The stone beneath Marcus's boots was damp, its chill seeping through the leather soles—far too damp for the foundations of a premier academy. He knelt, tracing the delicate veins of moisture that threaded through the carved runes on the corridor wall. The symbols were not of standard Imperial Arcana; they were older, more fluid. They pulsed faintly under his touch, a slow, rhythmic thrum like a colossal heartbeat buried beneath centuries of dust and silence.
"This isn't part of the original blueprints," he murmured, his voice a low whisper, carefully pitched so that even the wind charm woven into his collar wouldn't carry it beyond the confines of this forgotten passage.
As if in response to his thoughts, the Dark Codex at his hip fluttered—a familiar sensation akin to spectral wings brushing against his mind. One of its ethereal pages had turned itself open, the script glowing with a soft, internal light.
[Unlocked: Historical Echo Fragment]
Subject: Vault Entry Protocol – Forbidden Archives (Classification: Starlit Veil)
Timestamp: 102 years prior.
The world around him shimmered, the damp stone walls dissolving into a ghostly projection. Two cloaked figures materialized before his eyes, standing exactly where he now crouched. They spoke in hushed, urgent tones, their voices muffled and distorted by the passage of time. Yet one phrase cut through the temporal static with chilling clarity:
"Star-Dome Cardinal."
Marcus exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cold air. This wasn't an old storeroom or a forgotten dormitory. This was something far older, far more dangerous. And he was not the first to seek it.
He heard the footsteps before he saw the figure—light, deliberate, and unnervingly silent.
Aelia Serin. His appointed mentor, and the woman who made no secret of her deep-seated disdain for the royal bloodlines. She'd been watching him ever since the duel with Augustus Glem two nights ago. Watching, waiting… and now, testing.
"You're a long way from your assigned wing, Valen," she said, her voice cutting through the silence as she stepped into view. A slender wand was already in her hand, held with casual readiness. "Do you have permission to be down here?"
Marcus rose slowly, meeting her cold gaze without flinching. "I could ask you the same question, Professor."
Her eyes narrowed. "This level is restricted. Unauthorized access is grounds for immediate expulsion."
He allowed a faint, polite, and utterly empty smile to touch his lips. "Then I suppose it's fortunate that I'm not unauthorized."
With a practiced flick of his wrist, he activated the sigil hidden beneath his signet ring—the House Valen Seal, a mark of authority blessed by the High Regent himself. It gleamed with potent, silver light for a fraction of a second before fading back into dormancy.
Aelia didn't move, but he saw her fingers tense around her wand. "So the Crown finally remembers you exist," she muttered, her voice laced with acid. "That doesn't mean you belong here."
"Maybe not," Marcus replied, stepping past her and moving deeper into the shadows. "But I will be the one to decide what I do—and do not—belong to."
As he disappeared into the darkness, the air behind him rippled. Aelia's lips barely moved as she whispered a single name into the stillness.
"Nilos…"
Somewhere high above, in the spire of the Eastern Tower, a quill scratched across fresh parchment. "Initiate Phase Two."
By dawn, the whispers had begun. They slithered through the upper halls of the Academy, passed between students in hushed tones. A formal accusation had been filed. The charge: Unauthorized access to forbidden knowledge. The document, displayed on the public notice board, bore two names at the top—Nilos Vesta and Aelia Serin. Aelia's hatred of the monarchy was common knowledge. And Nilos… Marcus remembered him from a previous life. A sharp-witted scholar then, and now, clearly a man who hadn't forgotten the way the Valen name had once crushed ambitions like insects underfoot.
The hearing was scheduled for midday. Fate rarely allowed for the luxury of time.
Inside the Grand Hall, sunlight filtered through magnificent stained-glass windows depicting the elemental wars of old. Seated before him at a long, imposing table were six senior professors. Among them was Dean Caelus, a man whose skepticism was matched only by his allegiance to political expediency.
"Prince Marcus Valen," Dean Caelus began, his voice as dry as old parchment, "you stand accused of violating Section VII of the Arcane Ethics Charter, pertaining to forbidden lore. How do you respond?"
Marcus rose, his posture calm, and met each of their gazes in turn. "I reject the accusation."
His placid demeanor unsettled the room. At the accuser's table, Nilos leaned forward, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Then perhaps you'd care to explain how your distinct magical signature was found lingering on an artifact tied to the Void Contract? An event that, by our scrying, occurred just yesterday."
Ah, so they'd tested the magical residue. Clever. But not clever enough. Marcus let a beat of silence hang in the air before responding.
