The somber news spread through the Academy like wildfire: the cadets imprisoned for their attempt to steal the Black Pendant had taken their own lives in their dungeon cells. Officially, it was reported as a coordinated act of suicide, carried out by poison hidden in their teeth. For most, it was a tragic but closed chapter. For me, it was the start of a deeper mystery.
The announcement came during morning assembly. General Darius himself delivered the news, his voice steady but his expression grave. Beside me, Renar’s jaw tightened as Darius recounted the official explanation: that the cadets had chosen death over dishonor. Lorian, standing on my other side, looked genuinely shaken, still trying to piece together the larger picture we’d shared with him.
“They were just kids,” Lorian muttered, his usual humor nowhere to be found. “What could have driven them to do something like that?”
I didn’t answer immediately. My gaze was fixed on Darius, watching for the subtle signs—the hesitations, the strained pauses—that betrayed someone delivering a message they didn’t fully believe. Darius was a soldier through and through, but even he couldn’t mask the slight unease in his tone.
“Does it really seem like a choice to you?” I whispered back.
Lorian turned to me, frowning. “What do you mean?”
Renar spoke up, his voice low but sharp. “If they were going to take poison, they’d have done it the moment they were captured. Waiting days for this? That’s not how you do things if you’re trying to protect secrets.”
I nodded, keeping my voice quiet. “It’s staged. Or at least… encouraged. Someone made sure they couldn’t talk.”
Later that day, the Academy buzzed with muted whispers. The cadets' deaths had cast a heavy shadow, and though the official story placated most, some couldn’t hide their unease. Kalden and his clique weren’t popular, but their sudden, collective demise gnawed at the edges of reason.
Renar and I retreated to the training grounds, a quiet corner where our words wouldn’t be overheard. Lorian followed close behind, his normally carefree expression clouded with concern.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Renar said, pacing back and forth. “Poison hidden in their teeth? That’s something you use to avoid interrogation, not days after you’ve been locked up.”
I leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, my mind racing. “This wasn’t about protecting themselves. It was about silencing them. Someone didn’t want them talking, not to each other, not to anyone.”
Lorian folded his arms, his brow furrowed. “So… what? You’re saying they were killed?”
“In a way,” Renar said, his voice grim. “Forced into a corner. Either they were given no choice, or whoever pulled the strings made it look like they chose this.”
As the day wore on, pieces of the puzzle began to click into place, though the image they formed was murky at best. My thoughts kept circling back to Master Fennor. His behavior had always felt… off. Polished and polite, yes, but there was a subtle dissonance, a calculated edge to his every word.
Renar voiced what we were all thinking. “If someone inside the Academy wanted to keep those cadets quiet, they’d need authority, access, and a strong enough tie to the nobles backing their mission.” He looked at me pointedly.
“Fennor,” I said, the name slipping out like a curse.
Lorian frowned. “The records guy? You think he’s involved in this?”
“He’s more than just records,” I said. “He’s been in and out of nearly every corner of this place—handling logistics, overseeing disciplinary actions, even sitting in on strategy meetings. He’s everywhere, but always just on the periphery. Like he’s watching.”
Renar nodded. “And let’s not forget the Black Pendant operation. Someone helped facilitate it from inside. It wasn’t just those cadets working alone.”
The implications hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. If Fennor was involved, then this wasn’t just a rogue operation by a group of desperate cadets. This was part of something larger—something that tied directly to House Rithane.
Lorian let out a low whistle. “If you’re right, this guy isn’t just a cog in the machine. He’s holding the whole thing together.”
“Which means,” I said, my voice steeling, “he’s our next target.”
In my chest, a familiar resolve began to burn. The cadets' deaths weren’t an isolated tragedy—they were a warning, a message sent by someone who thought they were untouchable. If that someone was Fennor, then it was only a matter of time before he made his next move.
We couldn’t let that happen.
**
The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was one I didn’t like. Fennor, the unassuming yet ever-present overseer of Academy logistics, had always been on my radar. Now, with the cadets’ deaths weighing heavily on my mind, his name refused to leave my thoughts.
I mulled it over as I sat with Renar and Lorian in the dorm common room that night, the dim light of the oil lamps casting long shadows on the walls. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the flame and the faint murmur of distant conversation.
“We need more than suspicion,” Renar said, breaking the silence. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a thoughtful frown on his face. “If we move too soon without evidence, we’ll tip him off—and whoever he’s working for.”
