The hallway that led to the old throne hall hadn't changed.
Alaric remembered walking it as a boy—back then, trying not to drag his feet too loud, afraid of what would happen if he made noise.
Now, he walked with steady steps.
Each one heavier than the last, but not from fear.
Just old memory.
The torches lining the walls flickered blue with unnatural flame. Their heat didn't reach the air. The whole corridor felt cold and dry, like the inside of a tomb.
At the end, the massive double doors stood slightly open.
They were always closed when he was young.
This time, they wanted him to come in.
---
He pushed the doors open slowly.
The throne hall was dim. Long and wide. Dust covered the stone floor. Tall columns lined both sides like guards. At the far end, a large wooden table had been set for two.
One chair was already filled.
Malrik Veyron.
Alaric's father.
He hadn't aged much. Still sharp-eyed. Still built like a noble raised on power instead of patience. His cloak was dark red, the old crest of the Veyron house pinned near his shoulder.
He didn't stand.
Didn't move.
Just looked at his son across the empty hall.
"Alaric," he said simply. "It's been a while."
Alaric didn't respond right away.
He walked forward slowly, letting the silence stretch.
When he reached the table, he didn't sit.
Malrik gestured to the other chair.
"Please. Let's not start with drama."
Alaric sat, but only halfway. No comfort. No pretense.
The table was set with warm food—meat, fruit, wine.
He didn't touch any of it.
Malrik smiled.
"You've grown," he said. "In strength. In presence. I've heard things."
Alaric's voice was calm.
"You kidnapped my sister."
"I brought her home."
"You tied her to the floor."
"Necessary precautions."
"You chained her with a guilt spell."
Malrik didn't blink. "To test your reaction."
"You tortured her."
"To test yours."
Silence.
Alaric's fingers twitched once on the table.
He stopped himself before the power responded.
---
Malrik leaned back.
"I knew you'd come. I just needed to know what version of you would show up. The boy who ran from power… or the man willing to take it."
"I didn't come for power."
"You came to protect."
Alaric didn't reply.
"That's still power," Malrik said. "Just another shape."
He poured wine into a glass. Sipped. Perfect posture.
Then set the glass down and folded his hands.
"You've already won some battles. The Academy sees you as a curiosity. The nobles see you as a threat. The Church is watching. And your classmates…" He smiled faintly. "They're waiting to see what you'll become."
Alaric kept his eyes locked on him.
"What do you want?"
Malrik didn't answer at first.
Then:
"I want to offer you a choice."
Another pause.
"You kill me now," Malrik said, "and this house burns with me. The servants, the soldiers, the ones loyal to the name, not the deeds. They vanish. Or…"
He leaned in.
"You take your place. Sit at the head. I step down. No resistance. No tricks. Everything becomes yours—legally, publicly, clean."
Alaric stared at him.
"You think I want your throne?"
"I think you've already outgrown mine."
Alaric stood up.
Didn't say a word.
Malrik watched him with mild amusement, like a parent watching a child pretend to win an argument.
As Alaric turned to leave, Malrik spoke once more.
"They'll come for you soon."
Alaric stopped walking.
Malrik's tone was softer now.
"They're not looking for the truth. They're looking for a name to erase."
He picked up the wine again.
"And whether you carry the Veyron name or destroy it—"
> "They'll make sure it ends with you."
---
Back at the Academy, the courtyard buzzed with quiet tension.
It wasn't because of a duel.
Not because of a summoning.
This time, the fear came from polished shoes, clipped words, and the sound of a military escort arriving at dawn.
A golden carriage rolled through the gates, flanked by armored knights in blue and silver.
The Royal Emblem shimmered on the side: a sun wrapped in vines.
The crowd of students and staff parted instantly.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Even Ravel Solvan stood still, expression unreadable as the carriage door opened.
A single boot stepped down.
Then the figure followed.
Young. Maybe a year older than Alaric. Dressed not like a prince, but like someone who chose not to look like one.