"I explored the ruins, yes. That is not a crime. But I did not summon or interact with the Void Contract directly. What your scryers found is merely the echo of its presence—a residual phenomenon even first-year students experience when handling unstable relics."
Nilos's eyes narrowed. "And yet your signature is far stronger than any mere student's should be."
"Because I am not merely a student," Marcus replied coolly. He turned his gaze toward Professor Elric, a moderate and respected figure known for valuing logic over ideology. With a subtle mental command, he activated the Codex.
[Dark Codex] Ability Activated – "Whispered Insight"
A sliver of Elric's own mastery of debate—just one percent—flowed into Marcus's mind. He could feel it instantly: the cadence of persuasive speech, the art of redirecting an accusation without ever seeming defensive.
"You speak of echoes," he continued smoothly, his tone shifting to one of unimpeachable reason. "Yet you offer no proof that these echoes originated from an act of my own will. You offer speculation and circumstantial traces. If every student were to be judged on residual magic alone, half this hall would be under investigation for one infraction or another."
Silence settled like dust. Dean Caelus glanced between Marcus and a visibly frustrated Nilos, his expression conflicted.
"In the absence of irrefutable evidence," Marcus concluded, pressing his advantage, "I suggest this inquiry be dismissed. Unless, of course, further facts emerge that warrant a more serious proceeding."
A murmur of assent swept the room. Nilos stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "This isn't over," he hissed, his voice low and venomous.
Marcus simply offered him that same, infuriatingly calm smile.
Later that night, fatigue gnawed at his senses. The hearing had drained more energy than a physical duel. He locked his chamber door, lit a single candle, and sat cross-legged on the floor, seemingly in meditation.
The illusion struck almost immediately. A soft, warm breeze. The scent of night-blooming jasmine. The distant, musical chime of bells. It was a perfect recreation of his mother's garden. It was also a crude memory implant attempt.
He let the illusion play out, feigning vulnerability while his mind remained sharp as a shard of ice. In truth, he was probing its edges, searching for the seams of the spell. There. A thin, foreign thread of mana woven inexpertly through the vision. Tracing it back to its source was simple.
He followed the magical tether outward from his own mind—and saw her. Lena Sering. She crouched outside his window, cloaked in shadow, her hands weaving a secondary sigil to sustain the spell.
"Tell me," Marcus murmured, his voice echoing within the false reality of the garden, "who sent you?"
Lena flinched. The illusion flickered violently. She hadn't expected him to be conscious, let alone speak.
"Answer," he commanded, his will pressing down on hers.
Her mouth moved, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "Augustus Glem."
Marcus smirked. Perfect. He severed the connection gently, pulling his consciousness back and leaving Lena none the wiser, believing her spell had simply failed. Then, using the Codex, he extracted a perfect copy of the interaction and encoded it into a shimmering memory crystal. That crystal would find its way to Valk Taron.
By morning, rumors of Augustus conspiring with external agents to magically assault another student would spread like wildfire among the lower-ranking houses. And if there was one thing Marcus understood, it was that the perception of power was power itself.
In the dead of night, after ensuring his quarters were secure, Marcus returned to the hidden tunnel. The cold air of the subterranean passage bit at his skin as he descended the spiral staircase. The flickering light from his enchanted lantern cast shifting, monstrous shadows on the ancient stone walls. His pulse quickened—not with fear, but with anticipation.
The Dark Codex glowed faintly in his hand, its ink rearranging itself to form a jagged map overlaid with glowing red lines—a path leading deeper underground. This was no ordinary ruin. This was a Star-Dome Vault.
He tightened his grip and pressed forward, finally reaching the end of the passage.
A massive stone door loomed before him, its entire surface etched with spiraling glyphs that seemed to writhe in the lantern light. A central inscription dominated the portal:
"Only those bearing three oaths may open the Gate of Fate."
Below it, a fragment of smaller text caught his eye, a dire warning.
"To command the stars, one must first submit to the void. Three chains bind the soul—will, blood, and shadow. Sever them, and the gate shall yield."
He traced the letters with his fingertips. These weren't just words. They were conditions.
Behind him, the Codex pulsed once, warm against his palm.
[New Entry Acquired – "The Second Seal of the Void"]
He didn't read it. Not yet. Instead, he stepped back, his breathing steady, his mind racing.
Three chains. Will, blood, and shadow.
He wasn't ready to sever them. Not yet.
But soon. Very soon.