The East Spire of Paladas loomed like a silver fang against the bruised sky, its stained-glass windows flickering with ancient sigils that shimmered like candlelight. As they climbed the spiral stairway, the more mature boy walked ahead with methodical calm, eyes flicking between the unfamiliar stonework and the silence behind him. The dark-hair girl trailed behind, arms folded, her golden eyes half-lidded in feigned boredom, though a trace of irritation curled at the corner of her mouth.
Between them walked the boy who'd drawn fire from the jaws of a Jinn—silent, deliberate, a faint frost trailing from the hem of his tattered cloak.
He said nothing. And yet, Nagara Veldorys filled the space around him like mist curling through broken stone.
At the landing, the topmost door creaked open on its own.
"Enter," came a calm, cool voice from within.
The chamber beyond was less an office and more a sanctum of arcane discipline. Books floated between midair shelves. A glowing map of Aroken bled shifting borders in real time. Runes whispered along the ceiling. A staff of living rootwood leaned beside an ever-turning obsidian globe, its core alight with stars.
Behind the desk sat Headmaster Lazlark, his robes wrinkled, ink-stained, his graying hair swept back like silver threads. His gaze was sharp, not unkind—but honed like a sword used one too many times.
The boy stepped in first, brushing snow from his shoulder. "Headmaster Lazlark, apologies for the sudden intrusion. There was… an incident at the outer gate."
"Incident?" Lazlark said mildly.
He looked up, frowning at the unexpected trio.
He stepped forward and bowed, as was proper. "There was an Ifrit at the outer gate. High-tier. It attacked us. He—" he nodded toward Nagara "—intervened. He saved us."
Nagara, still silent, stepped beside him and held out a sealed scroll—its wax marked not with the sigil of Paladas, but an older symbol.
Lazlark's expression shifted slightly. "That seal…"
He took it carefully. "You're not on the registry."
He broke the wax and opened the parchment. His brow furrowed. Then lifted. Then stilled. He exhaled once—long and slow—then leaned back in his chair.
"…Redris himself," he murmured.
The green hair boy brow creased. "You weren't aware, sir?"
"No," Lazlark replied. "And that makes this all the more fascinating."
He set the scroll down and looked up. His voice carried a weight that pressed into the stone walls.
He glanced at the silent boy before him. "Unusual to admit a fifth-year this late into term. But Paladas makes exceptions for the exceptional."
He gestured toward Nagara. "Prince Nagara of House Veldorys. Or, as the realm calls you now… the Northian Fallen Prince."
Silence.
The girl's brows arched in disbelief. "This is the fallen prince?" She looked Nagara over like one might inspect an overpriced sword. "Well, that explains the frostbite and attitude."
The boy was quieter, though his eyes lit with sudden understanding. "I thought the rumors were just court noise. But the crown of aqua… you were the one who lost it to—"
"Yes," Nagara said curtly, cutting him off.
The title still stung.
Lazlark cleared his throat, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "You've had a rough journey. But if you're to find purpose here, you won't walk alone. Azlin, Rania—I'm assigning both of you as his support. Given the late admission and his unique status, I trust you'll help ease the transition."
Nagara noted these two odd students' names, Azlin and Rania.
Rania looked murderous. "Headmaster, with all respect, I didn't sign up to babysit exiled royalty."
Lazlark smiled. "And yet I trust no one more than you two to handle trouble. Trouble goes well with other troubles, isn't it?"
Azlin laughed awkwardly.
"Handle, yes. Tolerate?" She glanced at Nagara. "To be determined."
Azlin simply nodded. "I don't mind. He's interesting."
Nagara finally looked at them both, shoulders slightly tense. He hated being a spectacle. But something in Azlin's gaze wasn't pity—it was curiosity. And Rania's disdain was at least honest.
"I didn't ask for help," Nagara muttered.
"Still you are here bacause you need it." Lazlark said gently. "Make something of it."
The headmaster's words lingered even as the scroll vanished in a whisper of light.
Nagara Veldorys, once a prince, now stood not above—but beside—two students who would become his only allies in a world that didn't care for lost crowns.
He stood, walked to a cabinet, and pulled from it a patch—embroidered with an edelweiss flower. The colors were faded, the stitching unremarkable.
He held it out to Nagara. "You'll be placed in House Mennefer with them."
Azlin's posture stiffened slightly. Rania's brows drew together just enough to betray surprise. Neither spoke, but a glance passed between them.
Unaware of what the House was, Nagara accepted it silently.
"If you all did good, I will award your house points accordingly."
Azlin bowed slightly. "Well-noted, Sir. Thank you."
Rania didn't move but sigh.
Azlin glanced at Nagara with mild fascination. Rania turned her attention to a floating book, visibly done with the conversation.
Lazlark, however, leaned back once more, eyes tracing the shape of the three students before him. A prince, a scholar, a noble's daughter. Mismatched pieces of a puzzle that hadn't yet been solved.
"A Jinn at the gate. A prince with no crown. A scroll from the last king," he murmured.
"Yes… this year will be far more interesting than I expected."