Dark coat. Gold-trimmed sleeves. Long white gloves. No sword.
But the pressure in the air around him was sharp enough to cut.
> Prince Kaelion of the Fourth Line.
Royal blood.
Head of Imperial Intelligence for Special Cult Activity.
And now…
The Academy's new royal overseer.
---
Kaelion didn't smile.
He walked forward slowly, his eyes scanning the courtyard.
Each step was silent.
Each gaze made the people it passed straighten just a little more.
He finally stopped in front of Ravel.
"You didn't report the incident fast enough," Kaelion said flatly.
"I sent it the same hour."
"You left out key details."
"I summarized the facts."
Kaelion stepped closer. "You summarized the wrong ones."
---
At the edge of the courtyard, Professor Gaelin stood beside a first-year student. He leaned down and whispered, "That one's not like the others."
"You mean he's royalty?" the student asked.
"No," Gaelin muttered.
"I mean he's dangerous."
---
Kaelion turned.
His gaze passed over the students, the guards, the tower windows—and then stopped.
Right at the empty spot where Alaric used to stand during morning drills.
He stared at the gap for a moment too long.
Then turned to Ravel again.
"Where is the mindborn?"
Ravel didn't flinch. "On personal leave. His sister was taken."
"By the same House under investigation?"
"Yes."
"And you let him walk out alone?"
Ravel hesitated. "He insisted."
Kaelion's voice was almost bored. "Of course he did."
---
Later that night, Kaelion sat alone in the main tower office.
A file sat open in front of him.
Inside: incident reports, duel transcripts, Alaric's psychic profile, and a hand-drawn sketch of the strange pressure field that lingered after the summoning attempt in Chapter 8.
Kaelion stared at it.
"Not magic," he whispered.
"Not divine."
He closed the folder.
And smiled—just once.
---
The path back to the Academy was quiet.
Too quiet.
Alaric walked alone, boots scuffing the dirt, eyes straight ahead. Behind him, House Veyron's walls faded into the mist.
Seraphine was safe. Resting. She stayed in the care of a neutral estate—one run by royal agents who didn't answer to their father.
Alaric didn't look back.
He'd done what he came to do.
And yet…
> The conversation with Malrik still echoed in his mind.
> "Take your place."
> "The name ends with you."
He didn't want to be the head of House Veyron.
But now, thanks to the fallout and what the nobles had seen… he might not get a choice.
---
By the time he reached the outer Academy gates, night had fallen.
The guards didn't stop him. Just opened the gate, eyes wide. Like they'd seen a ghost return.
"Report to the tower," one of them mumbled. "Right away."
Alaric frowned. "Why?"
"You… you'll see."
---
The main hall was dim.
The lights low.
But the feeling inside wasn't tired.
It was waiting.
He could sense it the moment he stepped into the corridor.
A presence.
Calm. Focused. Controlled.
Someone trying very hard not to show how hard they were watching.
---
A note was pinned to his dorm door.
Handwritten.
One sentence:
> "You don't know me. But I know you're not magic."
No name. No crest. No threat.
Just curiosity.
---
He crushed the note in one hand and kept walking.
---
In the observation tower, Kaelion stood near the railing, arms folded, coat brushing the wind.
Ravel sat nearby, unusually quiet.
Kaelion didn't turn.
"You came back faster than expected," he said.
Alaric stopped a few feet away.
"Don't follow me."
Kaelion chuckled softly.
"I didn't."
"You sent someone."
"I didn't need to."
The silence stretched.
Then Kaelion said, "Your father's still alive."
"I noticed."
"And you let him stay that way."
Alaric's voice didn't rise. "Did you come here to ask questions, or just to measure me?"
Kaelion turned now, fully.
His eyes weren't cruel.
Just calculating.
"The second one."
---
The room wasn't tense.
It was worse than that.
It was quiet.
The kind of quiet that forced people to choose their words carefully—or not speak at all.
