Ash woke to warmth. Real warmth—not the damp, clinging heat of the slums, but the gentle embrace of sunlight filtering through curtains of velvet. The sheets beneath his body were soft, layered in silk so fine that his skin tingled against them. For a moment, he thought he had died and stumbled into some cruel afterlife, one that mocked him with things he had never touched in life.
But then the scent reached him. Bread. Meat. Spices he couldn't name but that made his stomach coil in desperate hunger.
He sat up quickly, dizzy from the sudden motion, and realized he was no longer in the alley where he had last faced the gang. No dirt. No rats. The walls were of polished stone, the chamber large enough to swallow ten of his slum shacks whole. A tray of food sat on a nearby table: roasted chicken, steaming bread, fruits so plump they seemed painted.
His throat tightened. He wanted to leap at it, tear into it with his bare hands. But then—
"Eat."
The voice came from across the room. Ash startled, turning sharply.
A man sat by the window in a tall-backed chair, his posture one of easy command. He was not young, though not old either—perhaps in his middle years. His hair was dark, streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were the color of storm clouds gathering above the sea. His robe was trimmed in silver thread, the cut precise, the sigil on his chest unmistakable: a crescent moon pierced by a sword.
A noble.
Ash froze. Instinct screamed at him to flee, but his legs were weak, his chest tight.
"You'll find no poison there," the man said smoothly. "If I wanted you dead, boy, you would not have awakened at all."
Ash glanced at the food once more, then at the man. Suspicion warred with hunger.
The Codex stirred in his mind, its ancient voice a low whisper.
Observe him. His posture, his tone. This is not kindness—it is calculation. Choose your words carefully.
Ash reached for the bread, tearing a piece slowly, forcing himself not to devour it like an animal. He chewed, swallowed, then looked back at the noble.
"Why… why am I here?" His voice was hoarse, unsteady.
The man studied him for a long moment. "Because you interest me. Few slum rats escape a pack of armed men with nothing but wit and luck. Fewer still bear a spark."
He raised a hand. A faint shimmer of light danced around Ash before fading. The noble's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Mana. Fledgling, but there. Untutored, yet clinging stubbornly to you."
Ash stiffened.
The Codex again:
He suspects. Deny nothing, but reveal nothing. Let him think he is the one uncovering your secrets.
Ash lowered his gaze. "I… I don't understand, my lord."
The man's lips curved faintly, though it was no smile. "Of course you don't. You've never seen the world beyond the gutters of Duskreach. Tell me, boy—what is your name?"
"Ash."
"Just Ash?"
Ash hesitated, then nodded.
"Fitting. Ash that lingers after the fire has died." The noble leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Listen well, Ash. This city devours the weak. The nobles consume the commoners, the mages consume the world, and the rats of the slums consume one another until nothing remains. Yet you survived. That intrigues me. Enough that I've decided not to let you rot back in the gutter."
Ash's heart pounded. "Then… what will you do with me?"
The man's gaze was unreadable. "You will go to the Academy."
The words struck Ash like a blow. He had heard of it, of course—every slum child had. The Academy of Fangs, where nobles trained in magic and strategy. A place of power, prestige… and cruelty. A slum-born had no place there.
The Codex whispered sharply.
Accept. Opportunity cloaked in danger is still opportunity.
Ash swallowed hard. "Why me?"
"Because I want to see what happens." The noble finally rose, his presence filling the chamber like a storm. "My name is Lord Varian Duskbane. Remember it well. You are nothing more than a gamble, Ash. A coin tossed into the air. If you fail, the Academy will devour you whole, and I will lose nothing. If you succeed…" His eyes glinted. "Then I may have gained something rare. Do you understand?"
Ash met his gaze, forcing strength into his voice. "Yes, my lord."
"Good." Varian turned toward the door. "Eat your fill. We depart for the Academy within the hour."
---
The carriage was unlike anything Ash had ever seen. Polished black wood, gilded edges, wheels that hummed softly as they turned. Two sleek horses pulled it through the cobbled streets, their bridles adorned with silver. Ash sat stiffly inside, across from Lord Varian, his stomach still full from food he could scarcely believe was real.
Outside the window, the world unfolded—and Ash realized, with a sudden tightness in his chest, that he had never truly seen Duskreach before.
The slums sprawled like a wound at the city's edge, alleys of mud and rot where children fought over scraps. That had been his world—narrow, suffocating, cruel. But now, as the carriage rolled onward, the streets widened, the walls rose higher, the houses straightened from leaning shacks into clean stone. Shops bustled with color, banners fluttered above stalls, and guards in polished armor patrolled with measured steps.
Ash pressed closer to the window, unable to look away.
The Codex stirred again, its voice smooth and instructive.
Observe the walls. They are not built merely for defense against enemies without, but to divide those within. High walls keep the poor from trespassing into noble quarters. Every archway, every guard post, a reminder of who rules and who obeys.
Ash's gaze followed the towering arches where soldiers stood. The Codex was right.
And the statues—great marble figures of kings and queens, their gazes cast downward upon the streets.
Symbols of authority, the Codex whispered. To the commoner, they inspire reverence. To the noble, they reinforce ownership. To you? They must be studied, their positions mapped. For even stone kings have weaknesses.
Ash shivered, but kept watching. The carriage passed through another gate, and suddenly the city exploded in splendor. Marble towers gleamed in sunlight, banners of crimson and gold rippled above sprawling plazas. Arcane lanterns burned with steady glow, even under the day's light, as if to flaunt the wealth of the mages who powered them.
People here walked differently—heads high, robes trailing, laughter sharp with arrogance. Their eyes followed the carriage, some with curiosity, others with disdain.
Ash whispered under his breath, "It's… another world."
Yes, the Codex murmured. And every world can be conquered if you learn its rules.
Ash clenched his fists.
Across from him, Lord Varian observed silently, storm-gray eyes unreadable. Perhaps he heard Ash's mutters, perhaps not.
The Codex pressed on.
Remember what you see. The placement of barracks, the flow of markets, the rhythms of soldiers on patrol. The Academy will be worse. There, knowledge is power—and power is survival.
Ash sat back, heart pounding. For the first time, he realized that what lay ahead was not just survival in a new place. It was a battlefield.
---
By the time the carriage stopped, the city had risen to its heart—the great plateau where the Academy stood.
The gates were iron, wrought into the shape of fangs biting downward. Beyond them, spires clawed at the sky, each one a monument of ambition and power. The air itself seemed heavy with mana, thrumming like a storm about to break.
Ash stepped out, legs trembling slightly.
Noble students were gathered at the gates, their robes embroidered, their laughter cruel. One girl sneered openly. "What is this? Lord Varian brings us gutter trash?"
A boy chuckled. "Perhaps as entertainment. The Academy does love its spectacles."
Ash's chest burned, but he kept his gaze forward. The Codex's whisper was sharp, urgent.
Do not bow. Do not show fear. The battlefield begins here, Ash. Stand, even if your legs quake.
Ash drew a slow breath. His fists unclenched.
Varian's voice was cool as he addressed the guards. "This boy is under my sponsorship. His place is within these gates."
The guards nodded, stepping aside.
Ash placed one foot past the threshold, then another. The laughter and sneers clawed at his back, but he did not look away from the looming towers.
And then the Codex spoke, its voice colder than ever before.
Welcome to your battlefield, Strategos. From here, the war truly begins.