Chapter 6: The Burden Of Loyalty

A bone-chilling wind howled through the Academy Arcanum's western dormitory spires, casting long shadows over the stone corridors. Kaelen stared out from the frost-bitten archway, watching as the horizon bled with the amber hues of a dying sun. The echoes of the duel still rang in his mind—how the wards had shattered, how his veins pulsed with stolen magic.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

Sethis stepped inside, silent as smoke.

Name: Sethis Aion

Class: BattleMage

Rank: B(Expert)

Magic type: Arcane Magic(Mana Manipulation)

"Still brooding over the duel?" Sethis asked, leaning against a bookshelf filled with grimoires no one dared open.

Kaelen didn't answer at first. "He should have killed me. That's what they wanted."

"They want you humiliated, not dead. Not yet. Death would make you a martyr. Shame makes you... controllable."

Kaelen turned. "And what do you want, Sethis?"

The shadows in the room seemed to lean in closer. Sethis's expression didn't shift, but something old and worn passed through his eyes—an echo of another life.

"I want you to survive."

They moved to the lower dormitory halls, where frost hadn't yet claimed the stone. Sethis walked with his usual loping gait, a predator constantly aware of its environment. Kaelen noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way he subtly checked every corner. Paranoia, or experience?

They reached Sethis's study—a narrow chamber tucked between two sealed laboratories. The walls were covered in silver-threaded maps and incantation marks. A flickering blue soulflame hovered in a suspended lantern, casting a ghostly glow.

"You've been quiet about your past," Kaelen said, eyeing a torn banner hanging over the hearth. It bore the sigil of a silver hawk impaled by a black dagger.

Sethis studied the banner. "That's because it's dead. Like the rest of my house."

Kaelen waited.

Sethis exhaled. "I was born the second son of House Alon—loyal bannermen to the Crown for five generations. We guarded the Eastern Borderlands. When the Sorcery Purge swept through, the High Court needed scapegoats."

Kaelen's stomach turned. He'd heard stories of the purge—how those born with certain bloodlines were accused of consorting with daemons. Most were executed or sent to cursed mines. Few survived.

"They accused your family?" Kaelen asked quietly.

"Of daemon-binding," Sethis said flatly. "Because our spiritsingers could hear whispers from the Void." He looked Kaelen dead in the eyes. "We used to bind spirits, not daemons. But politics doesn't care for the difference when it needs a sacrifice."

Kaelen said nothing.

"My father slit his own throat during trial to spare the family name. My brother—he tried to flee with our mother. They were burned in the old pyre fields." Sethis's eyes darkened, his voice low. "They left me alive. Claimed I could still be 'useful' to the crown."

Kaelen clenched his jaw. He knew that kind of survival. To live not by mercy, but utility.

"They sent you here," Kaelen muttered.

"They buried me here," Sethis corrected. "But I learned. I kept quiet. I let them forget what House Alon used to be. Until you arrived."

Kaelen turned. "Me?"

"You're a reminder. A prince cast aside, cursed. But you refuse to kneel. That stirs old ghosts. And maybe, just maybe... brings a chance for reckoning."

Later that night, Kaelen sat alone in the private reading alcove. The flickering lamplight cast warping shadows on the tome before him—Occultum Vivens: A Treatise on Living Plague.

He traced a line with his finger. The text detailed an ancient form of soulbond magic that could assimilate curses and transform them into sentient mana constructs. Dangerous. Forbidden.

Yet eerily similar to what was happening inside him.

Kaelen flipped the page. A sketched diagram showed a figure standing in the center of a storm of rotting wind—diseased energy flowing toward them rather than away. Beneath it, a single phrase in Old Virean:

"He who masters rot shall never die, but never truly live."

The words gripped his soul like iron.

Footsteps approached. This time, the presence was colder.

"You should not be reading that."

Kaelen stood, snapping the book shut. The woman before him wore violet robes lined with nullite thread. Her raven-dark hair was bound in seven braids, each holding a tiny bone charm.

[Name: Professor Elowyn Karesh]

[Magic Type: Arcane Magic(Mana Manipulation)]

[Rank: B(Expert)]

[Class: Arcainst]

"I wasn't aware knowledge was forbidden in a place of learning," Kaelen replied dryly.

"That book is sealed for a reason," Elowyn said, stepping into the lamplight. Her eyes were sharp and ageless. "You are barely authorized to cast containment runes without supervision. Yet here you are, perusing texts on sentient plagues?"

Kaelen met her gaze. "I have the right to understand what's happening to me."

Elowyn studied him. Then, to his surprise, she sat across from him.

"There was a case," she murmured, "twenty-two years ago. A student touched by the same affliction as you. He tried to control it. Almost succeeded."

"What happened?"

"He tried to excise it with forbidden rites. Ended up consuming an entire wing of the eastern tower. Thirteen dead. We sealed the chamber with cursed silver. It's still humming."

Kaelen's voice was low. "Did anyone try to help him?"

Elowyn said nothing.

When she stood to leave, she paused at the threshold.

"Whatever you think this power is—it's not a gift. It's hunger. It does not love you. It will never stop taking."

Kaelen watched her go, the weight of her words anchoring deep in his bones.

Back in his dormitory, Kaelen stood before the mirror. The corruption along his ribs had spread slightly—sickly veins pulsing faintly beneath the skin. The curse was still growing.

But so was his understanding.

He whispered an incantation under his breath. Black-green glyphs shimmered on his arms—binding runes Sethis had helped him modify. His control over the Plague had strengthened, even if only a fraction.

One day, he would no longer hide the rot. He would wear it like a crown.

A knock echoed from the door.

Sethis stepped inside.

"We need to talk," he said, grim. "The Guildmasters are planning a motion. They want you expelled—on grounds of uncontrolled contamination."

(This early?)

Kaelen's lips curved into a cold smile. "Then we'd better make sure they know who they're trying to throw out."