Ivory Warden of Azmaaris - II

The Arthur Royal Institute never truly slept. Even as night fell, the dormitories remained alive with murmurs, the shuffle of feet, and the glow of enchanted lanterns lining the hallways. The boys' dormitory, in particular, was abuzz with hushed conversations, the air thick with curiosity and speculation.

For the first time in the institute's long and storied history, a prince had been granted a place within its walls. The Thirteenth Prince of Ironhelm, Liam Orlean.

Inside his newly assigned chamber, Liam sat by the bedside, his belongings neatly stored away. The room was modest by royal standards but undeniably luxurious compared to an ordinary student's lodging. A spacious wooden desk rested near a tall window, offering a sweeping view of the city lights in the distance. A bookshelf stood against the wall, partially filled with institute-provided tomes, waiting to be read. A wardrobe, crafted from dark oak, stood beside it, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of a floating mana lamp hovering near the ceiling. The bed, covered in deep blue sheets embroidered with silver accents, was large enough for comfort but lacked the grandeur of his chambers back home.

This was to be his home for the foreseeable future.

Beyond the walls of his room, whispers traveled swiftly.

"Prince Liam… here? In our year?"

"How did he even get in? Surely, he used his status — "

"I heard he's lazy. Incapable of ruling even a wealthy barony. He probably just wants to live an easy life."

"Ridiculous! The Orlean bloodline is full of monsters. Even if he's the youngest, he has to be powerful."

Amidst the speculation, one truth remained unknown to the masses — Liam had given up his claim to the throne. Only the Royal House of Orlean and a select few individuals knew the truth. To the rest of the world, his enrollment was a mystery.

The intrigue surrounding his arrival spread like wildfire. Everyone in the boys' dormitory — no, the entire campus — was curious. First-years, second-years, and even upperclassmen found themselves drawn into the rumors.

Some students saw an opportunity. Who wouldn't want to befriend a prince? Whether for personal gain, connections, or sheer curiosity, many wished to introduce themselves.

But the question remained — how?

How does one approach a prince?

Inside his chamber, exhausted, Liam lay in his bed. The first day had been overwhelming. His presence had garnered more attention than he had anticipated, and the weight of it settled heavily on his shoulders.

His gaze drifted to the student handbook resting on his desk, left unopened amidst the chaos of the day. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and reached for it, flipping through the pages until he found the timetable.

First Year Curriculum

Liam scanned through the list, his eyes widening at the sheer number of subjects. Even though he had known the coursework would be demanding, seeing it laid out in front of him sent a chill down his spine.

Core Magical Studies

Elemental Studies

Head of Department: Professor Heath Carter

Associate Professors: Professor Arlan Weiss, Professor Sylvia Morven

Mana Theory

Head of Department: Professor Heath Carter

Associate Professors: Professor Yvain Aldridge, Professor Inaya Rellford

Spellcrafting

Head of Department: Professor Alistair Voss

Associate Professors: Professor Corwin Hale, Professor Eliza Torrin

. . .

As Liam read through the contents, his stomach churned. He wasn't just behind — he was months behind. His late enrollment meant he had four months to catch up on twenty-two subjects.

The mere sight of it made him shiver.

"…How in the world am I supposed to survive this?" He cried.

Liam's eyes widened as he scanned through the list of professors.

Professor Heath's name appeared not just once, but three times — listed as the Head of the Department for Elemental Studies, Mana Theory, and Conjuration.

His sisters were not joking, he seriously was a genius.

He reached out absentmindedly and tapped his name on the page.

The moment his finger made contact, the student handbook reacted.

The pages suddenly flipped on their own, as if carried by an unseen force, fluttering rapidly toward the front page, the map unfolded on itself.

Startled, Liam pulled his hand back, but his eyes were drawn to something unusual — a small, green hovering dot pulsing faintly on the Department of Elemental Studies. It hovered just above the name — Heath Carter.

Liam hesitated, staring at the pulsing green dot. His fingers hovered over the page before he decided to test something.

Slowly, he reached out again, this time pressing on the name of Professor Alistair Voss, the Head of Spellcrafting.

Nothing.

Frowning, he tried again, this time selecting Professor Corwin Hale, one of the Associate Professors of Mana Theory.

Still, nothing.

Curious now, Liam continued tapping through the names of various professors — heads of departments, associate professors, even instructors who specialized in niche subjects. Yet, no matter how many he tested, the student handbook remained unresponsive.

But when he hesitantly touched Heath Carter's name again —

Flip!

The pages shifted on their own, the map unfolding once more, and the green pulsing dot still hovered over the Department of Elemental Studies.

Liam exhaled slowly, a sinking realization settling in.

The professors he had tapped before hadn't reacted because… they weren't present.

According to their schedules, they were either in their living quarters, off-duty, or somewhere else entirely.

Yet Professor Heath Carter —

He was still here.

At this hour.

Close to midnight.

