I stood beside Father at the edge of our fields. Our sun, Thalmur, pale and steady, cast long shadows across the ripening grain. Father, Lord Marryk Dorwyne, had his arms folded. A faint breeze shifted the dark cloak that draped his shoulders.

“Remember your posture,” Father said. He didn’t glance my way. His gaze stayed fixed on the line of wagons ahead.

I tried to straighten. My back felt stiff. My hands twitched at my sides. I forced them still. The scent of mud and earth surrounded us as farmers and miners prepared their wagons for tribute. Carts overflowed with sacks of grain and crates of dull gray ore. Draft beasts stomped and snorted, restless under the morning sun.

Father cleared his throat. “When they arrive, you speak only if you must. Though, I suggest you don’t speak at all.”

I offered a small nod. My throat felt tight. I focused on breathing slowly. At fifteen, I had never dealt with Imperial Overseers up close. I had seen them from afar—stern figures in black robes, escorted by guards who wore polished armor. But I never knew their names. Until today, it all felt distant. Now, it was my duty to stand here with Father and greet them.

At the front of the train of wagons, a group of Tarianis men waited for instruction. They bowed their heads whenever Father met their eyes. Some fiddled with their hats or plucked at their shirts. I noticed a few nervous shifts. Many had families who relied on them to deliver the right tribute, the correct numbers. Any shortfall meant harsh penalties from the Empire.

Father’s jaw tensed. “Your grandfather oversaw this same ritual every year. And his father before him. We have done it for generations.”

I swallowed. 

“Yes, Father.” My voice sounded faint in my own ears.

He glanced at me. “They arrive soon.”

I nodded again. My heart thumped. I took a moment to survey the land around us. Our planet, Tarianis, had gentle hills and fertile plains. In the distance, I could see the wide river glinting under the sun. Fields stretched for kilometers. Stands of wind-blown trees lined the horizon. Despite the beauty, I sensed tension in the air. Our tribute day always felt weighted. The Triune Empire’s demands must be met, or trouble would soon follow.

A rumble from the road drew my attention. A column of black-armored vehicles approached, hover engines humming over the soil. Each vehicle displayed the Imperial crest: three interlocking circles, one for each mage category—Enchanter, Transmitter, and Controller. Soldiers marched alongside them in neat rows. Their boots kicked up a fine haze of dust.

Leading them was a tall man draped in black robes. He had stark white hair that gleamed in the sun. Even at a distance, I could see lines etched into his face. Age and authority clung to him like a second skin. His steps were smooth. Each movement seemed measured. Beside him strode four guards with glowing rifles slung across their backs.

“Paraius Sectus,” Father said under his breath. He exhaled, slow and steady. Then he turned to me. “We have an understanding, you and I.”

I stiffened. “Yes.”

“Maintain decorum. Show respect. Let me lead.”

I gave a slight bow. “Of course, Father.”

Father stepped forward to greet them. I remained half a step behind him, mindful not to block his presence. My mouth felt dry. The Imperial party stopped a short distance away.

Paraius Sectus lifted a hand, commanding the guards to halt. His eyes flickered over the wagons. The farmers bowed their heads. The old mage’s focus stayed on Father. They exchanged a slight nod, a gesture of acquaintance, not warmth.

“Lord Marryk,” Paraius Sectus said in a low voice. There was no trace of a smile.

“Master Sectus,” Father replied. He bowed his head respectfully. He did not lower his gaze. “Welcome to Tarianis.”

Paraius Sectus surveyed the wagons. “Tribute is prepared, I trust?”

“Grain from the southern fields,” Father said. “And ore from our mines in the east. These volumes match what was requested.”

I felt an uneasy flutter in my gut. Paraius Sectus’s eyes swept across the wagons, scanning the sacks and crates. I saw no reaction in his expression. His features stayed neutral, almost carved from stone.

He glanced at Father. “We will inspect each load.”

“Of course.” Father gestured to the men. “They will cooperate. And I will oversee the counts myself if you wish.”

Sectus turned away from Father. He snapped his fingers at the guards. They stepped forward, dividing into pairs to begin their checks. Sectus did not look at me. He seemed to sense my presence but offered no acknowledgment. My chest tightened. I stood there, hands clasped behind my back, fighting the urge to fidget.

One of our men led the guards to the first wagon. Father glanced at me, then stepped aside to follow. I stayed near the second wagon, my eyes drifting over the process. They weighed sacks, checked ledgers, poked through crates of ore. Nobody spoke more than a whisper. Tension clung to every gesture.

