He walked beside Guinevere through the grand entrance hall, the ceiling arching high above them with banners of the academy's colors—deep blue and silver. Students bustled past, some greeting old friends, others wide-eyed first-years.
They passed a statue of the first Principle Scholar, Elder Vildar, his stone hands open as if offering knowledge to all.
In the distance, Lucjan noticed a few familiar faces from previous years—like Marcia the know-it-all who once corrected three professors in a day, and Alren, who nearly set the chemistry lab on fire.
"What subject is our first subject again?" Guinevere asked.
"Principle Theory," Lucjan said automatically.
"Oh, right…"
Principle Theory, Lucjan thought as they climbed the stairs to their classroom. It's not just about combat or flashy abilities. Principles are tied to how people live, how they work, even how they negotiate or solve problems. A person with a Principle of Patience could settle disputes better, while one with a Principle of Precision might excel in crafting.
He remembered the professor explaining once: "Principles shape your mind first, then your actions. Understanding them is understanding yourself."
They stepped into the room, its wide tiers of wooden desks arranged in a semicircle around a central lectern.
It felt like a university hall—but this was the Southern Dravoj Academy, where students as young as ten started learning their Principles.
Lucjan took in the familiar sight of students of all ages: first-years with anxious eyes clutching fresh notebooks, older fifth-years leaning back confidently, wearing emblems that showed their mastery. Every year was a chance to rise in rank or fall behind.
This academy was unlike anything on Earth.
Here, the curriculum focused on merging combat, theory, and daily applications of Principles.
Classes ranged from Principle Theory to Application Tactics, even Moral Philosophy.
Club activities were just as intense—some focused on single Principles, like the Club of Endurance, where they pushed each other to the brink, or the Club of Insight, which solved complex puzzles and mysteries.
Lucjan remembered the academy's tournaments, held twice a year, where students dueled under strict rules.
Winning earned prestige, new equipment, and often invitations to join elite clubs or even secret societies tied to noble families.
Guinevere pulled him by the sleeve. "Come on, Lucjan, let's sit near the front. You know Professor Bernice hates latecomers."
He sighed softly and followed, This place… it's more like a battlefield than a school.
The low murmur of chatter died instantly as a tall woman with silver hair swept into the room, robes rustling softly.
"Silence," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly. "I am Lady Bernice, your instructor for Principle Theory this semester."
Lucjan straightened in his seat beside Guinevere. She looks the same as ever… strict, but brilliant.
Lady Bernice placed a thick tome on the podium and gazed at them with piercing blue eyes. "Today, we continue beyond the common understanding of Principles as sources of power or paths to mastery. We will discuss the Principle Law of Resonance."
She raised a hand, and a diagram shimmered into the air: circles overlapping, lines connecting them.
"The Law of Resonance states: Principles interact. Not just in combat, but in everyday life. When two people's Principles align or clash, they affect each other's emotions, perceptions, even outcomes in mundane tasks."
She swept her gaze across the room.
"For example, if someone with the Principle of Honesty works alongside someone of Deception, they may experience constant conflict. Conversely, a Principle of Patience paired with another of Patience can create profound harmony, improving communication and cooperation."
Guinevere raised her hand. "Professor, does Resonance mean Principles can change each other?"
Lady Bernice nodded. "Over time, yes. The Principle Law of Resonance explains why people who spend years together can adopt one another's habits and even shift their own Principles subtly. But beware: Resonance is a double-edged sword. It can strengthen or corrupt."
Lucjan's thoughts spun. So… the people I surround myself with could make my Principle evolve… or twist it? That means if I stay with Guinevere, whose Principle must be something like Compassion or Endurance, mine could stabilize.
A boy in the front raised his hand. "Lady Bernice, can Resonance occur between groups?"
"An excellent question," she said. "Yes. Families, armies, or even entire cities can share a collective Resonance, forming a shared ethos that strengthens—or dooms—them."
The professor's gaze turned serious. "Understanding Resonance is not just an academic pursuit. It is the foundation of diplomacy, leadership, and even survival in times of conflict."
Lucjan's heart pounded.
Professor Bernice's gaze swept across the room before locking onto Lucjan.
"Wurford, what do you think happens when the Law of Resonance is disrupted between two individuals with conflicting Principles? How does it affect their growth?"
Lucjan's heart jumped in his chest. Calm down… think. He took a breath.
