The early weeks at the Royal Academy had passed in a blur of training, lectures, and building camaraderie.
For the students of Class S, it had been anything but ordinary.
Their days were filled with intellectual and physical challenges, etiquette drills, and increasingly complex exercises.
Their classes also hasn't gone without some excitement the last few weeks.
...
Just Last Week
...
The sun dipped lazily toward the horizon, casting golden hues over the training fields behind the academy.
Students from various classes practiced swordplay, sparring under the watchful eyes of their instructors.
Edward Fairfax, in all his regal pomp, cape fluttering, boots polished to an absurd shine, and mustache waxed to gleaming perfection, stood on the grass, holding a rapier like he was starring in an opera.
Across from him stood Callen, one of the commoner students in Class S.
He has knack for saying things he shouldn't.
"All I said," Callen drawled, twirling a practice sword, "was that it looked like your mustache was trying to crawl off your face to escape."
Gasps erupted from the nearby students.
Gwen, Luke, Elysia, Sarah, Rylen, and Jorah stood at the sidelines.
Even some of the Class A students had wandered over to watch.
Edward's eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey.
"You… dare question the integrity of the 'Fairfax Flair?'"
Callen smirked.
"I mean… it's got more curl than a terrified hedgehog."
Sarah groaned and rubbed her face.
"Gods, why did he hear that?"
"I SHALL HAVE SATISFACTION!" Edward bellowed.
He dramatically threw a glove to the ground.
"I challenge you to a duel, sir!"
Callen raised an eyebrow.
"You're serious?"
"Gravely."
"I only have a practice sword."
Edward unsheathed his own elaborate and very real rapier with a flourish that made his cape flare.
"A blade is a blade, peasant. Prepare to defend your cowardly mouth!"
Luke muttered, "This is the dumbest duel over facial hair I've ever witnessed."
"It's also the only one," Elysia replied dryly.
Sarah folded her arms.
"If he loses, I'm shaving that thing off myself."
The duel began with Edward lunging forward like a man possessed by the spirit of every overly dramatic playwright who ever lived.
His battle cries were accompanied by poetic insults.
"Your footwork is as sloppy as your wardrobe!"
Callen ducked, parried, and snorted.
"Your mustache just winked at me, I think."
"LIES!" Edward shouted. "It only winks at my beloved angel!"
A group of Class A girls began cheering ironically.
"Mustache! Mustache!"
Edward turned toward them mid-parry and blew a kiss.
"You understand the art!"
Callen seized the opportunity, sidestepping and tapping Edward on the side with his sword.
"Point for the mustache's escape attempt!"
"BLASPHEMY!"
The duel devolved into a theatrical display of footwork and ego.
Edward's strikes were overly elegant and filled with flair, while Callen fought like a street duelist, dodging with cheeky grace and tossing sarcastic remarks between movements.
Eventually, Edward tripped over a tree root, most likely planted centuries ago with the sole purpose of humbling nobles, and fell face-first into the grass.
His hat flew off.
His rapier skidded.
Everyone gasped.
His mustache drooped slightly on one side, now flecked with a bit of dirt.
"No…" Edward whispered in horror.
Sarah slowly walked up to him and crouched.
"Do you yield, Lord Mustache?"
"…I yield," he whimpered.
Callen grinned, extending a hand.
"No hard feelings, Lord Whiskers?"
Edward looked at the hand… and slapped it.
"Go polish your boots, street rat."
"I'll take that as affection," Callen said, unfazed.
Sarah rolled her eyes and yanked Edward to his feet.
"Let's go fix your mustache before you start a war with the gardening staff."
"I… need my oils."
"You need therapy."
...
Back to the present
...
Today, though, was thick with anticipation that hummed in the air like a charged current.
They would begin their first formal magic lesson.
The classroom had been rearranged to accommodate this.
Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the sunlight, and mage-lamps glowed a soft blue from the ceiling.
Small stone pedestals sat in a circle, each with a dull crystal embedded at the top, waiting to be activated.
Instructor Marek, a weathered mage in his late sixties with stern eyes and a commanding presence, stood at the front of the room.
"Today," he began, "we begin a journey into the forgotten. Magic is not just rare, it is ancient, elusive, and, until recently, believed nearly gone from this land."
The class was quiet.
Even Sarah managed not to glare at Edward, who was grinning as if expecting her to elbow him again.
Marek gestured to the faintly glowing orb in his hands.
"This is a resonance orb. It detects mana, the invisible force of magic present in the world. Before we attempt to manipulate it, we must first learn to sense it."
He passed the orb to Rylen, who flinched slightly before taking it in his hands.
The glow grew slightly brighter.
"Good. You're sensitive. Not all of you will be at first. Sensing mana is like hearing a whisper in a thunderstorm. It takes focus and patience."
The students were guided through a breathing exercise, with their eyes closed, and hands on the small stones.
"Focus your breath. Let the mana enter through your skin, not just your lungs. Draw it inward, but do not grip it. Let it flow naturally. Like rain onto soil."
Elysia's hands already glowed faintly with ethereal blue energy, her brow furrowed in deep focus.
Callen sneezed and accidentally launched a tiny spark into Jorah's hair, causing a minor yelp.