Slowly, they moved along the row. After half an hour, Sectus lifted a hand again. His guards stopped. He stepped to Father. “Sufficient. Your planet meets the Empire’s needs once more.”

Father inclined his head. “As we always have.”

I spotted a faint twitch at the corner of Sectus’s mouth. Perhaps approval. Or maybe it was just a tic. He looked skyward for a moment, as if gauging the hour. Then he gave a short nod to Father and motioned his guards to stand down.

“We will load these,” Sectus said. “Once our business is concluded, we shall be off-world and out of your hair until the next tribute.”

Father folded his arms. “Very good, Master Sectus. I thank you for your time.”

Without another word, Sectus walked back toward his vehicle. Father watched him go. I detected a slight relaxation in Father’s shoulders once the old mage turned his back. The farmers began hauling sacks onto the Imperial transports, working in hushed cooperation.

Father turned to me. “That went well.”

I exhaled. My chest felt lighter. “I… Yes, Father.”

He patted my shoulder. I resisted the urge to flinch. “Your presence helped. One day, you will do this alone.”

My heart jolted. I tried to keep my face composed. “I understand.”

“Very good,” Father said. He cast one more glance at Sectus’s retreating form. “Let us return home, Draven. Your birthday awaits, and your mother has prepared something… extravagant.”

At his words, my shoulders lost some of their tension. I found a small smile. “Thank you, Father.”

We left the farmland and made our way back to the manor. Horses awaited us, their reins held by stable hands. Unlike other planets, Tarianis did not contain much in the way of advanced technology, beyond the necessary ones, of course, like a Space Port; this was to ensure that pollution remained at minimal levels, ensuring quality produce. Father and I mounted the beasts. We rode in silence, cutting across the fields, through a winding dirt path lined with watch posts. The wind carried the scent of straw and fresh earth. The mechanical hum of Imperial transports faded into the distance.

I thought about the tribute and about Paraius Sectus. A small part of me marveled that Tarianis always gave so much. Our planet was rich in resources, but was that wealth truly ours? Or did we exist only to serve the Empire? Then again, compared to most protectorates, father often said that Tarianis was lucky, because it did not need to be forcefully subjugated and, thus, was not forced to pay heavy tribute.

We arrived at the family manor close to midday. The gates stood open, revealing the wide courtyard and its polished stone columns. Servants bustled about. The banners of House Dorwyne hung from the main balcony—deep green fields parted by a golden stripe. Father dismounted first, passing his reins to a stable boy. I followed, my knees stiff from the ride.

Father led me inside. The manor’s entrance hall gleamed with marble floors. Tall windows let in shafts of light. I smelled roasted meats and freshly baked bread. My stomach gave a small, hopeful twist. I realized I was hungry, though my nerves still flickered.

We stepped into the great hall. The moment we crossed the threshold, voices erupted in a cheerful shout. “Surprise!”

I jerked back, heart pounding. My brothers, Mallos and Hadrien, rushed forward. They each took one of my arms, grinning. Mother stood behind them, a hand pressed to her mouth, eyes bright. Servants in crisp uniforms hovered in the background, carrying trays of steaming dishes. My jaw slackened. I felt a rush of warmth in my chest.

“Happy birthday, Draven!” Mallos said. He ruffled my hair. He was taller by a head, older by three years. His grin sparked a sense of comfort in me. Mallos was supposed to be the heir, but he declined his role and passed it onto me. 

Hadrien chuckled, slapping my back. “We have a feast waiting. I hope you’re ready.”

I blinked, trying to contain my grin. The tension from earlier melted in that moment. “I… yes, I am.”

Mother approached, arms outstretched. Her expression was soft. Fine lines traced her cheeks. She wore a simple but elegant gown of pale green, matching our house colors. She looked from Father to me, relief in her eyes.

“Welcome back,” she said, voice gentle. “How was the tribute, my love?” 

She directed the question at Father, though her gaze flicked to me.

Father unfastened his cloak. 

“It went smoothly,” he said. He glanced at me, then stepped aside to let her embrace me. “As always.” 

She placed her hands on my shoulders. Her grip felt firm, comforting. She guided me deeper into the hall. Along the long table, platters of carved roast, bowls of spiced vegetables, and sweet pastries filled every available space. My mouth watered. Bright decorations hung from the rafters. Green and gold ribbons draped across the walls.

A few of our closest friends and extended family were scattered around. Conversations mingled with the clink of plates. I noticed at least a dozen servants in motion, topping off wine glasses and rearranging dishes. Truth be told, I didn’t care overly much for my own birthday, but I certainly enjoyed the festivity of it.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “All of you.”