I nodded, my arms crossed. “Agreed. But Fennor has to have left some trace. No one operates this close to something this big without slipping up somewhere.”
Lorian, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. “You’re saying we need to follow the trail? Find out where he’s been sticking his nose?”
“Exactly,” I replied. “Fennor’s hands are in everything around here—supplies, logistics, communication. If he’s involved in covering up the cadets’ deaths, there has to be a record. A report, a requisition, something.”
Renar tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his sharp eyes glinting in the flickering light. “He’s meticulous, though. I’ve seen the way he works—everything organized to perfection, always ready for scrutiny. If he left anything behind, it won’t be obvious.”
“Which means we have to get creative,” I said.
The next day, I began quietly watching Fennor more closely, keeping to the edges of his line of sight whenever possible. The man was a picture of calm efficiency as he moved between the records office and the administrative quarters. He carried himself with the ease of someone who felt untouchable—a man confident in his role and assured that no one would dare question his actions.
But there was a tension to him now that hadn’t been there before, subtle but telling. His normally fluid movements were just slightly hurried. His eyes darted more often, scanning his surroundings. It was as though he could sense the noose tightening, though he didn’t yet know who was pulling the rope.
By the end of the day, Renar and I regrouped in the training yard, away from prying ears.
“He’s definitely on edge,” I said, recounting Fennor’s behavior. “Whatever he’s involved in, he knows the walls are closing in.”
Renar nodded, his expression grim. “That could mean he’s already taking steps to cover his tracks. If we’re going to act, it has to be soon.”
The breakthrough came later that evening, in the form of a seemingly innocuous clue.
While Lorian and I practiced drills in the field, Renar returned from a discreet visit to the Academy’s records room. His usually calm demeanor was tinged with urgency as he approached us.
“You’ll want to see this,” he said, holding up a small slip of parchment.
It was a simple delivery request, stamped with Fennor’s seal. At first glance, it appeared routine—a request for additional supplies to be sent to the administrative wing. But as I read it over, something about the timing struck me as odd.
“This is dated the night the cadets died,” I said, my voice low.
Renar nodded. “Exactly. Supplies requested for ‘urgent sanitation and disposal.’ It doesn’t outright say anything, but considering the timing…”
“It’s a clean-up,” I murmured, the realization sinking in. “He had the bodies dealt with. That’s why no one saw them after the report.”
Lorian, peering over my shoulder, let out a low whistle. “That’s… bold. Sending an official request for something like this?”
“He probably didn’t think anyone would question it,” Renar said. “Whoever he’s working for gives him enough protection to act with impunity. But he slipped up. This ties him directly to the aftermath of their deaths.”
I stared at the parchment, my mind racing. It wasn’t definitive proof of his involvement in the cadets’ deaths, but it was a link—a thread we could follow.
“We’re getting closer,” I said, folding the slip and tucking it into my pocket. “But if Fennor’s involved, he’s just a pawn. We need to know who he’s taking orders from.”
Renar’s expression hardened. “Then we keep pulling the thread.”
With that, a new wave of determination surged within me. Fennor had made a mistake, and we wouldn’t let it go to waste. Whatever shadow loomed over the Academy, we were one step closer to exposing it.
**
It began with Renar’s sharp instincts, as it often did. He had a knack for sensing when things didn’t add up, and his latest hunch had us staking out the courier routes that fed into the Academy’s administrative offices. With Fennor now a figure of growing suspicion, we couldn’t afford to sit idle.
“Fennor doesn’t move blindly,” Renar had said earlier that day as we gathered our plans in the dormitory. “He’s meticulous, sure, but he’s also not going to risk direct communication if he knows eyes are on him. Someone else is moving pieces for him.”
That set the plan into motion. While Lorian and I prepared to monitor key drop points in the Academy grounds, Renar put his ears to the ground, quietly gleaning information about Fennor’s typical routines and contacts.
By evening, our patience bore fruit.
The courtyard was quiet under the faint light of the waxing moon. Shadows danced along the stone walls as I waited behind the arch of the central fountain, my ears attuned to every creak and shuffle in the stillness. Renar had told us to be here, confident that tonight we’d intercept something important.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before movement caught my attention. A hooded figure darted between the pillars of the western hall, moving with hurried precision. I exchanged a glance with Lorian, who was crouched behind a low shrub, her narrowed eyes following the figure's path.
