Holding his second slip of paper with a list that contained about a dozen academic textbooks, Ardan stepped out of the greenhouse and headed toward the stairs. Behind him, the lecture was still ongoing, or rather, its practical part was.

After calculating the formula and a short break — during which the professor had made the reading list for Ardi — the other students had gone to the lab. Since Ardan had already prepared the antidote, Kovertsky, albeit reluctantly, had let him go. Just as reluctantly, he’d refrained from asking how a student unfamiliar with Star Biology and Alchemy formulas had managed to brew an antidote. It had been clear from the professor’s face that he had come to some conclusions, but he hadn’t pressed the matter.

He’d merely wished Ardan success in reading the materials and learning the formulas before the exam. After all, pure practical experience without any theory to back it up would not earn Ardan more than the already-guaranteed six points.

In total, to receive a stipend, a student had to accumulate no fewer than ninety points across all their subjects. For the higher-level scholarship, it was one hundred and ten. And considering the fact that, in the first year, there were only twelve subjects, that was no trivial task.

With a sigh, Ardi tucked the small piece of paper, which was covered in that familiar handwriting resembling a crooked fence, into his breast pocket and unfolded the map of the Grand. The dining hall — or, as it was called here, “the cafeteria” — was on the seventh floor of the main building in the western wing, but the military discipline field...

“How did they even build this?” Ardan whistled in admiration.

The field occupied almost half of Star Square, or, more precisely, its underground part. It didn’t have a numerical designation. Students just had to show a pass or a schedule indicating they had a class there or that they were a member of the Military Faculty for the lift operators to send them down. Access was denied to other students unless previously authorized.

All of this made sense. Rumors among the servants at the Anorsky manor had claimed that maintaining and renewing a much smaller training ground in the basement cost an astronomical sum — one hundred and seventy exes a month. That included both materials and the work of protective magic experts. Even an institution like the Imperial Magical University wouldn’t grant access to such an expensive facility to just anyone.

While pondering this, Ardan crossed the walkway and returned to the atrium. As usual, clusters of students in red, more often green, and rarely blue cloaks roamed about. The latter were mostly upperclassmen or recent graduates.

After all, three Stars indicated a very high level of mastery over Star Magic.

Passing by the Monument to the Last King, Ardan turned toward the stairs and soon found himself on the seventh floor. Entering a small foyer, he walked ahead a few meters until he saw simple wooden doors with carved frames and a slightly worn sign. It read, “Cafeteria.”

Pushing open the doors, Ardi squinted for a moment. The light of the bright midday sun, which he had grown unaccustomed to in the gray, mist-shrouded Metropolis, struck his face.

Blinking away the afterimages, he looked around. Of course, no miraculous change in weather had taken place outside the arched windows that reached from floor to ceiling. Heavy, dirty clouds still covered the sky. So where was the light coming from? The windows themselves were glowing with a soft, golden hue, casting small shadows as they encountered the legs of round tables designed for five or six people at most.

The spacious cafeteria, with its polished, white stone floor and walls the color of a lake’s surface after a storm, held about fifty tables. Some were occupied by students engaged in light conversation or studying while they ate. Others seated smaller groups — mostly professors in their distinct robes — reading newspapers or discussing something quietly.

To Ardi’s right, near the “Emergency Exit” sign, was a “line” similar to what you’d find in a saloon, but without the bar stools. Instead of bottles, there was an extensive menu behind the bartender, and the “bartender” was a few sturdy women.

Dressed in white uniforms with pleated caps holding back their hair, they took orders from the students, who picked up tin trays from a rack and handed over a ticket before ordering.

It was the same kind of ticket Ardan had received from the secretariat. A small slip of paper with the university’s stamp confirmed his right to a hot meal.

After figuring out the process, Ardi picked up a tray and, after waiting in a short line, found himself face-to-face with one of the cafeteria workers. Her gaze was heavy, but not unfriendly.

“Good afternoon,” Ardan greeted her.

“Afternoon,” she replied, a little wearily. “New here, huh?”

Ardi nodded, not surprised that she could so easily identify him as a first-year student. The cafeteria staff had seen so many students over the years that they could probably tell not just their year, but even the student’s department, all without needing to see the crests on their uniforms.

“Here’s what we can offer today,” she gestured behind her. “You can choose one item from each section. The paid menu is separate.”

She slid a sheet of paper forward, but Ardi didn’t bother looking at it. If he had the chance to eat without spending money, he wasn’t going to pass it up under any circumstances. So, he studied the list written in chalk on the slightly greasy, green board behind her, which reminded him of the one in the classroom back in Evergale.

“I’ll have the partridge breast wrapped in grape leaves, the mashed baby potatoes with sour cream on the side, and...” Ardan skimmed the drink list. “And strong Lan’Duo’Ha tea, with lemon, no sugar.”

The worker jotted down his order and disappeared for a moment behind the kitchen door, one of those that swung both ways. Meanwhile, Ardi awkwardly looked around, unsure if he should wait there or go find a seat...

“Here’s your order,” the worker stopped him from having to make a decision by swiftly returning from the kitchen, which Ardan had glimpsed through the door — it was a noisy place full of shouting and clattering dishes.

On his tray sat steaming food and nearly half a liter of tea with four lemon slices — a sour fruit from Kargaam that was pretty costly in the Empire. In Delpas, it was sold for no less than one and a half ex per kilogram, and in Evergale, it was only brought in for festivals and sold individually.

Licking his lips, Ardan turned and, to his surprise, spotted Elena sitting at one of the tables, waving to him with a smile. In front of her was a tray with a porkchop, some pasta in cream sauce, and strong coffee.

Approaching the table, Ardi set his tray down and shrugged his bag off his shoulder.

“How did you...?”

“You’re not the only one who knows alchemy, Ard,” Elena said with a proud glint in her eyes — she really was Boris’ wife, Ardi was firmly convinced of that. “I tried to catch up with you but didn’t see you at the elevators.”