“Come,” Mother said. “Sit. Eat. Today is your day.”

She guided me to a seat at the head of the table, next to Father’s usual chair. Father settled in his own seat. Mother took her place on my other side. My brothers flanked her. I inhaled the scents of garlic, rosemary, and roasted fowl. My stomach rumbled. I reached for a slice of bread. The tension I’d felt at the farmland receded, replaced by a sense of belonging.

As servants began pouring wine, I noticed a figure near the door. Paraius Sectus. He stood half in shadow, arms clasped behind his back. A chill ran through me. I tried not to stare. I had expected him to leave with his retinue. 

Did father invite him? 

It was certainly odd, but I could see the logic behind it. 

He didn’t move toward the table, nor did he make himself known. He merely watched. Every so often, he shifted his gaze around the hall. Father must have spotted him too, because Father rose partway, gave a respectful nod, and then eased back into his seat. Sectus didn’t nod in return. He just turned and stepped out of sight.

Mallos leaned in to me. 

“So that old crow is still here, eh?” His eyebrows drew close. “He never used to stay for the feast.”

I nodded, keeping my voice low. “Pretty sure father invited him to be polite.”

Hadrien took a large bite of roast and shrugged.

“As long as he doesn’t sour the mood.” He wiped his mouth. “Mmm, tastes good.”

I forced a small laugh and tried to focus on the banquet in front of me. People were laughing. My uncles from the city joked with my older cousins about old times in Tarianis. A sister of Mother’s, Aunt Roe, played a harp in the corner, soft and pleasant. The combination of hearty food and melodic music should have lulled me into peace. It almost did.

Father eventually stood, lifting his glass. The room fell silent. He surveyed the crowd, setting a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“My son,” he began, voice echoing off the high ceiling, “is fifteen today. He will continue our line’s service to Tarianis. May the next generation be strong and wise, led by our House Dorwyne. Let us toast Draven. May his years be filled with purpose.”

A wave of applause followed. My face grew warm. I noticed Mother dab at her eyes. I lifted my own glass. My grip trembled slightly, but I kept my head high. I saw the proud tilt of Father’s chin. A swirl of emotions filled my gut: duty, yes, but also a flicker of excitement. 

I could see my path. 

One day, I would be Planetary Governor, just like him, just like my grandfather.

As the toast ended, people returned to their food and chatter. The harp music picked up a lively tune. I managed a full plate, devouring savory meats and sweet fruits. Every bite felt like a celebration. My tension from the morning faded further with each mouthful.

After some time, Mother rose to fetch a pitcher of wine from the sideboard. The floor in that part of the hall was polished to a shine. She slipped on a stray piece of fruit that had tumbled from a platter. I heard her gasp. Before my mind could process, my body reacted. I lunged from my seat.

My fingertips brushed her elbow. She began to fall backward, eyes wide with alarm. My stomach clenched. I reached harder, desperate not to let her head strike the marble floor. Then something inside me surged. A warmth in my chest. It pulsed, like a flash of lightning trapped under my ribcage.

Mother’s descent slowed. Her body hung as if caught in thick air. The pitcher froze an inch above the floor. My breathing quickened. My heart pounded like a drum in my ears. Heat radiated from my hands. My vision blurred at the edges.

With a trembling motion, I gripped her waist and pulled her upright. She blinked, cheeks pale, her eyes darting between me and the suspended pitcher. Then the pitcher dropped, shattering on the floor. Wine splattered across the marble.

A hush fell over the hall. My father stood, knuckles white on the table’s edge. Mallos and Hadrien wore stunned expressions, jaws slack. Servants paused mid-step, eyes wide. I realized I was panting, my fingers still curled around the air where mother had been falling.

I looked down at my hands. Energy trembled through them. My limbs felt charged, alive. Something primal had stirred in me. My mother let out a soft, shaking laugh. She patted my cheek, relief etched on her face, but her eyes brimmed with alarm. Her lips parted, but no words came.

Then footsteps echoed from the entrance. Paraius Sectus reappeared, stepping forward with an abrupt, but commanding haste. His gaze fixed on me, dissecting me with keen interest. My head swam. I struggled to breathe evenly.

“By the authority granted to me by the Triune Empire, I order all of you to stand aside,” he said to nobody in particular. He moved closer, robes swishing. Our guests parted, clearing a path. He lifted a hand as if tasting the air. “Yes. I sense it. Controller magic. Latent until now.”

