Days passed.

  The morning arrived for Claude’s departure to Vusric Academy. The courtyard of Edelyn Manor was full of gathered faces—family, friends, guards, and servants, all there to see the future Named Hero off.

  Lyris had already returned home with her panther. Lucon imagined her receiving a similar send-off, full of smiles and tears and laughter.

  Lucon stood among everyone, but his eyes kept flicking to the long, deep shadows cast by the manor walls in the dawn light.

  “The shadows are watching.”

  The message from Peytr haunted him the whole week. Lucon could only assume it meant Genevieve or her subordinates had him under observation. The notable absence of the masked woman herself only solidified his suspicion.

  He hadn't dared return to the Wilderwood to check on the Mana Crystal operation. If shadows were on him, a trip to there would be a confession.

  And he still hadn’t found an opportunity to give the order to stop the operation. Everything was still moving according to Ambrosia Lucon’s plan.

  Somehow, Julie, who saw enough, seemed uninvolved; his father hadn't said a word about illicit trade, meaning her spying hadn't extended that far, or she was keeping it to herself for now.

  When he'd seen Kaeson over the past few days, a terse, coded exchange was all they could manage.

  "Banner Silver," the lieutenant had murmured in passing.

  Things are progressing. Not perfectly, but progressing.

  That could only mean the Mana Crystal operation was still underway, this time controlled and done safely by Skhav’s guiding, tattooed hand.

  Not what Lucon wanted.

  Still, Lucon was grateful for Kaeson's innate caution. The man knew the stakes if their activities were discovered by Lord Auric. He never spoke more than the codes. They were never together too long to avoid suspicion.

  The farewells began in earnest. Everyone had something to say or something to give to Claude. Their words and gestures of affection showed how well loved he was by everyone. Auric telling him to avoid girls at all costs stirred up laughter. Mabel’s endless crying and blurting out embarrassing stories when Claude was young made Claude blush.

  When it was Lucon’s turn, to everyone’s surprise, he hugged his younger brother.

  Auric couldn’t let the opportunity pass. "Maybe he's finally confessing where he got those panthers from."

  Mabel shushed him.

  Auric had been quietly investigating the impossible gift for days but was no closer to discovering where Lucon had found tamed Mana Beasts.

  Claude was stiff in the hug, awkward and touched.

  "If I ever get out of control," Lucon whispered, "you'll come back and handle it, right?"

  Claude had a knowing look in his eyes. Their confrontation in the stables, of Lucon's declaration of intent to seize the barony, no doubt played in his memories.

  Claude was quiet, then finally gave a single, solemn nod.

  Lucon separated, a small, genuine smile on his lips.

  He said more loudly, "I never got to tell you, brother. You make me proud."

  Claude went perfectly still. The words, so simple, so direct, and so utterly devoid of the old irony or bitterness, struck him with a force no enemy ever could. Mabel dissolved into a fresh wave of happy tears.

  For the first time, Lucon had spoken how he felt about Claude without alcohol, without his other self.

  But the deeper truth, the one only he knew, gave his earlier plea a double meaning. He needed Claude to be the anchor, the failsafe. Because as he stood there, smiling at his departing brother, Lucon knew he was standing on the precipice.

  Nothing was going according to his—Simple Lucon’s—plans.

  As the days passed, being watched and seeing his father with the old advisers in one place, Lucon felt the temptation to bring back Ambrosia Lucon.

  And if that version of him ever got out of hand, if no one else, the Named Hero would be able to stop him.

  He hoped.

  ***

  The Vusric First Year Parade unfolded beneath a sky of drifting petals.

  Thousands of blossoms—pink, white, gold—descended from the balconies, swirling through the air like colorful snow. Melodic swells of woodwinds and strings drifted from the academy’s open archways, carrying far across the expectant crowd. Ahead, the great avenue leading into the academy grounds was lined with senior students and instructors in formal robes.

