The first glimpse of the Sovereign College was enough to take anyone's breath away. The grand structure stood atop a hill, its sprawling grounds surrounded by towering walls of ancient stone. As I approached, the morning sun cast a warm glow over the ivy-covered facades, and the lofty spires seemed to pierce the sky, standing as silent sentinels over the city of Eldralis. This was more than just a school—it was a fortress of knowledge, a place where the future leaders of the realm were forged.
The gates of the college were wide open, inviting new students into its hallowed halls, yet there was an air of foreboding that lingered in the shadows. Beyond the gates, a cobblestone path led through meticulously kept gardens, where statues of past luminaries of the college stood in silent testimony to the institution's long and storied history.
As I walked through those gates for the first time, a weight settled in my chest—a mix of anticipation and the nagging realization that I was stepping into a world where every move mattered, where each word and action could shape my future.
I clutched the guidebook that had been provided to new students, a hefty tome bound in deep blue leather, its pages filled with the wisdom and regulations that had guided generations of students before me. Flipping through its pages, I began to understand the full magnitude of what lay ahead.
The Sovereign College was not just an educational institution; it was a pillar of society, a place where the sons and daughters of the nobility—and the occasional exceptional commoner—came to learn the skills necessary to wield power. The curriculum was designed with a singular purpose: to prepare its students for the roles they were destined to play in the great game of politics, war, and governance.
The guidebook laid out the structure of the college in meticulous detail. The curriculum was divided into several key areas of study, each tailored to the specific needs of the students, depending on their backgrounds and aspirations.
Military Strategy and Tactics were at the heart of the curriculum, a subject heavily favored by the noble families. This course delved into the art of warfare, from the grand maneuvers of armies to the subtle intricacies of siegecraft. It was a course designed to produce generals and military advisors, those who would lead troops into battle and shape the fate of kingdoms.
Politics and Diplomacy were equally emphasized, with courses designed to mold students into statesmen, courtiers, and envoys. Here, students would learn the art of persuasion, the subtlety of negotiation, and the cold calculation required to navigate the treacherous waters of court politics. This subject was particularly popular among the nobility, who saw it as a means to elevate their family's status and influence.
History was a compulsory subject for all students, regardless of their background. The college held firmly to the belief that understanding the past was essential to shaping the future. This course covered the rise and fall of empires, the great wars, the treaties that shaped the realm, and the lessons learned from the successes and failures of those who came before.
Other subjects, such as Law and Economics, were available but were primarily the domain of students from merchant families or those nobles who had a particular interest in these areas. These courses offered insights into the legal structures that governed the land and the economic forces that drove the world’s markets. They were practical studies, less glamorous than military strategy or politics, but no less important for those who sought to wield power in the shadows of the grander pursuits.
Specialized Courses offered students the opportunity to hone their skills in areas crucial to their future roles. These courses ranged widely, catering to the diverse ambitions of the student body: They offered Etiquette and Courtly Functions, Dueling and Personal Combat, Horsemanship and Mounted Warfare, Alchemy and Poisons, Espionage and Counterintelligence, Stewardship and Estate Management, and Rhetoric and Public Speaking.
The guidebook also described the structure of the courses themselves. Lectures were the primary format, with the belief that the best students—those destined for greatness—would strive for perfection on their own. Faculty members, former military commanders, retired diplomats, seasoned judges, and scholars of renown, would impart their wisdom in grand lecture halls, expecting students to absorb the knowledge and apply it independently.
As I continued to read, I became acutely aware of the social hierarchies already forming among the new students. Clusters of well-dressed young men and women, their accents and mannerisms betraying their noble birth, gathered together in small cliques. There was an air of easy confidence about them, a sense that they belonged here, that the college was merely the next step in a life of privilege.
In contrast, those few who, like me, came from less distinguished backgrounds, stood on the periphery, unsure of their place in this grand institution. I noticed the subtle glances from the noble-born students, the way their conversations quieted as we passed by, as if our very presence was an anomaly in their carefully ordered world.
One group of students caught my attention in particular. They were gathered near the steps of one of the older buildings, their conversation lively, yet laced with a certain coldness. Their clothes were immaculate, their posture perfect, and their laughter sharp. As I passed by, I caught snippets of their conversation—mentions of family names, of estates and inheritances, of connections that reached deep into the heart of the court.
I kept my head down, but my mind was racing. The guidebook had made it clear that the college was a place where social hierarchies were both established and reinforced. My lower birth was already a mark against me, a reminder that, despite Cedric’s sponsorship, I would have to fight for every inch of respect and recognition.
