Theo stepped through the doorway like a man walking out of an execution chamber—calm, composed, but with that quiet, exhausted gravity that made both Avin and Henry shut up mid-sentence.
Avin straightened instinctively, the casual slump in his shoulders erased, and Henry—who was midway through laughing at one of his own jokes—snapped upright like he’d just remembered what "discipline" was.
Theo’s gaze swept the room and landed on Avin, deliberate and unwavering.
"I hope you’re both well rested," he said, voice carrying the weight of command without ever needing to raise it. "Because the Prince’s future depends on you."
The words hit the floor like heavy coins, and for a moment, nobody moved.
Avin blinked. "The Prince’s future?"
Before he could respond, Henry leaned into Theo’s line of sight, beaming like a man who just got told he was the hero of the story.
"I feel honored that the Prince thinks so much of me and my abilities," he said with mock humility, his grin wide enough to make angels uncomfortable.
Theo sighed—that sigh—the one that carried the fatigue of dealing with people who didn’t read the room. He shifted his focus from Avin to Henry with all the enthusiasm of someone changing tasks from stabbing their foot to breaking their hand.
"Unfortunately," Theo said, "he has a need for you too. So please—do your best. The Empire depends on it."
"The Empire?" Avin thought, a brow twitching. That has got to be exaggerated.
He smiled faintly at the absurdity of it. "He depends on me?" he mouthed under his breath, half in disbelief.
Meanwhile, Henry’s grin grew even larger. His chest puffed out, pride radiating off him in waves thick enough to choke a god.
Avin stared, expression blank, thoughts dry.
The same prince that had you cleaning mud off his boots? That prince?
He snorted quietly. "You’re a special kind of delusional," he muttered.
Henry, oblivious, stepped forward with a flourish.
"I’ll go show my gratitude."
He started toward the door like a dog charging into traffic, but Avin reached out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, dragging him back a step.
"Let’s not do that," Avin said flatly.
Henry frowned but obeyed, shuffling back until he was shoulder to shoulder with Avin again.
Theo chuckled under his breath, amused by their contrast—one too eager, the other too aware. Then, without another word, he turned to the heavy iron door ahead.
It creaked open on its own.
He stepped through first. Avin and Henry followed.
The door shut behind them with a low, BOOM, sealing them into darkness.
The Room of Iron and Blood
The stench hit first.
Thick, metallic, clinging to the air like oil—blood. It was everywhere. Splattered against walls, dried in long streaks across the benches, pooling faintly in cracks beneath their feet. The little light that existed came through the narrow holes in the door behind them, thin beams of sun slicing through the dark like knives.
Their eyes adjusted slowly.
At the far end of the chamber stood two figures.
The Prince. The Princess.
The Prince was already suited in full armor—polished steel glinting faintly in the meager light, the same battle set he’d worn during their practice. It caught the glow and fractured it across his body, reflecting thin lines of red like living veins.
He turned his head as the door slammed shut behind them. His expression barely shifted—just that familiar, detached smile that carried both arrogance and expectation.
"The time has finally come," he said. "I hope you both understand the plan."
Avin and Henry nodded in unison.
They did understand the plan.
It was simple enough, at least on paper.
The day after the sparring session, the four of them had met again in the training grounds. Not to fight this time—but to think. To strategize.
There would be four components in the battle to come:
The Attackers: The Prince and Henry—two fists of the Empire, striking first and hardest.
The Aid: The Princess, responsible for maintaining the flow, reading movements, adjusting strategies.
The Transporter and Overseer: Theo—the silent axis around which the team would rotate.
Everyone knew about Avin. Everyone thought they knew him—a weak, timid noble with a body built for mockery and a soul that didn’t match his bloodline.
And that was exactly the point.
He was their secret. Their unpredictable piece. Their mistake-turned-weapon.
That was the plan: be swift, be sharp, be merciless.
Now, back in the present, the Prince adjusted his gauntlets, fastening the last strap with an echoing click.
Outside, the roar of the crowd began to rise.
"Let us win this," he said, gaze steady on the sealed gate.
The sunlight began to crawl under the door’s edge. The ground vibrated. The sound of gears grinding filled the air as the great doors started to roll upward. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel⁂fire.net
And the noise of the crowd swelled into a deafening ocean.
Meanwhile—far from the cheers and light—at the true gates of the Academy, things were quieter.
