is. But this year is a bit special. We have aspiring students who've traveled from the farthest reaches of Sylvaris and even a few principalities beyond Nepheliem. The journey has been... taxing for many."
She leaned forward slightly, her tone conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret just for me. "The administration has decided to allow everyone a full day to recuperate. The entrance exam will be tomorrow. And between you and me," she added, lowering her voice, "it's for the best. The test is notoriously demanding, a brutal series of physical trials designed to push one to their absolute limits. We want all our potential students, especially our honored guests from abroad, to be at their peak performance. No one wants to see a noble heir collapse from exhaustion before the real test even begins."
She said it like it was a courtesy. But all I heard was that the children of royalty and nobility needed a nap before they could be bothered to prove their worth. A cold smirk touched my lips internally. Let them rest. I'd spent seven years doing backbreaking labor on half-rations. I was more than ready.
The next morning, the air in the massive training field crackled with a different kind of energy. No longer the hushed awe of arrival, but the sharp, competitive tension of a hundred egos preparing to prove their worth. I moved through the crowd, a ghost among peacocks. Nobles in tailored training gear stretched with practiced nonchalance. Royals stood in isolated, imperious clusters, their bodyguards a silent, watchful perimeter. My eyes scanned the faces, not for rivals, but for one specific ally. Where are you, Zachary? I thought, searching for a face I only knew from a single, distant nod.
I found a spot near the back and remained still, conserving my energy, watching them all. Their chatter was about lineage, about expected rankings, about the disgrace of failing. They had no idea what was really at stake.
A sudden, amplified voice cut through the din, silencing every conversation instantly.
"Good morning, everyone." The man who spoke stood on a raised platform, his robes a simple, dark grey, but his presence was anything but. He had a sharp, intelligent face and eyes that seemed to miss nothing. "I hope you have all recovered from your travels and are ready to... ace this entry test."
A few nervous laughs trickled through the crowd. He didn't smile.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Aurelius Deymar. Master of Elemental Theory." He said it not as a boast, but a simple, cold fact. "Well, that's enough of me. You are not here to listen to an old man talk. You are here to prove you belong within these walls."
He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly along the edge of the platform. His gaze swept over us, assessing, categorizing.
"The test is divided into three stages," he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the field. "The first: physical exercises. Raw strength, speed, and endurance. The foundation upon which all power is built. We will see what your bodies are truly capable of."
A few of the bulkier nobles puffed out their chests.
"The second stage: mental state. Control. Focus. The ability to harness chaos and shape it into will. Power without control is a cannon without aim, useless and destructive."
Now the more studious-looking applicants nodded thoughtfully.
"And the third," Professor Deymar said, a slight, almost predatory edge entering his tone. "The sparring session. Or, let's be blunt, a minor battle between randomly selected students. Theory is meaningless without practical application. We will see how you perform under pressure, how you think on your feet, and how you handle a real opponent."
He stopped his pacing and faced us fully, his expression grimly serious.
"Each stage will be scored. Your cumulative performance will determine not only your admission but your initial ranking within the academy. Perform poorly, and you will be sent home. Perform adequately, and you may stay. Excel..." He finally offered a thin, sharp smile. "Excel, and you will attract the attention of those who can truly shape your destiny."
He clapped his hands once, the sound like a thunderclap.
"Now. Positions. The first trial begins in five minutes. I suggest you find your focus."