The Royal Court of Elorynth sat upon a hill crowned in ivory and ashwood. Its columns stood like sentinels, bearing banners of ancient victories and edicts older than memory. The air here always tasted faintly of incense and ink, where politics and tradition danced their endless waltz.
Xavier adjusted his robes as he approached the inner sanctum of the court. He wore no jewelry, no ornamentation, save for the gold-trimmed badge of the Scholar's Spire pinned to his chest. His gait was measured, calm, but the storm inside him built with every step.
The council chamber was already buzzing.
Twelve seats curved around the dais in a crescent. Each bore the insignia of a high seat of power within the kingdom: the Arcane Guild, the Treasury, the Temple of Oaths, and the Five Great Academies. The remaining seats were filled by noble lords and cultural stewards appointed by blood or merit.
Xavier took his place beside the High Seat of Scholars.
Already present were:
Magister Virella – Headmistress of the Lunar Arcanum, clad in starlit robes that shimmered with magical stasis. A prodigy who mastered planar conjuring by fifteen and tamed a mirror wraith at twenty.
Sir Aldren Marr – Master of the Swordhall Ascendant. Former general and war hero from the Verdant Campaign. His presence was steel and silence, save for the scars lining his knuckles.
Archscribe Helien – Steward of the Scriptorium Sanctum, a gaunt woman whose every word seemed carved in law. She wrote the current foundational texts for logic-based spellweaving.
Chanter Bellrose – Principal of the Choral Lyceum, the most elite musical and bardic academy in the empire. His voice could shatter stone or soothe riots.
Then there was Lord Commander Vaelith, who represented the military academy tied to royal defense, and Lord Tyrien Galemount, speaker for the noble highborn.
The last chair, set slightly above the rest, bore the King's seal, though the monarch himself remained silent, half-shrouded by heavy drapes at the far end.
"We convene," announced Archscribe Helien. "Scholar Xavier has requested special audience regarding enrollment protocols. You may speak."
Xavier stepped forward, voice strong.
"Thank you, honored council. I come not with complaint today, but with the hope of possibility, and to stoke embers that will one day rage for the glory of history. A boy—Emil, son of a merchant—has emerged. Touched by prodigy. Touched, I suspect, by something deeper. His raw ability in both martial form and magical instinct surpasses anything encountered, my most beloved disciple more than insists that its a once in a lifetime genius that the world bore and blessed our nation with. I have taught the sons of dukes and generals alike. Yet no talent has presented itself to this degree, this level of aptitude and compatibility for knowledge and....perhaps even battle."
He paused, letting the weight of his words fall.
"I propose he be allowed to take the Unified Entrance Examination and be considered for admission into any academy his aptitude merits—not just the Common Hall. In doing so we would be providing the best care and nurture to what will one day become our greatest assest. "
Silence.
Then came laughter.
"A merchant's child?" sneered Lord Galemount. "We might as well let bakers enroll at the Swordhall."
"Or farmers into the Arcanum," Virella said coolly, though her gaze held less mockery and more amusement. "We set these structures for a reason, Xavier. The funnel of education is designed to ensure order."
"Order without vision becomes stagnation," Xavier countered. "You all value excellence. I offer you a boy who embodies it. Deny him, and we mock the very merit our banners claim to reward."
"Even if we entertained this," muttered Sir Aldren, "what precedent would it set? Nobility would cry favoritism."
"Then let them cry," Xavier said. "Let them wail as a commoner surpasses them. What fear is there in truth, if nobility is truly noble?"
Another silence. This one colder.
"You always were an idealist, Xavier," said Helien, brushing dust from her scroll. "The rules are not kind, but they are set. We thrive because we have honored them and abided by them for years. To wish to go against the natural order of things is to go against the King himself who wills constant peace and order as they abide now in His Majesty's kingdom."
A very bold, daring, and cunning way to word a "no". Under the covering of The King. Xavier thought this to himself, however he also had another thought to allow him to continue his plea. An all or nothing gamble.
Xavier turned slightly, now speaking not to the lords, but to the man behind the curtain.
"And what says the King? While I hold the council and its many chairs in high regard, their voice is one of wisdom, while yours Your Majesty, is one of authority and proclamation. Must potential kneel to blood? Must talent serve tradition, even when tradition fails to rise to meet it? Or Your Grace, can we hope not to bend or break, but establish a new precedent, a legacy and standard if you will, that will solidify and embolden your glory and ambition even more, as you navigate the annals of history."