*

Liam had barely registered when the warning morning bell rang, snapping him out of his daze.

His body ached from lack of sleep, but there was no time to dwell on it. Liam had crammed the whole night studying the student handbook.

And the information he summed up was —

He was no longer a prince. Just a student.

And his first class was about to begin.

The morning bell rang, marking the beginning of the schooling hours.

Liam sighed inwardly as he stepped into the classroom, feeling the weight of countless eyes on him.

The first-year classroom on the ground floor was vast, designed to accommodate exactly 150 students — a fact made clear because, today, all 150 of them were present. And it wasn't for any special ceremony.

Whispers buzzed through the room as he went for the only empty seat at the back of the classroom. The entire row of his seats froze as he made his way through the crowd.

"Did you see him?"

"He does look like royalty."

"Yeah, except his hair…"

"Shh, shut up, man — he's not with me Prince Liam!" one student joked.

From the other side, hushed voices from the girls' side of the classroom carried over.

"He's gorgeous."

"Yeah? Then you don't stand a chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

The girls had a burst of muffled laughter, casting fleeting glances his way, some leaning into their friends, whispering, and occasionally stealing longer looks than they probably intended.

It wasn't just his classmates. The moment he had stepped out of the dormitory that morning, the whispers had followed him. Some students stared openly, while others pretended not to.

Even seniors—who had no reason to be near the first-year classrooms — found excuses to linger.

"Ah, sorry juniors, I thought this was my class."

"Hey, junior, do you know where the House War practice sign-ups are?"

Liam's ears caught onto that phrase.

House Wars

He made a mental note to research it later.

But beyond the curiosity, the whispers, the fleeting glances — Liam knew exactly what was happening, though he wanted none of it.

He was a royalty, after all — the Thirteenth Prince of Ironhelm. His presence was a spectacle. He hoped that it wouldn't remain so for all his schooling years or his four-month stay, whichever was destined.

"Hey, Professor Heath is late. He's never—"

The classroom door swung open.

All at once, the atmosphere shifted. The once chatty and relaxed students stiffened in their seats. Backs straightened, hands folded neatly on desks, and all eyes snapped toward the front of the room.

Liam, caught off guard by the sudden change, hesitated for a moment before instinctively following suit.

A man stepped inside.

Professor Heath Carter.

He wasn't particularly dressed like a formal scholar — his robes were slightly loosened, and he wore no extravagant insignia — yet his presence commanded the room effortlessly.

He stood at the lectern, gaze sweeping over the students, then spoke, his voice even and measured.

"I apologize for my late arrival, first-years."

He paused.

"At Arthur Royal Institute, one must uphold discipline. And being on time is one of them."

His tone was neither harsh nor accusing. It was simply… a statement.

Then, to everyone's shock —

"So, as punishment, all first-years will receive a bonus of 10 marks in the finals of Conjuration."

Silence.

"Even if you leave a blank answer sheet. No questions asked."

For a moment, nobody reacted.

Then — whispers. Wide eyes. Stolen glances. Some students barely contained their excitement, while others exchanged hesitant nods, trying to decipher if this was a test or a joke.

Liam furrowed his brows. What kind of —

"Silence."

The word was spoken softly, yet it carried across the entire room.

The whispers ceased immediately.

"Don't make me retract it," Carter folded his arms "I was late," he stated, as if it was a matter of absolute fact. "And as the one responsible, I will bear the consequence."

His voice was calm. Dangerously calm.

Not a single student dared to utter another word.

Professor Heath reached into his robe, pulled out a small, leather-bound book, and without warning, tossed it into the crowd.

A student barely managed to catch it, fumbling slightly before straightening in his seat.

"Remember, Howell." Heath's gaze settled on him. "No marking proxy for anyone, or you will be marked absent for the entire year."

The boy— Howell — swallowed nervously and nodded. "Y-yes, sir."

He quickly sat down, flipping open the book, and began scribbling names onto what was clearly a class attendance record.

Liam, watching the exchange, noted how effortlessly Heath maintained control. The man didn't shout, didn't threaten, didn't glare — yet no one dared to step out of line.

Professor Heath turned back to the class, his expression utterly indifferent.

"Let us begin."

As Professor Heath spoke, a quill lifted itself from his desk and soared toward the board, moving with effortless precision.

Without so much as a glance, Heath continued adjusting the cuffs of his robes, seemingly unconcerned with the quill's movements.

Before Liam's eyes, the quill dipped into an inkwell mid-air, then flowed smoothly across the board, writing in a neat, elegant script:

LECTURE 33 — CONJURING LIGHTNING.

It wasn't just floating — it was controlled with an exactness Liam had never witnessed before.

He had seen telekinesis used in mundane ways — lifting books, fetching objects — but this?

This was different.

Not a single stroke wavered. Not a single drop of ink splattered.

It was as if the quill had a mind of its own, yet Liam knew better.

This was Professor Heath Carter's control of Telekinesis.