The golden hall was supposed to be a classroom but it was built like a cathedral.
Tiers of polished blackwood rose toward a domed ceiling which was painted with the constellations of the First Era.
Every desk was inlaid with gold orbs that glowed faintly, reacting to the mana of the students. It was a place where the future of the empire was forged through raw power and ancient lineage.
Ren was seated on a low, backless stool at the very edge of the Royal Box.
He was positioned behind the three leads, visible enough to be useful but far enough to be ignored. From here, he could see the stiff, regal line of Cian's shoulders, the relaxed, arrogant posture of Julian, and the mountain of silent intimidation that was Kael.
The air in the hall was suffocating. It wasn't just the heat of the three hundred bodies, it was the sheer volume of mana.
To the nobles, it was a familiar hum. To Ren, it was a crushing loud weight.
"Sit still." Cian commanded, his voice a low vibration that Ren felt through the bonding lead. He didn't turn his head.
"If you fidget, the resonance will spike. Control your breathing."
Ren's spine snapped straight. "Yes, Your Highness."
"Don't be so stern, Cian," Julian drawled, leaning back and twirling an emerald-tipped quill. He glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes scanning Ren with the clinical interest of a scientist.
"He's doing remarkably well for a Null. Most scholarship students pass out just from the ambient pressure of this room. Tell me, Ren... does it feel like you're drowning? Or just like you're being stepped on?"
Ren kept his eyes on the floor.
"It's... heavy, sir."
"Honest," Julian chuckled, turning back to the front. "I like that. It makes the 'breaking' process so much more interesting."
The Professor, a woman named Vane with swirling silver eyes and hair, struck her staff against the floor.
The hall went silent.
"Today," she began, her voice amplified by magic, "we discuss the 'Stagnation of Flow.' A User's power is a river. If the river does not move, it becomes a swamp. It poisons the mind and the flesh. This is why we have Grounds. This is why we have the Hierarchy."
She waved her hand, and a massive projection of her own magical energy appeared. To the students, it was a beautiful display of golden light and clouds.
But as Ren watched, the silver stitch in his palm began to itch. He blinked, and the golden light shattered.
He didn't see a cloud; he saw a tangled, messy knot of threads. It looked like a tailor's nightmare—frayed, overlapping, and dangerously tense.
It looked familiar though. He had a toy exactly like that when he was young. His father had told him that his mother had gotten it for him before she passed away.
It's wrong, Ren thought looking at the projection, a cold shiver running down his spine.
It looked like they were forcing the magic into shapes it doesn't want to take.
He was so distracted by the threads that he didn't notice the movement to his left.
A boy in the tier below—Lord Aris, a high-ranking noble with a penchant for cruel pranks—had been watching Ren since he entered.
Aris hated that a "Null" was sitting in the Royal Box. To him, it was a stain on the school's honor.
Aris raised his hand subtly. A spark of condensed fire-magic, the size of a marble but incredibly hot, flickered at his fingertips. With a practiced flick, he sent it sailing toward Ren's lap.
Ren didn't see it until it was inches away. He gasped, shrinking back, but he was trapped on the small stool.
Clang.
The sound of iron hitting stone echoed through the silent hall.
Kael had moved.
He hadn't stood up, and he hadn't used a spell. He had simply reached back with a hand that looked like it was made of granite and swatted the fire-spark out of the air. The heat of the spell vanished instantly, crushed by Kael's charcoal-grey mana.
Kael didn't look at Aris. He didn't even look at Ren. He simply lowered his hand, his voice a low, guttural growl that didn't even reach the Professor's ears.
"Focus."
That was it.
One word.
But Aris turned pale and immediately faced the front, his hands shaking.
Ren's heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at Kael's broad, scarred neck.
He didn't do it for me, Ren reminded himself. He did it because the noise was annoying. I am a tool. He is just keeping the tool from being damaged.
"A bit clumsy, Kael," Julian whispered, his eyes dancing with amusement. "You almost cracked the floor."
"Shut up," Kael grunted and went back to looking at the illustrations.
********************************
The lecture continued for two more hours.
For the nobles, it was a bore.
For Ren, it was a struggle for survival.
The sapphire on his neck began to pulse red. Cian's resonance was rising—the Prince was getting frustrated with the Professor's slow pace, and the excess energy was bleeding into the collar.
Ren felt a wave of white-hot static wash over him.
It felt like needles pricking every inch of his skin. He gripped the edge of his stool, his knuckles white.
Cian reached back then.
He didn't look at Ren. He didn't offer comfort.
He grabbed Ren's forearm with a grip that was painfully tight, his fingers digging into Ren's skin.
He used Ren like a lever, a physical anchor to bleed off his irritation.
"Drain it," Cian hissed under his breath.
Ren bit his lip to keep from crying out.
He opened the void core in his chest, pulling the Prince's anger and magic into himself. The silver stitch in his hand glowed behind his closed fist, hidden against his leg.
It was an intimate, violent connection.
To the rest of the class, it looked like the Prince was simply keeping his attendant close.
Only Ren knew that he was currently being used as a waste-bucket for the Prince's overflowing ego.
When the lecture finally ended, Cian let go of Ren's arm as if he were dropping a piece of used parchment. He stood up, his royal bearing perfect, not a single hair out of place.
"Wait here," Cian commanded. "I have a meeting with the Dean. Julian, keep an eye on the Ground. If he starts to leak, throw him in the fountain."
"With pleasure," Julian smiled, rising with fluid grace.
Cian walked away without a second glance. Kael followed him like a silent golem.
Ren sat on the stool, his arm throbbing where Cian had gripped him.
He felt small. He felt used.
And most of all, he felt the weight of the paper that had been slid onto his lap by a boy during the transition.
He opened it under the table.
It was the Golden Loom symbol again.
But this time, there was a map. A map of the Academy's lower levels—the forbidden archives where the scholarship students were never allowed to go.
Midnight, the note read.
Ren's breath hitched. Someone knew.
Someone was watching the stitch in his palm.
"What do you have there, little bird?"
Julian's voice was right at his ear. Ren jumped, nearly falling off the stool.
He crumpled the paper into his palm, his heart nearly stopping.
Julian was leaning over him, his emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering near Ren's closed fist.
"A love letter? Or perhaps a message from home?" Julian's voice was light, but there was a sharp, dangerous edge to it.
"You shouldn't keep secrets in the North Tower, Ren. Secrets are what get people killed."
Ren looked up at him, his terror visible.
"It's... it's nothing, sir. Just a student's notes."
Julian stared at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire.
Then, he laughed and stood up.
"Notes. Of course." Julian patted Ren's cheek—a gesture that felt more like a threat than a caress.
"Go back to the tower, Ren. And remember... the Prince doesn't like it when his toys are played with by others. And neither do I."
As Ren hurried out of the hall, the jeers of the other students followed him.
But he didn't hear them.
All he could hear was the pulsing of the sapphire and the memory of the words on the paper.
Midnight.
He was no longer just a Ground. He was a target.
And the "Three Lions" he lived with were the only thing keeping him alive—and the very thing that would eventually consume him.