My stomach lurched. Father cleared his throat. “Master Sectus… My son—”

Sectus held up a finger. “He is a mage, Lord Marryk.”

Silence thickened. I heard my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Father opened his mouth, then shut it again. He drew in a slow breath.

Mother sagged against me. I helped her stand upright, legs trembling. She found her voice. “He… it was an accident.”

Sectus’s expression remained impassive. “That fact changes nothing.”

I shut my eyes. My mind whirled, replaying the moment I had caught her, the warmth that had coursed through me. My limbs felt shaky now, like after a long run. My chest tightened with confusion and a hint of fear.

Father stepped forward. He spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Master Sectus, is there a formal test needed?”

Sectus nodded once. “Yes, but it’s trivial. I know what I saw. This boy has power. He must be taken into the Empire’s fold.”

A hush reclaimed the hall. I saw the faces of my uncles, my cousins, all turned toward me. Some had parted lips, others wrinkled brows. Mallos swallowed hard, eyes shifting between me and Father. Hadrien gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white.

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Father set a hand on my shoulder. His palm felt cold, or maybe mine was just too warm. 

“Draven is my heir,” he said. His voice sounded composed, but I heard a tremor beneath it. “He is to inherit Tarianis.”

Sectus’s gaze rested on Father for a long moment. “If the boy truly has magical potential, the Empire requires him. You know our laws regarding protectorates. All who manifest power must be presented.”

“He is my son,” Father repeated, quieter now.

Sectus inclined his head. 

“I understand. But we both know the cost of ignoring the law.” He paused, scanning the silent watchers. “He won’t be taken forever. We do not cast him out. He will receive training in one of the Academies Arcana, likely at the Arcus Aracnum Academy on Karam Sil, since it’s closest. Five years is the standard. After that, he will serve five years of military duty. Then he may return if he wishes, free of further obligation to the Empire and far more powerful than a mere Planetary Governor.”

My mind spun. Ten years away. Ten years stolen. I felt my throat tighten. I searched Father’s face. He shut his eyes a moment, brow furrowed. Then he lifted his gaze to meet mine.

“Draven,” he said softly. “This is the law. It has always been so and it shall be so, even after us. You… You have a duty.”

My chest burned. I stared down at the floor. I felt everyone’s eyes on me. My mother’s hand found mine, her fingers trembling. She tried to offer reassurance, but her eyes shone with panic.

Sectus’s voice returned, a slow, measured tone. “We do not force your departure this instant. But we will schedule your official acceptance. In the next fortnight, you will journey to the Academy on Karam Sil. You will begin training as a mage. It is the law.”

Nobody argued. Even my father, who was the strongest figure in my life, bowed his head in reluctant agreement. My lips parted. I wanted to shout, to protest. But the swirl of duty and fear held me in place.

Mother’s hand squeezed mine. Her eyes glistened. 

“We will make sure you’re ready,” she whispered. “We’ll help you.”

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, refusing to cry. My voice shook when I finally spoke, “Yes… If that is what must be.”

Sectus dipped his head. 

“Indeed.” He looked at Father. “I will inform my superiors. We will depart in two weeks. Prepare your son, Lord Marryk.”

Father breathed in, then out. He placed a protective arm around me. “Yes, Master Sectus.”

Sectus turned, robes swaying, and strode out of the hall. Two guards joined him at the entrance, and they disappeared down the corridor. The hush lingered. I kept my eyes on the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to meet anyone’s gaze.

Finally, Father turned to our gathered family. He let out a ragged breath. “That is enough for today. Please, resume your meal… and allow us some privacy.”

A few of the guests set down their utensils with care. My uncles exchanged worried looks. My cousins mumbled quiet apologies, some bowing, others hugging me before stepping away. The servants hovered at the perimeter, uncertain whether to continue serving. Father, with a tired motion, waved them off.

Mallos and Hadrien approached. Mallos took my hand, pressing it in his palm. Hadrien raked his hair, looking down at his boots. Then, in silence, they left to join the rest. Mother stroked my cheek. Her lips parted as if to say something, but she just pulled me close. I felt her heartbeat flutter against my chest.

Father placed a hand on my shoulder. He guided us away from the table, through a small door to an adjacent sitting room. A couple of servants followed with wine and water. Father dismissed them with a curt nod. The door closed behind them.

We stood in that small chamber, the hush broken only by our breathing. Father sank into a chair, hands pressed against his forehead. Mother and I remained standing. My pulse still raced. I stared at my father’s tense figure.

At last, Father looked up. 