As I made my way to my assigned quarters, a modest room in one of the older dormitories, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stepping onto a battlefield. The Sovereign College was not just a place of learning; it was a crucible where the weak were separated from the strong, where alliances were forged, and rivalries were born.
The reality of my situation was beginning to set in. I was surrounded by those who had been groomed for this life since birth, while I was still learning the rules of the game. But as I stood at the threshold of my new life, I resolved that I would not be intimidated. I would study harder, learn faster, and prove that my place here was not just a gift from Cedric, but something I had earned through my own efforts.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of distant bells tolling across the campus of the Sovereign College. The dawn light filtered through the narrow window of my modest quarters, casting long shadows across the stone floor. I dressed quickly, ensuring every piece of my new attire was perfectly in place. Today was the opening ceremony, a grand event that would officially mark the beginning of my time here.
As I made my way toward the central courtyard, the air was thick with anticipation. Students streamed from every direction, converging on the grand steps of the central hall, where the ceremony would take place. The courtyard itself was a sight to behold—its expansive lawns meticulously groomed, bordered by tall, ancient trees that seemed to watch over the proceedings with silent wisdom. At the far end, the hall stood like a fortress, its towering columns and intricate carvings a testament to the college’s storied history.
I found a place among the gathering students, my eyes scanning the crowd. It was a sea of fine fabrics, polished boots, and perfectly groomed hair—nobility dressed to impress. As I stood there, I couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of alienation, though I kept my posture straight, my expression calm. I was determined not to let my lower birth show.
The murmurs of the crowd fell to a hush as a tall figure in resplendent robes appeared at the top of the stairs. The head of the college, a man known simply as Chancellor Valerius, stepped forward. His presence commanded attention—his robes were a deep, royal blue, trimmed with gold, and his silver hair was neatly tied back, giving him an air of dignity and authority.
“Welcome, students,” Chancellor Valerius began, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard. “You stand today at the threshold of a journey that will shape not only your future but the future of our realm. The Sovereign College has stood for centuries as a beacon of knowledge, a crucible where the finest minds and the noblest hearts are forged into leaders, statesmen, and warriors. Here, you will learn the skills necessary to wield power—wisely, justly, and with great responsibility.”
His eyes swept across the assembly, pausing briefly as if to make contact with each student. “You are the heirs of great legacies, the bearers of your family’s honor, and the stewards of our nation’s future. But remember, privilege alone is not enough. It is through discipline, perseverance, and wisdom that you will earn your place among the leaders of tomorrow.”
There was a murmur of approval from the crowd, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of resolve. This was the moment I had been preparing for, the beginning of the path that would lead me to the future I had always dreamed of.
Chancellor Valerius continued, extolling the virtues of the college and the importance of the roles we would one day play in society. His speech was grand, filled with references to past luminaries who had passed through these halls—kings, generals, scholars, and even the occasional commoner who had risen to greatness. It was a powerful reminder of the weight of history that bore down on each of us, and the expectations that came with it.
As the speech drew to a close, the chancellor’s voice grew more solemn. “I leave you with this: the Sovereign College will test you, challenge you, and push you to your limits. Some of you will rise to meet that challenge. Others will falter. But know this—the future belongs to those who dare to seize it.”
With those final words, the ceremony concluded, and the students began to disperse, their voices rising in animated conversation. I remained where I was for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere, before I turned to make my way to the hall where our first assembly would be held.
Stolen novel; please report.
As I walked, I caught sight of a group of students standing nearby, their eyes lingering on me a little too long. One of them, a young man with sharp features and an air of arrogance, stepped forward, blocking my path.
“You’re Edwin Thatcher, aren’t you?” he said, his tone less a question and more an assertion. His voice held the clipped precision of someone accustomed to giving orders.
I nodded, meeting his gaze steadily. “That’s right. And you are?”
“Frederick Vellan,” he replied, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My family has held a seat on the King’s Council for three generations. I’m surprised you don’t already know who I am.”
The name was familiar—Vellan was a name that carried weight in court, a family known for its political influence. “I’m aware of the Vellan family’s reputation,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Frederick’s eyes flicked over my attire, taking in the details with a sneer that barely touched his lips. “Cedric Aldridge’s little charity case. I’ve heard about you.”
The words were meant to sting, but I forced myself to remain composed. “Then you’ve heard correctly,” I replied evenly.
His companions chuckled, their laughter tinged with derision. “A commoner in the Sovereign College,” Frederick continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “I suppose we’ll see how long you last.”
