Chapter 4: Chapter 4. The News Spread
The news moved faster than any messenger could ride.
By the time the sun had begun to set, every corner of the empire already knew.
Ten thousand participants had stood at the Silvercast Academy entrance exam that morning. Ten thousand pairs of eyes had watched the sky split open. Ten thousand people had pressed their foreheads to the ground. And ten thousand people had gone home afterward — to their families, their villages, their cities — and told everyone exactly what they had seen.
By nightfall, the story had taken on a life of its own.
...
In the capital, people gathered in the streets in clusters.
Some were shouting. Some were whispering. Some were simply standing still, staring at nothing, trying to process something their minds kept refusing to accept.
"I’m telling you, my cousin was there. He saw it with his own eyes."
"That’s impossible. The Great One doesn’t just appear at an entrance exam."
"He didn’t just appear. He enrolled. He took the exam."
Silence.
"He what."
"He enrolled. He’s going to attend the Academy. As a student."
A long pause.
"Your cousin is lying to you."
"My cousin watched him erase a forest with a fireball and then reverse time to put it back."
Nobody said anything to that.
In the taverns, it was louder.
"I heard he obliterated thirty kilometres of land."
"I heard it was fifty."
"I heard he did it on purpose to show everyone their place."
"He didn’t." A young man at the back of the room spoke up. He had dust on his coat and exhaustion in his eyes. He had been at the exam. "He panicked. He apologised. He fixed it himself."
The tavern went quiet.
"...The Great One panicked?"
"Yes."
Another silence.
"I don’t know if that makes it better or worse," someone muttered.
"Worse," several people said at the same time.
...
Inside Hilbert Manor.
The office of Duke Victor Hilbert was a large room lined with books and old weapons mounted on the walls. A man with red hair and a majestic, commanding appearance sat behind his desk. His posture was relaxed. His expression was not.
Carlos stood before him.
"Is what you have said true?" the Duke said. "The Great One is entering the Academy."
"Yes, Lord Patriarch."
Duke Victor let out a slow breath.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk.
"Listen carefully, Carlos. This is an opportunity that may never come again."
Carlos said nothing.
"The power of the imperial family has always rested on one thing — the chosen one. Their connection to the Great One is what elevated them above every other house on this continent. It is the source of everything they have."
He looked at his son directly.
"But now the Great One is not in his manor. He is in a classroom. He is walking the same halls as the students. He is approachable in a way he has never been before."
Another pause.
"From this moment forward, your only priority is to earn his favour."
The words landed quietly.
But underneath Carlos’s skin, something else was happening entirely.
Rage.
Not at his father. Not at the instruction. At something else. Something he couldn’t quite name yet.
He clenched his fist at his side until his nails cut into his palm.
"Yes, Lord Patriarch."
---
Carlos walked alone through the corridor outside his father’s office.
The house was quiet around him. Servants moved in the distance. Nobody looked at him.
He stopped walking.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the wall in front of him.
This morning, he had destroyed the training dummy with a single fireball. The crowd had reacted. The professors had looked proud. For one brief moment, he had been the strongest person in that training ground.
Then Necrotize had stepped forward.
And with a fireball so casual it was almost lazy, he had erased thirty kilometres of land.
Carlos’s greatest achievement had become a child’s trick in the space of a single second.
Earn his favour.
He unclenched his fist slowly. Looked at the marks his nails had left.
He understood what his father was asking. He understood the politics of it. He even understood that it was probably the right move for the family.
But there was something underneath the strategy that his father hadn’t considered.
Carlos didn’t want the Great One’s favour.
He wanted to close the gap.
I know it’s impossible, he thought. I know exactly what he is and what I am.
He started walking again.
But I’ll close it anyway.
...
Inside Varren Manor.
Lord Cassius Varren sat at the head of a long table. Around him sat his advisors, his eldest son, and two of his most trusted vassals. A map of the empire was spread across the table between them.
Nobody had touched the food in front of them.
"Every major house will make a move," Cassius said. He wasn’t asking. He was stating. "The Hilberts first. They always move first. The Caldwells next. Possibly the Mervyns."
His eldest son frowned.