Alaric stood by the door, arms crossed. Kaelion remained at the center, now seated at the long table usually reserved for strategy briefings.
Only two chairs were occupied.
One for a prince.
The other was empty.
He gestured to it.
"Sit."
Alaric didn't move.
Kaelion waited three seconds. Then leaned forward slightly.
"I'm offering you something very few people get."
"I'm not interested in being part of your inner circle," Alaric said.
"You should be," Kaelion replied. "Because after this week, you'll either be the most protected man in the Empire…"
He paused.
"…or the most hunted."
---
Ravel, still leaning on the wall nearby, finally spoke.
"They think you're a threat now, Alaric. Not just a rogue noble. Something… different."
"Because I am."
"That's not a defense," Ravel said. "It's a warning label."
---
Kaelion opened a folder and slid a paper forward.
Alaric didn't need to read it.
He recognized the heading:
> "Psychic Phenomena in Post-War Records – Suppressed."
It wasn't recent.
It was classified history.
"You know what they used to call your kind?" Kaelion asked, voice calm.
"Ghost-minds. Crownless. Mindborn. Depends on the region."
"And do you know why the Church erased them from the archives?"
Alaric's eyes narrowed.
Kaelion answered his own question.
"Because they weren't magical. And that made them uncontrollable."
---
He tapped the paper once.
"I'm not asking you to join the royal court," Kaelion said. "I'm offering you a position on the investigative board into House Veyron's crimes."
Alaric blinked.
"Why?"
"Because if you don't sit at the table," Kaelion said with a thin smile, "someone else will take your story and twist it into something that gets you executed."
---
Alaric was quiet for a long time.
Then stepped forward.
Took the seat.
Didn't sit in it.
Just placed one hand on the backrest.
"I'll work with you," he said.
"But I don't answer to crowns."
Kaelion nodded.
"And I don't serve gods."
---
The meeting room was deep within the Academy's secured wing—past two rune-locked gates and behind a hallway shielded with silence wards.
It wasn't made for students.
It wasn't even made for nobles.
This was where decisions were made. Quietly. Permanently.
Kaelion entered first. Alaric followed, flanked by Ravel and Gaelin, who hadn't spoken a word since they left the tower.
Five nobles were already seated.
All high families.
Each more powerful than the last.
Lord Fenreth. Lady Telvine. Archmage Bron. Chancellor Veris. And at the far end—quiet, heavy-eyed, fingers folded like someone waiting for their turn to strike—
Lord Halren.
None of them rose as Kaelion entered.
But all of them turned to stare when Alaric did.
---
Kaelion sat casually at the head.
"I'll keep this short," he said. "We've confirmed the use of demonic artifacts within House Veyron. We've confirmed attempted summoning circles. And we've confirmed one of the instructors you all approved had Veyron funding."
His tone was light.
But his words were loaded.
"This isn't a trial. It's a cleanup."
Lord Fenreth frowned. "You speak like the case is already closed."
Kaelion gestured toward Alaric. "Because the one responsible for exposing it is standing right here."
Lady Telvine narrowed her eyes. "He's not a mage."
"No," Kaelion agreed. "That's why none of your little wards worked on him."
---
Alaric stepped forward.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't try to impress anyone.
He just said what needed to be said.
"I didn't come here to beg," he said. "And I didn't come to clear the family name."
He met each pair of noble eyes one by one.
"I came to bury it."
That shut the room up for a moment.
Until Lord Halren smiled slowly.
"You speak boldly for someone whose power the Church hasn't yet tested."
Kaelion's eyes flicked toward him.
"You speak cautiously for someone who receives anonymous blessings on sealed parchment."
Halren's smile faded just slightly.
Only slightly.
But enough.
---
After the meeting, Kaelion and Alaric walked together in silence down the spiral corridor.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Kaelion spoke first.
"You saw it too."
Alaric nodded once. "Halren's the leak."
Kaelion's eyes narrowed.
"And the Church is already inside the walls."