“Draven.” He ran a hand across his brow, leaving it to rest on his temple. “This changes everything.”

Mother let out a trembling sigh. Her shoulders quivered. “He… He saved me, Marryk. It was so sudden.”

Father exhaled. 

“The Empire’s laws are clear. We cannot hide your gift. And now that it’s awakened, they will want you.” He paused, glancing at me. “You heard Master Sectus. Five years at the Academy, five of service. Then you return.”

I swallowed. My throat felt parched. I moved toward a small table to pour water, but my hands shook so badly I had to set the pitcher down. 

“I never meant… I had no idea…” My words trailed off.

Mother approached, guiding my hands away from the pitcher. She poured the water for me, pressing the cup into my grip. I sipped, trying to steady my breathing.

“We’ll figure out your departure,” Father said softly. “It is not immediate, but soon.”

A swirl of thoughts rushed through me. My future as Planetary Governor? My entire life plan? Now I was to be an Imperial mage. Mages were both respected and feared. This could only be a boon to our House. I tried to imagine my life on Karam Sil, a planet I’d never seen or heard of before today.

Mother squeezed my arm. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She rubbed my shoulder. That simple touch sent waves of warmth through my chest. I realized she was trying to stay strong. Her posture faltered, though. Her eyes flicked up to Father, then down again.

Father stood, crossing to us. He placed a firm hand on my other shoulder. His expression was intense, but there was a gentleness in his eyes. 

“I always knew this possibility existed,” he admitted. “Our family line… Well, we do have a distant relative with magical blood. But it had never manifested in our direct line. Until now.”

He paused, inhaling deeply. “You are Dorwyne, my son. And now, you are also a mage of the Empire. You will serve the Triune. Then you will come home. And you will be Governor. Nothing changes that. Do you hear me?”

I let out a shaky breath. 

“Yes.” My voice cracked.

Father moved his hand from my shoulder to the back of my head, pulling me close in a rare, fierce embrace. I felt the press of his chin against my hair. My mother wrapped her arms around us both, her breath shallow. The three of us stood there, locked in a quiet, trembling circle.

The rest of the day passed in a strange blur. Servants cleaned the shattered pitcher and the spilled wine. Our guests offered subdued well-wishes, some of them departing earlier than planned, uncertain how to act around me now. My brothers hovered near the edges of the hall, uncertain, glancing my way with expressions I couldn’t decipher. Concern, maybe fear, a dash of awe.

Father had parted from us to speak privately with Paraius Sectus. When Father returned, he said little. His face gave nothing away. He assured me that Master Sectus would remain on Tarianis for the next two weeks, overseeing the loading of final tribute shipments. Then, he would escort me to Karam Sil.

I found no appetite to continue eating. My mother tried to coax me, but I managed only a few bites of fruit. My stomach roiled with a knot of confusion and dread. At times, I looked down at my hands, half expecting that heated energy to spark again. It didn’t.

I retreated to my chambers late in the afternoon. My bedchamber overlooked our orchard. Rows of fruit trees swayed in the breeze. I used to find that view soothing. Now, it seemed distant, like it was no longer truly mine. The sun dipped beyond the hills, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold.

I sat on my bed, face in my hands. My mind churned with questions. How would I handle the Academy? Would they sneer at me, the backwater noble? Would I excel, or fail, or… lose myself? A faint headache throbbed behind my eyes.

A soft knock sounded on my door. I looked up. The door opened a crack. Mallos peered inside, eyebrows raised. He glanced around, then slipped in.

“You all right?” he asked.

I shrugged, hands spread in a helpless gesture. “I suppose. It’s a lot.”

He nodded, stepping closer. He sank onto the edge of my bed. His shoulders looked tense.

“Never expected this,” he said. “You were supposed to be Governor. You still are, I guess, but… Ten years, Draven. That’s not a short time. I probably won’t be here anymore by the time you return”

I pressed my lips together, before huffing. “I kind of figured that out already.” 

He set his hand on my shoulder. His grip was gentle. “I… we’ll keep Tarianis safe until you come back. Father will still be here. I’ll… I’ll do my part, too… you know… before I leave.”

My throat tightened. 

“Thank you.” I met his gaze. “It feels like everything changed in a snap.”

He exhaled, then offered a small smile. “You did look impressive, though. Catching Mother mid-fall like that.”

A weak laugh escaped me. It died quickly. “I guess. I’d trade it back if I could.”

Mallos nodded. 

“Of course. Just know you’re not alone.” He patted my shoulder. “I’ll let you rest. Long day, I know.”