"What do we actually know about him? About what he wants?"
"He wants academy life," one of the advisors said. "That’s what is being reported."
Cassius looked at the map.
"A being with that kind of power who wants something as ordinary as academy life is not interested in politics. He is not interested in alliances or favours or leverage." He was quiet for a moment. "Which means every house that approaches him with those intentions is going to make a very poor impression."
Silence around the table.
"So we don’t approach him at all?" his son asked.
"We observe," Cassius said simply. "We let the other houses embarrass themselves first. And then we decide."
He finally reached for his cup.
"Patience has always been the Varren way."
...
Inside a minor noble estate on the outskirts of the capital.
Lord Fenwick had not left his bedroom since hearing the news.
His wife stood at the door.
"Darling, you need to eat something."
"I need to move to another country."
"We can’t move to another country."
Fenwick pulled his blanket over his head.
"Then I would like to be somewhere that is not here."
His wife sighed.
"Our daughter is one of the participants. She passed the practical exam."
A long pause beneath the blanket.
"Tell her to fail the theoretical one."
"I will not tell her that."
"Then tell her I said good luck and that I love her very much and that I am deeply, deeply sorry."
His wife closed the door quietly behind her.
...
Inside Leonheart Manor.
The head of House Leonheart, Lord Aldous Leonheart, stood at the window of his office with his hands clasped behind his back. He was a tall man with blonde hair going grey at the temples and an expression that had long since forgotten how to be soft.
He turned when the door opened.
It was a servant, delivering the news personally.
Aldous listened without expression. When the servant finished, he dismissed him with a wave.
Then he stood alone in the silence.
Every noble family would move now. Every heir with any connection to the Academy would become valuable overnight. The Great One was not in his manor. He was not behind closed doors.
He was in a classroom.
And the only Leonheart at that Academy was—
Aldous turned.
Lyra was already standing in the doorway.
She had clearly been summoned. She stood straight with her hands at her sides. Her silver hair. Her quiet eyes. The face that looked nothing like the Leonheart bloodline.
His jaw tightened.
He crossed the room in three steps and struck her across the face.
The force of it threw her to the ground.
"To think," he said, his voice low and tight, "that out of all my children, you are the one who will be there."
Lyra did not make a sound.
She lay on the floor for a moment. Then she slowly pushed herself upright. Blood was running from her nose. She did not wipe it.
"I apologise, Father. For being useless."
"Shut your mouth." He turned away from her and moved toward his desk. "You who cannot even use a sword have no right to speak in this house."
He sat down and pressed a hand over his eyes.
"Every family will fight for his favour. Every house will send their best. And I am left with a silver-haired bastard who can barely produce a lightning strike."
He did not look at her when he said it.
He never did.
Lyra stood.
The blood from her nose had reached her lips. She tasted iron. She said nothing.
She had been born to a maid her father had once paid too much attention to. The family had buried the truth immediately — told everyone she was the third wife’s daughter, that the silver hair was the result of an illness. A convenient story. A story that cost Lyra nothing to maintain and everything to live inside.
She was not talented with a sword. The Leonheart name had produced legendary swordmasters for generations, and she had not inherited a single drop of that.
Her only ability was lightning magic. Difficult, precise, unforgiving. Magic that punished every mistake. Magic that most practitioners abandoned before they ever truly mastered it.
Her father had never once considered that this might mean something.
"Get out of my sight."
"Yes, Father."
...
Lyra walked down the corridor alone.
The manor was quiet around her. Distant voices somewhere. Servants. Family members she was never quite included with.
She stopped at a window.
Outside, the sky was dark and clear. Stars visible between the clouds.
She pressed two fingers lightly against the bridge of her nose to slow the bleeding. Her expression did not change.
She thought about this morning. The training ground. The moment she had raised her hand and let the lightning gather at her fingertips. The cracks spreading across the surface of the dummy. The crowd reacting.
She thought about what came after.
The fireball. The silence. The forest disappearing. And then — slowly, impossibly — the forest coming back.
She had stood very still while everyone else was trembling or staring or losing the feeling in their legs.
She had just watched.
So that is what he is.
Lyra lowered her hand from her nose.
