The Royal Academy of Silpatra was a place of hierarchies—Aura ranks, noble houses, division prestige—and the seniors of the Aura Combat Division sat at the top.
They were Golden Knights in training: arrogant, Aura-bright, untouchable.
After Cassian's humiliation, they couldn't touch Kael directly.
The null prince was too strong, too unpredictable, too royal.
But Mira?
The soft nursemaid from the palace, assigned to the "defect"?
She was fair game.
It started small.
A spilled tray in the servant corridors— "accidentally" knocked from her hands by a passing senior named Garrick Vale, Torren's older brother, a broad-shouldered Golden Knight with crimson Aura that smelled of entitlement.
"Oops," Garrick sneered as the plates shattered, beef slices scattering across the stone. "Clumsy slave girl."
Mira knelt silently, gathering the mess.
She endured.
Next came the whispers.
"Palace pet. Thinks she's special because she feeds the beast."
Ink dumped in her laundry basket, staining her uniforms black.
Doors jammed shut when she carried heavy loads.
A fake summons to the outer gates at midnight, leaving her waiting in the cold for hours.
Mira said nothing.
She had learned endurance long ago.
At seven years old, in the distant kingdom of Maki—vast ranches under endless skies—she had lived with her father, a simple herdsman.
Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving Mira with faint memories of warm songs and spiced milk.
Father and daughter survived on the edges: herding Aura-tamed cattle, trading meat at border markets.
Until the raiders came.
Bandits from the wilds—Ether-masked, swift on monster mounts.
They took her in the night.
Bound her.
Sold her across the borders to Silpatra slavers—cheap labor for the mines.
Chained in dark holds, Mira had learned silence.
Endurance.
At seven, she was too small for heavy work.
Sold again—to a minor noble's household as a kitchen drudge.
Whips for slow hands.
Scraps for meals.
Until the royal raid.
King Aurelion's purge of underground slave rings—political theater to curry favor with the temples.
Mira was freed in the sweep.
Brought to the palace.
Given a choice: return to Maki, or serve the crown.
She chose service.
Loyalty bound her—to the king who freed her, to the kingdom that gave her purpose.
And when assigned to the silent infant prince, she bound herself to Kael.
The boy who never cried, only stared.
The boy she fed without judgment.
Now, at the academy, the pranks escalated.
Garrick and his circle—five seniors, all Bronze Warriors climbing to Golden Knight—cornered her in the supply room one evening.
"Feeding time for the defect?" Garrick mocked, knocking jars from shelves.
Glass shattered.
Spices clouded the air.
One senior—lean, smirking—pinned a dead rat to her door with a note: Beast food for the beast girl.
Another night, they locked her in the cold storage—hours in the dark among hanging carcasses.
Mira shivered but waited.
Endured.
Her loyalty was iron.
She would not burden Kael.
But Jade noticed.
The wild girl saw everything—scratches on Mira's hands, shadows under her eyes, the faint tremble when carrying trays.
Jade cornered her in the dormitory hall.
"Who's doing it?"
Mira shook her head.
"It's nothing, Miss Voss. Just pranks."
Jade's green Aura crackled.
"Pranks my ass. Tell me, or I tell the prince."
Mira paled.
"No. Please. He doesn't need—"
Too late.
That afternoon, in the training yard, Jade dragged Kael aside during a break.
"Listen up, big guy. Those Aura snobs—the seniors? They're messing with Mira. Spilling her trays. Locking her up. Dead rats. Because they're scared of you."
Kael stopped swinging the practice sword.
Looked at her.
Blank at first.
Then something new.
A flicker.
In his chest.
Not hunger.
Emotion.
For someone else.
Mira.
The one who brought food.
Who said hello back.
Who didn't fear.
His eyes reddened—not from starvation.
From anger.
First time.
Explosive.
"Where?" he growled—voice deeper, words clearer than ever.
Jade grinned feral.
"Supply room. They corner her there after classes."
Kael dropped the sword.
Walked.
Then ran.
The supply room was dim, shelves stacked high with crates and jars.
Garrick and his five circled Mira as she restocked—tray balanced carefully.
"Careful, slave," Garrick taunted, Aura flaring crimson. "Wouldn't want to drop the defect's dinner."
One shoved her shoulder lightly.
The tray wobbled.
Mira steadied it.
Endured.
The door slammed open.
Kael stood there.
Eyes bloodshot.
Body trembling—not with fear.
With rage.
"Mira," he said—full word, no stammer.
She looked up, eyes wide.
"Your Highness—"
Garrick laughed.
"Come to save your nanny, defect?"
Kael stepped forward.
No sword.
No plan.
Just instinct.
And fury.
The beating was hilarious.
Not brutal.
Absurd.
Kael grabbed Garrick first—by the collar, gorilla strength lifting the senior like a doll.
Garrick's Aura armor flared—Bronze Warrior coating, tough as steel.
Kael didn't punch.
He spun.
Like a child with a toy.
Whirled Garrick in circles—cheetah speed building momentum.
Garrick yelped, legs flailing.
The others charged—Aura blades extending thin edges.
Kael released.
Garrick flew—crashing into his friends like a human bowling ball.
They tumbled in a heap, Aura flickering confused.
Cadets gathering outside howled with laughter.
Kael didn't stop.
He grabbed the next—lean smirker—by the boot.
Dangled him upside down.
Shook him like a sack.
Coins, daggers, a hidden flask rained out.
The senior's pants slipped—exposing embroidered undergarments with silly house crests.
The crowd roared.
"Mama's boy!" someone yelled.
Kael dropped him into a spice barrel—headfirst, legs kicking.
Cloud of pepper exploded.
Sneezes echoed.
Two more rushed Kael—projected Aura slashes from Golden Knight aspirants.
Kael dodged with fly reflexes.
Tripped one with a casual foot—wolf agility sending him face-first into a crate of eggs.
Yolks splattered.
The other he bear-hugged—squeezing until Aura popped like a bubble.
Then tossed him lightly onto the pile.
The last two backed away.
Kael looked around.
Saw a hanging rope for pulling shelves.
Grabbed it.
Lassoed them both in one absurd loop—instinct perfect.
Yanked.
They swung up, dangling like piñatas.
The gathering cadets—now a full crowd—mocked mercilessly.
"Senior swing set!"
"Aura can't save your dignity!"
"Egg-face elite!"
Instructors arrived too late, hiding smiles.
Harlan barked orders, but laughter drowned him.
Mira stood in the corner, untouched, eyes wide.
Kael turned to her.
Anger fading.
First emotion for another—protective, raw.
"Mira… safe?"
She nodded, tears shining.
"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you."
He nodded once.
Then looked at the spilled tray.
Knelt.
Picked up a slice of beef.
Ate it calmly.
The crowd cheered.
The bullies—dangling, egg-covered, sneezing—were cut down hours later.
Mocked for weeks.
"Piñata princes."
"Garrick the human ball."
Kael walked Mira back to the dormitory.
For the first time, he held the door for her.
Jade joined them, grinning.
"You went full comedy beast mode. Proud."
Kael didn't smile.
But his eyes lingered on Mira longer.
Loyalty bound her to him.
Now something bound him back.
In the palace, word reached the king.
He dismissed it as cadet nonsense.
But Elira heard Mira's full backstory from a servant—kidnapped from Maki, enslaved, freed at seven.
She visited the next day.
"Thank you for protecting my brother," Elira said.
Mira bowed.
"It is he who protects me now, Princess."
Far below the temple, Thalion noted the shift.
The subject defends attachments. Emotional growth. The key strengthens.
The world turned.
Hungrier.
And a little less alone for one quiet prince.