I watched him leave. Perhaps I had to do this. But at least I had a family that cared. That small comfort steadied me. For a moment, I just stared at the door, letting the silence settle.

When the sun finally disappeared, I left my room. I found Father in his study, pouring over documents about the tribute and Tarianis finances. He glanced up, motioned me in. We spent an hour talking about next steps. He outlined, in his methodical way, how we’d notify the local people that I was leaving to serve the Empire’s needs. It would be presented as an honor. He insisted on that.

He also explained that, upon my return, I would be recognized as a “descended mage” of Tarianis, a beneficial status in the Empire’s eyes, apparently, which meant lower tribute. I tried to process it all. My mind kept drifting to the thought of leaving home. Father noticed my distraction. His gaze softened. But he pressed on with the details. He was a practical man. He believed in planning.

By nightfall, I felt overwhelmed by facts and schedules. We parted with a quiet exchange of goodnights. I retreated to my chamber once more, changed into my sleep tunic, and climbed into bed. My limbs felt heavy, as though pinned by unseen weights. Though I tried, I couldn’t sleep right away. My mind kept replaying that moment in the banquet hall—the flash of warmth, the sensation of my mother hovering in midair. I clenched my jaw, chasing away the memory. After a time, my exhaustion won, and I drifted off.

I woke at dawn to the calls of birds outside my window. My eyes felt gritty. I dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, pausing to glance at my reflection in the tall mirror by my wardrobe. My dark hair stuck out in odd angles, my face pale. I tried to smooth my hair. My hand trembled slightly. I swallowed.

“Get a grip,” I murmured to myself.

Stepping into the corridor, I found the manor unusually quiet. Usually, the hustle of morning chores echoed down these halls. Today, the air carried a hush, as though the entire household tiptoed around the new reality. I inhaled a deep breath. I headed downstairs. I wanted to see the fields again. Maybe that would ground me.

Outside, the morning sky was overcast, the sun hidden behind a pale sheet of clouds. Dew clung to the grass. I strolled away from the manor, passing the stables, the orchard, and into the wide farmland. Nobody was here at this hour. They were probably still sorting out the final tribute loading. I saw the ruts from wagon wheels in the dirt. My boots squelched in a soft patch of mud. The cool air stung my nose.

I stopped by a lone oak tree, a sentinel in the middle of the field. I ran my palm across its bark. Memories of childhood games flashed in my mind—playing chase with Mallos, climbing these branches to watch the sunset. Now, in two weeks, I would leave Tarianis behind. 

My stomach clenched.

A snap of a twig behind me made me spin. I found myself face to face with Paraius Sectus. His gray eyes flickered with something akin to curiosity. He wore the same black robes, though slightly dusted at the hem from the damp ground. My pulse jumped. Did he follow me?

“I see you enjoy solitude,” Sectus said quietly. He clasped his hands behind his back. 

I managed a nod. My throat felt tight. “Master Sectus. You’re up early.”

He regarded me for a moment, eyes narrowed. 

“I often am.” He paused. The wind stirred his hair. “Yesterday was… eventful. I trust you understand why you must leave.”

My jaw tensed. “I do. The Empire needs every mage.”

He gave a small, acknowledging tilt of his head. “Precisely. The Academy can refine you, help you discover your real potential. You might become someone of great influence. And with influence comes power.”

I shifted my weight. My gaze flicked over his worn face. He was older, yes, but something about him felt potent, watchful. 

“I just want to come back,” I said, voice low.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You will. After you’ve served. Your father told you that.”

I exhaled a short breath. “He did.”

A soft breeze carried the scent of damp earth. We stood there, the oak’s branches rustling overhead. Sectus’s stern demeanor didn’t waver. I felt a flicker of annoyance that he could speak so casually about uprooting my life. Yet, I sensed no malice from him, only an unwavering conviction in the Empire’s laws.

He studied me a moment longer. “You might become a formidable mage, Draven. Or perhaps an Archmage one day. The Triune Empire values such prowess. Remember that.”

I kept silent. A small bubble of resentment stirred in my chest, though I tried to keep my face neutral. I thought about my mother’s slip, the way I had felt that surge of power. Fear warred with curiosity inside me.

Sectus half-turned, glancing at the farmland. “A fine planet. Peaceful, bountiful. Be proud that your tribute is always well-received. That is no small feat in these times.”

I rubbed my thumb against the tree’s bark, saying nothing. My breath came shallow. Despite the mild tension, I recognized a flicker of truth in his words. Tarianis was peaceful because we complied. We gave. We never rebelled.