“That’s our courier,” she whispered.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Nodding, I gestured for her to stay low as I adjusted my position to intercept. The figure made their way toward a concealed alcove near the administrative offices, pausing briefly to pull a small envelope from within their cloak. Before they could deposit it in the hidden crevice, I stepped out, blocking their path.
“Evening stroll?” I asked, my voice calm but firm.
The courier froze, their face partially obscured by the shadow of their hood. Lorian appeared behind them moments later, cutting off their retreat.
“You’re interfering with official business,” the courier hissed, their voice tense but trying to sound authoritative.
“Official?” I echoed, taking a step closer. “Strange, since it’s after hours and you’re skulking around like a thief. Care to explain what’s in the envelope?”
When they didn’t respond, I reached forward, but the courier made a sudden move to bolt. Lorian was faster. With a fluid motion, she swept the courier’s legs out from under them, sending them sprawling to the ground.
“I’ll take that,” I said, plucking the envelope from their hand as Lorian pinned them down.
Back in the safety of Renar’s quarters, we opened the envelope under the glow of a single lantern. The contents were simple but chilling—a missive detailing instructions for “finalizing the sanitization process” in the aftermath of the cadets’ deaths. The letter was unsigned but bore a seal we all recognized: the administrative mark used exclusively by Master Fennor’s office.
“This confirms it,” Lorian said, her voice a mix of disbelief and anger. “Fennor was directly involved.”
Renar shook his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “It’s worse than that. This isn’t just about covering up the cadets’ deaths—it’s about ensuring no one questions them. Whoever wrote this wanted the entire matter erased, from the bodies to the evidence.”
My stomach churned as I read the letter again, the words practically leaping off the page. The calculated precision, the lack of emotion—it was a chilling reminder of how far those in power would go to protect their secrets.
“This wasn’t written in haste,” I said, placing the letter down. “Fennor or whoever he’s working for planned this the moment the cadets were arrested. It was always about control—of the narrative, of the Academy, of us.”
Renar’s jaw tightened. “Which means Fennor’s not working alone. There’s no way he’d have the authority or resources to pull something like this off on his own.”
“Then we follow the trail,” I said, determination hardening in my voice. “This letter connects Fennor to the cadets’ deaths. We need to find out who gave the order and why.”
The implications of the intercepted document weighed heavily on all of us. It wasn’t just about the cadets anymore. This was part of something larger, a shadowy game being played behind the scenes—and we were only beginning to understand the stakes.
I glanced at Renar and Lorian, both of whom wore expressions of quiet resolve. We didn’t need to say it out loud; we all knew this wasn’t going to end here. Whatever Fennor was involved in, we were going to uncover it—no matter how dangerous the path ahead became.
**
The intercepted letter was more than just a clue; it was a smoking gun. Fennor’s name may not have been explicitly signed, but the seal tied it to his office, and the language used carried the cold detachment of a man who saw people as disposable tools. As Renar and I pieced through the evidence in the quiet of his quarters, the full extent of Fennor’s involvement began to crystallize.
“This isn’t just about keeping the cadets’ deaths quiet,” Renar murmured, his fingers tapping a deliberate rhythm against the desk. “This is about control—controlling us, the Academy, and anyone who might become a threat.”
I nodded, the weight of his words settling in my chest. “Fennor has been playing the long game. The cadets were pawns—used to test boundaries, perhaps, or to send a message. Their failure wasn’t just inconvenient; it threatened to expose something far bigger.”
Lorian leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly, her expression pensive. “So they were silenced. But why take such a risk? Why orchestrate their deaths in a way that could raise more questions than answers?”
“Because it was necessary,” I said, the realization clicking into place like a piece of a puzzle. “The cadets knew something—maybe not everything, but enough to make them dangerous. Fennor couldn’t afford to let them talk, even under interrogation. Their deaths were a preemptive strike, meant to ensure silence before anyone could dig deeper.”
As the hours passed, the pieces began to form a clearer picture. Fennor wasn’t just an administrator with noble connections; he was an operative, likely planted by House Rithane or another influential faction. His role was to maintain order, to ensure that the Academy remained a breeding ground for loyal soldiers and pliable leaders who would serve the status quo without question.
The cadets’ failed mission to steal the Black Pendant had been a crack in that order. Their capture and subsequent imprisonment had set off a chain reaction—one that Fennor had worked swiftly to contain.
