Less than an hour had passed since that tense conversation with King Vorian.
Vane hadn't been allowed to leave the throne room through the main gates. Instead, he was slipped through a back door straight into one of the palace's dim, windowless preparation chambers.
Vorian was right; if he didn't leave this palace before sunset, the Queen's poison would mix into his blood before dinner was even served.
When the heavy wooden door creaked open, King Vorian entered personally. Behind him were three palace servants carrying basins of hot water, towels, and folded grey fabrics. The servants' heads were bowed; they were physically trembling.
Vorian's grey, merciless eyes swept over the servants.
"Clean him," he said, his voice as sharp as a blade vacuuming the oxygen from the room. "Dress him in the standard colors of the Obsidian Academy."
Then, he added the words that would freeze the servants' blood:
"And carve this well into your minds... Until he leaves this room and boards the academy carriage, if even the slightest harm comes to him, if the Queen's poison taints his food or water, or if a single hair on his head is hurt... no one can save you. I will personally burn your souls in the Aether furnaces. Understood?"
The servants collapsed to the floor in sheer terror, murmuring their absolute obedience in trembling voices. Vorian gave Vane one last, calculating, piercing look before turning around and shutting the door without another word.
Now, Vane stood before a massive mirror.
The three palace servants hovered around him like moths. One was rapidly scrubbing the coarse mud off Vane with hot, Aether-scented water; another was hastily cutting his hair; the third was dressing him in the dark grey, stiff-fabric uniform of the Academy.
Their movements were frantic but flawless, their words measured. "Raise your arm slightly, please, My Lord." "Keep your head up, Your Grace."
But Vane's pitch-black eyes were reading the micro-expressions on these servants' faces through the mirror.
They were touching him as if he were wrapped in cotton only because of the King's death threat, but their fingertips twitched. They held their breath while buttoning his coat. In their eyes, there was no respect. There was only the pure disgust of touching a diseased street dog.
They were bowing to Vorian's ruthless command, not to him.
Forced respect, Vane thought, looking at his unfamiliar reflection in the mirror.
They wash me because the King commanded it, but in their eyes, I am still a pile of mud. A few hours ago, my mother's blood was on my hands, and now this treatment like a nobleman... What a disgusting theater.
But they are teaching me how to wear a mask. If I want to survive, I'll have to play a theater of my own. The mask of a docile, crushed, harmless victim.
The moment the servants finished their work and left the room with their heads bowed, two massive Aether-guards waiting at the door stepped in.
Vane took a deep breath. He locked the sharp, ruthless side of his mind into a dark corner and slightly slumped his shoulders. He erased the cold fury from his eyes, replacing it with the exhausted, terrified expression of a naive, lost boy.
He was smuggled out through one of the palace's secret back doors and loaded into a steam-carriage with iron-barred windows.
When he stepped out of the carriage—which had climbed from the outskirts of the capital Aethelgard toward the mountains—the air filling his lungs was cold and filled with soot.
The Obsidian Academy looked less like an educational institution and more like a colossal war machine embedded in the heart of the mountain. Towers of black stone piercing the sky, massive spinning brass gears, and thick white smoke spewing from the steam pipes wrapping the main building...
As the carriage passed through the heavy iron gates leading to the main courtyard, the guards who brought him turned back with the vehicle without a word.
Vane was left entirely alone in the center of that massive courtyard paved with black stones.
The courtyard was overflowing with the future masters of the Valerius Empire. There were hundreds of young nobles wearing navy blue and golden-yellow uniforms woven with Aether-threads, tailored by masters.
The moment Vane took a step, the buzzing chatter around him parted in two like a wave of water.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to him. There was no curiosity in their gazes; there was only pure disgust and mockery. Vane hunched his shoulders a little more and bowed his head. He took his steps hesitantly, almost timidly.
Pity me, he thought to himself, projecting a pathetic image outward. Be disgusted by me, but never see me as a threat.
His eyes caught the epicenter of power standing by the marble fountain in the middle of the courtyard: Prince Julian.
Right next to Julian stood Lady Kaelia, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun, scanning the area with her icy blue eyes. The legitimate heir of the Second Pillar (Steel and Structure).
