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"It has been five years since that day. Since the path of power opened before me under Grandfather's tutelage. And now… I stand at the threshold of a new chapter."
The Lockhart estate shimmered beneath the soft morning light—its towers of silverstone and arcanite soaring like spears into the sky. The banners of House Lockhart, bearing the imperial phoenix, fluttered in the breeze. Servants moved swiftly, quietly. Preparations had begun.
{Helan} "Harlez, my dear, do not dawdle. The lists have arrived. We're going into the capital."
A young man stepped from the training hall, his silver hair tied back, his blade at his hip. There was strength in his stance, and a glimmer of calm maturity in his gaze—refined, noble, yet honed like a tempered sword.
"Yes, Mother. I'm ready."
{Harlez (thoughts)} In just a month, I'll be stepping into the academy. I wonder what it's like. The world beyond these walls… I've trained long enough. I want to see it with my own eyes.
{Harlez} "Shall we be purchasing my gear for the entrance?"
{Helan} "Yes. Uniforms, supplies, artifacts. Perhaps even a few scrolls, if something piques your interest."
As the two descended the grand staircase, the estate's knights lined the corridor. The captain bowed deeply as they passed.
{Knight Captain} "Lady Helan, shall we mobilize the full guard?"
{Helan} "There is no need. We are not marching to war. Six ceremonial knights will suffice."
{Knight Captain} "As you command, my lady."
Moments later, the Lockhart carriage departed—blackwood with golden trim, drawn by two white mana-steeds. As they made their way into the heart of the Asterin Empire's capital, Harlez looked out at the skyline.
Asteris, the beating heart of the empire, was a marvel of magic and engineering. Floating towers, spiraling arcane domes, and paved streets infused with mana. Merchants from the distant continents haggled in a dozen tongues. The scent of alchemical incense mixed with the perfume of rare flowers, and nobles passed in enchanted carriages bearing their house sigils.
But even among them, the Lockhart crest demanded attention—a mark of the Imperial Bloodline, older than even the throne itself.
As their carriage approached the Grand Emporium, voices rose.
{Zuliean} "Lady Helan. How lovely to see you again."
Lady Zuliean of House Albion descended from her carriage with practiced grace, her deep blue gown embroidered with silver flames. At her side was Atrius, tall, composed, and unmistakably of noble blood.
{Helan} "Lady Zuliean. What a pleasure. And thank you again for the invitation to last season's gathering."
{Zuliean} "The honor was mine. Harlez—my, you've grown."
Harlez bowed slightly, his tone respectful.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Zuliean."
{Atrius} "So, Harlez. You're off to the academy too, eh?"
{Harlez} "Naturally. I imagine you'll be there as well?"
{Atrius} "Of course. Father says it's tradition for all heirs of the Great Five to attend."
The Great Five. Albion, Helwryx, Equirrion, Vullea, and Zeertoll. The most ancient and powerful noble houses in the Asterin Empire, known as the Emperor's Guardians. Their status rivaled that of the Grand Dukes—noble bloodlines with deep ties to the Empire's founding.
Though they held no claim to the throne, their duty was sacred: to protect the imperial family. And among them, only House Lockhart stood apart—not as Guardian, but as kin. Harlez bore the Lockhart name not through title, but through blood. He was of the Emperor's line—not the heir, but a trueborn noble of the House Royal.
{Atrius} "Word is you've reached a new realm already. Don't be modest. What stage have you attained?"
Harlez smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded.
"I suppose you'll find out at the entrance ceremony."
{Atrius} "Tch. So it's true. Sword Expert, then? Damn it—I'm still at Intermediate. I've been training night and day with Father. One day, I swear, I'll catch up."
He then added, "Heard Zendalf's broken through too. Seems like your self-proclaimed rival isn't slowing down either."
"Zendalf… Yes. That guy is indeed a gifted swordsman, no doubt. But that guy is calling himself my rival? He says it all the time."
Zendalf Zeertoll—heir of one of the Great Five. Talented, proud, and fiercely competitive. His duels with Harlez had become near-legendary among the noble youth.
In the velvet-draped halls of Althenea's Atelier, the capital's most prestigious uniform tailor, mannequins stood adorned in the ceremonial wear of the Imperial Academy—long coats stitched with imperial thread, house-crested clasps of obsidian and gold, and mantles enchanted to repel minor curses. Harlez moved between the displays, fingers brushing the fine textures—stormweave, fire-dyed silk, armor-thread. A seamstress bowed, presenting bolts of fabric that shimmered subtly with embedded glyphs. "This one adjusts to ambient mana levels, my lord," she said, holding up a deep midnight-blue ensemble with silver trim.
Helan eyed it appraisingly. "Practical. Elegant. And it won't clash with your hair this time."
Harlez sighed, amused. "You're never letting that sapphire disaster go,Mom are you?"
"Darling, you looked like a walking gemstone."
Atrius chuckled from the fitting mirror where he examined himself in a coat lined with phoenix-feather embroidery. "You should've seen the way the servants winced when he walked past. I thought one fainted."
"I seem to recall you setting your cloak on fire with a warming charm," Harlez shot back.
Atrius held up his hands. "It was experimental layering! I'm a visionary."
"You were a hazard," Helan corrected, then turned to the seamstress. "Make sure both boys' cloaks are enchantment-proof. I don't trust either of them not to turn their dormitories into battlefields."
Lady Zuliean, lounging gracefully in a high-backed chair as she sipped mana-infused tea, chimed in without looking up. "Boys will be boys. But if Atrius so much as scorches another robe, I will enchant his gloves to shock him every time he misbehave."
Atrius groaned. "Mother, please. That was one time."
"That was four times," Zuliean replied, raising an eyebrow. "And one poor maid is recovering."
Harlez tried not to laugh as the seamstress offered him another ensemble—a sleeker cut, lined with protective thread and bearing the Lockhart crest in elegant silverwork.
Eventually, he settled on the deep indigo uniform, tailored to perfection—noble yet restrained. Helan clapped her hands softly.
"Now that is the image of a Lockhart. Dignified, sharp, and just dramatic enough."
Zuliean smiled faintly. "If nothing else, they'll look good while making trouble."
Atrius gave a theatrical bow. "We aim to inspire."
Harlez added with a smirk, "Or at least survive orientation."
After that we were finish shopping for clothes
{Helan} "Harlez, Atrius. We're heading to the Enchanters' Wing. Keep up, boys."
{Atrius} "Yes, Lady Helan!"
{Harlez} "Coming."
They visited renowned enchanters, blacksmiths, and robe-weavers—each shop infused with arcane power. One clothier presented robes stitched with elemental threads, designed to shift color based on mana alignment. Another offered spell-imbued boots that let the wearer hover inches above the ground.
Harlez selected his gear with quiet discernment—robes of indigo silk reinforced with mana-filament, a blade sheath inscribed with binding sigils, a charm carved from ancient stone for focus training.
At Varn's Forge, the legendary blacksmith examined Harlez's sword under a flowstone lens.
{Varn} "Hmm… the blade is balanced well, but it slumbers still. She awaits your flame, young Lockhart."
"I'll wake her soon enough."
{Atrius} "You really do sound like a protagonist from an old saga, you know."
{Harlez} "Perhaps. But I'd rather be the one writing the saga."
They laughed, a brief echo of boyhood in a city that demanded so much of its sons.
As the sun set behind the crystalline spires of the capital, Lady Helan led them back toward the estate