“I took the stairs,” Ardi explained, inhaling the fragrant scent of partridge, which was tinged with sweet, slightly tart notes here. He had never tasted grapes before... “And I got held up reading the list...”

He patted his breast pocket. But even considering the fact that he had spent about ten minutes on the stairs, it seemed like Elena had brewed her potion even faster than he had.

“Are you going to tell me how you managed to make the potion without the formula?” She asked casually, cutting into her porkchop. She held her fork and knife like an artist might hold brushes before a canvas.

Ardan, for his part, flexed and unflexed his fist for a while, then rubbed his fingers together. Only after feeling warmth return to them did he pick up his utensils.

“No,” he replied briefly.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Elena smiled slightly.

For a while, they ate in silence. The partridge was... a little dry, and clearly not the freshest. It had probably spent at least a couple of days in the icebox. There was nothing like sinking your teeth into a still-beating artery...

“Ard.”

“Hm?”

“Your pupils are slit.”

Ardan stopped mid-bite and looked at Elena, whose face had turned slightly pale.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shaking off the memories of the hunt in the forest’s flows. “Got lost in thought.”

Elena swallowed audibly.

“Sometimes I forget you’re not entirely human.”

Ardi flinched. Images of marshals and Cloaks flashed before his mind’s eye...

“You really shouldn’t have helped Eveless.”

“The elf girl?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

Ardi sighed and shook his head slightly.

“Let me guess — my grandfather did something to her ancestors?”

“Not just something, Ard...” Elena glanced around as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear, but everyone else was too busy with their own conversations, meals, and rustling newspapers. “No one knows why, but the Dark Lord and Aror wiped out almost the entire Eveless family, even though they were some of the closest allies of the Firstborn Rebellion. Only the youngest son survived because he was on an expedition in the Zaphir Desert at the time. Tina, that’s her name, is one of his daughters.”

Of course... Obviously, Ardan would constantly be surrounded by people whose lives his family had torn apart. It made sense, given where he was. There was nothing surprising or “fateful” about it.

The rebellion had deeply affected the lives of nobles and the elite. And the Grand was known for admitting many descendants of both groups. Statistically speaking, Eveless wouldn’t be the first or the last person Ardan would need to avoid.

Just as Davenport had noted at the ball, for humans, the Dark Lord’s rebellion was a distant event shrouded by the mists of time. But for the Firstborn, it was a wound that remained fresh, something their parents had lived through, and in some cases, something they had personally survived.

“Can you tell me why you called the seal I used on the train ‘complex?’” Ardi decided to satisfy his curiosity while steering the conversation to a safer topic.

“Because the seal you used is a three-contour type with an embedded array of free runes,” Elena explained.

“That’s what you said during Convel’s lecture.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “At first, I thought he was trying to trick us by disguising everyday magic as war spells, but he went further and hid the whole idea behind a...” She trailed off.

“You don’t understand this at all, do you?” Elena asked, noticing Ardi’s blank look.

He merely shrugged.

“All right, look,” she said with a pleasant smile, pulling a piece of thick paper from her bag. It was the kind typically used for drawing seals. After finishing her coffee, she scattered the dregs over the paper and began swirling them into circles with a spoon. “Each new circle is an additional contour for the seal. How many circles did the spell you used have?”

Ardan recalled the Ice Arrow diagram.

“Three.”

“So, it’s a three-contour spell,” Elena pointed out the now-obvious fact. “And each new contour is like an additional propertie for the spell. You know how Star Magic works, right?”

“It embeds energy from the wizard’s Star into their surroundings.”

Elena raised both eyebrows in mild surprise.

“That’s a... very outdated definition of our craft, Ard... You’d only find that in ancient, pre-imperial treatises.”

Ardan inwardly kicked himself.

“The library in Evergale hasn’t been updated in a while,” he tried to excuse himself.

Judging by Elena’s expression, the excuse wasn’t very convincing.

“Sure...” She said with a hint of sarcasm. “Actually, modern science tells us that Ley Lines, though they don’t have a physical form, emit radiation that permeates reality. To put it simply, if you imagine reality as a piece of fabric, the Ley Lines are the threads woven into it.”

Ardi recalled the process of igniting his first Star and the many streams of multicolored energy he had seen before him.

“So, when we use seals,” Elena continued, “we’re not just embedding energy into our surroundings. We’re tying knots upon the threads of reality itself. And for those knots to do their job, they must have a way to affect reality, which, in turn, functions under very strict rules. Not all of them are known to us, but that’s how it is. Thankfully, science continues to advance steadily, allowing us to create increasingly more complex seals.”

Ardan paused to think.

“So, seal contours are... like additional rules for reality?”

“Exactly,” Elena set her spoon aside, leaving several rings in the coffee dregs on the now-soaked paper. “The contour itself doesn’t carry meaning — it’s the runes attached to it that matter, runes from the Fae language. I can’t give you a full list of contour runes right now. You’d be better off checking the reference guide.”

Ardan suddenly realized that the seals described in the Stranger’s book weren’t limited to three contours. For example, the Cold Shadow seal had five circles...

“And the more contours there are, the more complicated the seal?”

“With some exceptions, yes,” Elena agreed, cutting into her porkchop once more. “But complexity is relative here. The more circles there are, the more runes you need. So, if you’re drawing from memory, it’s harder to remember everything. Even if you have a diagram in front of you, it takes more practice to get it right without making mistakes. It’s one thing to have multiple contours in everyday magic, but in war magic... speed is essential...”

Ardi recalled Gleb Davos’ grimoire. The seals there also had three circles. However, some seals didn’t seem to have any contours at all.

“And what about the embedded array?”