A deafening silence. The thunderous echoes of anxiety boomed and roared accross the room as an endless wait endured.
Then the curtain stirred.
The King stood.
His presence was not thunderous, but deep—like an ocean's pull. He wore no crown, only a thin circlet of blackened gold and robes that whispered of age and judgment.
"I have heard enough," he said. His voice was soft but silenced the chamber.
He stepped into view.
"I was born a third son to a branch family of the throne bloodline. I was never meant to rule. But a viscious untamed and almost unconquerable war removed those above me. And when I sat that throne, they whispered the same doubts you now speak. That I was unfit. That I lacked lineage, training, and insight."
He turned to Xavier.
"Let the boy test. Let him stand among vengeful lions...and should he prove he is one, waste not a single second in ruining the child. What was promised was not to match the hunger and power of the mighty, but the unmatched declaration of sovereignty that only those at a peak can boast of."
He turned back to the room.
"And if he rises to such height, none among you shall bar his way."
Silence reigned.
The council bowed.
The future, in that moment, changed.
---
The sun had fallen behind the walls of the Capitol, staining the marble halls of the High Court with long shadows. Xavier walked alone now, his steps echoing against centuries of polished stone, the dust of debate still clinging to his robes. The council chamber was behind him, and though the King's unexpected support lingered like a warmth in his chest, so too did the cold resistance of the nobles.
He reached the inner cloister, a quiet place of reflection meant for private discourse between the highest-ranking officials of the realm. There, beneath a lattice of ancient oaks and rune-lit lanterns, stood a figure in ivory and plum.
Archscribe Helien.
Tall and slender, with skin like vellum and eyes sharp enough to split parchment, Helien had been head of the Royal Examination Authority for over two decades. Her quill was feared more than most blades. Some said she could recall every question asked on every entrance exam in the last twenty years.
"Xavier," she said, not looking up from the scroll she held. "You stir nests better left untouched."
He bowed slightly. "Helien. I wasn't aware you still walked the halls this late."
"Only when someone's setting them ablaze with wild propositions."
He offered a wry smile. "You heard what was brought up during the conveying of the council. The boy is a promise of exceptional."
Helien rolled the scroll shut with deliberate precision. "And that promise will be ground beneath the weight of tradition if you're not careful. You should know that better than anyone."
Xavier met her gaze. "That tradition is exactly what I intend to challenge."
She stepped closer, voice hushed but iron-wrapped. "Then be prepared. This year's examination cycle marks the decennial rotation. Every ten years, the royal board tightens the standard to continue to promote and challenge forward progress. Harder questions. Stricter grading. Even the magic evaluators are being replaced with the council members to act as adjudicators for such an event ."
"All public, every question, test, evaluation, and opportunity for struggle and failure. To celebrate such an awe inspiring tightening of standard, this will be streamed live thanks to the magic tower, to all in the capitol."
"Because the nobility fears dilution of its legacy," Xavier muttered.
"Because change always threatens those who benefit from stillness," Helien corrected. "But this year especially, they are hungry to weed out the undeserving."
She leaned in, tone cold and clinical. "Your boy will be expected to display a mastery of combat and swordplay used by noble cadets who've trained since they could walk. He'll be given arcane puzzles that confound seasoned apprentices. The written exams will test historical nuance and logic traps tailored to trip even the well-educated."
Xavier's expression hardened. "You're trying to scare me."
"No," she said, turning away, her cloak flaring behind her like parchment caught in wind. "I'm trying to prepare you. This test will not be fair."
"And yet," Xavier called after her, "fairness has never made legends."
Helien paused at the edge of the cloister, half-shadowed.
"Then hope your legend bleeds ink that marks the scrolls of history and not tears that tarnish it."
And with that, she vanished into the marble gloom, leaving Xavier alone beneath the whispering trees, resolve burning brighter than ever.
---
The evening sun hung low behind the spiraled towers of Elorynth, casting long shadows through the arched windows of the Scholar's Spire. Golden light spilled across the polished floor of Xavier's study, catching the motes of dust that danced lazily in the silence. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, their weight sagging with grimoires, compendiums, scrolls, and a few tomes so ancient their bindings had turned to near dust. Overhead, a lattice of ironwood beams cradled a massive stained-glass skylight depicting a constellation of dragons winding through the heavens.
Xavier stood at the center of it all, pacing slowly across a rug woven with the imperial seal. The old headmaster's hands were folded behind his back, and though his brow was furrowed in thought, there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been seen in years.