I didn’t flinch. “We will,” I said, holding his gaze until he looked away, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to press the matter further.
One of the others, a girl with dark hair and a calculating expression, watched the exchange with interest. She said nothing, but there was a flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes—a recognition that, despite my status, I wasn’t someone easily cowed. It was a small victory, but I knew I would need every advantage I could get.
The encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth, but it also steeled my resolve. The Sovereign College was a place where alliances were forged and rivalries born. If I was to survive here, I would need to play the game as well as any noble—better, even.
That evening, as the day’s events drew to a close, I found myself standing outside the office of my assigned advisor, Professor Darius Thornwell. He was a man of some repute within the college—a former diplomat with a reputation for being both shrewd and exacting. I had been told that he was not one to suffer fools gladly.
I knocked on the door, my knuckles tapping lightly against the polished wood, and waited for the call to enter. The pause between my knock and his reply was deliberate—long enough to unsettle a less confident student. But I knew better than to let it rattle me. Thornwell was testing me, even now, before I had stepped foot in his office.
“Enter,” came the clipped command from within.
As I opened the door, I took a moment to observe the room. It was as austere as I had expected—dark wood paneling, shelves lined with weighty tomes, and a large, imposing desk at the center. Thornwell sat behind it, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked up from a stack of papers. His posture was perfect, his expression unreadable—a man who commanded respect through an economy of movement and word.
“Edwin Thatcher,” he said, his voice carrying the same cool precision as his gaze. He allowed the silence to stretch just long enough to emphasize the power dynamic. “Come in, and close the door behind you.”
I did as instructed, ensuring my steps were measured and unhurried, a display of calm confidence. I took the seat he gestured to, not waiting for an invitation. This was a negotiation, after all, and I intended to signal from the start that I was not here to grovel.
Thornwell’s gaze swept over me, lingering on the details of my attire and the calmness of my posture. His eyes flicked to my shoes—polished, yet practical; to my hands—steady, unadorned; and to my face—composed, revealing nothing. “So,” he began, his voice as sharp as a scalpel, “you’re the commoner Cedric Aldridge saw fit to sponsor. A rather unconventional choice, wouldn’t you say?”
I met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. The slight arch of his brow, the way his lips barely curled, all spoke of a man who thrived on making others feel small. But I had faced worse. “I believe Lord Cedric saw potential in me, Professor. I’m here to prove that his judgment was sound.”
A twitch of his lips—barely noticeable, but it was there. Amusement? Perhaps. Or skepticism. He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers as he studied me. “Potential, yes. But potential alone is a poor substitute for pedigree, Mr. Thatcher. The Sovereign College is not merely a place of learning; it is a crucible where the finest of our society are molded into the leaders of tomorrow. You may find the heat of that crucible… uncomfortable.”
Ah, there it was. The subtle threat, wrapped in condescension. He was probing, testing to see if I would flinch. “Uncomfortable, perhaps,” I replied carefully, mirroring his tone, “but also necessary. I’m prepared to endure whatever is required to prove my worth.”
A slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers tightened for just a moment—he wasn’t expecting that response. Thornwell leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “Tell me, then, Mr. Thatcher, what is it that you hope to achieve here? Surely you don’t believe that your status will afford you any easy paths.”
He’s trying to make me defensive, I realized. Force me to justify my presence here. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. “No,” I said, shaking my head slightly, keeping my tone calm and measured. “I’m under no illusions about the challenges I’ll face here. But I believe that with the right education and guidance, I can carve out a place for myself in this world.”
His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly—a gesture meant to feign surprise, but really a cue for me to continue. He wanted to see how far I would go to sell myself. “And how do you plan to do that? By studying alongside those who have been groomed for greatness since birth? You may find yourself in the company of more… established peers.”
Ah, there it was again, the subtle jab. He wanted to make me feel inferior, out of place. But I’d expected this. “I understand that,” I replied, holding his gaze without flinching. “But I’ve given careful thought to my education plan. I intend to focus on the main courses of law, politics, history, and military strategy. I believe these will provide me with the foundation I need to succeed.”
Thornwell’s eyes narrowed, the gears in his mind turning. He was analyzing my choices, weighing them against his own expectations. “Those are ambitious choices, Mr. Thatcher,” he remarked, his tone still cool. “The sort of courses favored by those destined for high office or military command. You may find yourself in competition with students who are far more… suited to such pursuits.”
