The Dirrium kingdom act 7
The afternoon sun baked the Academy's lecture hall into a drowsy, stifling stillness. At his desk, Leornars was slumped forward, his head resting on his crossed arms, the silver pen held loosely in his fingers. To the professor and the students around him, he was merely another victim of the heat, caught in a deep, post-lunch slumber.
In reality, his mind was a net, cast wide.
"Did you hear about House Vane?" a girl whispered three rows back. "My father says their grain shipments were 'misplaced' again. But then he saw Lady Vane wearing a necklace that cost more than a merchant cog."
"Keep your voice down," a boy hissed back. "They say the new auditor is a demon. If he hears about the grain, the Vanes will be in the Spire by moonfall."
Leornars didn't move. He didn't even change his breathing pattern. He simply recorded the names, the dates, and the necklace. House Vane. The Spire awaits.
The Anatomy of a Collapse
While his "body" slept in the sunlight of the classroom, the true Leornars stood in the freezing shadows of the southern warehouse.
The air here didn't smell like old paper and dust; it smelled of copper and chemical sweetness. Before him, a bandit—captured during a raid on the docks—was strapped to a heavy wooden chair. The man's eyes were bloodshot, bulging with a mixture of terror and a frantic, drug-induced euphoria.
"Trial forty-two," Leornars said, his voice echoing flatly against the stone walls.
Stacian stood beside him, a ledger open. "We increased the Nightshade concentration by one ounce. It should act as a potent anchor for the Pollium, making the addiction near-instantaneous."
The bandit began to cough—a wet, hacking sound that sprayed dark crimson across the floor. He tried to speak, but his vocal cords seemed to have frayed. He slumped forward, his heart giving one final, erratic thud before falling silent.
"Time of death: three minutes post-ingestion," Leornars noted, leaning in to pull back the man's eyelid. The pupil was blown, a jagged ring of black. "The Nightshade worked. It masked the heart strain with a rush of dopamine, but the physical cost is too high. Decrease the Nightshade by half an ounce for the next batch. We need them to stay alive—and addicted—for at least six months."
"Understood," Stacian murmured, her quill scratching against the page. "The 'Divine Tonic' will be ready for the Generals by week's end."
Leornars checked a small pocket watch. "The lecture is ending. Dispose of the remains."
With a sharp intake of breath, Leornars closed his eyes. The space around him folded. A sensation like being pulled through a needle's eye seized him, and a second later, he was standing in the cramped, dim confines of the Academy's third-floor bathroom.
Outside the stall, his magical illusion—the one that had just "woken up" and asked to be excused from class—walked toward him. As they crossed paths, the shimmering image dissolved into fine silver mist. Leornars caught the mist in his palm, straightened his coat, and ran a hand through his hair.
He looked in the mirror, wiped a stray speck of bandit's blood from his cheek, and stepped out into the hall.
Ripples in the Water
The atmosphere at the Academy's indoor pool was a complete reversal of the warehouse's grim silence. The air was thick with the scent of chlorine and the echoes of splashing water and laughter.
"Leornars! Over here!"
Mia waved frantically from the edge of the turquoise water. Even Stacian was there, though she looked deeply uncomfortable in a modest athletic swimsuit, her usual stoic expression replaced by a look of sheer bewilderment as she clutched a wooden kickboard.
Leornars shed his coat and shirt, revealing a lean, athletic frame that drew a few wandering eyes from the girls on the bleachers. He dove into the water with a clean, silent entry, surfacing near Mia and a group of his classmates.
"You actually came!" Mia laughed, splashing him lightly. "I thought you'd be in the library buried under a mountain of ledgers."
"Even an auditor needs to breathe, Mia," Leornars said, his voice warm, a perfect mask of youthful ease.
"Hey, Leornars," Jonathan called out, swimming over. He seemed humbler since the incident in class, his bravado replaced by a genuine curiosity. "Show us that stroke again? The one from the Northern Isles? You move like a shark, man."
"It's all in the rhythm of the shoulders, Jonathan," Leornars replied, demonstrating the movement slowly. "Don't fight the water. Let it carry you. If you resist, you tire. If you flow, you win."
Stacian drifted closer, looking like she expected the pool to turn into acid at any moment. "This... 'recreation' seems inefficient," she whispered to Leornars as the others raced to the far end.
Leornars leaned back, floating effortlessly on his back, staring up at the glass ceiling. "Observation is never inefficient, Stacian. Look at them. In the water, they are honest. You can see who is brave, who is a cheat, and who follows the leader."
"And what am I?" Mia asked, surfacing right next to him with a mischievous grin, having overheard the tail end.
Leornars turned his head, his eyes softening in a way that wasn't entirely calculated. "You, Mia? You're the one who keeps the rest of us from sinking."
Mia blushed, splashing him again, her laughter ringing out across the hall. For a moment, amidst the splashing and the sunlight reflecting off the ripples, the "Shadow King" felt very far away. He was just a boy in a pool, surrounded by friends who had no idea that the hand splashing them was the same one currently strangling the kingdom's nobility.
"Race you to the end!" Jonathan challenged, diving forward.
"You'll lose," Leornars laughed, kicking off the wall with a power that left the others in his wake.