  All eyes were on the arrivals.

  Carriages rolled in one by one.

  Some were modest, pulled by well-bred horses. Others were absurdly extravagant, adorned with gold filigree, gemstones, or banners proclaiming family crests. A few first years had gone too far—one carriage was accompanied by juggling performers, another by a mage creating fireworks overhead.

  They were rewarded with jeers.

  “The desperation is embarrassing!”

  “Too much! Far too much!”

  “Do they think this is a circus?!”

  Gasps then resounded from the crowd.

  A stark white carriage rolled forward, so pristine it almost glowed. Pulling it were four luminous white horses, their manes flowing like liquid moonlight.

  Someone said in disbelief, “Aren’t those…Unibloods?”

  Another gasped, “Descendants of Unicorns…!”

  The murmurs grew louder.

  “They cost more than everything I own!”

  “Unibloods are real?!”

  From inside the carriage, Norlon Herlonde leaned out the window, waving with exaggerated flair. He basked in the attention, soaking in every gasp, every stunned face, his smile stretching wider with each second.

  More gasps erupted.

  A bright red horse strode into view next—its coat glowing faintly like embers, steam curling from its nostrils.

  “He’s riding a Cinaburn!”

  “A descendant of the mythical Fire-Eater?!”

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  Rhavak Cysserian rode it proudly, one hand raised in greeting. But his smile faltered as his Arisen hearing picked up whispers around him.

  “I heard he’s a fraud.”

  “My cousin said his master’s insane.”

  “It’s true, I heard the same. His master suddenly tried to kill House Edelyn’s eldest Young Lord unprovoked…”

  One student, standing too close, was hushed by his friend as Rhavak’s cold, black-eyed glare found him.

  Then, everything stopped.

  A dual roar, deep and primal, shattered the parade’s orchestrated pomp. From a side lane, two massive forms bounded into the main avenue. They were panthers—one black as a starless night, the other white as a polished ivory—their muscles coiling with lethal grace.

  Chaos erupted.

  The Unibloods shrieked in terror, eyes rolling white. They bolted, wrenching the gleaming white carriage off its path. It careened sideways, smashing into a decorative oak tree with a crunch of splintering wood and twisted metal. Norlon was flung from the window, tumbling to the cobblestones in a heap of ruined finery.

  Rhavak’s Cinaburn reared with a panicked whinny, its fiery nature overcome by primal fear. It threw its rider, sending Rhavak sprawling to the ground, before galloping away in a clatter of hooves.

  Instructors moved instantly, spells and Battle Skills flickering to life, ready to intercept the rampaging Mana Beasts.

  Then they faltered.

  Because there were riders.

  A boy atop the white panther.

  A girl atop the black.

  Claude Edelyn sat astride the white panther, his posture effortlessly regal. Beside him, on the black panther, Lyris Serbal clung with a mix of terror and exhilaration, her gray hair dancing in the wind behind her.

  “…That’s Claude Edelyn!”

  “How is this possible—”

  “They’re riding them!”

  The panthers roared, shaking the avenue.

  And then they walked forward.

  Not rampaging.

  Not attacking.

  Sauntering.

  Like royalty.

  The instructors leapt aside.

  A roar of excitement and applause dwarfed all previous reactions. Students shouted, stamped their feet, and cheered.

  “Tamed Mana Beasts!”

  “They’re riding tamed Mana Beasts!”

  “It’s Young Lord Claude Edelyn!”

  “The Named Hero candidate!”

  “Who’s that girl?! She’s gorgeous!”

  Lyris shrank slightly under the attention, her cheeks burning as she gave a shy wave. Her black panther purred beneath her.

  Claude sat tall, posture flawless, gaze steady.

  Seeing him so composed made Lyris straighten too.

  They passed the wreckage of Norlon’s carriage.

  Norlon stared at them from the ground, hair disheveled, mouth hanging open.