“That’s a bit simpler,” Elena replied promptly. “The contours, or propertie, define how the knot is tied upon the fabric of reality. But what the knot actually does is determined by the rune array. There are two types: free and fixed. A free array means the seal won’t lose its core properties if you swap out some runes, while a fixed array means that changing even one rune could lead to unpredictable results.”

Ardan recalled his experiments with the Water Drop spell he’d never managed to actually create. Elena’s explanation suddenly made a lot more sense, and he felt less bitter about nearly losing a toe during one of those mishaps.

Then he remembered something Mart had mentioned when evaluating his Shield seal.

“What do ‘vectors’ in a seal mean?”

Elena’s eyebrows shot up again.

“That’s more advanced, Ard,” she said after a pause. “Vectors in rune arrays aren’t something they teach in the basic courses. In fact, it’s not covered until the later years... What I recall from our general theory lessons on Star Magic is that vectors determine the flow of Ley energy within the knot. The Ley isn’t static, you see. So, the seal has to ‘move’ as well. While the Ley moves on its own in the outside world, in a seal, you have to set the direction manually. It affects a lot, but what exactly that is, I don’t really know. I doubt we’ll get to that until our third or fourth year.”

“So,” Ardan summarized, “there are properties that shape the seal, runes that define the seal’s rules, and vectors that direct the energy flow within the seal.”

“If you simplify it... a lot,” Elena said, drawing out the words for emphasis, “then yes, that’s about right.”

“Why is the Fae language used?” Ardi asked, another question popping into his mind.

“Oh, that’s not too complicated,” Elena waved dismissively. Finishing her meal, she pulled a napkin from a stand and wiped her lips, leaving a smudge of red lipstick on the white fabric. “Star Magic came from the Eastern Continent. You probably know that there are fewer Ley Lines there than here. Some even think that that’s why there are hardly any Firstborn in the east, but that’s beside the point. The Fae language wasn’t actually created by the Fae themselves, but by dragons, the progenitors of all magic arts.”

Ardan hadn’t learned that from Atta’nha, but then again, he hadn’t asked about the origin of the language she’d taught him.

“There’s a legend, a sad one, which claims that, almost two thousand years ago, there was a kingdom on the Eastern Continent that was conquered by its neighbors. A simple shepherd set out on a journey to find the power that would help him take revenge,” Elena folded her utensils and placed them on her tray. “He wandered for years until he reached the northern peak of the Selcado Mountains, after which the Selcado League is named. There, he found a dying dragon and saved it. To thank him, the dragon tried to teach the shepherd the art of the Aean’Hane, but after many years, the dragon realized that the shepherd had aged and still hadn’t mastered the art. So, the dragon created seals and taught the shepherd how to gather Ley energy within himself. That’s how Star Magic was born.”

“What happened to the shepherd after that?”

“After saying farewell to the dragon, he set out on his journey home, sharing his knowledge with those he deemed worthy along the way,” Elena stood, taking her tray with her. “But he never made it home — he died of old age. No family, no children... In his pursuit of power and knowledge, he became a great wizard, but we don’t even remember his name now… This legend, Ard, is told in the first lesson of Star Magic, so that we never lose our heads. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash off my make-up and change.”

Elena’s heels clicked lightly as she left, heading off to remove her makeup and change her clothes. Meanwhile, Ardan was left alone, mulling over what Velena Emergold had told him.

Finishing the now-cold partridge and drinking his tea (not as good as cocoa, but still pleasant), Ardan took his tray to the rack for dirty dishes and made his way over to the lifts. There, he showed his schedule, and the lift operator, without waiting for a group of other students, let him inside the cabin. A second worker pulled a lever, and they began their slow descent.

The watch on Ardan’s wrist had previously told him that it had taken about twelve seconds for him to reach the sixth floor from the ground floor earlier, but they descended to the field in only eight seconds now. So, the field must’ve been on the fourth floor, just underground. The fourth sub-floor? He wasn’t sure of the term for it.

When the platform came to a stop, the operator opened the metal grilles and, pulling a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock of the heavy metal doors.

The doors swung open, revealing a rather unremarkable and unimpressive, wide corridor. The walls were lined with pale green brickwork, the ceiling was whitewashed and glowing with Ley-lamps, and the wooden floor was covered with a slightly worn, polished carpet that had been secured with steel rivets.

As he walked straight ahead, Ardan noticed the unusual labels on the doors. They were quite different from what one would expect to find in a university. For example, one door read “Armory,” while another said “Test Range No. 4.” The oddest was simply labeled “The Ring.”

Most of the doors, however, led to testing grounds, and Ardi counted twenty of them as he made his way down the corridor. At the end of it, he saw two doors opposite each other: one was labeled “Men’s Locker Room” and the other, of course, was labeled “Women’s Locker Room.” There was also a third, almost inconspicuous door at the very end of the corridor. It said ‘Pantry,’ but if you looked closely, you could just make out the almost faded remains of the words “Firstborn Locker Room.”

Ardan turned the handle of the men’s locker room door and entered, and was immediately hit by the mixed scents of hundreds of different colognes, and his ears rang from the clamor of voices.

“I heard that the colonel served fifteen years in the special forces,” said one student as he swapped out his polished shoes with silver buckles for simple but sturdy cavalry boots.

“Why did they have to send him here this year?” Grumbled another, struggling to pull on a pair of similarly sturdy boots that seemed too small for him.

From what Ardan could tell, everyone sitting on the long benches lined up beside simple wooden lockers with hangers and shelves was dressing in the same uniform. There were the high, black cavalry boots with narrow shafts. The students would then tuck their gray linen pants, reinforced at the knees, thighs, and calves, into the boots, cinch a wide belt over their black-and-white striped shirts, and finally, they’d throw on jackets made of bleached leather.

Some of the students, who hadn’t received their uniforms yet, had stripped off their cloaks, jackets, and vests, wearing only their shirts and pants.

As Ardan walked through the rows, he tried to count the number of students in the large room, but he lost track after nearly getting to two hundred.

