Thankfully, the rest of the journey didn't involve getting killed.
Or hunted.
Or starved.
Small victories.
After walking for the remaining days straight—with little sleep, less comfort, and absolutely zero dignity—Agni finally arrived at his destination.
Aethermoor Academy.
Or rather, the entrance to it.
He stood at the edge of a massive stone archway, munching on the very last ball of Potato of Despair from his rations. The taste was as terrible as ever, but at this point, he'd developed a kind of grudging respect for the thing.
And up.
And up.
"...Okay," he breathed. "That's not an academy. That's a city."
The entrance before him wasn't a gate to a school.
It was a gate to a kingdom.
Massive stone walls stretched in both directions, disappearing into the distant haze. Towers rose at regular intervals, each flying banners of different colors—representing the Nine Realms, he assumed. Guards in polished armor stood at attention near the main passage, their expressions blank and professional.
Beyond the walls, he could see the skyline of the academy proper.
Buildings of every architectural style imaginable clustered together—sleek spires next to squat fortresses, elegant marble halls beside rugged stone keeps. Bridges connected towers at impossible heights. Fountains and gardens dotted the spaces between.
And above it all...
Airships.
Massive floating vessels hung in the sky like clouds made of wood and metal. Some were docked at towering platforms. Others circled slowly, waiting for landing clearance. Their hulls gleamed in the morning light, each bearing the crests of noble houses or distant nations.
But something was wrong.
As Agni made his way toward the academy entrance—shuffling past the city gates and into what seemed to be a welcoming plaza—he noticed something strange.
Carriages.
Everywhere.
Ornate, gilded, polished-to-perfection carriages. Some pulled by white horses. Some by magical beasts. Some floating on enchanted wheels that didn't touch the ground.
And stepping out of those carriages?
Nobles.
Young men and women dressed in silk and velvet. Servants trailing behind them, carrying luggage. Attendants fussing over hair and adjusting collars.
Everyone looked perfect.
Agni blinked.
Wait.
Wasn't the journey supposed to be solo? Secret? Some kind of test?
Why the hell is everyone traveling in luxury carriages with an entourage?
He looked around, suddenly very aware of how he must appear.
His clothes were... well, "rags" was generous. The cloak he'd started with was now little more than shredded fabric held together by stubbornness. His shirt had claw marks across the chest from the Kodros Bear. His trousers were stained with mud, blood, and things he'd rather not identify.
His hair—
He reached up and touched it.
Feels like a broccoli.
Actually, that was probably optimistic. More like a broccoli that had been left in the rain, rolled down a cliff, and then slept on wrong for three days.
And the smell...
He sniffed himself.
His face twisted.
The result of no baths, no clean water, and constant survival mode was now hitting him in full force.
Will they even let me in?
He glanced at the guards near the entrance. Their expressions were still blank, but he could swear one of them wrinkled his nose slightly.
Eyes were on him now.
He could feel them.
Dozens of gazes from the gathered students and their servants, all turning to look at the... whatever he was.
Beggar? Homeless wanderer? Lost child who took a very wrong turn?
Nobody recognized him.
That was good.
That was very good.
The last thing he needed was someone pointing at him and shouting, "Look! It's the Crown Prince of the Sun Empire! And he looks like he crawled out of a sewer!"
Hopefully beggars are allowed to enter, he thought grimly. Or at least, hopefully they don't execute them on sight.
He shuffled forward, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
Which was difficult, given that he was leaving a faint smell-trail behind him.
Just get inside. Find a bath. Clean up. Pretend none of this ever happened.
Simple plan. Nothing can go wrong.
Something went wrong.
A figure was approaching him.
A tall figure.
The woman walking toward him moved with the kind of grace that came from years of training. Every step was deliberate. Every motion was controlled. She wore a simple dress—dark blue, practical, elegant—but it somehow looked more regal than any of the silk gowns around her.
Her hair was jet black, falling in a straight curtain past her shoulders.
Her eyes were black, too. Deep and dark and utterly unreadable.
And she was smiling.
Softly.
Gently.
Like she was about to offer him a warm cup of tea and a sympathetic ear.
Agni's brain caught up a moment later.
Black hair.
