"You can forgive a monster. But a king who thinks he's a god? Never."
The sky above Edelstadt was clear that morning. A pure blue, without the slightest cloud.
Too calm.
Like a stage left empty before blood is spilled.
The Academy bells rang at dawn. The students were woken by cleaning spells, the hallways perfumed by magic, the windows polished to perfection.
Everything had to shine.
Everything had to be perfect.
Because that day, King Maelrath was returning.
Caelen stood at a distance, watching the preparations from an abandoned tower.
Golden banners of the crown had been hung all around the Sovereign's Plateau. Silver curtains fell from the balconies, forming a royal theater. Magical soldiers in gleaming armor stood in silent watch at every corner.
And above all, at the top of the northern podium, a throne had been set.
A throne larger than the others.
Colder.
He recognized it at once.
It was the same.
The one he used to see from the depths of his cage.
The one from which the gaze that broke him would descend.
He felt his throat tighten.
His hands tremble.
But he did not look away.
Not this time.
The king's arrival was announced by a hundred drums.
A portal of light opened in the sky.
Then a magical chariot, carried by four creatures of blue flame, slowly appeared in the air before landing in the center of the courtyard.
The crowd knelt.
Even the professors.
Only Venhal remained standing. Arms crossed. Blank gaze.
The king descended without a word.
Maelrath the Sanguine.
He did not seem old. Nor young. Neither dead, nor alive. He had the tired gaze of men who had seen everything, taken everything, and desired nothing more than their own power.
His crown was a simple circle of black steel.
But his eyes... his eyes were those of a sleeping executioner.
Caelen did not move.
He stayed in the shadows of the tower, watching.
And it was then that their eyes met.
A second.
Maybe less.
And in that second... nothing.
No recognition.
No flash.
Not even a shadow of memory.
The king looked. But did not see him.
The ceremony was brief.
Rector Aernias took the floor.
— "His Majesty King Maelrath attends today the final of the Tournament of Minds, to witness with his own eyes the greatest strategic mind of this generation. The winner shall be granted the Right of the Sole Wish, in the presence of the throne."
A murmur ran through the ranks.
Then Aernias added:
— "The finalists are: Elwin Telar, House Keralith, and Caelen Sareth, House Umbra. The match shall take place tomorrow morning, at dawn, on the Sovereign's Plateau."
The students stepped aside.
And for the first time, Caelen stepped forward, slowly crossing the courtyard.
He lifted his gaze toward the king.
Not a word.
Not an expression.
But inside, he was screaming.
That night, he did not sleep.
How could he?
He sat, facing his personal chessboard, in his room.
The pieces did not move.
But in his mind... the game had already begun.
And in the silence...
He heard it.
The laugh.
That twisted laugh. The Fool's.
He looked up.
And he was there.
Sitting on his window. Legs dangling into the void.
Same gaze. Same puppeteer costume. But tonight... he was silent.
— You're back? Caelen whispered.
— I never left.
— You've been silent since I entered the Academy.
— Because you stopped listening.
A silence.
— And now?
— You let me return, because you're afraid to see him again.
Caelen clenched his fists.
— He doesn't even recognize me.
— Worse. He doesn't even remember destroying you.
The Fool smiled.
— That's power. He doesn't need to remember. He'll do it again. Over. And over.
Caelen walked to the mirror.
He saw his reflection.
Then that of the child from long ago.
The chained Fool. The puppet.
— Tell me, he whispered, what should I do?
The Fool stood up.
— You don't need me to tell you anymore.
— And if I lose?
— Then you'll look at him again, from the bottom of your cage.
— And if I win?
The Fool laughed.
— Then you'll force him to remember.
At dawn, Caelen rose.
He put on his Umbra uniform.
Black. Without embellishment. Without gold.
Just a silver brooch shaped like a fallen pawn.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
And simply said:
— Tomorrow, I won't play to win.
I'll play so I never bow again.