Considering the fact that there were around four hundred students in the first year of the Grand, there must have been about two hundred and fifty to two hundred and seventy young men present here right now.

Apart from the benches, Ardi noticed several doors at the far end of the seemingly endless room. There was a “Restroom” and “Showers,” and farther along, there was also a wide arch leading to a rectangular turn.

Reaching the far end of the room, Ardan found an empty locker, and standing between two young men, he began preparing for the class.

“Did you hear? Last year, they had a different instructor,” the man to his left said.

“Professors sometimes resign from the Grand.”

“True, but this year, there’s a record — fourteen new professors, and all of them from practical disciplines.”

“What are you getting at, Vlad?” The second student asked, squinting at him. He was a thin and wiry fellow.

“I’m talking about the Emperor’s decree, fool. He said we’d be building military shipyards...” Vlad, who was broad-shouldered, but seemed sluggish, rolled his eyes.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“So?”

“So, we’re about to have a class with a special forces officer. Do you know what those guys do?”

“No idea,” the wiry one shrugged.

“They kill people,” Vlad scoffed, and Ardan mentally nicknamed him Potato because he felt about as energetic as a sack of potatoes.

“All soldiers kill people, Vlad.”

“True, but they don’t just kill people — they kill the-”

Whatever else Potato said was drowned out by a loud bell that was reminiscent of a church bell, only faster.

“Eternal Angels!” Exclaimed the wiry student, frantically fastening his jacket. “That’s the second bell! There’s only one left!”

Not wanting to find out what would happen after the third bell, Ardan quickly shed his cloak, removed his star-emblazoned epaulets (during field classes, mages were excused from wearing their regalia), hung his vest on a hook, and, bending down, tied the laces of his boots tightly enough to ensure that they would fit snugly but not be too tight.

Grabbing his staff and grimoire, which he hooked to his belt, Ardi hurried out of the locker room and into the hall.

The hall was so vast that it made the ballroom of the Palace of the Kings of the Past look small and insignificant by comparison. There were no balconies, no polished, gleaming floors, nor, of course, flying chandeliers.

There was nothing at all. Just a vaulted ceiling, about six meters high, dotted with flickering, yellow lights, much like the glowing windows in the cafeteria. The black floor had a low curb around the perimeter, much like the one in the Anorsky manor, with metal gutters embedded into the floor. Cables meant to transport Ley energy were likely hidden within.

That was it.

There was nothing else.

Except for the students gathered near the closest wall, of course. Both the boys and the girls were there, and they all looked nearly identical in their uniforms. Like Ardan, a few were still missing their standard issue attire.

Ardi took his place in line, leaning slightly on his staff, and began to wait. Gradually, more students emerged from the locker rooms, filling the hall. The boys did so mostly with excitement, while the girls mostly bore expressions that clearly said they could’ve found better uses for their time.

Ardan noticed how the girls had adjusted their hairstyles for the lesson, tying their hair into tight buns and tucking it under caps, while the boys had remained bareheaded. It was an amusing shift in “fashion.”

By the time the third bell rang, the entire first-year class had assembled, filling about a third of the hall. Ardan had no idea how they were going to conduct a lesson with such a large group. Probably-

“Good to see you, first-years,” a smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.

From the shadows on the opposite side of the hall, a man walked out with a casual gait. He was middle-aged, perhaps forty or so, maybe a bit older. He was of average height — around 175 centimeters, maybe slightly taller — and had an equally unremarkable build, with a waist so slender it seemed almost feminine. His face was round and utterly nondescript, with a small, gleaming bald patch on top. He was clean-shaven and wore the same uniform as the students, except that under his jacket, there was a blue-and-red striped shirt instead of a black-and-white one.

But while the colonel’s appearance was plain, his epaulets were anything but. Five stars adorned his shoulders. They depicted seven, nine, eight, six, and finally, eight rays again.

In comparison, even someone like Bogdan Urnosov would likely have stepped aside in deference...

“My name is Colonel Vseslav Kshtovsky,” the former soldier introduced himself, taking his place in front of the students.

He held a metal staff etched with numerous seals, and at its top was a yellow accumulator — a highly valuable item Ardi didn’t even want to consider the cost of...

“First of all, let me warn you that we’ll only be working with this large of a group once, today,” his voice was friendly but carried a certain... slow, sticky quality, like a swamp you’d gradually sink into. Or the wind that would push clouds ahead of a looming storm. It was calm… until it revealed its overwhelming power. “After this class, you’ll be divided into twenty groups of twenty students each. Every group will be assigned a mentor from among our combat officers. Rest assured, their experience and skills are more than sufficient to teach you the abilities and knowledge that, by the grace of the Eternal Angels, you’ll never need... I’ll personally oversee the first group, regardless of your faculty.”

Excited whispers rippled through the hall, especially among the boys. Ardan, who’d already figured out the situation, resolved to do everything in his power to end up in the very last group. It would be much easier to earn the required points for his scholarship there.

As for combat skills... Well, where was he, and where was the war? Also, who would even let Aror Egobar’s descendant into the first group, which would undoubtedly be filled with those closely tied to military careers?

“Now... let’s start with something simple,” the colonel scanned the crowd. “Please list the ranks of the Imperial Army’s ground forces.”

A hundred hands shot up immediately. Ardan could have answered as well, but he wasn’t interested in drawing attention to himself. He’d had enough of that in Kovertsky’s lecture...

“You, miss from the Faculty of Healing,” the colonel pointed with his staff at a girl in the front row.

“Private, first, second, and third class,” the healer recited crisply. “Then corporal and sergeant. After that are the officers: lieutenant, captain, major. And then the senior officers: colonel and general.”

“Thank you,” the colonel nodded. “You may return to the line.”

The girl stepped back, nearly bumping her staff into the person next to her.