A soft knock interrupted the quiet.
"Enter," Xavier called.
Liz stepped in, her robes trailing behind her, hair windblown from the climb, cheeks flushed. Her eyes flicked across the room before settling on her mentor. She could sense the shift in the air—something between anticipation and dread.
"You summoned me?" she asked.
Xavier gestured to the high-backed chair across from his desk. "Sit, my dear. There's much to discuss."
She obeyed, sinking into the plush velvet seat, legs crossed, brow already raised in concern.
"The council was exactly as you imagined," Xavier began, settling into his own chair with a grunt. "Arrogant. Entitled. Their minds sewn shut with golden thread."
Liz scoffed. "And?"
"And the king listened. He did not speak until the very end, but when he did… there was something in his tone. Not sympathy, not quite support—but cautious curiosity. A flicker of something we can work with."
Liz leaned forward. "You made the proposal?"
"I did." Xavier steepled his fingers. "And now Emil must perform for a gauntlet unlike any administered in the last ten years."
He rose and walked to the window, watching as the shadows of dragonbone gargoyles stretched across the courtyard below.
"This year's entrance trials," he continued, "will be overseen by the Council of Five directly. Word has traveled fast already and I have confirmed...The Archscribe Helien will moderate the written exam herself. Lord Marridan, the Blade Regent, has personally requested to observe the combat trials. And as for the magical demonstration…"
Xavier paused, shaking his head. "The Grand Arcanist Virelyn is assembling an arcane crucible to test instinctive and advanced magical control. It's said to replicate battlefield conditions—a living spell construct that adapts to the caster."
Liz inhaled sharply. Pausing momentarily to understand the weight of what is being told.
"They want him to fail."
"Of course they do," Xavier said. "Because if he succeeds, everything doesn't just change, but their very power can now be exposed and challenged should someone have the strength to do so."
He turned back to her, voice low but intense.
"So here is what he must overcome:"
He lifted a hand, counting each point with slow gravity.
"The written exam is not merely academic. It is designed to humiliate those without classical education. Riddles in Old Drakonic. Problems of logic that border on the absurd. The ability to read an ancient military codex and critique its tactics."
Liz frowned. "We can tutor him. I'll start tonight."
With a solomn look, Xavier shook his head. "There is no use, the test will has been moved up. It will take place in three days."
"But how thats--!?"
"Child, this is what it means to defy tradition and law, expect this much. Now do not interrupt, listen close for this is the only aid I can render to the young prodigy I hope to meet soon."
Ashamed of her thoughtless outburst, Liz quieted down and paid unmatched attention to the words Xavier shared next.
"As I said, the written test is meant to mock and demean those lacking nobility, the resources and education that comes with it. However, he must also learn to trust his instincts. The test rewards confidence as much as accuracy. They will measure how he responds under pressure."
He raised a second finger.
"The magical portion will be brutal. Virelyn does not believe in raw potential—she respects only mastery. Emil will need to show not only control, but creativity. He must manipulate mana as if it were an extension of his own soul. And he cannot falter, not even once."
"He's ready," Liz said, though her voice trembled faintly. "Or… he will be."
Xavier gave a faint smile.
"I believe that too. But the crucible may attempt to break him. It adapts. It forces mages into unfamiliar territory. Elemental shifts. Illusions. Emotional triggers. If he can survive that with grace, he will be undeniable."
He lifted a third finger.
"The final test: combat. Lord Marridan will want spectacle. He was born on a battlefield and views swordsmanship as a sacred language. Emil must impress him not just with form, but with presence. He must dominate the arena—not just with brutality, but with brilliance, skill, talent, ingenuity, and a hunger borne of desperation and despair."
Liz nodded slowly, eyes cast down. Feeling the enormous weight of what it means to move forward. How foolish had she been to propose this to Alexander and Sophia...guilt began filling her as despair tried to creep in, realizing that Emil may not be able to do as his mother had desired before her untimely demise.
"He's only a boy," she whispered, her quivering lips betraying her attempt at emotional control.
The room fell silent once more.
A single shaft of light caught the constellation in the skylight, scattering colors across the floor.
"I moved without hesitation or doubt simply because of your words. You, Liz, who has never asked, begged, or needed, petitioned me for the first time in our academic relationship. I trust you because of what you have proven to me. Trust your intuition and eagerly support the potential of young Emil as I did you. Steele yourself to show everyone publically what you have known privately."
After a final nod of acknowledgement, Liz left, headed straight to Alexander's to relay what she had learned.