Black eyes.
That face.
That posture.
Oh.
Oh no.
That's—
"It appears your journey has been quite difficult."
Her voice was smooth. Pleasant. The kind of voice you'd expect from a gracious hostess welcoming a guest.
Except her eyes weren't smiling.
Not even a little.
"Please," she continued, still with that perfect, gentle smile. "Let's freshen you up first. Then we can enter the academy together."
She extended her hand.
In it was a small cloth napkin—white, delicately embroidered with a golden sun pattern along the edges. Clearly handmade. Clearly expensive.
Agni stared at it.
Then he stared at her.
Lyralei Valen.
My future wife.
Standing in front of me.
His mouth moved before his brain could stop it.
"Ah," he said. "You know, I have just the thing to give you."
He reached into his makeshift bag.
And pulled out the gift box.
The blood-drenched, mud-stained, rain-soaked, thoroughly ruined gift box.
The velvet was nearly black now. The ribbon had unraveled completely. Dark stains covered every surface. It smelled faintly of iron and horse.
He held it out to her.
"Here."
Lyralei stared at the box.
For a long, long moment, she said nothing.
Her smile didn't waver.
But her eyes...
Agni had seen those eyes before.
The Kodros Bear.
Right before it tried to claw my chest open.
Yeah. Same energy.
Except somehow more dangerous.
Great.
She's going to chew me alive.
— Some Time Earlier —
A rocking chair creaked in rhythm with a soft hum. Lyralei sat by the window in a quiet guest manor off the plaza, fingers moving with tidy precision. Black thread pulled, looped, tucked. She was finishing a crochet border around a little square—white cotton with a simple sun pattern in gold.
She tied off the last knot, held the cloth up to the light, and hummed once, satisfied.
"Flawless, as usual, Lady Lyralei."
A soft voice came from behind her.
Lyralei didn't turn. She'd heard Lilly approach—the faint rustle of fabric, the particular rhythm of her footsteps.
Lilly stood a few paces back, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was a striking figure—pink hair falling in waves to her shoulders, black eyes sharp and observant. Her expression was carefully neutral, but there was a hint of genuine admiration in her voice.
"It's just a napkin," Lyralei said, setting the finished piece on her lap.
"A flawless napkin," Lilly corrected. "Most people can't even thread a needle properly. You've created art."
"Flattery."
"Observation."
She looked down at the napkin in her lap—the golden sun pattern catching the light. She'd made it on impulse, really. Something to keep her hands busy while her mind churned through the endless calculations of politics and power.
But perhaps it would serve another purpose.
A gift, she thought. For the prince.
"Has the prince arrived yet?" she asked, still not turning around.
Lilly sighed dramatically. "Patience, queen. What's the rush? Your most difficult path is already cleared."
"That is precisely why impatience bubbles," Lyralei murmured.
Her hand drifted to the iron pins in the little tray beside her chair. She picked up two between slender fingers, squeezed idly. The sharp points bit her skin. Lilly winced. Lyralei didn't. The metal bent. Then powdered. The dust fell like gray snow into her palm.
"Indeed," she said softly. "Indeed, Lilly."
The throne—what everyone else called a dream—was a long dinner to her. Multiple courses. Work. Heat. The pleasure was in cooking it herself, in seasoning each dish with her own struggle. Now the emperor had sent the meal out cold, plated by his own hand.
A marriage proposal straight from the emperor for the prince. In royal law, you didn't send proposals to be politely refused. You sent edicts with ribbons. Ironclad. Fixed. A rope around both necks, tied with gold.
Still, she couldn't complain too loudly. Being handed the throne—even on a platter—was hardly a bad outcome. She'd still get what she wanted. She'd still become Queen.
Just... not on her terms.
And the prince himself?
Lyralei thought back to the one time she'd seen him. Official functions. Royal ceremonies. Moments where he should have been front and center, representing the crown.
What had he done?
Lazed about in the sun.
Ignored everyone around him.
Looked at nothing and no one with even a hint of interest.
A complete pushover, she'd concluded. A puppet waiting for strings.
The bastard didn't even glance my way.