“If you successfully complete all six years of university, you’ll graduate with lieutenant’s stripes. In other words, you’ll become officers of the Imperial Army,” the colonel’s dark eyes gleamed with pride and something else Ardan couldn’t quite identify. “That’s a great honor, and an even greater responsibility. But that’s for the future. For now, I’ll ask my assistants to join me, and we’ll begin the selection process.”

Stepping out of the same shadows that the colonel had emerged from, twenty men and women appeared. All of them looked to be in their thirties, or a little older. Some bore scars on their faces. A few had a noticeable limp. In other words, they were the kind of people who, as Ardan’s great-grandfather had used to say, had “Saluted the motherland with blood.”

“The selection will follow the rules of magical duels,” the colonel explained. “My assistants will randomly pair you up. The winners of the first matches will duel other winners, and the losers will fight the other losers. During this time, my assistants will assess your abilities, based on which we’ll divide you into groups. Don’t worry about expending your Star’s rays — the field will restore your strength within minutes.”

Within minutes... In the Anorsky manor, his Star had recharged almost instantly, but then again, Ardan had practiced there all on his own.

“But in order to lend credence to my words with a demonstration, I’ll ask for volunteers...”

The colonel hadn’t even finished speaking when a hundred hands shot up again. Ardan’s, of course, was not among them. If he could, he’d surrender to every opponent in advance and head straight to the back of the list.

His goal was to survive the next four months and then return home. He’d deal with family mysteries and other problems back in Delpas. And for that, he needed a stipend, not a brawl with...

“Great Prince Iolai, since you’ve volunteered, please step forward.”

A young man whom Ardi had seen at the ball stepped out of the line. He was a relative of Anastasia, if Ardan remembered correctly. Son of Anastasia’s uncle, or something like that. He was a bit taller than the colonel, with black hair streaked with white, tied back into a tight ponytail and tucked into the collar of his jacket. His staff, made from a type of wood unfamiliar to Ardan, was gripped by long, thin fingers. His face was sharp, almost like a mix between a weasel and an otter, with a prominent nose completing the image. His narrow shoulders added to his somewhat awkward appearance, but his dark eyes gleamed with an unsettling light. But despite his odd looks…

“Since we’re all without our regalia today, please state your Star and its number of rays,” the colonel instructed.

“Red Star,” the prince’s voice rasped like an old hinge. “Nine rays.”

Despite his unimpressive appearance, Prince Iolai Agrov possessed a completed Red Star — a feat that was impossible to fake or obtain through any shortcuts. Across the entire Empire (which accounted for a fifth of the planet’s population), there were probably fewer than a few hundred individuals with completed Red Stars. That alone spoke volumes about how difficult it was to accomplish such a thing.

So, it was no surprise that when the colonel asked “Who among you wishes to duel the Great Prince Agrov?” not a single hand was raised.

Well, almost no one raised a hand.

To Ardan’s surprise, someone did volunteer. And that someone was none other than Boris Fahtov.

“Very well, please-”

“Colonel,” Iolai interrupted with a sneer, “may I choose my opponent?”

The colonel raised a curious eyebrow, then shrugged.

“It makes no real difference to me, so yes, go ahead.”

As a child, Ardan had always laughed at these kinds of situations in his great-grandfather’s stories. But now, as he watched Iolai scan the ranks of frozen students, he mentally sent an apology to his late ancestor. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he’d one day end up in the shoes of one of those fairy-tale characters.

At last, the prince’s dark, gleaming gaze locked onto Ardan, and a smirk twisted his sharp features.

Of course... Both Atura and Davenport had warned him about this...

“I choose Ard Egobar from the General Knowledge Faculty,” Iolai growled, his voice laced with malice.

The students around Ardan turned their heads, scanning for the person named. Ardan remained still, hoping — just maybe — that hearing his last name would prompt the colonel to reconsider this spectacle.

“Student Egobar, please don’t delay the class,” the colonel said, looking directly at him.

No such luck.

Sighing inwardly, Ardan carefully made his way through the crowd of students, most of whom barely reached his shoulders, and walked toward the colonel, the officers, and Iolai. Up close, they all seemed even shorter than they had from a distance. And somewhat reassuringly, there was no sign of disdain, disgust, or anger in the colonel’s eyes, or those of his assistants.

“Your Star and its number of rays?” The colonel asked.

“Red, seven,” Ardan replied curtly.

There were no particular murmurs or whispers at that. Seven rays was still a significant number, but at the university, Ardan wasn’t the only one with that number of rays. In fact, there were others — like Iolai and Boris — who had even more than him. After all, the best of the best would gather here.

“Very well,” the colonel nodded calmly. “Please move ten paces apart.”

Ardan turned and counted off ten steps before...

“Student Egobar, please step back by a pace and a half,” the colonel spoke from behind him. “It looks like you’re planning to run away.”

Chuckles rippled through the crowd, but if Ardan were honest, he wouldn’t have minded doing just that and running away as far as possible.

He had no reason to fight Iolai. He couldn’t even invent a motive. They lived in completely different, non-intersecting worlds.

“Let me remind everyone of the duel’s rules,” the colonel stepped between them. “You take turns either breaking through the shield or forming one, until the victor is decided — either when one opponent exhausts their Star’s rays or when one shield holds while the other breaks. If you use all your energy to cast a shield but the opponent can still break it and has rays left, they win. If you deplete your opponent’s rays while they still have a shield but can’t cast another, you win. The use of replenishment items is forbidden. Any form of injury is forbidden. During the duel, the field will not restore your strength.”

Ardan already knew all of this. He remembered it well from his duel against Gleb Davos in the prairie, and perhaps that’s why memories of that fight — of Gleb’s wind-tousled hair, his wide, stunned eyes, and the mess left on the grass — flashed before his mind’s eye.

After that, Ardan had spent a lot of time thinking and had come to the conclusion that a duel, while seemingly straightforward, involved far more nuance. Victory could be achieved not just through brute force and burning one’s rays, but also through tactics and strategy. Not that he planned to use either today.