"If their Principles resonate in opposition, the disruption doesn't cancel them—it twists both Principles temporarily. The stronger conviction destabilizes the weaker one, causing unpredictable changes. That's why two people with opposite Principles who spend too much time together might find themselves acting outside their nature—or even growing in unintended directions."
Professor Bernice's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Excellent. Few understand the nuance of Principle Resonance so well."
That was close… I panicked. He forced himself to breathe normally as whispers buzzed around him.
The day continued with lecture after lecture: Advanced Principle Applications, Combat Integration, and Ethics of Power.
Each class drained him until his head throbbed with information. When the final bell rang, Lucjan and Guinevere staggered out of the academy, slipping into the royal carriage waiting by the gates.
By the time they reached the castle at 6:00 PM, Lucjan barely kept his eyes open. He dragged himself to his room, collapsed onto his bed, and let the exhaustion wash over him.
---
For the past few days, Lucjan found a rhythm. Some professors praised him for his sharp answers, and he felt oddly grateful each time. Maybe the old Luc wasn't so different after all.
But now, he stood in the training yard behind the royal castle. The sun beat down on him as he cycled through his Sequences, each stance flowing into the next. He knew he had to keep improving his Principle—Comprehension demanded constant challenge. I can't let myself fall behind.
At the academy, he answered every question with ease. Each correct answer drew glances from his classmates. So this is how the old Luc felt?
He realized the previous Lucjan had always been confident in his intellect—just cold.
That afternoon, while leaving class, a boy with dark hair and a playful grin approached him. It was Tomasz, one of Luc's old friends.
"You're not as cold, Luc," Tomasz said, folding his arms.
Luc paused, forcing a small smile. "People can change, Tomasz."
"I guess so," Tomasz replied with a shrug. "But… I think I like this you more. Don't disappear again."
They talked about classes and plans for the upcoming tournaments before parting ways. Lucjan felt a strange warmth settle in his chest.
That night, after a long day of lectures and training, he collapsed onto his chair, opening his textbooks for more studying.
Once his eyes grew heavy, he switched to the newspaper by candlelight. His gaze fixed on the headline:
Wurford Land Turned Trade Route: A Boon for Bialen and Ostvenia Kingdoms
The article detailed how Lucjan's old estate had been transformed into a key transit hub between the Bialen Kingdom's southern hills and Ostvenia's eastern expanse.
Merchants praised the safe roads and the economic boost, but rumors swirled about both kingdoms jockeying for more influence over the land.
So that's their plan… he thought grimly. They're using my family's land to expand power. The king must've known.
He folded the paper.
He reached for the small black orb on his desk—the Memory Sphere.
It was used in History Class, but turning it on was a task in itself.
First, he had to rotate the outer shell counterclockwise three times, then tap the metallic ring to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Once it beeped softly, he had to place it against his forehead and remain completely still until the sphere calibrated his consciousness.
It was always a hassle during class.
Now, with no one watching, it felt a bit easier.
He pulled out one of the assigned crystal discs and inserted it into the slot under the orb. A thin hum began. He placed the Memory Sphere against his temple and closed his eyes.
A minute passed, maybe more.
Then it activated.
The sounds of war blasted into his mind.
The visual was clear—it showed the bloodied fields between the Dravoj Kingdom and the Kingdom of Lirzska.
It was the War of Crooked Crowns—an old conflict nearly four hundred years ago, fought during the Tarnished Rule Period.
The war began when Dravoj accused Lirzska of aiding rebel clans in the southern wetlands. Lirzska retaliated with a full mobilization.
Lucjan watched battalions march over frost-covered hills. He saw old banners with faded symbols. Spears raised high, ancient Sequences activated mid-charge, soldiers weaving their Principles in raw, unrefined form.
There was a General—Jaroslav Vess—who led the Dravoj vanguard. The records said he once held the Unshaken Flame Principle, a lost variation of Endurance.
He fought without pause for seven days straight until the final stand near the Frostline Bridge, where he was betrayed by his own kin in the Lirzska bloodline.
Professor Branwell had told them to analyze the war's turning point and the legacy it left behind.
So this was it, Luc thought. Principles back then weren't clean or codified. They were chaos—emotions driven into battle techniques. No wonder we have to study this.
He took a few notes on the wax tablet beside him. The war ended with no clear winner—just two exhausted kingdoms, broken bloodlines, and a new border drawn with blood.
The scene faded.