On his left was the colossal Lord Theron, standing nearly two meters tall, half his face covered in burn scars. The heir of the Fifth Pillar (Earth and Gravity).
Prince Julian saw Vane. There was no anger in his blue eyes. He looked at Vane the way one would look at a bug stuck to the bottom of a shoe. Then, he turned his head and went back to his conversation.
Perfect, whispered the cold intellect inside Vane. He doesn't even consider me as existing. This is the greatest blessing an assassin could ever ask for: Invisibility.
The inside of the Registry Building was filled with the mechanical clatter of constantly operating Aether-typewriters. Sitting behind a massive brass desk, the elderly clerk examined Vane's papers with a condescending glare.
"Vane," the clerk said, his voice raspy and cold. "You have been assigned to the Standard Theory Classes. Your dormitory is in Block D. Right above the boiler rooms. Next!"
Vane took the brass key marked D-404. As he turned around and walked toward the door, he collided with a massive shadow stepping inside.
More accurately, it felt like he had crashed into a walking brick wall. Losing his balance, he fell hard onto the floor.
"Watch where you step, mud rat."
Vane slowly raised his head. The person standing before him was a colossal youth with a neck almost as thick as a bull's. With a muscular body straining the seams of his uniform and sword scars on his face, he looked like an absolute war machine.
On his collar was the emblem of House Taurus (The Bull), a vassal of the Third Pillar. This was the child of the industrial barons, known in the hierarchy solely for their brute strength.
Caelum, Vane thought. He had quickly memorized the names during his short time in the palace.
He could snap my neck with one hand. He knows I am the King's illegitimate son, and he bumped into me on purpose. He expects a reaction. A provocation.
Vane's right hand instinctively twitched toward the hilt of the rusted dagger at his waist, but he stopped himself immediately. He placed his hands on the muddy floor. As he stood up, he kept his eyes at the level of Caelum's chest, refusing to look at his face.
"Forgive me," Vane murmured, adding a slight tremble to his voice. He averted his gaze and stepped aside. "It was my fault."
Caelum let out a coarse, booming laugh. "Looks like that whore of a mother only taught you how to crawl on the floor. Get out of my sight."
As Vane exited the building with his head bowed, he had clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms.
Smile, you brute, the voice inside him said with ice-cold logic. Believe that I am a coward and weak. The more pathetic I look, the closer I can get to slit your throat.
Block D was like the rotting intestines beneath the Academy's elite structure. As he descended the narrow, damp stone stairs where the lighting constantly flickered, the hot steam leaking from the surrounding Aether pipes hit his face.
He pushed open the wooden door of room 404.
It was cramped. Two iron cots, a study desk, and a leaking steam pipe on the wall. The boy sitting on the other cot jumped up the moment the door opened. The brass pocket watch in his hand fell to the floor with a loud clang.
The boy was skinny. His eyes behind his glasses were wide open. He was sweating profusely.
On the collar of his uniform was the emblem of House Vallis, a vassal of the Ninth Pillar: an ear of wheat. The Vallis family were merchants; powerless logisticians.
"Y-you..." the boy stuttered, pressing his back against the wall. "You're him. The one in the courtyard..."
Vane slowly closed the door. This boy's fear was useful, but threatening him would be like cornering a panicked dog; you never knew when it would bite. Vane needed a loyal, manipulable source of information.
Vane slowly bent down and picked up the brass pocket watch from the floor. He dusted it off and gently handed it out to the boy. He slipped on his exhausted, drained mask.
"My name is Vane," he said in a soft, almost depleted voice. He dropped his bag onto his cot and let out a deep sigh. "You don't need to be afraid. I'm just a scapegoat, thrown here from the palace."
The boy's fingers trembled as he took the watch, but Vane's docile demeanor had somewhat relaxed him. "E-Elian," he gulped. "Elian Vallis."
Vane sat on his bed, taking his face between his hands. "Everyone hates me, Elian. A giant named Caelum from House Taurus almost crushed me in the registry building. I don't know the rules here. They taught me absolutely nothing about Aether at the palace."
Vane looked up at Elian, feigning utter helplessness.
Believe that I am weak, Vane repeated in his mind. Think that we are both victims. Create a common enemy, a shared fear. That way, you will gladly tell me everything you know.