“Student Egobar,” the colonel turned to him, gesturing toward Iolai. “As the challenged, you may choose whether to cast the shield or break it first.”

“I’ll cast the shield,” Ardan replied without hesitation.

“Understood,” the colonel nodded and stepped back. “Let’s begin.”

Opening his grimoire, Ardan prompted a fresh wave of snickers from the students as he pretended to search for the Shield seal. In the meantime, Iolai turned to them and theatrically spread his arms out, as if saying “Look who I have to deal with.”

After nearly half a minute, Ardan “found” the seal and began to slowly, and deliberately, form it, stumbling occasionally, which drew more laughter from the audience. Some of the colonel’s assistants even exchanged puzzled glances.

But Ardan consoled himself with the thought that Skusty would have been thrilled to watch this performance, while Ergar... Well, that was a thought for another day.

Finally, Ardan slammed his staff against the ground and formed the Universal Shield seal, pouring just a single ray into it. A familiar, soap-like veil shimmered around him.

He was determined to end this farce as quickly as possible...

The colonel frowned slightly, and Iolai’s face also scrunched up in confusion for a second. The students, upon seeing the shield, quieted — not because it looked particularly strong, but because...

Because it confirmed Ardan’s suspicion as to why Gleb had used so much power in his first strike back in the prairie. The Stranger’s seal was so ancient and crooked that it was impossible for anyone to gauge how much energy it contained.

But it wasn’t long before Iolai, regaining his smirk, raised his staff. A seal of steely gray formed before him, slower than Gleb’s had been. If Ardan had wanted to, he could have dodged the attack with his shield intact, but... why bother?

Iolai struck the ground with his staff, and a somewhat transparent, iron-colored fist shot toward Ardan. It crashed into his shield, shattering the soap-like film before slamming into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him sprawling nearly a meter backwards.

For a moment, Ardi lay on his back, trying to feign pain. The blow had been solid, no doubt about it, but he had taken harder hits during his childhood games with Guta and Ergar.

And of course, the rocks thrown by Cassara had left a far more lasting impression.

“Struggling” to push himself up with his staff and hoping his pitiful acting would suffice, Ardan rose to his feet.

“I concede,” he rasped. “I’ve exhausted my rays.”

Iolai, his face beaming like city lights at night, turned to the students and raised his staff triumphantly. Applause echoed through the hall — not from everyone, but from many.

“An excellent demonstration,” the colonel stepped forward again. “Student Egobar used an ancient version of the Universal Shield seal but cast it far too slowly and sloppily. Meanwhile, student Agrov employed a basic, single-contour offensive spell from the Earth school with a fixed rune array — the Steel Fist. It uses three rays of the Red Star. However, the exam standard for casting such a seal in the Military Faculty is under a second, whereas student Agrov took almost two.”

The smug grin on Iolai’s face faded slightly.

“But do you know the greatest flaw in this particular duel, and the greatest flaw in general among mages with Stars that have many rays?” The colonel tightened his grip on his staff. “It’s that you tend to underestimate your opponents.”

Everything happened too fast… Too fast for Ardan to suppress the instincts drilled into him by Ergar and honed by Cassara and the prairies.

In an instant, the colonel spun, slamming his staff into the ground. A seal flashed into existence before him, and a small, fiery projectile shot out of it. As soon as Ardan noticed it, he felt a cold, clawing grip tighten around his heart.

The fiery projectile, cutting through the air like a bullet and making it ripple with heat, almost struck Ardan’s chest before he reacted. He slammed his staff against the ground, instantly summoning a shield. The offensive spell slowed for just a fraction of a second, searing through the barrier right after, but that was enough for Ardan.

Just like on the train, he altered the projectile’s trajectory, and in a single motion, he dodged, his body reacting without conscious thought. Then, striking the ground again, he swiftly formed a brilliant, white seal, from which a nearly-meter-long Ice Arrow shot forth, freezing the ground as it flew.

As the arrow hurtled toward the colonel, Ardan drew a knife from behind his back and lunged forward. As Ergar had taught him, he intended to neutralize the threat with a single blow.

But...

But the colonel didn’t even bother to raise a shield. He simply tilted his body slightly to the side, allowing the Ice Arrow to slam into the floor and shatter into tiny shards. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he spun his staff and struck him...

Somewhere.

Ardan never figured out where.

Everything went dark right after.

***

Ardi awoke on a soft bed. Overhead, a Ley-lamp shone, and beside the small bedside table, near a screen that concealed the rest of the world, sat one of the colonel’s assistants.

The man was in his thirties, his face marked with expressive scars. His left hand was missing the top joints of his ring finger. His epaulets bore three stars with four, three, and four points.

“I am Assistant Professor Kery Lavrilov,” he introduced himself.

Ardan slumped back against what he assumed were pillows in the infirmary.

“How-”

“You’ve been asleep for several hours,” the officer interrupted. “Class is over. By the way, you’ve been assigned to the twentieth group.”

Ardan couldn’t help but smile. Finally, something had gone his way today.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Lavrilov noted, “or disappointed.”

“Not at all,” Ardan replied, not bothering to argue.

The officer studied Ardan for a moment while the latter stared at the tips of his boots dangling off the bed.

“You recover quickly,” Lavrilov remarked. “The nurse didn’t need to use magic to heal you even though the colonel’s strike landed…”

Ardan pressed his fingers to his temple, wincing.

“On my temple... I could have died.”

“You’re at the Imperial Magical University, student Egobar,” Lavrilov reminded him. “There are so many high-class healers here that you can forget about easily departing... How do you say it? To walk the path of your ancestors?”

“Something like that,” Ardan muttered.

“And it was unwise of you not to take your duel with Great Prince Iolai seriously,” the officer added. “It clearly offended him. A rather reckless move on your part.”