Gwen and Luke sat near one another, managing steady flows of faint red and gold light.
But not everyone was as focused.
"Ah, Sarah, my lovely kitten, your mana glows more brilliantly than a thousand suns," Edward declared dreamily from beside Sarah, disrupting the calm.
Sarah's eye twitched.
"Shut. Up."
"I simply cannot contain the inspiration your presence brings. Even the way you scowl sends shivers down my—"
THWACK!
Sarah had backhanded him with the back of her hand, knocking his head sideways.
He barely flinched.
In fact, he looked positively delighted.
"Ohhh… thank you," Edward moaned, swaying slightly as if dizzy from joy. "May I have another?"
The rest of the class tried desperately to contain their laughter.
Rylen snorted audibly.
Linette had to cover her mouth.
Even Gwen stifled a chuckle behind her hand.
Sarah's face was beet red, not from embarrassment, but rage.
"I swear to the gods, if you open your mouth again, I will personally see to it you never speak another word!"
"Oh, but Love," Edward sighed, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. "Your fury is a poem. A tempest of passion. A flame I gladly burn in."
SMACK!
This time she hit him with a rolled-up parchment scroll.
His hair fluffed comically, and he slumped into his seat like a kicked sack of flour.
Instructor Marek cleared his throat loudly.
"Lord Fairfax. Lady Maplewood. Kindly stop dramatizing your courtship ritual and return to the lesson."
Sarah groaned, muttering under her breath as she sat down beside Edward, who was beaming like a man who'd just received a royal medal.
"I hate you," she hissed.
"I know," Edward whispered dreamily. "It's wonderful."
Elysia leaned over to Luke and muttered, "Are all nobles this… deranged?"
Luke replied with only a shoulder shrug.
The class finally refocused, albeit still snickering occasionally.
…
Later that evening
…
Queen Adrian sat in her royal office, a large candle flickering beside her as her eyes scanned parchment after parchment.
Ledgers, financial reports, merchant complaints, all demanded her attention.
The treasury was strained.
Bandit raids had disrupted trade routes.
The merchant guild was complaining about lost goods.
Rebuilding efforts after the recent unrest were draining reserves faster than anticipated.
Her hand trembled as she held her quill.
With a soft sigh, she set it down and placed her hands over her eyes.
"What would you have done, my love?" she whispered into the candlelight.
Her thoughts turned to the late king, his wisdom and calm strength.
A soft sob caught in her throat, but she stilled it.
She couldn't afford to fall apart, not yet.
A gentle knock at the door.
"Enter," she said, voice steady again.
Her personal attendant entered and bowed.
"Your Majesty, the two historians have arrived. They claim to have information regarding the markings."
Adrian straightened, her poise returned.
"Send them in."
Two elderly men entered, robes trailing behind them.
One clutched a weathered tome.
"We've found something, Your Majesty," one of them said. "Mentions of the markings, tattoos that glow in the presence of mana."
The other opened the tome and turned it around.
A small text that spoke about markings that resemblance to the tattoos on Luke, Gwen, and Elysia's arms.
"They're referred to here as 'Godsworn,'" the second historian explained. "A prophecy speaks of a return of magic, guided by seven marked individuals… though details are vague. Something about balance, and chaos. We don't yet know more, but we'll keep searching."
The queen studied the page in silence.
"Godsworn…" she repeated softly. "Are you certain?"
"Only as much as the text allows, Your Majesty. It is a fragment, recovered from ruins predating before even the first king."
"Continue your research," Adrian ordered. "And tell no one else of this."
...
Outside the office in the palace corridor
...
Lyra stood perfectly still outside the queen's door, eavesdropping.
Her eyes narrowed as the term Godsworn repeated in her head.
"Seven of them? King Perceus will want their heads mounted on his wall. Or chained at his side."
She didn't notice Gwen approaching until the princess was nearly beside her.
"Are you alright?" Gwen asked casually.
Lyra flinched, spinning around too quickly.
Her smile came late and tight.
"Ah, Princess Gwenevere. Forgive me. I was lost in thought. It's been… a long day."
Gwen arched an eyebrow.
"Are you sure? You seemed like you were listening in on something."
Lyra's mind raced.
"Of course not," she said lightly, bowing her head. "I had just delivered documents and was thinking of home. My family is from the borderlands, and the unrest has me concerned."
The princess gave her a long look, her expression unreadable.
"What's your name?" Gwen asked suddenly.
"Lucy, Your Highness," she answered smoothly. "Prince Ethan's maid. He's told me about you, even though this is the first time we've met."
Gwen nodded, but something in her expression suggested unease.
"Very well Lucy," Gwen said slowly. "It was nice meeting you. Be well then."
"Thank you, Your Highness." Lyra excused herself quickly, walking away down the corridor with practiced grace.
But both women turned thoughts inward as they parted.
Gwen: "She's hiding something. That wasn't just 'lost in thought. I'll have to keep an eye on her… quietly."
Lyra: "If she digs too deep, if she starts uncovering the truth… I'll have no choice. I'll have to silence the princess by killing her."
Gwen turns and knocks on the door of the office.
"Hello? Mother?"