  Rhavak pushed himself up from the stone, dusting off his uniform, flustered. His eyes found Claude passing by.

  Claude met his gaze.

  And nodded politely.

  Rhavak’s fists trembled.

  Lyris leaned toward Claude, whispering, “Everyone is looking at us…!”

  Claude remembered his brother’s words.

  “You’ll really turn heads in that fancy First Year parade at Vusric.”

  A grin spread across his face.

  He unsheathed his sword and held it aloft.

  [Violet Fire Stance]

  Violet-tinged flames engulfed his raised weapon.

  His panther threw back its head and roared.

  The crowd erupted.

  Louder.

  Wilder.

  Thunderous.

  ***

  A few hours later, the Academy had settled into its usual rhythm.

  Klara walked through the softly lit corridor of the girls’ housing wing, her footsteps quiet against the polished stone. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, reflecting off the greatsword on her back. The echoes of the First Year Parade still lingered in her mind.

  Claude had looked…incredible.

  So confident. So radiant. And Lyris beside him—smiling, beautiful, adored.

  Tamed Mana Beasts.

  Where in the world had they gotten those?

  Her hand curled slightly at her side as her thoughts drifted.

  Claude.

  The Hero’s Party.

  Her dream.

  She exhaled slowly, placing a hand against her chest.

  I need to get stronger.

  Not just better.

  Stronger.

  Strong enough to stand beside him.

  Strong enough not to be a burden.

  The thought felt impossible.

  She slowed, pressing her back briefly against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

  How was she supposed to catch up to someone like Claude?

  She tried to force his face from her mind, but failed.

  Lucon.

  She scowled faintly and shook her head.

  Don’t think about him.

  She had left the note. She had done what she needed to do.

  And yet…

  His words lingered.

  “We will find a way to grow your strength. To ensure you earn a spot in Claude’s party.”

  Ludicrous.

  Absurd.

  Coming from him of all people.

  Still…she clenched her jaw.

  She could not see a single path forward toward her dream.

  Sighing, she pushed open a heavy oak door.

  An elegantly carved sign beside the entrance read: The Order of Beauty and Power.

  A wave of perfumed air and the gentle murmur of conversation washed over her as she stepped inside. The chamber was spacious, decorated in the blues and silvers of Vusric, with plush cushions arranged in a wide circle.

  Dozens of young women—first years wide-eyed with nerves, second and third years exuding practiced confidence—filled the room. They were the academy’s most talented, connected, and, as the order’s name implied, undeniably beautiful. As Klara entered, a hush fell, followed by a chorus of warm greetings.

  “Klara! Welcome back!”

  “The Red Storm returns!”

  “We missed you!”

  Several girls rushed over.

  “How was your break?”

  “You look amazing!”

  A cluster of first years stared at her in awe.

  “That’s her…”

  “The Red Storm of Vusric…”

  “She’s even prettier up close—!”

  Klara smiled, a little embarrassed, but kind. She greeted them all, listening, nodding, laughing softly.

  She remembered being a first year.

  Nervous. Starry-eyed. Desperate to belong.

  The door creaked open, their heads turning toward it.

  A familiar voice rang out.

  “Silence, please.”

  The room stilled.

  “It is time for order. The meeting will now commence.”

  Julie Othborro strode in, elegant as ever, hands clasped behind her back. Her green eyes swept the chamber, and the last whispers died.

  Klara took her usual seat at the long table in the center.

  Julie stopped nearby at the end of it, standing firm.

  “Sisters,” she began, her voice carrying a melodic, commanding clarity. “Daughters of ambition and grace. Welcome back to the new term, and to our new aspirants, welcome to our circle.”

  She spread her arms then spoke of the order’s purpose—to foster mutual advancement, to forge alliances that would last beyond the academy walls, to ensure that the women of Vusric carved their own places in a world too often dominated by men’s agendas. It was a speech Klara had heard before, one she fundamentally agreed with, even if Julie’s methods could be…extreme.

