Every day, since as early as he could remember, Kethan Ardane had been trapped, trapped inside the prison known as the Vetusian Empire. This day was no different. Long ago, he had made a decision: if he could not escape this prison, then he would learn to survive within it.
Rebellion was impossible. Escape was a fantasy. This was not a prison made of walls, but of power, one that encompassed the entire world. So Kethan had chosen another path: climbing over the system that wants to keep him down.
These thoughts weighed on his mind as he stood among hundreds of other cadets. He wondered, not for the first time, if his choice made him a hypocrite, or worse, a traitor. But the moment his doubt began to take shape, it was shattered by a voice that sent a chill through his spine.
"Cadet. Do you believe yourself superior to the rest?"
Kethan snapped to attention.
Towering over him was the academy master: a tall, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a face carved by scars. His presence alone radiated authority and something darker. Kethan had faced cruelty before, but this man inspired a different kind of fear, one rooted in experience rather than brute force.
"No, sir," Kethan replied calmly, his tone controlled and respectful.
The dread did not fade.
The man's voice rose, sharp enough to cut steel. "Then why is your mind wandering? This is the Imperial Military Academy. A brat from the slums should be grateful he is even allowed to stand here. Do you believe you have earned the right to daydream?"
"No, sir. I apologize for my insolence."
Though raised in an orphanage deep within the slums of Eydora, the empire's so-called glorious capital, Kethan had learned how to speak to people like this. The elite. The powerful. Survival demanded it.
The academy master, who had introduced himself as Peragelus, moved on once his scolding was complete. He did not stop with Kethan. One by one, cadets were reprimanded for the smallest mistakes—except, of course, the children of high nobles. They stood immune and untouchable.
This was the opening ceremony of this year's class of the Imperial Military Academy.
The ceremonial hall was vast, its walls rising over ten meters high, forged from iron and rezanium. Rezanium—mined in the northern reaches of Gidomum, humanity's birthplace—was an unbreakable metal that emitted a constant, laser-like glow.
Behind the academy masters, on a raised platform, hung the empire's banner: black fabric bearing a golden and crimson griffin. A symbol of order. Of power. Of tyranny.
After the ceremony, the cadets were escorted to the barracks: communal sleeping quarters for all except the high nobles, who were granted private rooms. No one seemed surprised.
When Kethan entered the barracks, he paused.
Rows of clean, sturdy beds filled the room. They were better than anything he had ever slept on, certainly better than the orphanage bunks. He found the one bearing his name and felt a flicker of satisfaction.
That feeling was not shared.
Many of the other cadets looked openly disgusted by their accommodations. Most came from noble houses or wealthy families. Kethan stood among them like a moon surrounded by stars, but this moon was never meant to shine.
He changed into his cadet uniform quickly and prepared to explore before dinner. As he turned to leave, a voice stopped him.
"Hey. I'm Elio Capesios."
Kethan looked down slightly. The boy was short but broad-shouldered, with kind brown eyes and a warm expression that felt out of place in the academy. He looked… normal, even kind.
"Our beds are next to each other," Elio continued. "Thought it'd be good to start off friendly. What's your name?"
"Kethan," he replied flatly. "And I'm not interested in making friends."
Elio blinked, clearly taken aback.
Kethan had always pushed people away. In his sixteen years, no one had ever stayed. No one had ever mattered. He left the barracks without another word, leaving Elio staring after him in disbelief.
The academy corridors seemed endless: cold metal, sharp angles, empty classrooms. Nothing worth stopping for.
Until he found it.
The combat training hall.
Its scale surpassed his expectations. High walls lined with monitoring screens tracked health, performance, and improvement. Separate zones existed for hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, sparring, and even flight simulation.
Standing there, Kethan realized how far he had climbed already.
And how much higher he still needed to go.
This was the only path out of the darkness of the slums. Even if the empire tried to crush him, he would rise above it.
Lost in thought once again, he barely noticed when he reached the dining hall, until he felt a gaze fixed upon him.
A tall cadet stood nearby, his uniform marked with the emblem of a prestigious house, it was a high noble.
White hair fell past his shoulders. His fair skin and mist-grey eyes gave him the appearance of a wolf: calm, dangerous and watchful.
The noble's gaze lingered before moving on.
Kethan felt it instantly. Trouble.
Inside the hall, he sat among the faces he would share the next year with. Some would hinder him. Others might help him climb. Nothing was certain, except that there was no turning back.
As he began eating his first meal outside the slums, a hand touched his shoulder.
He turned.
The white-haired noble stood beside him, almost angelic up close.
"My name is Armodius of House Luxaeten," he said politely, yet with a deeper voice than he thought he had. "I heard about your performance in the entrance trials. A commoner breaking records, it's impressive."
Kethan said nothing.
"I believe you may be the only one here capable of challenging me," Armodius continued. "May I have your name?"
"Kethan Ardane."
Armodius smiled as he took a seat beside him. "That name doesn't suit you. Your posture, those blue eyes, one might mistake you for a noble."
"I'm trying to eat."
Armodius laughed softly. "Fair enough. Still, I look forward to our rivalry. A noble and a commoner at the top of the class, it's been a long time since the academy saw something like that."
He stood and returned to his table.
Kethan watched him go, conflicted. The noble was confident, perhaps too confident, but the idea of a rival stirred something within him.
For the first time since arriving, he felt something close to anticipation.
This year might be interesting after all.