Suited, meaning born into it. He was testing me again, trying to see if I’d back down. But I couldn’t afford to show weakness. “I welcome the challenge,” I said firmly. “I intend to excel, not just in the classroom, but in every aspect of college life.”
He leaned back, watching me closely. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, I thought. The real test is coming. “Indeed,” Thornwell murmured, his gaze growing even sharper. “And what of your more specialized studies? Every student here must choose electives to complement their core courses. I assume you have some plan in that regard?”
I had anticipated this moment, knowing that my choices would be scrutinized. “I do,” I replied, my tone steady. “I intend to take specialized courses in etiquette, alchemy and poisons, rhetoric, and espionage.”
There it was—the reaction I’d expected. The disdain that flashed across Thornwell’s face was unmistakable. His lips curled into a sneer, the contempt in his eyes nearly palpable. “Alchemy and poisons? Espionage? Mr. Thatcher, these are the subjects of the unscrupulous, the dark arts that well-meaning people do not lower themselves to study. The Sovereign College may allow such courses, but they are not meant for those who aspire to positions of honor and respect.”
His disapproval was intended to provoke me into justifying my choices, perhaps even to backtrack. But instead, I saw an opportunity. “I understand your perspective, Professor,” I began, leaning into his disdain rather than shying away from it. “But as a commoner, my path is different from that of the nobility. What might be considered beneath a nobleman like Lord Cedric is, to me, an opportunity to repay the faith he has placed in me.”
A slight tilt of the head—curiosity, mixed with wariness. He wasn’t sure where I was going with this, which was exactly how I wanted it. “You see, Professor,” I continued, “my position demands that I be resourceful. I must find ways to be valuable where others might not tread. Where the noble-born have the luxury of avoiding the unsavory, I do not. It’s precisely because these subjects are considered beneath the well-meaning that I find them useful. They allow me to serve Lord Cedric in ways that others cannot.”
Thornwell’s sneer remained, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. He’s intrigued, I thought. He’s wondering how far I’m willing to go. “And you believe that studying such unsavory subjects will allow you to repay your debt to Lord Cedric?”
“I do,” I replied, my tone resolute. “The world of the nobility is one of shadows and subtlety, where power is often wielded in ways that are not always seen. By mastering these subjects, I can serve Lord Cedric in ways that others cannot. I can be the one to handle matters that require discretion, observation, and a willingness to venture where others dare not go.”
“Discretion and observation,” Thornwell repeated, his voice still laced with disdain. “Those are qualities one might expect from a spy, not a gentleman.”
And there it was—the challenge. He wanted me to defend myself, to justify why I would stoop so low. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Perhaps,” I conceded, allowing a hint of deference in my tone, “but they are also qualities that can be of great value to a gentleman who understands the importance of information. In a world where knowledge is power, being able to acquire and manage that knowledge can be the difference between success and failure. And as Lord Cedric’s protégé, it is my duty to ensure that I am equipped to support him in every way possible.”
Thornwell was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he considered my words. He’s weighing the risks, I realized. Deciding whether I’m a liability or an asset. When he finally spoke, his tone was cold, but there was a trace of reluctant acknowledgment. “You are walking a fine line, Mr. Thatcher. It is true that the world you seek to enter is one where information is a valuable currency. But be warned—should you choose to tread this path, you will find yourself in a dangerous position. One misstep could ruin not only your reputation but also that of your benefactor.”
“I’m aware of the risks, Professor,” I said calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But I also know that without taking risks, I will never rise above my station. I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary to succeed.”
Thornwell’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he nodded, making a few notes on the papers in front of him. “Very well. I will approve your course selections, though I do so with considerable reservation. Remember, Mr. Thatcher, the Sovereign College is not a place for the faint-hearted. If you wish to succeed here, you’ll need to prove yourself every step of the way.”
“I understand, Professor,” I said, rising from my seat. “And I’m ready to meet those expectations.”
Thornwell gave a curt nod, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “That will be all, Mr. Thatcher. You may go.”
I bowed slightly, then turned and left the office, my mind already analyzing every detail of the conversation. Thornwell had been a tougher opponent than I had expected, but I had managed to lay the groundwork for what I hoped would be a successful tenure at the college. The courses I had chosen would be challenging, but they were also the ones that would best position me for the role I intended to play.
As I walked back to my quarters, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. Thornwell might see me as a potential liability, but he also saw the value I could bring. The Sovereign College was a battlefield, and I had just taken my first step onto it. I would need to be careful, calculating, and always one step ahead. But that was a challenge I was more than ready to meet.