News of the duel spread like wildfire through Crescent Academy.
By morning, the whispers had become declarations—Lucien Thorne, a common-born student with a forgotten name, had destroyed Kaelen Durath's noble crest. Not defeated. Not outmaneuvered. Destroyed.
The entire House Durath was in uproar. Enchanters and bloodline specialists tried in vain to restore Kaelen magic. But the verdict was clear:
> The crest had been rewritten at the root.
This was not a violation of rules. It was worse. It was a disruption of magical law.And no one understood how.Lucien sat quietly in the Archon Library, flipping through a tome older than most kingdoms.He wasn't hiding.He was waiting.
Across from him, Selira Vael scanned the room warily. "You shouldn't be here. They'll come for you."
"They already have," Lucien murmured, not looking up. "And they lost."
Selira violet eyes flickered. "You've made an enemy of House Durath."
"I made an example of House Durath," Lucien corrected. "There's a difference."
He turned the page. "The rest of them will take note."
> But the true enemy isn't here yet…
In the inner chambers of House Solmere, Seraphina Elowen stood before a crystalline mirror, listening to a projection of her father—the Archduke himself.
"You've seen him in person?" the Archduke asked, voice a low thunder.
"Yes," Seraphina replied calmly. "I watched the duel."
"And?"
"He's dangerous."
"Then remove him."
She hesitated. "No."
There was silence on the other end.
"I believe… he may be the key to the prophecy," she continued, voice steady. "The Thorned One who walks without banner or blood. The one whose magic cannot be bound."
The Archduke's eyes narrowed. "If that is true, daughter, then you must do what no blade can."
Seraphina bowed her head. "I'll watch him."
---
Later that evening, a summons arrived for Lucien.
It wasn't from the faculty. It wasn't from a noble house.
It was from the Academy Headmistress herself.
The Tower of Crescents was off-limits to students. Shaped like a spiral of silver and starlight, it stood apart from all other structures—untouched by time.
Lucien entered alone.
Inside, light bent strangely, and the air shimmered with spells older than war.
At the top, seated behind a throne of silverwood and glass, was Headmistress Altheryn—an elf older than kingdoms, with eyes that saw through time.
"You have broken a crest," she said, voice soft, almost musical. "That alone makes you an anomaly."
Lucien said nothing.
"But you did not do it out of cruelty. Nor ignorance. You understood what you were doing. You knew the cost."
Still, he remained silent.
Altheryn stood and walked forward.
"You carry a magic that should not exist."
Lucien's eyes flickered with rune-light. "I'm not the only one."
That made her pause.
"Do you know what the Thorned Crest truly is?"
Lucien's expression darkened. "A curse. And a key."
Altheryn studied him a moment longer. "Then you are not blind. Good."
She turned to the window, where the twin moons cast their glow over the academy grounds.
"War is coming, Lucien Thorne. And not the kind fought with armies. But with ideas. With truths that shatter empires."
Lucien stepped forward. "And what do you want from me?"
"I want you to survive," she whispered.
"And?"
"…To choose wisely when the crowns fall."
---
Meanwhile, deep beneath the Crescent Academy, in the vaults sealed to all but the headmistress herself, a door pulsed with ancient, reversed runes.
A shadow knelt before it.
He wore no uniform, no crest, no allegiance.
But in his hand was a black scroll—the Seal of the Vorth Dominion.
> "The Thorned Heir has awakened," the figure whispered. "Just as the Prophecy of Flame foretold."
The door pulsed again.
> And the world began to remember…