The sun dipped beneath the marble towers of the Royal Academy of Helderan, casting elongated shadows across the crimson-tiled roofs. From the high windows of the restricted wing, Kaelian watched in silence, his fingers resting against the cold glass, mind spiraling through the layers of deceit he'd so carefully woven.
He had miscalculated. Somewhere within his inner circle—within the very group of students he had handpicked for their intellect, ambition, and ostracism—someone had betrayed him.
And this time, it wasn't a professor. It wasn't a noble. It wasn't the scheming Queen or his bloodthirsty half-brother Prince Théor.
It was one of his own.
**
Three days earlier, a message had been slipped beneath the door to Kaelian's dormitory—an unmarked parchment with no visible ink. It had taken him mere seconds to cast a low-level revelation charm. The letters revealed themselves, crude but efficient:
"You're not the only one playing in the shadows. One of yours speaks to Théor."
For a moment, he'd thought it a bluff. A trap. But Kaelian's instincts—honed through two lives and sharpened by betrayal in both—whispered otherwise.
He thought of his inner circle, the group of talented yet disgraced students he'd taken under his wing. Misfits with potential. Tools for his ambition. They met in secrecy, shared knowledge, trained in forgotten magics, and tested each other ruthlessly. He had expected loyalty… or at least predictable self-interest.
But now?
Now, he had to assume one was a traitor.
**
That night, he summoned Lyssa to an abandoned storeroom behind the old infirmary. Only she remained in his blind spot of trust—though even that was shaded with caution.
"Have you spoken to anyone unusual these past days?" Kaelian asked, his voice flat, almost cold.
She narrowed her eyes. "Again with the suspicion? I've followed you into blood magic rituals, Kael. Into cursed archives. Do you really think I'd sell you out?"
"Trust is earned. Re-earned. And verified." He handed her the message.
She read it. Her expression darkened.
"You think it's Taren? He's been twitchy lately. Or maybe Celya. She's ambitious. Too ambitious."
"Myron asked me about the echo runes again," Kaelian muttered. "Said he was curious. Too curious."
Lyssa tapped her lip, thinking. "You want me to run surveillance?"
"I want more than proof," Kaelian said. "I want leverage."
They devised a plan. Kaelian would hold a "strategy session" the next evening under the guise of refining group tactics. Lyssa would hide near the chamber and activate a static resonance net—an archaic spell capable of capturing lingering magical emissions. Rare, slow, but potent.
They only needed one pulse. One trace.
One traitor.
**
The next night, six students gathered in the stone-vaulted practice hall: Taren, the wiry half-elf with a nervous twitch; Myron, quick-witted and oily with charm; Celya, a fallen noble's daughter, brilliant and dangerous; plus two others whose loyalty had never mattered enough to remember.
Kaelian stood at the center, robes trimmed with crimson, voice as calm as it was sharp.
"Tonight," he said, "we simulate a noble conflict. Political-military strategy. Who rules what, who allies with whom, and who falls in the end."
The game was familiar—an exercise in manipulation and response. But Kaelian wasn't watching their choices.
He was watching their reactions.
Celya's eyes glittered too intently when he mentioned betrayal. Myron scratched the back of his hand precisely when certain names were invoked. Taren flinched whenever Kaelian walked past him.
But it was Celya who slipped.
When Kaelian mentioned the name "Théor," she tensed—just slightly, just enough—and glanced toward her sleeve.
Two hours later, the session concluded. Kaelian dismissed them with a vague promise of results.
In the shadows outside, Lyssa met him beneath the old bell tower.
"Well?" he asked.
She held up a scrap of parchment etched with runes.
"Celya. She used an echo transmission rune mid-session. An old one. Ancient and near undetectable—if we hadn't been looking."
Kaelian stared at the parchment.
Celya. His second brightest. His most dangerous recruit.
He had thought to nurture her genius, direct it. But she'd found another path—one paved by Prince Théor, no doubt, with threats and promises.
He nodded once.
"She wants to play the game," he said. "Then let's raise the stakes."
**
The following day, Celya received an official challenge: a duel of honor from Kaelian himself. The justification? A petty accusation—that she'd stolen a stratagem he'd invented.
Within the Academy, such duels were permitted, even encouraged. Among nobles, honor mattered more than truth. And Celya, though fallen, still bore her house crest.
The Arena Courtyard swelled with spectators by midday. Even Prince Théor watched from above, leaning on the balcony rail, his smile like sharpened glass. Beside him, Maître Elgorn stood unreadable.
Kaelian stepped into the sand ring in silence.
Celya arrived moments later, cloak whipping behind her like a banner. "Really?" she said softly. "This is how you unmask me?"
"This is how I test you," Kaelian replied, raising his hand. "And it's how I end this."
The duel began.
Their first exchanges were by the book—calculated, strategic, subtle. But Kaelian had prepared a layered illusion spell. Something ancient. Something half-forgotten. While Celya believed she was gaining ground, she was actually reenacting the same pattern over and over.
When she realized it, it was too late.
Frustrated, disoriented, she overreached—casting a forbidden spell in desperation. The air shimmered with corrupted magic.
The crowd gasped. Security runes activated, binding her in midair. Silence fell like a blade.
She had exposed herself. And in doing so, she had proven Kaelian's point.
**
Celya was detained. An official inquiry followed. Within her possessions, the magi found a communication stone—its last imprint carrying the magical signature of Prince Théor.
The scandal was too great to hide. She was expelled from the Academy within three days.
Kaelian, meanwhile, was summoned to Maître Elgorn's private sanctum.
The chamber was a vault of ancient tomes and artifacts, lit by pale orbs that floated above rune-carved pedestals.
"You used an illegal spell," Elgorn said flatly.
"She used a treasonous one."
"Semantics," the old man said. "But effective."
He gestured to a basin of still water. "Place your hand. If you lie, it will show."
Kaelian merely stared.
"I'm offering you a deal," Elgorn said. "Confess, and be punished. Or refuse, and we pretend ignorance… but you enter my private tutelage."
Kaelian stepped forward and dropped the truthstone into the basin.
It remained still. Blank. Neutral.
"You choose silence," Elgorn whispered. "Smart."
Then, surprisingly, he smiled.
"Very well. We begin at dusk."
**
That evening, Kaelian returned to his chambers. Lyssa waited at his desk, flipping through a book of curses half-heartedly.
"You knew she'd trigger the forbidden rune," she said without turning. "You engineered every part of that duel."
"She gave me what I needed," Kaelian said. "A public fall. And proof of Théor's involvement."
Lyssa finally looked at him.
"And what about us? The rest of us in your circle? Are we just pawns too?"
Kaelian met her gaze.
"No," he said. "You're pieces I protect. By removing those who would sell you."
He paused, then removed another sealed scroll from his cloak.
"A new message arrived. From someone claiming knowledge about my real heritage. A noble. Anonymous."
Lyssa frowned. "You're going to meet them, aren't you?"
"Of course."
Her fingers curled around the book. "You're changing, Kaelian. Becoming colder. More like them."
He smiled.
"I was always like this. This world is just… more honest about it."
She didn't reply. But in her eyes, Kaelian saw something he hadn't before.
Doubt.
Doubt, he thought, could be useful. Could be weaponized.
Even among friends.
Especially among friends.
**
End of Chapter 37 – "Betrayals Among the Students"
____________________