Chapter 1 – The Prodigy
Dorian vexhall had always been exceptional. By the age of twenty-three, he had completed the six-year curriculum of Astrathen Academy of Magic in half the time, leaving even the most gifted students in the dust. Where others struggled he would roll through like nobody's business , Dorian absorbed everything taught to him like a human sponge, bending spells in ways that had never been documented. Teachers looked at him with a mixture of awe and caution, and classmates with envy and fear that sometimes bordered on hatred. He walked the marble halls of the academy with a measured, almost indifferent stride, his black hair slightly tousled, a faint gleam of intelligence and curiosity in his deep brown eyes. Whispers followed him wherever he went, some admiring, most resentful. "He'll make the rest of us look like children," one muttered as he passed by a group of students in the library. "I'd rather fail than let him succeed," said another, scowling. Dorian ignored them. He had long ago learned that trying to reason with envy or fear was pointless. Only mastery mattered.
Astrathen Academy of Magic was perched atop a plateau overlooking Velmora, the capital of sylvandor known for both its magical prowess and its thriving commerce.A kingdom with large magical forests filled with all kinds of flora and fauna. The academy's towers reached for the sky, each dedicated to a branch of magical study: elemental manipulation, alchemy, battlecraft, and black smithing , and the more esoteric arts that few dared to attempt. Students were sorted by aptitude and affinity, though Dorian's genius had often made sorting meaningless. Even without having awakened his true affinity, his intellect allowed him to mimic advanced spells and predict outcomes with astonishing accuracy. He could anticipate the motions of his instructors before they began, and his notes were filled with annotations that hinted at magic beyond the current curriculum.
Despite the grandeur and prestige, the academy was a place of ruthless competition. Exams were brutal, duels common, and politics often outweighed merit. A single misstep could ruin a reputation built over years. Dorian navigated this world with a detached grace, aware of the invisible currents of jealousy and fear swirling around him. Yet even geniuses crave human connection, and his anchor had always been Lyra, a childhood friend,later turned lover ,and the only person who spoke to him without awe or hesitation. Her presence was a balm to the constant pressure of expectation, a reminder that he could be more than calculations and theories. She laughed easily, her smile breaking the cold rigidity of his life. "Dorian, you're staring again," she chided one morning as he watched sparring students. "Even geniuses need to breathe, you know." He smiled faintly, thankful, though he did not speak. Words were often inadequate against the torrent of thoughts and schemes in his mind.
During a morning lecture Professor Kaelen, a towering man whose voice rumbled like gravel across the hall, announced a field trip. "Tomorrow, you will accompany me to the Mysticwood, a magical forest on the eastern border of the kingdom. Each of you will document the flora and fauna, conduct experiments, and report your findings. This is an essential part of your biology practical studies and will be crucial If you will want to raise your scores this semester." The room buzzed with excitement. For most students, a trip to the forest promised adventure and freedom from the confines of classroom walls. For Dorian, it meant another opportunity to observe, calculate, and surpass all expectations. And it also meant that envy, which had always simmered beneath polite facades, could bubble to the surface in ways he could not control.
The whispers started almost immediately. "He'll finish the practical in half the time," a student muttered. Another scowled, "Watch him; he'll make fools of the rest of us." It was nothing new to Dorian, yet he felt a twinge of unease. In an environment as wild and unpredictable as the Mysticwood, he could not always rely on control or predictability. The thought that others might seize this chance to turn against him stirred a quiet tension in his chest, though he told himself it was merely precaution, nothing more.
That evening, Dorian stood on the balcony of his dormitory, gazing at Velmora's glittering lights. The city was alive with the hum of commerce and chatter, the lanterns casting warm reflections on the river that wound through its streets. From up here, the lives of ordinary citizens seemed simple, almost alien in their mundane struggles. How peaceful it must be, he thought, to exist without the weight of expectation pressing down every moment of every day. Yet he did not dwell on it for long. A prodigy had no time for longing; mastery demanded focus, and the forest awaited. Even as the stars above shimmered with cold indifference, he reminded himself that knowledge was power, and power would be his,so was Dorian's character he wanted to climb above all else his ambition truly knew no bounds.
The following morning, the students gathered at the gates of the academy, packs and instruments in tow. Dorian walked among them quietly, observing faces twisted by jealousy, fear, or pretense. He noted the smallest gestures—the way a student adjusted his robes to appear taller, the subtle smirk when another student whispered behind his back, the eyes that followed him like predators circling prey. He cataloged everything, every expression and movement, as if the forest were not the lesson, but the people themselves. And perhaps, in this early observation, lay the beginning of the understanding that would one day define him—not just as a genius, but as someone who saw through the facades that cloaked ambition, envy, and betrayal.
As the academy's carriages rumbled away toward the forest, Dorian allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. He had spent his life ahead of everyone else, isolating himself in study and intellect, yet he understood now that greatness had a cost: it drew resentment like fire draws smoke. And he would have to navigate this, even as he sought the truths hidden within the Mysticwood.
By the time the forest's edge came into view, the students were a mixture of excitement and nervous chatter, but Dorian felt only the cold, familiar clarity of his own thoughts. He was prepared to observe, to learn, to surpass—but he could not yet know that this trip would change everything. That within the shadows of the Mysticwood, envy would manifest in ways that no intelligence could anticipate, and that the foundations of his life would begin to crumble.
And so, the prodigy stepped forward, unaware that the first thread of betrayal had already been woven, and that the path before him would soon twist into darkness far deeper than any spell or calculation could reveal.
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