"Y-you don't have a weapon?" Elian asked, gaining a bit more courage. "They didn't give you resonance training at the palace?"
"Just a useless rusted dagger," Vane said, laughing mockingly. "How does the hierarchy work here, Elian? Which classes do I need to attend, or where should I avoid to stay away from the likes of Caelum? Please, it seems we are both the lowest class in this hell. We need to help each other."
Seeing that the "King's Son" before him was actually just as helpless and terrified as he was, Elian dropped his shoulders. The sheer terror in his eyes gave way to a strange relief and pity.
"Those in Block D cannot enter the Private Wing," Elian began, sitting back down on his cot. "We only take Basic Theory classes..."
Elian nervously twirled the brass watch between his fingers.
"We are not taught how to use Aether in combat, Vane. The children of Vallis, Corvus, or other minor houses... We didn't come here to swing swords, but to turn the gears. Our classes are about how to stabilize Aether in steam engines, how to establish logistics networks, or how to secure communication lines."
Vane dropped his shoulders even lower, putting a bewildered and terrified expression on his face. "Just machines? What about fighting? How will we learn to use Aether to protect ourselves? Caelum almost attacked me in the corridor. How am I supposed to defend myself against a giant like that?"
"You won't be able to defend yourself," Elian said, gulping. The despair in his voice was so genuine it made the room feel freezing.
"We only learn basic Aether formatting. The 'Resonance Arts'—the art of turning Aether into destructive magic—is strictly taught only to the Main Pillar heirs in the Private Wing. Weapon techniques, shield breaking, Aether flames... Those are their absolute monopoly."
A flawless system of slavery, Vane thought, staring at the floor while taking a shaky breath.
The cold darkness deep within his mind was mapping out every single word he heard. They keep the power entirely within their own bloodlines. They train their own armies but only teach the lower class to be cogs in the machine. Withholding knowledge is a leash far sharper than a sword.
"But Caelum..." Vane said, his voice trembling with innocent curiosity. "Is he in the Private Wing? He isn't a Pillar, so why is he so confident?"
"House Taurus is the greatest military force of the Third Pillar, House Ignis (Fire)," Elian explained, clicking the cover of his watch open and closed.
"Caelum and his kind can enter the Private Wing if they are chosen as 'Swords' or 'Shields' by Prince Julian or the other main heirs. They will do anything to get in there. Gaining the favor of a Pillar is the only chance of promotion in the Academy for vassals like us."
A flash of lightning struck within Vane's mind. His pupils briefly contracted.
So Caelum bumping into me at the registry building wasn't just crude bullying, Vane calculated. He wants to hunt me down and tear me apart because he wants to be Prince Julian's 'Sword'. Crushing the illegitimate bastard the Queen hates will earn Caelum a seat at Julian's table. My blood is his ticket to the top.
Vane covered his face with his hands and groaned helplessly. "What about the professors? Won't they protect us? If someone wants to... hurt me, won't they intervene?"
Elian laughed bitterly, almost hysterically.
"All the professors are tied to the Pillars, Vane. The rules are simple: If you die during a 'Practical Training' session or from a provocation in the corridor, it simply goes on the record as 'Aether Incompatibility' or an 'Unfortunate Accident'. No one will cross the Pillars for you. Especially not for you..."
Elian paused, lowering his head, afraid that what he was about to say would hurt Vane.
"Especially since I am the King's unwanted bastard," Vane finished the sentence, adding a heartbroken tone to his voice.
Elian nodded guiltily. "I'm sorry. But it's the truth. If you want to survive, you must be invisible, Vane. Don't make eye contact, don't respond to provocations. Bow your head. That's how I've survived for three years. Just stay in the shadows."
Vane slowly raised his head and gave Elian a grateful look. "Thank you, Elian. You're right... We have no choice but to be invisible."
As Vane lay down on his cot and stared at the damp stains on the ceiling, he felt the coldness of the rusted dagger pressing against his side.
Being invisible... That is exactly my true plan, Elian, the ruthless voice inside him whispered.
I will never take off my victim mask. Prince Julian will continue to believe I am a pathetic bug. Caelum will think I am a cowardly rat. But there is one thing they have forgotten... You don't just hide in the shadows. The shadows are also where the most flawless ambushes are set.