The echo of Siyin's words seemed to reverberate across the dimensions, but for me, in the room at the Imperial Academy, it was only the silence of the night that surrounded me. I rose from my chair and walked over to the window, gazing at the lights of the capital of Demor.
"To live for myself…" I murmured. What a strange concept for someone who used to carry the fate of entire universes on their shoulders.
"Master?" Adela's voice brought me back to reality. She was still there, kneeling in the shadows, waiting for my next move. She had sensed my brief disconnection, that aura of emptiness that only appeared when my memories as a cultivator surfaced.
"It's nothing, Adela. Tomorrow will be a busy day. Get ready; I don't want anyone to interrupt my 'chat' with my sister's admirer."
…
The following morning, the Academy was buzzing with activity. The corridors were filled with the nobles' immaculate uniforms and haughty gazes. As I walked towards the upper-year wing, I could hear the whispers behind me; the "Ice Queen's fiancé" was now the focus of everyone's mockery and envy.
I made my way through the corridors of the upper-year wing with a clear objective: to find a certain little person. And, as if she were coming towards me, the conversations ceased and the crowd parted with an almost mechanical bow.
A woman advanced with a bearing that screamed sovereignty. It was Princess Elara Demor, sister of the narcissist Bastian. Her blonde hair cascaded down over a dress that emphasised her generous curves and a prominent bust that drew the gaze of everyone present, though no one dared to hold her gaze for long.
"Well, if it isn't the Varkas' little ornament," Elara said, stopping in front of me with a smile laced with contempt. "I'm surprised you have the nerve to walk the corridors of the geniuses. You should be in the wing of the mediocrities, where your lack of talent doesn't offend the eye."
She stopped a step away from me, giving me a look of utter contempt.
"I've heard your sister, Margery, is in these parts. She's a waste in that family of northern earls. Perhaps she should come to my palace as my personal maid; that way, at least, someone of royal blood would give her a purpose."
I stood motionless. Elara's presence, though imposing to others, was to me no more than the fluttering of a butterfly. I took a step forward, invading her personal space until I could smell her expensive perfume. She recoiled a millimetre, taken aback by my audacity.
"It's curious that you speak of 'purposes' and 'royal blood', Elara," I said in a whisper that only she could hear. "Especially when you spend so many nights in the forbidden section of the library, consulting texts on heretical rites."
The colour drained from the princess's face instantly. Her hands, hidden beneath her silk sleeves, began to tremble.
"What… what are you talking about, you useless fool?" she tried to say, but her voice, once authoritative, now sounded broken with panic.
"That black mark you're trying to hide on your left thigh..." I continued with a predatory smile. "It's not a tattoo, is it? It's the price of trying to practise forbidden arts to compensate for your own magical stagnation. I wonder what the Emperor would say if he knew his favourite daughter was rotten to the core."
Elara staggered. Her eyes, once filled with arrogance, now overflowed with a primordial terror. She knew that if that information ever came to light, her execution would be public… and slow.
"You… how can you…?" she stammered, glancing around in paranoia, afraid that someone else might have overheard.
"Now then," I said, gesturing toward the crowd that was beginning to gather around us, "if you don't want this to come to light, why don't we talk somewhere more private… like your room?"
Once we arrived, she turned around and looked at me with a smug smile, as if she were facing a complete fool.
"You really are useless," Elara scoffed, regaining her composure. "You claim to know my greatest secret, and yet you dare to walk alone into my chambers knowing I'm a fifth-circle mage."
"I think the one who understands nothing here is you," I replied with icy calm. "Let's set aside whether I'm alone or not—what makes you think that with your pitiful fifth circle you could even touch me?"
At that very moment, to prove my point, space itself distorted. Without warning, I transported us to such an altitude that the entire Empire looked like a mere stain beneath our feet.
Disoriented, Elara looked down into the abyss—and suddenly realized her lungs refused to work. At this height, oxygen was scarce after all.
I watched as she began to struggle desperately, her face turning red, the veins in her neck bulging as she lashed out blindly, trying to break free without even considering what it would mean to fall from here.
Finally, I relieved her suffering. With a subtle act of will, I allowed air to flow into her lungs again, though we remained suspended in the void.
"What… what are you?" she gasped, regaining her breath, her eyes wide with primordial terror. "How are you doing this? It has to be an illusion… it can't be real…"
"Look down," I ordered. My voice did not need to rise to echo within her very soul.
Her body trembling, she obeyed.
"Look carefully, Elara. That insignificant speck is the Demor Empire—the one where your father resides, the man you're so desperate to impress. And if I so wish, that speck can disappear at a whim."
I leaned closer to her ear, the wind roaring all around us without moving a single strand of my hair.
"You've been playing with my sister lately… and that, my dear princess, puts me in a very bad mood. So you'd better find a way to change that mood… before I decide your little Empire no longer amuses me."