The side chamber adjacent to the Crystal Hall was quieter now, its stonework catching the last hues of afternoon light like molten silver trapped in stillness. A polished mirror hung beside the arched exit, framed in runes of reflection—not magical, just ceremonial. He adjusted his collar in its glass.
Caelen D'Rion.
First of his line to stand within these walls.
First to carry the crest of a minor house into the halls of the Arcanis Imperial Academy.
First to matter.
His reflection stared back—sharp cheekbones, honey-gold hair tied precisely, the emerald stitch of his House embroidered into his formal cuffs. It wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough.
Not against the others.
Not against Thalor Draycott, whose lineage ran closer to the Tower than the throne.
Not against Cassiar Vermillion, who wore wealth and rune-mastery like a second skin.
And certainly not against Lucien—the Crown Prince, whose shadow made the sun itself bow.
'But I will stand beside him.'