Ardan didn’t bother to point out that if it hadn’t been for the colonel’s meddling, everything would have worked out just fine. Iolai would have satisfied... whatever urge he had, and Ardan would have cemented his reputation as a bumbling rural fool who had only managed to get into the university by sheer luck. Soon, everyone would’ve stopped paying attention to him.

But now...

Why did life always go the exact opposite of his carefully laid plans?

“Can I leave?” Ardan asked.

“Of course,” Lavrilov gestured toward the screen.

Indeed, this was the infirmary. He saw white walls, rows of identical beds and tables, glass cabinets filled with medicines, numerous IV stands, and the bright, blinding light of Ley-lamps. Outside the large windows, the city was already sinking into twilight, seemingly rejecting sunlight entirely.

Ardan sat up, inspected his bag (which had apparently been brought in along with him) and, after ensuring everything was still there, put on his boots, buttoned up his vest, and threw his crimson cloak over his shoulders, the hem barely reaching the back of his knees.

Slipping the bag over his shoulder and taking his staff and hat in hand, Ardan silently headed for the door.

“I’ll be the instructor for your group during military training, student Egobar,” Lavrilov said from behind him.

“Good to know,” Ardi replied without a hint of irony.

Kery Lavrilov did indeed seem like a pleasant enough person, at least as much as one could be in the current situation.

For some inexplicable reason, it appeared that he and Lavrilov were the only ones in the room — there were no nurses and no other patients. Just before he reached the infirmary door, Ardan heard:

“You’d do well to stop using those seals, student Egobar, unless you want to attract the attention of the Cloaks.”

Ardi turned, puzzled, to face the officer, who had also risen from his chair.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure where you learned them,” Lavrilov clarified, “but what you demonstrated today is part of the basic curriculum for mages of the Second Chancery. And I’ll give you my word as an officer that I won’t inform the colonel or my colleagues of this.”

Ardan had seen enough of the “outside world” by now to ask the following question:

“Why?”

Lavrilov paused for a moment, as if considering his answer.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he shrugged. “You’ve left a positive impression on me — for now, at least — and... you already have more than enough on your plate. I think you’ve got plenty to deal with as it is.”

Ardan tilted his head to one side. It sounded too good to be true.

“My father,” Lavrilov suddenly added. “He was convicted of robbery and murder and sent to a labor camp. I’ve had to live with that my entire life... So maybe I can understand you at least a little, student Egobar.”

Without turning back, Ardan muttered a quick “thank you” and left through the door.

Unfolding the map to get his bearings, he made his way out of the building. The infirmary was on the first floor of the Healing Faculty’s building, which stood in the eastern wing. Navigating past the students, Ardan moved across the walkway, his thoughts occupied not with what had just happened but with the Stranger’s tome, which was safely tucked away in his satchel.

In truth, long ago, Ardan had assumed that the ancient book had been written by the Dark Lord himself. But the more he read it, the more he realized that wasn’t the case. The Stranger occasionally mentioned events from that era, but always as an outside observer.

And Lavrilov’s words... How could an officer seemingly unrelated to the Cloaks know such things?

And...

Ardan’s head throbbed painfully. Whether this was due to the hit he’d taken or the relentless flood of new questions and mysteries, he wasn’t sure. If these puzzles hadn’t directly involved his life, he might have been tempted to unravel them.

But the more he kept his distance from them, the healthier he would be. Still, who had the Stranger really been? And, more importantly, why had his book ended up in Ardan’s great-grandfather’s possession? The old man had once let slip that he had known the Stranger...

In light of these emerging details, the incident with Prince Iolai and the colonel no longer seemed all that significant to him. So, Ardan resolved to stick to his plan, and after reaching the atrium, he gritted his teeth and took the lift to the library.

After waiting in line for a while, he approached the counter and handed the staff two lists.

“Hello, I need the books from these lists.”

The young woman in a yellow uniform took the papers and examined them carefully.

“That’s quite the number...” She said, raising an eyebrow at Ardi. “You’re sure you need all of them?”

“Yes,” Ardan confirmed.

“All right,” she shrugged lightly. “Do you have a library card?”

“I haven’t had a chance to get one yet.”

“Then, while you fill out the paperwork,” she handed him a form and a blank sheet, “I’ll remind you that removing books from the library is strictly forbidden. You may copy sections for personal use, but any attempt to distribute knowledge of Star Magic illegally will be punished according to Imperial law. And remember, any damage to the property must be compensated in full, regardless of the extent of it.”

“Of course,” Ardi nodded, returning the completed form.

The librarian checked that everything was in order before issuing him a library card.

“The general reading room is to your right,” she pointed to a space filled with desks, each equipped with a small Ley-lamp casting a soft, muted glow. All the seats were occupied... What a day... “Since you’re from the General Faculty, you have your own reading area. Head a bit farther in, and you’ll find more desks sectioned off from the general area. That’s where you should go.”

“Wait a second,” Ardan was taken aback. “The General Faculty has its own reading room?”

“And unlimited access to the library,” the librarian confirmed. “Except during curfew. But that’s only for the junior years. Starting from the fourth year, you can stay in the library overnight if you submit a notice in advance. The General Faculty also has no restrictions on the information you can request, but keep in mind that we’ll report all your reading activities to the secretariat. If they determine your research is straying into forbidden territory, they’ll send a commission to assess your suitability for continued studies at the university. Additionally, General Faculty students have no limits on the number of books they can request. Just please don’t abuse these privileges. I still remember one wizard from the General Faculty who literally made a bed out of books and lived in the library for two months. She ended up being taken to a mental health facility, by the way.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Ardan could muster. “And the books...”

“They’ll be waiting for you in your designated area,” the librarian smiled. “After all, this is a library at a magical university... The name is a description, but also a bit of an in-joke, you see.”

