The salon of House Draemhold glittered with a light that owed nothing to the moon. Magically illuminated crystals drifted near the vaulted ceiling, casting a cold, brilliant glow over the young nobles assembled below. They were the future of Emberfall, a collection of heirs and heiresses draped in silk and velvet, their laughter as sharp and polished as their silver goblets of wine. Tonight, they had only one topic of conversation.
Aric Draemhold stood at the center of the most influential circle, a languid, easy grace in his posture that belied the cold fury simmering beneath the surface. He took a slow sip of his wine, listening as the others chattered.
"Did you see it?" a young lord named Tybalt was saying, his eyes wide. "A full-body runic ward. My tutor said such magic hasn't been seen outside the Guild's sealed archives in centuries."
"He's a commoner," scoffed a lady with diamonds in her hair. "A gutter rat. It must have been a trick. Some trinket he found."
"A trinket that absorbed a Magister's spell?" Tybalt shot back. "Lycen was humiliated. They say the Guild is in an uproar."
Aric finally lowered his goblet, a faint, condescending smile on his lips. "Lycen is a fool. He let a street urchin make a spectacle of him. The boy is an anomaly, nothing more. A single weed in a perfectly manicured garden."
His words, as always, carried an air of finality that silenced the others. He was their leader, the sun around which they all orbited. But internally, Aric's thoughts were a storm. Veynar. The name echoed in the back of his mind. His father had spoken of them once, a minor house with delusions of grandeur, dabbling in forbidden arts until they were justly put down. He had thought them erased, a footnote in his family's legacy of maintaining order.
And now, this boy appears. This Kael. Displaying the very magic that had branded his house as heretics. It wasn't just an anomaly; it was an insult. A ghost from a story that was supposed to be finished had returned to haunt them. Aric's smile didn't waver, but his grip on his goblet tightened. The weed needed to be pulled, and he would be the one to do it.
In the cold, silent halls of the Guild, there was no gossip, only reports. Guildmaster Vorn sat behind a desk carved from a single slab of obsidian, his face impassive as he read the official report from Magister Lycen. The scroll was filled with self-serving excuses and panicked hyperbole, but the core facts were inescapable.
Subject: Kael Varenholt. Unregistered. Origin: Shadow Quarter.
Incident: Public display of high-level, forbidden runic magic. A defensive ward of unknown complexity.
Result: Complete nullification of a Guild-sanctioned compliance spell. Significant civil unrest. Direct intervention from Lord Aric Draemhold.
Vorn finished the report and let the corner of the parchment dip into the cold, magical flame of a desk lamp. The scroll turned to black ash in seconds. Lycen was a liability, but the boy was the true threat.
He rose and walked to a large, magically enchanted map of Emberfall that covered one wall. It was a web of light, showing the movements of every registered mage in the city as a tiny, color-coded spark. For years, the map had been orderly, predictable. Now, Vorn focused his intent on the Shadow Quarter. A new light appeared, a point of silvery-blue that pulsed with a faint, erratic energy. It was unregistered. Uncontrolled. Anathema.
His orders had already been given. The Royal Decree was being drafted. The boy would be brought into the fold, where his every move could be monitored. The Veynar legacy, which Vorn and his predecessors had worked so hard to bury, would not be allowed to rise from its grave. He would personally see to it. The game had simply moved to a new board.
High above the stench and the noise of the Shadow Quarter, Selene Maevor watched the city breathe. She lay flat on a rooftop, a patch of darkness amidst the other shadows, her gaze fixed on the single, dimly lit window of a dilapidated tenement two streets over. Kael Varenholt's room.
She had been there since the chaos at the festival. Her underworld contacts were already buzzing with the news. A gutter mage had defied the Guild. A boy from the slums held the power of the old legends. To the desperate, he was a symbol of hope. To the cunning, he was an opportunity.
Selene was one of the cunning.
Her "Black Story" was a simple one: survive. House Orvan had taught her that loyalty was a luxury, and trust was a currency to be spent wisely. Her father had used her as a pawn in his games of influence, and she had learned the hard way that blood ties were just chains of a different sort. Kael Varenholt was a new piece on the board, a powerful one, but unpredictable. A wildcard.
She had seen the rune shield he'd created. It was pure, refined, powerful. Far beyond the crude, black-market trinkets she was familiar with. This was real, inherited power. The kind that could break chains. Or forge new, stronger ones.
Her mind worked, calculating the angles. An asset like him could be invaluable against her family, against the Guild, against anyone who stood in the way of her own freedom. But he was also a beacon, drawing the kind of attention that got people killed. Helping him was a risk. Using him was a risk. Betraying him might be the most profitable option of all.
As she watched, a new light appeared at the end of Kael's street. A procession. At its head was a Royal Herald in the King's livery, flanked by a squad of the elite Royal Guard, not the common Guild Enforcers. They carried a rolled scroll, its seal glowing with a faint magical light.
Selene's lips curved into a wry, mirthless smile. The game was moving faster than she'd thought. The Guild wasn't sending thugs to silence him. They were sending the King's own authority to claim him.
She faded back into the shadows, her decision made. She would watch. She would wait. The Royal Academy was a snake pit, and Kael Varenholt was about to be thrown right into the middle of it. A snake pit was a place a woman like her could thrive. And a man like him would either learn to be a snake, or be devoured. Either way, it promised to be interesting.
Chapter 6 is now complete.
Continuing with Chapter 7: Edict from the Crown.