The Royal Academy of Silpatra opened its iron-bound gates twice a year to admit the next generation of the kingdom's elite.
On the morning Kael Silpatra arrived, the courtyard was already thick with noise and color.
Carriages lined the cobblestones, emblazoned with house crests.
Young nobles in tailored uniforms laughed and sparred in small circles, Aura flaring bright around their blades, Ether weaving faint shields in the air.
Instructors in severe black watched from raised platforms, tablets in hand, recording first impressions.
Kael stepped down from the plain palace coach alone.
No entourage.
No crest fluttering on banners.
Only Rogan Hale behind him, silent as always, carrying a single worn leather pack.
The courtyard chatter dipped for a moment as eyes turned.
Then recognition spread.
"That's the fourth prince."
"The null one."
"They actually let him in?"
Laughter followed—sharp, practiced, the kind noble children perfect early.
Kael paid no attention.
He was staring at the long tables set along the western wall, piled high with welcoming feast platters: roasted boar, spiced ribs, whole smoked hams glistening in the sun.
His stomach growled loud enough that a nearby cadet flinched.
Rogan set the pack at Kael's feet, gave one short nod, and left without a word.
Kael took one step toward the food.
A line of older cadets—third-years in silver-trimmed coats—moved to block his path.
The leader was a broad-shouldered boy named Torren Vale, heir to a border duchy, Aura already thick and crimson around his fists.
"Wrong way, defect," Torren said, smiling wide enough to show teeth. "New students register first. Food's for those who earned it."
The group laughed again.
Kael stopped.
Looked at Torren.
Then past him, at the meat.
His gray eyes began to darken, just slightly.
Torren mistook the silence for fear.
He stepped closer, Aura flaring brighter.
"Go on. Say something. Or are you too slow for words today?"
Before Kael could answer—if he even intended to—a new voice cut across the courtyard like a cracked whip.
"Oi! Move your fat heads before I use them for target practice!"
Every head turned.
A girl strode through the gates as though she owned them.
Wild black hair barely tamed under the academy cap.
Uniform already scuffed and crooked.
Two wooden practice swords crossed on her back like trophies.
She was shorter than most of the boys, but no one laughed.
This was Jade Voss—daughter of a minor frontier house, infamous for fighting three instructors at once during her entrance trial and winning.
Her Aura was savage, uncontrolled, bright green and jagged like broken glass.
Rumor said she had grown up wrestling monsters in the Outer Zones before her family dragged her to civilization.
Jade stopped beside Kael, planted her feet, and grinned up at Torren with far too many teeth.
"You picking on the quiet one already? That's boring. Pick on someone who bites back."
Torren's smile thinned.
"This doesn't concern you, Voss."
"It does now."
She cracked her knuckles. "I'm hungry, and you're blocking the food. Move, or I move you."
The third-years hesitated.
Jade's reputation was fresh and bloody.
Torren glanced at the watching instructors—one of whom was already frowning—and stepped aside with poor grace.
"Enjoy your meal, defect," he muttered. "You'll need the strength for what comes next."
Jade slapped Kael on the shoulder hard enough to stagger a normal boy.
Kael didn't stagger.
"Come on, big guy. Meat's waiting."
She marched toward the tables.
Kael followed.
They loaded plates until the servants stared openly—Jade with enthusiastic chaos, Kael with methodical silence.
When they sat on the stone steps to eat, the courtyard gave them a wide berth.
Jade tore into a rib with her teeth, grease shining on her chin.
"You're the prince, right? The one everyone says is empty."
Kael chewed steadily.
Didn't answer.
Jade didn't seem to mind.
"I like empty. Less talking, more eating."
She elbowed him. "I'm Jade. You?"
Kael swallowed.
Looked at her plate, then his own.
"Kael."
Short. Rough. The same voice he used for "meat."
Jade barked a laugh.
"Perfect. We're gonna get along."
She didn't ask why he had no Aura.
She didn't stare at the absence like it was a missing limb.
She just ate beside him, matching him bite for bite, occasionally growling at anyone who came too close.
Later, during registration, the instructors tried to separate them by division.
Aura Combat students to the eastern hall.
Ether Manipulation to the western.
Monster Extermination and Tactical Command to the central.
Kael stood in the courtyard, blank-faced, while an administrator flipped through parchments.
"Prince Kael Silpatra… no recorded Aura or Ether manifestation. Provisional placement pending evaluation."
The man looked up, uncertain.
Jade appeared at Kael's side again, as if by instinct.
"He's with me," she declared. "Monster Extermination. Best division anyway."
The administrator opened his mouth to object.
Jade leaned in, grin feral.
"You want to explain to the king why you split up his son on day one?"
The man closed his mouth.
Kael was assigned to Monster Extermination Unit—smallest and most dangerous division, reserved for those expected to die young on the front lines.
Jade was already there, of course.
As the sun set and the new students were marched to dormitories, Torren Vale and his friends watched from a balcony.
"He won't last a week," Torren said.
One of his companions smirked.
"Neither will the wild girl if she keeps defending him."
Below, Jade and Kael walked side by side.
She was talking—fast, loud, about how many monsters she'd eaten in the Outer Zones.
Kael listened in silence.
Once, she punched his arm playfully.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he looked at her for a long moment, then reached over and took the last strip of dried meat from her pocket.
Jade blinked.
Then laughed so hard she nearly fell over.
"Yeah," she wheezed. "We're definitely keeping you."
In the shadows of the dormitory roof, a quiet figure in academy instructor robes watched them go.
He made a small mark in a hidden ledger.
Subject continues to form attachments.
Behavioral note: responds to direct action, not authority.
Hunger stable—for now.
The instructor closed the ledger and vanished into the night.
The Royal Academy had just gained its most dangerous duo.
Neither of them understood a single lecture yet to come.
Neither of them needed to.