Ardan, feeling like a passenger in his own body, turned and made his way toward the indicated section. And indeed, after passing by rows of students, each with a ticket displaying the date and time of their visit (apparently, they had to book appointments in advance to access the library), Ardan found the separate reading room, which was only half-full.

And in the far corner, near the window, a cozy couch awaited him, along with a wide desk and two dozen books on Star Magic.

Ardan even pinched his wrist.

Was it possible that the colonel had killed him, and he had somehow ended up in the paradise of the Face of Light’s religion?

Finally... It was just him, the books, and the silence...

***

“Student Egobar.”

“Huh?” Ardan was snapped out of his study of a text on the interaction between two differently-contoured seals when accounting for rune-bridge arrays.

The same librarian from before stood above him.

“The library is closing,” she said softly, pointing to the clock. The time was just shy of eight.

“Sleeping Spirits!” Ardan exclaimed. “Curfew is soon!”

He glanced at the scattered books and his notebook, already filled with notes in pencil. As Atta’nha had taught him, he was copying down everything he found worthy of meticulous study.

Unfortunately, thirty pages had already been used up, and his notebook only had one hundred and twenty of them...

“Is it possible...” He began.

“The books will be set aside for your next visit.”

“But what if-”

“Everything you requested is part of our standard collection,” the librarian explained. “There’s nothing unique about those books. We have other copies, so if someone else orders them, it won’t be a problem.”

Ardan sighed, closing his notebook and tucking it, along with the pencil, into his bag.

“Thank you,” he said, heading for the exit.

***

“One more minute, and you’d have been late, private,” the elderly warden tapped his watch as Ardan passed through the entrance to the dorms.

“Good thing I made it,” Ardan replied, his tone far more irritable than usual.

His mother wouldn’t have approved of such a retort, but the past few days had been exhausting. Not that such a thing excused rudeness, of course.

Still, Ardi wasn’t made of iron.

“That’s true,” the old soldier hiccupped and took a swig from his bottle. “I’ve been trying to place your name all evening...”

Not again...

“Sounds a lot like Abar,” the old man croaked. “Ever heard of him? Hec Abar... He was a senior officer of the Third Army’s separate reconnaissance and sabotage corps, and the commander of the Sixth Division. That was the only case where a simple major was granted a senior officer’s duty... Ah, what a beast Hec was...”

“You knew him?” Ardan’s heart skipped a beat.

“Not really,” the warden waved dismissively. “I was green back then. I’d just joined the corps, and we immediately walked into a stinking, bloody mess. We were ambushed by mercenaries... And if it hadn’t been for Major Abar, I’d have ended up rotting in the ground.”

“He... saved your life?”

“Mine and four other fools, which we were back then,” the warden added. “And a week later, he died on a mission. Shame... I never got to thank him. He was a great man. Never heard a bad word about him. He didn’t spare his enemies, nor himself... You remind me of him a little, big guy... Your name sounds familiar, and your face is... Yeah, it’s also similar...”

“Thank you,” Ardan said quietly, his voice a little softer now.

And as he turned toward the stairs, a strange warmth spread through his chest.

The halls were quiet as he made his way to his room. However, as he entered it, he overheard the conversation between the two elves and the dwarf come to an abrupt halt.

For a moment, silence hung in the room. Then the Firstborn students demonstratively threw themselves onto their beds and opened their textbooks.

Ardan didn’t react to this. The last thing he wanted was to socialize, especially with people who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

Quietly, he walked to his bed, tossed his staff onto the top bunk, undressed down to his undergarments, and, discreetly slipping his father’s knife under his pillow, climbed under the covers.

Glancing at the hazy strip of the window, he found a strange, poetic similarity in the skies over the Metropolis and his mood.

He drifted off to sleep thinking about those gray clouds.

***

Ardan was jolted awake by the sensation of his staff knocking against the wall and grazing his knee. Opening his eyes, he could just make out the silhouettes of two elves.

One stood frozen, holding Ardan’s staff in his hands, while the other was poised to strike him with a pillowcase stuffed with something heavy.

The blow landed where Ardan’s head had been just moments before, but he’d managed to jerk back, banging his head against the wall. In one swift motion, he grabbed the knife from under his pillow, which was still in its sheath (he knew better than to kill someone on his first day), and jabbed it into the elf’s chest.

At the same time, Ardi kicked his staff upwards, the tip slamming into the second elf’s chin and sending him sprawling back into the door, which creaked in protest.

Springing from his bed, Ardan noticed his third “roommate,” the dwarf, charging at his legs. Ardan sidestepped and brought his heel down hard on the dwarf’s knee.

In a matter of seconds, one elf was gasping and clutching his chest, the other was struggling to regain his balance, and the dwarf lay groaning into a pillow, clutching his shattered knee.

Ardan didn’t bother asking them any questions.

It was all perfectly clear. Whether it was Eveless, Iolai, or someone else whose family had suffered at the hands of his great-grandfather and the Dark Lord...

Ignoring their groans and gasps, Ardan, still silent, calmly dressed, took his staff, packed his belongings into his bag — double-checking for the second time that nothing had gone missing from either his bag or his satchel — threw on his hat, picked up his satchel, and left the room.

The clock had already passed midnight.

Climbing the stairs, Ardan made his way to the front desk, where the warden was snoozing peacefully.

Slapping his hand on the desk, Ardan startled the old man awake.

“Huh? What? Am I already on duty?” The warden stammered, looking around before realizing where he was. “Are you out of your mind, private?!”

“I’m leaving,” Ardan said, placing his room key on the counter.

Leaving the bewildered warden behind, Ardan stepped into the passage, crossed the empty atrium, and exited onto Star Square.

Metropolis greeted him with damp night air and an ink-black sky devoid of stars. Only the cold, lifeless city lights illuminated the student as he stood there.

He had exactly one day to find new accommodations before classes began again.

“Well then,” he muttered to himself, bracing against the embrace of the nighttime city, and set off into its depths.