The Summit Hall was nothing like the rest of the Academy.
It was older, colder—lined with marble columns etched in forgotten languages. The air buzzed with tension, heavy with the weight of lineage and power. Evelyn stood at the center of the crescent-shaped chamber, beneath a dome of silver and glass that reflected every watcher's face back at them.
They sat in tiers—elders from the oldest magical families, faculty heads, even neutral guild observers. At the top sat the High Chancellor, flanked by Valerius family envoys and emissaries from houses Evelyn had only heard of in rumors.
Alexander stood to her left, tall and silent. Caelan had been forced to the gallery above. And Isabella?
She was seated near the center. Wearing ivory. Smiling faintly.
A bell chimed.
"Evelyn Hawthorne," the Chancellor began, voice echoing, "you are summoned here not under accusation, but under uncertainty. To clarify the legacy you carry—and the power that has begun to manifest in your presence."
Evelyn said nothing.
"Records of your bloodline have gaps," an older woman said. "And yet, we have… signs. Buried runes. Protected sigils. Whispers of a sealed name. Do you know who your mother truly was?"
Evelyn blinked, surprised. "She was… my mother. Alina Hawthorne. That's all I know."
A man from the right council leaned forward. "Your father's line is muddy. But your mother's? We believe her lineage was not from this realm alone."
Whispers rippled across the chamber.
Evelyn's hands tightened. "What do you mean, not from this realm?"
"Her power was sealed," the woman said. "In you. And sealed magic of that scale only comes from one source."
There was a pause.
Then: "Royal blood. Ancient. Exiled."
Evelyn's breath caught.
She turned sharply to Alexander—but his face had gone pale beneath the calm. Still. Too still.
He knew.
He had always known.
And hadn't told her.
"Why didn't you—?"
"Because I couldn't prove it," he said lowly, only for her. "And because if I was wrong, it would destroy everything."
"But if you were right…" she whispered.
"I'd have to protect you from more than your family. I'd have to protect you from them."
The Chancellor spoke again. "Evelyn, are you aware of your blood reacting to objects of ancient power?"
"I don't know what I'm reacting to anymore," she said honestly. "I've been too busy surviving."
That drew a few murmurs—but not of disapproval. Of something like… agreement.
"Then we must test it," the Chancellor said. "With your permission. No harm, no magic. Only truth."
Evelyn hesitated.
Then nodded once.
From a velvet case, a silver pendant was drawn out—a relic of a vanished line. It shimmered with sigils that no one alive should've known.
They placed it on the table before her.
Evelyn reached out—and the moment her fingers brushed the metal, the chamber flashed white.
A pulse burst from her chest—not fire, not lightning. Light.
Everyone gasped. Shields flared. Paper flew.
Evelyn staggered back, wide-eyed.
The Chancellor stood slowly, staring.
"Confirmed," he said quietly. "She carries the lost magic. Royal by blood. Hidden by choice."
"She's one of them," someone whispered. "The sealed heirs."
Alexander stepped forward before anyone else could speak.
"If you lay a hand on her," he said coldly, "you'll be answering to more than bloodlines."
But Evelyn wasn't looking at the council.
She was looking at him.
Because even though she had just learned her mother was something otherworldly—what burned in her chest now wasn't power.
It was betrayal.