Morning sunlight spilled through the arched windows of the Quest Hall, painting golden streaks across polished marble floors. The air buzzed with activity — students in robes of varying colors and trims hurried about, some discussing strategies for their assignments, others gathered around the towering mission board that dominated the far wall.
Edran stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the stone. Though the hall was filled with noise, conversations seemed to shift when he passed — eyes followed him, some curious, some envious, others… calculating. His victory in the tournament had cemented his name among the academy's brightest, and with it came a tide of attention he neither sought nor could ignore.
He moved toward the board, scanning rows of parchment notices pinned in orderly columns. Each bore a quest seal — some glowed faintly with enchantment, denoting official academy assignments, while others had the harsher, more urgent mark of imperial requests.
A voice, smooth yet edged with faint challenge, spoke behind him.
"Prince Edran Veylan, browsing the beginner ranks? I thought the champion of the tournament would be looking for something… grander."
Edran turned.
She stood with the poise of someone who was perfectly aware of her presence — Freya Harrow, daughter of Dean Harrow Valenor himself. Her hair was the pale gold of wheat under sunlight, cascading over a robe embroidered with silver phoenixes. Her eyes — clear, crystalline blue — seemed to study him as much as they did the quests in his hand.
"I prefer to start with something I can finish quickly," Edran replied evenly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Fame doesn't make the work easier."
Her gaze held his for a heartbeat longer before she stepped closer to the board, her own fingers trailing over the quest parchments. "Practical. I suppose that's better than the arrogant fools who bite off more than they can chew and expect others to save them."
One parchment caught her attention — she plucked it free and glanced at him. "Since you're here, perhaps you'll join me. This one's simple enough: investigation of spiritual disturbances near the River Cael."
Edran arched a brow. "You're inviting me to your quest?"
"Not exactly," Freya said, her tone almost teasing. "I'm simply offering you a chance to prove that the tournament wasn't just a well-timed streak of luck."
Before Edran could answer, the heavy footfalls of armored boots echoed across the hall. An instructor in black-and-gold robes, tall and broad-shouldered, approached them. His stern eyes swept over the pair.
"Freya. Edran. If you're taking that quest, you'd better be ready to leave before the noon bell," the man said. His voice was clipped, efficient — Instructor Kaelis, known for his battlefield expeditions and his utter lack of tolerance for wasted time.
Freya inclined her head respectfully. "We'll be ready, Instructor."
Kaelis's gaze lingered on Edran, assessing him in a way that made it clear the academy's scrutiny wasn't over. Then he nodded once and turned away.
Freya glanced back at Edran, that faint smile still playing at her lips. "Well, Prince? Are you coming?"
Edran didn't answer immediately. He looked at the parchment in her hand — the assignment sigil was faintly pulsing, a sign that the disturbance had been ongoing for at least three days without resolution. Most students avoided those; they had a way of escalating into something far more troublesome than the mission text suggested.
Still, there was something in Freya's expression — not arrogance, but the quiet confidence of someone who was used to setting the pace rather than following it.
He took the parchment from her fingers.
"Fine," he said. "But if you slow me down, I'm leaving you behind."
Her smile didn't falter. "We'll see who's slowing who down."
---
The Quest Hall smelled faintly of parchment dust and mana ink as they moved toward the quest registrar's desk. Behind it sat Instructor Mirian, an older woman whose ink-stained fingers moved with practised speed over a stack of crystal tablets. Her sharp eyes flicked up when she saw them.
"Freya Harrow and… ah, Prince Edran Veylan."
Her gaze lingered briefly on Edran, a trace of something like curiosity softening her otherwise brisk demeanor. "River Cael disturbance, yes? Instructor Kaelis already logged it. I'll assign the task token to both of you."
She touched a runed stamp to the parchment, and a small brass token shimmered into being. Edran caught it when she tossed it toward him — the sigil engraved into its face immediately linked to his academy mark, a subtle warmth spreading over his wrist.
"Don't lose it," Mirian said. "That token tracks your completion and proves your authority outside academy grounds. Lose it, and you'll find yourself explaining things to the local guards the hard way."
"Understood," Edran said, pocketing it.
---
As they stepped out into the courtyard, the shift from the closed, mana-heavy air of the Quest Hall to the crisp morning breeze was refreshing. The academy grounds stretched in elegant lines of stone pathways, training fields, lecture towers, and cultivated gardens. Students were scattered everywhere — some in heated debates over arcane formulae, others sparring under the watch of instructors.
"Not exactly the place you'd expect to find trouble," Freya said as they walked toward the equipment pavilion.
"That's because the trouble usually happens outside these walls," Edran replied.
They passed Instructor Varric, a wiry man with ink-dark hair and eyes like cold steel. He was drilling a group of students in precision sword forms, his voice cutting through the clamor.
"Freya," he called as they passed, "don't let Kaelis push you into doing all the work again."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she said with a faint laugh.
Edran raised a brow. "All the work?"
She shrugged. "Kaelis tends to assign me partners who… need guidance. He says it's 'character building.'"
Edran smirked. "Then I suppose this will be an easy day for you."
---
The equipment pavilion smelled of oiled leather and polished steel. Rows of shelves displayed mission essentials — rope, potions, enchanted compasses, sealed ration packs. A handful of quartermaster assistants bustled about, fetching requests and checking inventories.
Freya moved with efficient familiarity, collecting a small satchel of restorative herbs, a silver-threaded cloak, and a crystalline lantern. Edran took only a few mana stones, a reinforced water skin, and a set of throwing knives.
"You travel light," she observed.
"I travel prepared," he corrected. "Extra gear just slows you down if you don't know how to use it."
Her lips curved in that almost-smile again. "Spoken like someone who's never been caught in a three-day rainstorm without shelter."
---
By the time they reached the east gate, the noon bell was still an hour away. Instructor Kaelis was already waiting, arms folded, his black-and-gold robe stirring faintly in the breeze.
"Good. You're early. Keep it that way."
He handed Freya a sealed scroll. "This contains the official details. Deliver it to the village elder when you arrive — assuming you both survive whatever's causing the disturbance."
Edran tucked the scroll into his satchel. "Anything we should know?"
Kaelis's gaze was flat. "Yes. Don't die. The academy doesn't refund lost students."
With that cheery advice, he turned on his heel and walked back toward the main hall.
---
They set out on the packed earth road, the academy's white stone towers shrinking behind them. The first stretch was quiet save for the rustle of the wind through the trees. Freya didn't seem in a hurry to fill the silence — when she finally spoke, it was with an unexpected question.
"Do you like it here, Edran? The academy, I mean."
He glanced at her. "Why?"
"Because you don't seem like the type who enjoys being watched by everyone all the time. And yet, you stand out. That makes you a target — sometimes more than being the weakest person in the room."
He gave a small shrug. "I didn't come here to be liked. I came to get stronger. If that makes me a target, then so be it."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, unreadable, before she looked ahead again. "Fair enough."
---
By late afternoon, they crested a small rise and saw the River Cael winding through the valley below — silver in the fading light. But the air here felt different… heavier. The faint tang of iron clung to the breeze.
Freya slowed, her hand brushing the hilt of her blade. "Feel that?"
Edran nodded. "Something's wrong here."
They descended toward the village — unaware that far away, in the Imperial Palace, two brothers were already plotting how best to turn this mission… into an opportunity to strike.