He let out a near-silent sigh, as though bored with the conversation. “I will arrange our departure. Until then, you have your family. Use the time wisely.”

I stared at him, chest tight. “Yes, Master Sectus.”

Without further words, he strolled away. His steps were unhurried, and soon he vanished behind a line of hedges that separated the manor gardens from the open fields. I stood rooted by the oak, swallowing the twist of anger and resignation that knotted my stomach.

Eventually, I returned to the manor, passing stable hands who nodded politely. Inside, the halls felt livelier. Servants bustled, carrying linens or trays of fresh bread. I caught my brothers in the corridor, both heading for breakfast. They paused, turning expectantly. Mallos gave me a soft, encouraging smile.

We entered the dining room together. Father was already seated, sipping tea. Mother set aside some parchment and rose to greet me. She wrapped me in a gentle embrace that smelled of lavender. For a moment, I allowed myself to rest my cheek against her shoulder. She kissed my temple, then stepped back to face me, hands on my arms.

“Sit,” she said in a hushed voice. “We have pastries, fruit. Cook made them just this morning.”

I obliged. Hadrien grabbed a seat across from me, piling pastries onto his plate. Father closed his eyes for a moment, then spoke in a calmer tone than I expected.

“This day forward, we prepare,” he said, placing a ledger on the table. “We have tasks to manage. We’ll need to gather any resources you might need once you reach the Academy. Clothing, of course, but also records of your lineage, if they require proof of noble birth. You’ll have a retainer accompany you. You may pick who you wish.”

I stared at him. “A retainer?”

He inclined his head. “Yes. Typically, families of status send someone to assist their child at the Academy. It’s… the Empire’s custom. You’ll need someone you trust. Perhaps one of our older servants, or a companion close to your age who can keep you company. We’ll discuss that soon.”

My appetite waned, but I forced a few bites of pastry. It tasted sweet, but it felt heavy on my tongue. I glimpsed Mother’s face across the table. She looked pale. Her hand trembled when she lifted her tea. Father asked a few more practical questions—did I have preferences for traveling attire, did I want to bring any personal items? My mind drifted through the conversation. Everything felt unreal, as though I was planning someone else’s journey.

Mallos quietly suggested a close friend of ours, a stable boy named Fenn, who was quick-witted and loyal. Father nodded, considering it. I forced a small grin. I recalled playing silly games with Fenn in the courtyard as kids. The idea of not being alone in the Academy’s halls offered a sliver of comfort.

We finished breakfast in subdued spirits. Father left to handle estate business. Mother lingered, lightly stroking my hair as if I were still a child. My brothers gave me a gentle clap on the shoulder. We parted ways, each lost in thoughts.

Time passed in a blur of days. Each morning, I rose with a jolt of realization that my life was about to change. Servants prepared my trunk with clothes, notebooks, ink, and even some personal ornaments that carried the Dorwyne crest. Father drilled me on etiquette for dealing with Imperial instructors. Mallos tried to keep my spirits up with jokes. Hadrien teased me, calling me “the wizard-lord,” but I saw his anxious glances.

Mother busied herself with sending out official notices. Our local populace needed to hear that the heir was departing for “Imperial Service.” The letters were worded carefully. They highlighted how proud we were to serve. I glimpsed one letter. It made me uneasy. The words painted a heroic slant I didn’t feel inside.

Paraius Sectus remained on Tarianis, visible at times, absent at others. I spotted him overseeing the final loading of tribute in the eastern yards. Once, I saw him speaking with a local official about planetary records. We never exchanged more words beyond curt nods.

On the seventh day, the old mage gave Father a schedule: we would depart in another week, heading to the nearest port city where an Imperial ship would ferry us to Karam Sil. My breath caught in my throat when Father relayed the plan. Seven more days at home. Seven more sunrises under Tarianis skies.

I spent a morning in the orchard with Mallos, showing him how to properly prune the young saplings. Or maybe he was showing me; my mind wasn’t in it. The orchard had always been my solace. Now, it felt like a reminder of what I would lose. Mallos noticed my distant mood, but he didn’t push. He just stayed close, the two of us tending the trees in companionable silence.

Later, Hadrien dragged me to the training yard. 

“If you’re going to some fancy Academy,” he said, tossing me a wooden sword, “you should at least practice.” 

We sparred. I moved sluggishly at first, but soon found my rhythm. The crack of wood on wood jarred my focus. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My muscles remembered simpler days of brotherly competitions. Hadrien pushed me, forcing me to pivot, duck, and strike. Each blow grounded me in the present, momentarily freeing me from the dread of departure. I’d never been much of a swordsman. Physical combat had never been a specialty of mine.

