Chapter 7: The Broken Thorn

Chapter 7 — The Broken Thorn

The duel was over, but the weight of it lingered.

Kaelen stood in the dueling circle, his body aching and breath shallow, the taste of copper still sharp on his tongue. Sethis lay unconscious nearby, surrounded by healers, while students murmured from the edges like a pack of vultures circling uncertain prey.

"You showed restraint," said a voice behind him—measured and calm.

Kaelen turned slowly to see Instructor Maeryn Vael, a Grand Arcanist of Glacia magic.

Name: Maeryn Vael

Magic Type: Celestial(Light magic)

Rank: S(Arcanist)

Class: Mage

She was robed in deep sapphire, her gray hair braided back into a coil. Ice glinted at her fingertips like rings of frostbitten glass. She studied him with unreadable eyes.

"I wasn't trying to kill him," Kaelen muttered.

"No, but you could have. And you didn't hesitate. That makes you dangerous." She turned slightly. "The Academy has a use for dangerous things… but only when they are disciplined."

Kaelen held her gaze. "If you're going to warn me, do it plainly."

"I'm not warning you, Prince. I'm telling you—don't waste that magic. And don't trust anyone here. Not even your allies."

With that, she vanished into mist, leaving Kaelen to the weight of her words.

Sethis Thorne was still unconscious by the time the healers finished stabilizing him. Word of his defeat spread like wildfire. But while most whispered about Kaelen's newfound power, Kaelen's mind kept circling back to the boy who bled like royalty but fought like a beast.

It was only later that night, in the archives, that he learned the truth.

Sethis wasn't born to House Thorne.

The records were buried deep—partially redacted, sealed by decree of the High Crown—but Kaelen was persistent. And if there was one thing the Academy had taught him so far, it was how to listen to walls and shadows.

He pieced it together from old bloodline registries and fragmented court documents:

Sethis was a war orphan. His real name had been something else—burned out by decree during the Southren Purge thirteen years ago. House Thorne had taken him in as a political maneuver, adopting him into their line to gain public favor after the revolt in the eastern provinces. But unlike most adopted nobles, Sethis didn't just carry a name.

He carried a curse.

"Umbra," Kaelen whispered, staring at the inked seal next to the old sigil of Thorne. Shadowborn. Like me.

No wonder the boy fought like he had something to prove. He was the son of rebels, hidden beneath a noble crest, wielding magic that no highborn dared admit aloud.

They had the same disease, Sethis and him. A hunger to survive in a place that hated their blood.

The following morning, Kaelen found himself summoned.

He had hoped for silence, maybe even exile to the lesser dorms again—but instead, he was led to the Council Chamber of Trials, a domed obsidian room lit with floating sigils and flameglass braziers.

High walls were lined with instructors, wardens, and arcane enforcers. At the center, seated like buzzards, were the Five Academic Stewards—each representing one of the Great Halls of Magic.

Council Members Introduced:

High Warden Tarras Vale — Terran Magic, Rank: S+(Grand Arcanist)

Mistress Ysandra Holt — Pyra Magic, Rank: S(Arcanist)

Scribe Orlan Deyne — Aether Magic, Rank: A(Expert)

Seer Lethara Quin — Myrr Magic, Rank: S(Arcanist)

Magister Vexis Rael — Lumen Magic, Rank: A(Expert)

"You've disrupted the balance of the novice cohort," Vexis Rael intoned, voice sharp as a blade. "Sethis Thorne was among our top projected candidates for the Umbra division."

"He attacked first," Kaelen replied coldly. "Should I have rolled over?"

Lethara Quin's veiled face turned slightly. "Not at all. We are merely… reassessing your place."

A pause.

"Congratulations, Prince Kaelen Vire," she said. "You have been moved."

The room shifted. Murmurs rippled across the instructors.

"To the Obsidian Path?" someone whispered.

No. Not that.

"To the Covenant Wing," Vexis corrected.

Gasps now.

The Covenant Wing was not for nobles. It was for problems. The forsaken. The untamables. Students too powerful, cursed, or unstable to be safely placed among the general body.

Kaelen bowed his head, hiding the sharp grin that broke across his lips.

Let them hide me in the shadows. That's where I thrive.

Back at the infirmary, Sethis finally awoke.

He groaned, wincing as he sat up. His face was still swollen, but the worst of the internal injuries had been mended. A shadow stood near the window.

"You came to gloat?" Sethis rasped.

"No," Kaelen said, stepping forward. "I came to say... you're not the only one who crawled out of the dirt."

Sethis blinked.

"I read your file," Kaelen added. "And I've got a message for you. From one shadow-born bastard to another: stop fighting like you've already lost."

There was a long pause, then a faint laugh—more bitter than amused.

"You don't know anything about me."

"No," Kaelen agreed. "But I know you don't want to rot under someone else's crest your whole life."

He turned to leave, his new black-and-silver robe bearing the sigil of the Covenant Wing.

"Next time we fight," Kaelen said without turning, "don't hold back."

Later that night, Kaelen entered the Covenant Wing for the first time.

The air was colder. Magic here buzzed in the stone—unrefined, feral, ancient.

Students looked up as he passed. Not with mockery. Not with contempt.

With curiosity.

And something else.

Recognition.

Chapter 7 — END