Drawen walked over to the sofa chair and lowered himself onto it, settling back as though he were preparing for something important. Miss Beatrice pulled a wooden board closer and sat across from him, her posture neat and composed.
"Young master," she began, her voice even, "today I will tell you about the history of our world, Planet Zenthar."
Drawen nodded, giving her his attention.
"Long ago," Beatrice continued, "six races ruled Zenthar: the orcs, elves, dwarves, beastkin, gnomes, and humans. In those days there was only one great continent. But peace was scarce. The races fought constantly—wars for land, for resources, for pride. Alliances formed and broke as quickly as the tides. The world was in turmoil, and though the gods lent divine power to mortals, it was not enough to bring balance."
Her expression grew more somber. "Everything changed a thousand years ago, when the demons came. They wielded miasma—a force opposite of divine power, capable of corrupting anything it touched. With it, they drove the six races to the edge of extinction. Entire kingdoms vanished, and hope nearly vanished with them."
Drawen shifted in his seat, his usual arrogance softened for the moment.
"But the gods did not abandon the world. They granted mortals a new gift: mana. And to ensure survival, they blessed six champions—one from each race. These champions became the Sovereigns. With their power, they stood against the demons, reaching heights of strength none had seen before."
She paused briefly, then went on. "The Sovereigns fought the six most powerful demons beneath the Demon King. Their battle was so great that the continent itself split apart into three. One became the Demonic Continent. Another went to the elves, dwarves, and beastkin. The last, to humans, gnomes, and orcs. And so the world was reshaped."
Beatrice set the board aside, folding her hands in her lap. "The war with the demons continues even now. To prepare the next generations, the Sovereigns founded great academies within their empires. The human empire's academy is Aether Academy, named after our Sovereign, Aether von Lumera. And when you reach twelve years of age, young master, you will attend."
Drawen leaned back, grinning. "Of course I will. The academy will be lucky to have me. In fact, they should probably build me a statue at the gate before I even arrive."
Beatrice gave him a flat look. "Yes, because nothing inspires future heroes quite like a statue of an eleven-year-old boy who can't even make his own bed."
Drawen smirked, unbothered. "Well, greatness has to start somewhere."
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"I can't believe Miss Beatrice can talk for two hours straight without pausing once," Drawen muttered as he walked down the pathway, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right, Lily?" He glanced at the maid trailing just behind him.
Lily was a girl of about ten, dressed in a plain maid's uniform a little too big for her, the sleeves brushing her wrists and the hem swaying just above her shoes. Her hair was tied simply at the back, and her face carried the soft, ordinary look of a child not yet grown. There was nothing striking about her appearance—no sharp features, no noble air—just the quiet presence of someone used to serving without being noticed.
Lily gave a small smile. "She does have remarkable stamina, young master."
"Remarkable? It's terrifying," Drawen replied. "I swear she could out-talk the royal heralds, and those men read scrolls longer than the palace walls."
"She does it for your benefit, young master."
Drawen groaned dramatically. "Yes, my benefit. My poor ears might not agree with that assessment."
"How many classes do I have left today anyway?"
"Only two more," Lily answered politely. "Politics and martial arts."
"Politics and martial arts," Drawen repeated, as if weighing the two options. "So I either get bored to death or beaten to death. Wonderful choices."
"Which will it be first?" Drawen asked, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested she already knew the answer.
"Politics," she confirmed when he raised an eyebrow.
Drawen sighed. "Of course. Nothing like a lecture on noble etiquette and schemes to prepare a man for greatness."
Lily nodded. "It is important to know how to act at court, young master."
"Yes, yes," Drawen said, rolling his eyes. "Smile politely, stab people with words instead of swords, and never sneeze in front of a duke. I've mastered it already."
"Truly?"
"Truly. I could out-scheme half the nobles before breakfast," Drawen declared, puffing out his chest.
Lily's lips curved into a sly smile. "Then perhaps your tutor will let you graduate early."
"Perfect!" Drawen brightened, striding ahead with renewed energy. "Straight to martial arts then. I'd rather face a sword than another round of which fork is proper for soup."
And with that, they made their way toward the politics class—Drawen grumbling under his breath about forks, soup, and nobles who clearly had too much free time.
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