Chapter 6: Veils of the Courtyard
The days following Elias's discovery of the Echo Crypts were filled with a careful, deliberate return to normalcy—or at least, the appearance of it.
Morning light continued to pour into Velindor Hall's high windows. Marble courtyards gleamed under the soft glow of fireflies bound into glass lanterns. Soft orchestras of harp and reed-flute music drifted from the training terrace and scholars' walkways. Servants swept the goldenleaf petals that fell from the seasonal illenthor trees. The estate seemed unchanged.
But within Elias, something had shifted.
He now walked through his family's ancestral home as one who knew the blood beneath the stone.
---
His public education continued. A young tutor—a woman named Rimena Avalt, noble-born and educated at the Collegia of Lanvar—arrived to instruct Elias and his siblings in a broader curriculum.
"Language is the skeleton of civilization," Rimena said during one early morning lesson in the eastern sunroom, a place framed by floor-length curtains and vaulted skylights. "But magic is its breath."
She wore a deep cobalt robe with sleeves pinned high at the elbow, revealing ink-stained fingers that moved across the air with practiced precision. Her voice carried authority. "Now repeat the phrase in both Old Ederlish and Modern Aurian."
Elias spoke it cleanly in both tongues.
"Impressive," Rimena murmured. "Too clean."
Her gaze lingered on him.
"Have you studied ancient dialects before?"
"Only what I've read," Elias replied cautiously.
Rimena tilted her head. "You read with the mind of a sage. Unusual for a child of six."
Elias offered no answer.
Later, she observed him sketching runes into the margin of his grammar notes. Not just decorative—but theoretical, as though he were refining magical intent through linguistic structure.
---
That evening, during supper in the Grand Solarium—a massive, circular dining room of carved oak, hanging flora, and living wall-vines—his father, Duke Arcten Durell, finally broke his silence.
"You are... accelerating."
Elias, chewing slowly, looked up.
The duke was a man carved from granite. Broad-shouldered, black-haired, cloaked in robes embroidered with golden constellations. His eyes bore a rare gentleness—one reserved for intellect, not affection.
"I've read your tutor's daily reports," the duke continued. "Magical structuring, linguistic interpolation, arithmetic... you've surpassed even the third-tier syllabus."
Elias swallowed. "I'm curious. That's all."
The duke studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Curiosity is the root of greatness. But also rebellion. Be mindful of both."
His mother, Lady Iselda, intervened with a soft smile, brushing her son's hair with slender fingers. "Our eldest is simply gifted. Let him soar."
The Duke only replied, "Even hawks must learn to return to the gauntlet."
---
That night, Elias did not descend into the Echo Crypts.
Instead, he stood in the outer training courtyard, where two knights sparred in full armor while a scribe recorded movement speed and power resonance on a mana slate.
The estate was rich with hidden traditions, from duel-circle challenges to silent blessings carved under shields. The House Durell was not just noble—it was militant, strategic, and ancient.
Elias requested sparring drills.
"Against whom?" asked Captain Rennar, an aging soldier with a silver eye enchanted to read heat signatures.
"Against both of them." Elias pointed to the armored knights.
The captain's grin cracked wide. "Milord, they're both blood-trained squires, and you... well, you still have milk on your breath."
"I learn by doing." Elias's tone was calm, but there was a spark behind it.
The captain relented.
What followed was not a fight, but a lesson in pain.
Steel practice blades rang out. Elias dodged the first blow, parried the second—but the third came with a thundering arc that knocked him to the ground.
His ribs screamed.
Blood filled his mouth.
But as he knelt, gasping, something stirred within him.
> [System Trigger: Pain Threshold Breached - 19% Vital Depletion]
Mana Adrenaline Initiated. Reflex Heightened. Combat Awareness Rising.
Elias stood. Again.
And this time, he moved faster.
Runes laced through his vision—subtle, instinctive—a new defense matrix layering over his next parry.
He wasn't just remembering theory. He was creating countermeasure sequences on the fly.
By the end of the match, one of the knights had dropped his sword.
Captain Rennar raised a brow. "I stand corrected, milord."
Elias coughed blood, nodded, and collapsed with a smile.
---
Later that night, a servant brought him a healing tincture, prepared by the estate's alchemist. As he lay in his bed, bruised but alert, the door to his chambers opened.
It was Rimena.
"Training so hard already?" she said, stepping into the moonlight. Her gown clung tighter than usual, and the neckline dipped lower.
"I need to keep up," Elias replied, sitting up.
"You've gone past keeping up."
She sat beside him, her fingers tracing a runic scar on his collarbone.
"You shouldn't push so hard, Elias."
Her voice softened. There was a lingering pause in the room—a tension older than either of them should entertain.
Elias looked up. "You fear what I'm becoming?"
"I don't fear it," she said. "I wonder who else will."
She left without another word, the scent of myrrh and magic trailing in her wake.
---
That night, Elias dreamt of the Echo Crypts.
Not just their halls—but a voice within them. A woman's voice. Familiar and alien.
> "Durell... Durell... We bled for the Third Sigil... and now it stirs..."
He awoke to find a faint glow on his palm—a symbol slowly forming:
> ☽†
The Third Sigil.
And beneath it, the system pulsed:
> [Trait Upgrade Available: Philosopher's Weave → Origin Arcanum]
Warning: Upgrade may result in irreversible soul imprint. Proceed?
Elias stared into the flickering glyph.
He wasn't ready.
But he would be.
---
The following morning, Joren arrived.
"Milord Elias. Your father requests your presence... not in the library."
"Then where?" Elias asked.
"The ancestral map room."
---
The map room was rarely used. An ancient place filled with elevation-reliefs, lacquered territory tiles, and magical cartography globes suspended in stasis fields.
Duke Arcten stood before one such globe now, a silver one showing the continent of Aurellia, each kingdom lit faintly with flickering points of power.
"Elias."
The boy entered.
The duke did not look at him. "When I was nine, I learned my first political lie."
Elias tilted his head.
"My grandfather told me House Durell never knelt to the throne of Ederlan. That our allegiance was earned, not sworn." He turned. "He lied. Our family bent knee once... for blood and survival. We paid for our crest in lives, not gold."
He stepped forward and tapped the globe. "Do you know what that means?"
Elias answered softly. "That power has a price. And that we still pay it?"
Arcten studied him. "You see more than you say."
He handed Elias a sealed scroll.
"This is your sigil-mapping access for the Academica Archives. You are permitted to study early House treaties and the high language of mana theory."
"But... that's restricted to fourth-year aspirants," Elias replied.
"You've already surpassed them."
---
Later, Elias opened the scroll within his study.
As the wax seal dissolved, the system flickered:
> [System Trait Gained: Diplomatic Mindset]
You gain increased memory of social structures, noble histories, and political patterns. Bonus insight in negotiation and symbolic reading.
He smiled faintly.
Then turned to the balcony, where stars shimmered above Velindor Hall.
Somewhere below, the crypt waited.
But for now, Elias studied the surface world—the one with kings, oaths, and ancient lies.
---
End of Chapter 6