This was where the Purity Barrier shimmered faintly in the air, an invisible wall that hummed with restrained power. It was said to measure not strength, but intent. Those with malicious purpose would be repelled; those pure—or at least clever enough to fake purity—would pass through untouched.
Guards manned the fort above it, their armor reflecting the pale morning sun.
"Yaaawn... I’m so bored," one of them groaned, leaning over the railing. "Why do we have to stay on the wall for a whole day?"
"To protect the gates to the Academy, of course," another replied, voice dry. "Don’t be ignorant, David."
David shot his partner a look. "Protect them from what? This barrier can sniff out malice better than my ex could sniff out lies."
He pointed toward the invisible shimmer below. "You can’t even see through it! It feels everything you feel—reads your intent, your heartbeat, your hesitation—and decides if you belong or not. Isn’t that enough security, Benard?"
Benard chuckled, arms crossed. "The authorities know what they’re doing. The barrier’s been weakening. They can’t risk it failing again."
David rolled his eyes. "Still seems pointless. Standing up here all day like glorified wall decor."
Benard clicked his tongue. "You use the money from this decor job to pay your rent. Don’t act like it’s beneath you."
"Ugh. Whatever," David muttered, turning away. "I’m going to take a leak."
He clambered down the ladder, boots scraping against wood, and passed through the lower gate beneath the fort.
The world outside was quieter—just the rustle of leaves and the hum of the barrier’s low frequency. He walked to a patch of bushes near the treeline, humming lazily as he unfastened his belt.
He froze. Looked to his right.
A rabbit darted from the undergrowth, tiny paws thumping against the dirt. David exhaled in relief, chuckling. "Damned animal."
He turned back to his business.
Then—rustle. Again. Louder.
He frowned but ignored it. "Just another rabbit," he muttered.
Something fell—soundless but heavy—landing behind him with the weight of intent.
Before he could turn, a hand clamped the back of his head and CRACK!
The blow was fast, precise, and final.
His body crumpled. The world blinked out.
The last sound he made was a strangled yelp that never finished.
Up above, Benard’s head snapped up.
"David?" he called, leaning over the railing. His eyes scanned the ground but saw nothing.
"David! You done yet? I need to take a piss too!"
A few guards on the lower levels glanced up at him. "Is he not there?" one asked.
Benard frowned and gestured toward the trees. "He went that way."
One of the guards nodded and jogged off toward the bushes. The air felt heavier the closer he got—something was wrong, though he couldn’t place it.
He pushed through the leaves and stopped dead.
The smell hit first—iron and bile.
David’s body. Or what was left of it.
Blood pooling beneath him, steaming faintly against the cool air.
The guard stumbled back, bile burning his throat. "Oh—oh shit!"
He spun, sprinting toward the fort, nearly tripping on the uneven earth.
"Benard!" he shouted. "David’s—David’s dead! He’s—"
Benard’s eyes widened. "What?"
The guard didn’t finish his sentence. He was already opening the heavy door that led back into the fort—his instincts screaming at him to report, to warn, to do something.
He didn’t notice the shadow that slipped in through the gap behind him.
Like smoke given purpose.
The shadow slid past him, climbing the stairs, merging with the dark corners of the fort’s interior. And when the guard slammed the door shut again, gasping for breath—
He had already let the chaos in.
Return to the Coliseum
The roar of the crowd grew louder—an avalanche of sound crashing down on the arena.
The doors rolled up, gears screaming as sunlight poured through, blinding and gold.
Team 25 stepped out together—Avin, Henry, the Prince, the Princess, and Theo—all framed by the halo of dust and brilliance.
The sun hit Avin straight in the eyes. He squinted, raising a hand to block it, and for a moment the world was nothing but light and noise.
Then the sound sharpened—chants, names, drums. The crowd was a storm.
He lowered his hand, blinking through the haze.
Thousands of faces stared down from the stands—cheering, jeering, worshipping. He couldn’t even tell which was which anymore.
Among the countless faces, one stood out.
She stood out like a ripple in still water, a presence that demanded attention without ever asking for it.
Her silver hair glinted under the sun, her lips curved into that maddeningly knowing smirk.
Avin’s breath hitched.
For a moment, the noise faded. The arena disappeared.
Like she already knew what was coming.
Because even as the crowd screamed, even as the Prince lifted his sword to salute the Empire’s flag, somewhere far from the coliseum—past the barrier, past the walls—a single scream split the morning air.
And the shadow that had entered the fort began to move.
Quiet. Purposeful. Hungry.
The Academy didn’t know it yet.
But peace was already dead.