She didn’t feel afraid. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because fear required something to lose, and she had spent so long losing things that the feeling had worn smooth.
She looked at the stars for a moment longer.
Then she turned and walked back down the corridor toward her room.
Whatever was coming, it was already in motion.
And for the first time in a long time, Lyra Leonheart felt something she couldn’t quite name.
Not hope exactly.
Something quieter than that.
Curiosity.
...
Inside the Imperial Palace.
Emperor Julius Ashendra sat on the throne with the unhurried stillness of a man who had long since stopped being surprised by anything.
He was in his sixties, with golden hair that had begun to silver at the edges and eyes that had seen enough of the world to find most of it mildly amusing. He listened to the report without interrupting.
When it was finished, he let out a slow breath.
"So. The Great One wants to enroll in the Academy."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then a small smile crossed his face.
"Well. That doesn’t surprise me at all. This is exactly the kind of thing he would do." He leaned back in his throne. "He has been living in the capital for years and the main reason he stays is because he likes the sweet shop on the eastern street."
Several advisors exchanged glances.
One of them stepped forward carefully.
"Your Majesty. With respect — this situation may create a significant problem for the throne. Every noble house in the empire will now attempt to earn his favour. If one of them succeeds, the power balance of this entire continent could shift."
Julius looked at him.
Then he laughed.
It was a genuine laugh. Warm and unbothered.
"Let them try."
The advisor blinked.
"Your Majesty?"
"Let every noble house in this empire chase his favour." Julius waved a hand lightly. "Because the truth of the matter is — we haven’t earned it either."
The room went completely still.
Every advisor, every attendant, every guard standing within earshot turned to look at the Emperor.
"...Your Majesty." Another advisor spoke slowly, as if making sure he had heard correctly. "What do you mean the imperial family has not earned his favour? The agreement between the throne and the Great One has stood for generations. The chosen one. The head attendant. Everything we have built—"
"Is built on a very old arrangement," Julius said simply. "Not a favour. There is a difference."
Silence.
"Then what—"
"That is all I am able to say on the matter."
The finality in his voice closed the conversation completely.
The advisors looked at each other with grim faces. The implications of what the Emperor had just said were too large to fully process in a single moment.
Julius looked out at the hall in front of him.
His expression was unreadable.
But behind his eyes, something quieter was happening. Something that had nothing to do with politics or noble houses or the balance of power.
His younger sister had devoted her entire life to that being.
And now his daughter would do the same.
He said nothing more.
...
A few days passed after that.
Inside Necrotize’s Manor.
The room was quiet and warm in the early morning light.
Necrotize opened his eyes slowly.
He lay still for a moment, looking at the ceiling. Beside him, Catherine was asleep, the blanket pulled loosely around her shoulders. Her golden hair was spread across the pillow. Her breathing was slow and even.
He looked at her for a moment.
Then he carefully got up from the bed, making as little movement as possible.
He moved to the chair by the window and sat down. With a small gesture, a cup of coffee appeared in his hand. He reached for the book on the side table and opened it.
After a few minutes he heard movement behind him.
He glanced back. Catherine was awake, pulling the blanket up around herself, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
"Good morning, Catherine." He turned back to his book. "You can sleep a little longer. You were tired last night."
"No, my Lord." She was already sitting up. "I am your attendant. I cannot sleep while you are awake."
Necrotize said nothing to that. He had said the same thing to her many times before and she had never once agreed with him.
He turned a page.
Catherine rose and began moving quietly around the room. A set of clothes appeared on the chair beside him without him asking — she had arranged it before he even thought to summon them.
He set down the book.
A set of clothes folded themselves onto his frame in an instant. He stood, finished the last of his coffee, and set the cup down.
"Today is the day the entrance exam results come out."
"Yes, my Lord."
He was quiet for a second.
Then he turned toward the door with the energy of someone who had been waiting for this moment since yesterday.
"Let’s go see how I did."
Catherine looked at his back as he walked toward the door.
She thought about the theoretical exam. About what he had told her afterward. About the word *nonsense* and the phrase *Magic Hexagon Synchronisation* said with complete genuine confusion.
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.
"Of course, my Lord."