That last part had stung more than she'd expected. Not because she wanted his attention—she couldn't care less about romance or attraction. But because it showed how little he cared about anything.
A prince who didn't even bother to assess potential threats or allies wasn't worthy of the throne.
But he makes a perfect figurehead.
She could work with that.
"I'm very patient, Lilly," she said quietly. "Very patient indeed."
The door clicked open.
A third figure hurried in—a young woman with green hair pulled back in a messy bun, blue eyes wide with confusion, and a splash of freckles across her nose.
Vera looked perpetually nervous. It was her default state.
"M-my lady," she stammered, bobbing a quick curtsy. "I think... I think the prince has arrived? Maybe you should confirm it?"
Lilly turned, one eyebrow raised.
"You think? You're sure? What kind of statement is that?"
Vera fidgeted.
"It's just... he doesn't look like... I mean, I'm not certain if..."
Lyralei rose from her chair, stretching her arms above her head with the languid grace of a cat waking from a nap.
"It should be obvious how the prince would arrive," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Picture it, Vera."
She began walking toward the door, gesturing as she spoke.
"A royal carriage. Pulled by five white horses—purebred Celestial Mares, naturally. The carriage itself would be gilded, bearing the crest of the Sun Empire. Guards in ceremonial armor flanking it on both sides."
She paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder.
"And stepping out? A prince wearing gold heavier than his own body weight. Perfectly groomed. Perfectly dressed. A perfect little doll for me to play with."
Vera chuckled nervously.
"R-right. That makes sense."
"Of course it does."
The three of them walked out together—Lyralei in front, Lilly half a step behind to her left, Vera trailing anxiously on her right.
The welcoming plaza was crowded.
Carriages of various sizes and levels of opulence were parked in neat rows. Students mingled with their servants. Attendants unloaded luggage. Guards kept watch.
Lyralei scanned the scene, looking for the telltale signs of a royal arrival.
Five white horses. Gilded carriage. Imperial crest.
Nothing.
She frowned.
"Vera," she said slowly. "Where exactly did you see my 'prince'?"
Vera pointed.
To the far right.
To the edge of the plaza, near a secondary entrance.
Where a small figure stood alone, hunched over, clutching a ragged bag.
Lyralei squinted.
That can't be right.
The figure was... short. Noticeably shorter than most of the students around him. His clothes were torn, stained, barely holding together. His hair was a disaster—sticking up in random directions like he'd lost a fight with a windstorm.
He looked like a beggar.
No.
He looked like a beggar who had been rejected by other beggars for lowering their standards.
Lilly pinched her nose delicately.
"It reeks," she muttered. "Why are beggars in the academy? I thought they kept commoners out until after the entrance ceremony."
Lyralei didn't respond.
She was staring.
That face.
Underneath the grime. Underneath the mess.
Those eyes.
Black. Empty. Looking at nothing and no one with any particular interest.
That expression.
The face of someone who didn't care about his own existence, let alone anyone else's.
She knew that face.
She'd seen it at every boring ceremony, every tedious function, every moment where the crown prince should have been paying attention and instead was mentally checked out.
No.
No no no no no.
She flicked Lilly's forehead.
"That's not a beggar," she said, her voice dangerously flat. "That's the prince."
Lilly's eyes went wide.
"...Seriously?"
Vera let out a small, strangled sound.
"Oh dear."
Lyralei's hands curled into fists at her sides.
How dare he.
How DARE he.
She had prepared herself for a puppet. A pretty, useless figurehead she could manipulate and control. A decorative piece to sit beside her on the throne while she did all the actual work.
She had not prepared for... THIS.
A disaster of a human being who couldn't even maintain basic hygiene.
A prince who showed up to the most important academy in the Nine Realms looking like he'd crawled out of a ditch.
This is an insult.
To me. To House Valen. To the very concept of royalty.
I'm going to kill him.
No—I'm going to make him WISH I'd killed him.
Her fists unclenched.
Her shoulders relaxed.
A smile spread across her face—soft, gentle, welcoming.
"So," Vera asked nervously, watching the transformation. "Are you going to greet him, my lady?"
Lyralei started walking.
"Oh yes," she said, her voice sweet as honey. "I'm going to greet him very thoroughly."