Then night came. I lay in bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. My heart pounded as I thought of conjuring that wave of power again. It hadn’t emerged since that day. A part of me almost wished it would, just so I could learn to control it. Another part of me wanted it gone, so I could remain a normal heir, a normal son.

On the thirteenth day, Father arranged a final feast in my honor. It was smaller, more intimate than my birthday celebration. Just family, close friends, and a handful of important estate staff. We gathered in the same great hall where everything had changed. My mother wore a brave face, smiling as the meal proceeded. Father stayed stoic. My siblings tried to lighten the mood with banter. Yet an undercurrent of sadness wove through every conversation.

As dessert was served—an elaborate custard with fresh berries—Paraius Sectus appeared in the doorway. This time, no one was shocked to see him. He gave Father a slight inclination of his head. Father stood and gestured for me to follow him out into the courtyard. I walked behind Father, my pulse quickening.

Outside, the air was crisp. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering light on stone. Sectus waited near a small fountain. The sound of trickling water filled the hush.

“The final day,” Sectus said, eyes on me. “We depart at dawn. I trust you are ready?”

I clasped my hands behind my back, knuckles tight. “Yes. My things are packed.”

Father stood beside me. He gave Sectus a curt nod. “Draven will be accompanied by a retainer, a boy named Fenn. He’s a loyal member of our household. I trust that is acceptable.”

Sectus’s gaze flicked between us. 

“It is allowed. One retainer is standard.” He paused, then faced me. “You will say your goodbyes tonight. Tomorrow belongs to the Empire.”

My stomach roiled. I fought to keep my expression calm. Father exhaled quietly. Sectus said nothing more. He turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the night. Father stood there a moment, shoulders tense. I sensed his desire to say something. Yet words didn’t come.

Finally, we returned inside. The feast had lost what little cheer it had. My mother gripped my hand at the table, her eyes glistening. My brothers shared long, tight embraces with me. Servants bowed, some blinking back tears. The hush spoke louder than any words.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I paced my chamber. My trunk stood by the door, stuffed with clothes and small trinkets. A smaller bag contained personal items, like an old toy sword from my childhood. I caught sight of myself in the mirror again. I barely recognized the figure I saw. He looked older, with a solemn cast to his eyes.

Sometime in the dark hours, exhaustion claimed me. I lay down, drifting into fitful dreams. In one dream, I stood on a barren plain while the sky crackled with strange energy. My mother fell again, and I caught her. Then she faded to ash, slipping through my fingers. I jolted awake, heart racing.

Dawn’s first light came sooner than I hoped. A soft rap on my door roused me from a doze. I dressed in the traveling clothes Mother had laid out—sturdy boots, a thick cloak, and a tunic embroidered with the Dorwyne crest. My chest felt weighted, my limbs heavy.

Downstairs, I found Father, Mother, and my brothers waiting. Fenn stood near the door, a boy of my age, tall and slender. He wore a new cloak, looking both nervous and determined. He offered me a respectful dip of the head. Mallos clasped my shoulder. Hadrien exhaled, stepping aside so Mother could hug me.

She clung tight, her face pressed against my chest. My own eyes burned, but I forced back tears. Father approached, placing a gentle hand on my back. 

“You are Dorwyne,” he murmured. “Never forget.”

We moved outside. The morning sky wore streaks of pink and orange. Horses waited, as did a small vehicle for baggage. Paraius Sectus stood by his own transport, half a dozen Imperial guards at attention. They watched with impassive faces.

I took one last look at our manor, the orchards, the rolling fields beyond. My vision blurred for an instant. Then I inhaled, steadying myself. Father helped me onto my horse. I nodded to him, jaw tight. Fenn mounted another horse. Mother stood with her hands clasped over her heart, flanked by my brothers. I lifted my hand in a silent farewell. Their expressions reflected pride and sorrow.

Sectus led the way. We set off down the main road. Hoofbeats thudded against the packed dirt. I glanced over my shoulder only once. I saw the silhouettes of my family shrinking behind us. My throat constricted. I turned forward. The path stretched ahead, winding toward the horizon. The Empire’s claim pulled me along. My old life faded with each step.

Inside, my heart pounded a quiet, resolute rhythm. I knew I had to see this through. Ten years. A decade of service and study. Then I would return. Tarianis would welcome me. I clung to that thought. 

Perhaps it was naive, but it was all I had.