  Several girls nodded fervently.

  Klara watched the first years with a touch of nostalgia, remembering how disorganized the order had been when Julie first began.

  “Now,” Julie said, her tone shifting to one of grave import. “There is something of the highest level of importance that we must discuss…”

  Klara’s gaze drifted, then caught on a large, square object hanging on the wall behind Julie, draped in a cloth. It wasn’t there the previous year.

  With a dramatic flourish, Julie yanked the cloth away.

  Klara’s mouth fell open.

  It was a portrait. A very good one, capturing the subject’s lazy smirk and too-handsome features with infuriating accuracy. Lucon Edelyn’s blue eyes seemed to gaze mockingly out at the assembled women.

  Julie pointed an accusing finger at the painted face.

  “This,” she declared, “is our first order of business!”

  Klara slapped a hand over her face.

  She groaned, “Julie, no…why are you doing this?”

  The first years exploded.

  “He’s so handsome!”

  “His blue eyes—so deep!”

  “I want to swim in them!”

  Julie’s face twitched.

  Blue Mana flared around her.

  A gust of magic wind blew through the chamber.

  Order was restored.

  “The Order of Beauty and Power is about women!” Julie snapped, her voice losing its cultured edge. “There will be no drooling over men in this sanctum!” She jabbed her finger at the portrait again. “Especially not this wastrel! This troublemaker! This…this womanizer!”

  The chamber fell truly silent now, the first years cowed, though a few of their gazes still lingered on the portrait.

  Julie drew herself up, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. “This man is a stray dog who believes he can be with a Unicorn! A gutter rat with dreams of a heavenly feast! This wastrel dares to think he is worthy of claiming our Klara Serbal as his wife!”

  Klara slid down in her seat.

  This time, the reaction came from the older members. Gasps of outrage erupted, followed by a rising tide of fury directed at the unmoving image of Lucon.

  Booing.

  Jeering.

  Insults flew.

  “Delusional!”

  “Shameless!”

  “He should be thrown in prison!”

  Klara buried her face in her arms. “Julie, please don’t do this…!”

  Julie, riding the wave of indignant energy, finished with a ringing declaration. “Our first task of the term is clear! We will knock this arrogant man off his pathetic pedestal—by any means necessary! We will rain such fury upon him that he will have no choice but to release his grubby hold on our Klara! Who’s with me?!”

  The room erupted.

  “We’ll destroy him!”

  “Expose him!”

  “Humiliate him!”

  “We’ll free Klara!”

  Klara slumped, all her energy drained from her.

  “…And I was trying so hard to forget him,” she muttered.

  ***

  A few months passed.

  Lucon sat alone at a small table in his room, the moon shining in from the window. A single candle burned low. Before him sat a bottle of alcohol, unopened.

  The shadows were watching. He knew—without sight, without sound, without the Flow—that there were eyes on him.

  The walls felt closer than they had ever been.

  Everything in the past few months had gone wrong.

  Kaeson was ready to abandon the operation. Captain Movar had also begun asking questions. Whispers from Niles filled Auric’s ear. Genevieve was nowhere to be found. Which only meant she was everywhere.

  Peytr had been caught changing ledgers by his father, Warren.

  Georgi had stopped speaking to Lucon.

  To Lucon’s shock, Klara returned, asking from him something he couldn’t do.

  And the worst part…

  Was Hilda.

  Because now he knew.

  Exactly who she was.

  Lucon curled his fingers slowly around the bottle.

  “Please fix everything,” Lucon begged, staring through the bottle as if he could see the other version of himself waiting within.

  He paused.

  “Just don’t forget my heart. These people…they’re more than pieces on the board. They’re my friends. My family. I love them. However you do this…remember that.”

  He twisted the cork free.

  The sound too loud in the quiet room.

  He raised the bottle.

  And drank.