He no longer gripped Anmie's hand. Lifting his right arm, he extended a single finger toward the infant girl. The moment her tiny hands touched it, she clung tightly, eyes squinting with delight as a cascade of giggles bubbled forth.
The soft clink of chains echoed faintly, yet in the fool's gaze, the frost began to thaw. His journey was drawing to a close, the time of parting imminent. Perhaps now, a flicker of warmth could be permitted to rise to the surface...
Clutching the infant close, the fool descended the stone steps and emerged onto the street. He began asking every passerby the same question. Some ignored him, mistaking him for a mere beggar. Others, unnerved by the chill in the child's eyes, kept their distance. But a few paused, gave answers, and pointed him toward his destination.
"Excuse me, could you tell me where the Royal Academy of Sacred Grace is?"
"You're headed to the Royal Academy? Hmm… Are you a new student, perhaps? Ah, there it is—on the slope near the eastern cliff. Looks as if it spans a quarter of the entire city. That grand institution belongs solely to the Stag Empire—Sacred Grace."
The fool lifted his head, eyes drawn to the hill. A white spire stood proudly, mirroring the splendor of the royal castle. Beneath it sprawled a campus of magnificently crafted buildings, their elegance unmistakable even from a great distance. One could tell at a glance that only those of high birth and status walked those halls.
"By the way… are you truly a new student?" the local asked with a touch of pride, eyes following the spire. "Each summer, countless hopefuls across the Empire attempt the entrance exams. But only the finest are admitted. The wealthy must pay tuition, unless the student is exceptionally gifted—then, perhaps, the fee is waived, though that's rare. You look no older than ten. A first-year in the elementary division, maybe? If so, that's quite impressi—Huh? Where did he go?"
The speaker's voice still rang with admiration, but the little beggar who had asked the question was already gone, vanished without a trace.
…
The fool's feet moved steadily over the gravel path, past rows of shouting merchants and the bustle of a sun-drenched marketplace, drawing ever closer to the grand academy. "New student?" "Academy?" "Excellence?"—these concepts meant nothing to him. They had no bearing on his life. Only the child in his arms, and the academy itself, held any relevance.
As he neared the gates, banners became more frequent, and so too did children slightly older than himself, each flanked by proud parents. They carried luggage, rode in carriages, or walked excitedly toward the academy's entrance.
Sacred Grace's admissions were notoriously strict, but its curriculum was broad and comprehensive. Four major disciplines formed its foundation:
I. The Arts Division.This branch focused on the humanities—its graduates were destined to be luminaries in their fields. Celebrated artists, renowned painters, composers, directors. Aristocratic etiquette and political acumen were core tenets here. The very backbone of the Empire's civil administration was forged in these classrooms. It was, without a doubt, the cradle of the nation's future stewards.
II. The Sciences Division.In contrast, this department attracted fervent scholars of logic and discovery. One might find students scribbling formulas on the pavement or muttering hypotheses under their breath. Lacking in fanfare, it brimmed with quiet intensity. Balls and entertainments held little allure here—research was their passion.Still, none would dare belittle them. The Empire's greatest weaponsmiths were trained here. After all, Stag Empire remained a military power, and in such a realm, a single masterwork weapon could turn the tide of war.
III. The Lithomancy Division.This was the combat branch. Lithomancers—wielders of elemental force drawn from natural ore—were both revered and feared. Though physically weak and susceptible in battle, their arcane abilities, channeled through conduit stones, were devastating. These stones, however, could fail or spiral out of control. Their users were often branded witches, said to consort with demons. Yet one fact remained unchallenged, even by critics:Just how powerful was a Lithomancer?A battle between a Heartforged warrior and a Flame-ranked Lithomancer—most would wager on the latter.
IV. The Martial Division.The beating heart of Stag Empire's military strength. While the Arts Division produced statesmen, and Sciences bred inventors, and though Lithomancers dazzled with destructive might, the Martial Division alone supplied endless waves of warriors. Graduation rates here were high, unlike the rare few who survived the rigors of Lithomancy. This division fueled the Empire's armies with unceasing vigor.
These were merely the four primary branches. In truth, each was further divided into a multitude of specialized schools, from the Junior Division (ages 6–10), to the Lower Division (11–14), Higher Division (15–18), and the Collegiate Division (18+), all seamlessly integrated into a continuous educational journey.That is, if one had the skill—and fortune—not to be expelled midway.
Every June, hopeful students across the Empire took the exams. Most waited till August to receive admission letters. But Sacred Grace operated differently. Within ten days of the exam, they selected candidates and dispatched notices, urging early arrival to acclimate. The academy was vast—teachers could not afford to guide lost children come term's start.
The academy gates stood open. Beyond them stretched a vast garden plaza, crisscrossed with paths that led to surrounding buildings. People moved freely, a necessity given the thousands of students and families. Verifying each would be an impossible task.
"Make way! Make way!"
The fool stepped aside as a carriage thundered past, adorned with a noble's crest. Through its drawn curtain, a plump matron fussed over her fifteen-year-old son's hair, the pair entering the gates like many others.
"Waaah—ahh—"
The infant in his arms cooed with joy, grasping at the air. The fool glanced up at the towering white spire, drew a deep breath, and stepped into the sacred halls.
…
A tiny beggar wove through the throng, unnoticed amidst the chaos. He ducked into a quieter passage, his figure melting into the shadows. Slowly, the noise of the plaza faded. The curious eyes of students and watchful parents vanished behind him.
He had reached the staff residence area.
It was quiet.So quiet, it seemed the world held its breath.
His steps slowed beside a modest fountain. A stone woman poured water eternally from an urn, the stream splashing gently below.
June had come. It had been five months since he first held this child in his arms. She had grown so much since then—no longer asleep all day, now wide-eyed and curious about the world around her.
The fool stood motionless beside the fountain, water misting his hair. As the murmur of falling water filled the air, his mind began to drift...
Looking back was a dangerous indulgence. In the harsh game of survival, nostalgia was a luxury he could never afford. Besides, there was little in his past worth remembering. The days ahead would offer repetition enough. For him, memory had long since become a meaningless burden.
Yet now—he remembered.
He recalled that bitter night of wind and snow, when he first cradled the infant. How the cold bit through his flesh and gnawed at his bones. How, for the first time, he had given food from his own mouth to a helpless being who could offer him nothing in return. How he had fled with her through alleys and refuse, surviving a blizzard in a rotting dumpster.
He remembered changing her soiled cloths, boiling water to keep her warm, seeking out a medicine shop for her fever. He remembered sneaking past guards, always one step ahead of death, carrying her through pain and peril until he had reached this place.
As those memories washed over him, his knees slowly bent.
Gently, tenderly, he laid the baby girl down beside the fountain.
This was Stag Empire. This was Windsand City. This was the Royal Academy of Sacred Grace.
His promise was fulfilled.
He had brought her here, safe and sound, just as her father had asked.
And now—Now, the one who existed only outside the tale must quietly step away, fading into the black of the shadowed world once more.