27th January, Space Era Year 102.
The return of Aerys Vilozyver to the Winter Academy was far from the serene homecoming some had imagined. The glory of war had preceded him — his name whispered through corridors, printed on news bulletins, and magnified beneath the cold glare of countless lenses. Some revered him. Some feared him. Others, poisoned by envy, wished only to see him fall.
Everywhere he went, unseen eyes followed.SSA officers shadowed his presence from afar, while members of the royal SSS detail maintained closer proximity — yet even they were bound by the constitutional limits of protecting a royal heir within civilian jurisdiction.
One morning, Ben Karlstanley — a boy who never allowed his hatred to sleep — rallied his clique for another petty spectacle.What began as mockery and whispered insults soon grew into open derision. Shoulders were shoved. Desks overturned. Aerys, as ever, did not retaliate. He endured in silence — until the restraint itself began to fracture under the weight of their cruelty.
A shove sent him sprawling.A cut along his neck reopened, staining his collar crimson. Laughter echoed — shrill, triumphant.But what followed was no plea for mercy, no cry of pain.
Aerys's body trembled.The whites of his eyes bled red; his breathing turned ragged, erratic.Something within him — ancient, unbound — stirred awake.
The SSS guards advanced, shouting commands, their weapons trained yet restrained. They fired stun pulses and sonic suppressors — all useless. The devices that could fell men and machines alike faltered before whatever storm now burned behind the boy's eyes.
Then came the sound — a scream not of the throat, but of the soul itself.A piercing whistle that tore through the air like glass under pressure.Aerys moved — no, erupted — with unnatural speed, his motions neither deliberate nor human. The stillness that once defined him was gone, replaced by an instinctive, chaotic force.
Students fell where they stood — some unconscious, some wounded, some frozen in sheer terror.It was not vengeance. It was not rage. It was release — the eruption of a storm that knew no master.
Within minutes, the chaos reached the central command.Reports poured through encrypted channels until one reached Lord Aelyzabeth Thors herself.Her aide's voice trembled as he described the impossible. Aelyzabeth needed no further word. She cancelled every engagement, every meeting, and departed at once — the only person alive who could bring him back without destroying him.
Her convoy cut through the capital's avenues like a silver blade.By the time she arrived at the Evening Campus, the academy was a war zone — cries, smoke, the wail of medical drones, bodies carried through shattered halls. Yet amid the wreckage, no one dared draw near the gymnasium, where Aerys stood alone — soaked in blood, eyes glowing crimson, the air itself vibrating with his unearthly resonance.
He was not attacking individuals.He was a tempest given form — an elemental chaos unmoored from sense or mercy.The SSS had tried every weapon short of lethal force; all had failed. The building quaked under the strain.
Then Aelyzabeth entered.
Her footsteps were sharp, deliberate, unwavering.The room fell still as she crossed its threshold — not out of respect, but from the oppressive certainty of command that accompanied her.
"Everyone — out."Her voice was quiet, yet it carried the gravity of command that no one dared defy. Within moments, the hall was emptied, leaving only a mother and her son beneath the fractured lights.
Aerys staggered, still bound to the storm within.Aelyzabeth spoke softly — not an order, but a prayer. Words that had once soothed him as a child, lessons woven from philosophy and tenderness.
Step by step, she drew closer.Her hand, trembling yet resolute, touched his back.The whistle waned.She wrapped her arms around him — not to restrain, but to remind.
"I'm here," she whispered."It hurts, doesn't it…? I know, Aerys. I know. I love you, my son."
She repeated the words — again and again — until, after twenty-five agonizing minutes, the fury subsided.His strength faltered. His consciousness dimmed. And at last, he collapsed into her embrace — silent, small, and human once more.
Aelyzabeth sank with him, her body bruised and bloodied, yet her eyes glimmered with exhausted relief.Around them, medics rushed in; no one had died, though many lay wounded and shaken beyond speech.
Later, in the quiet of the royal residence, Aelyzabeth sat beside the sleeping boy. Her fingers brushed through his silver hair as she murmured to herself:
"I told them we must keep him apart… and this is why."
Moments later, Vito Vilozyver entered the chamber.He gazed upon his son's pale face and exhaled heavily."We cannot let this happen again."
Aelyzabeth nodded, her tone quiet but resolute."I know. And I know the path to prevent it. But every time it happens… it isn't only you who bleeds, my lord. I do too."
The incident was buried deep within royal secrecy.To the public, it was merely "a disturbance at a noble academy."But behind those veiled reports, Aelyzabeth Thors began drafting a new protocol — one meant to safeguard not only her son… but the fragile empire that might one day kneel before him.
Thus ends Chapter B-IV.