But what disturbed me most wasn’t the efficiency with which he operated; it was the implications of his actions. If Fennor had been willing to orchestrate the deaths of his own students to protect his masters’ interests, what else was he capable of?
Renar broke the silence, his voice low but firm. “We can’t underestimate him. Fennor’s smart, methodical, and he has resources we don’t. If we’re going to confront him—or whoever he’s working for—we need more than just this letter.”
I glanced at the intercepted document, its damning words still fresh in my mind. “We need proof that he’s taking orders from someone higher up. Something that ties him directly to House Rithane or whoever’s pulling the strings.”
Lorian straightened, her expression hardening. “And how do we do that without tipping him off? He’s bound to notice if we start poking around too much.”
Renar’s gaze met mine, a glint of determination in his eyes. “We don’t confront him directly. Not yet. But we start tracking his movements, his correspondences. We find out who he meets with, who he answers to. And if there’s a connection to House Rithane, we expose it.”
I nodded, the weight of our task settling heavily on my shoulders. “Agreed. But we have to move carefully. If Fennor suspects us, we could end up like the cadets—or worse.”
As I lay awake that night, the enormity of what we were facing loomed large in my mind. Fennor wasn’t just a pawn in this game; he was a key player, one whose moves were dictated by forces far more powerful and insidious than I had imagined.
The cadets’ deaths were no longer just a tragedy; they were a warning—a stark reminder that those who stood in the way of the powerful were erased without hesitation.
But if Fennor thought he could silence us the way he had silenced them, he was wrong. This wasn’t just about vengeance anymore. It was about justice. About ensuring that no one else would have to suffer under the weight of such ruthless ambition.
Fennor had made his move. Now it was time to make ours.
**
The trek to General Darius’s office carried a weight that seemed to hang in the very air around us. Each step echoed louder than it should in the Academy's corridors, as if the building itself was reacting to the secrets that had been unearthed. Renar walked beside me, his expression carefully composed, but the slight twitch of his fingers betrayed his unease. Lorian trailed just behind us, her gaze darting nervously around, as if expecting someone to leap out of the shadows at any moment.
When we finally reached the imposing door to Darius’s office, I took a steadying breath before rapping firmly on the wood. A gruff "Enter" came from within, and we stepped inside to face the man at the center of the Academy's web of power.
Darius was seated at his desk, reviewing a stack of papers. He barely glanced up at us, his focus seemingly elsewhere. But as the door clicked shut behind us, his sharp eyes flicked to mine, narrowing slightly. He set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
"Back again, Cadet Illiad," he said, his tone measured. "I take it you have more questions about the... recent developments?"
I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “The cadets’ deaths—there’s more to them than what’s been officially stated. And I think you know that, General.”
Darius’s expression didn’t change, but I noticed the way his hand tightened subtly around the armrest of his chair. “I’ve already told you all I know. The cadets chose their end to avoid greater dishonor. It’s tragic but not uncommon among those who serve in dangerous circles.”
Renar stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “With all due respect, General, we’ve uncovered evidence that suggests otherwise. Master Fennor’s name keeps appearing in places it shouldn’t. Documents, connections to the cadets, even the method of poisoning—none of it adds up to a simple case of suicide.”
Darius’s gaze flicked to Renar, his jaw tightening. “Fennor is a loyal instructor who has served this Academy for years. If you’re accusing him of something, I expect concrete proof, not conjecture.”
“And what if we have proof?” I pressed, holding his gaze. “A coded message tied to Fennor, intercepted before it could reach its destination. It mentions the cadets, their failed mission, and an unnamed directive that directly implicates House Rithane’s influence.”
That got a reaction. Darius’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, I saw something flash across his face—guilt, frustration, or perhaps something deeper. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk.
“This is dangerous ground you’re treading, Illiad,” he said, his voice low. “If House Rithane is involved, as you claim, then you’re dealing with forces far beyond the Academy. Forces that could crush you without hesitation.”
“I’m already familiar with how far they’ll go,” I replied, my tone icy. “But I won’t stop just because they’re powerful. They’ve left too many loose ends, and I intend to pull every single one of them until the whole thing unravels.”
Darius’s gaze bore into mine, and for a long moment, the room was thick with tension. Then he exhaled, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the situation was pressing down on him.
“You don’t understand the kind of game you’re playing,” he said finally. “This isn’t just about a few cadets or an instructor with questionable ties. If you push too hard, you’ll find yourself staring into an abyss you’re not ready for.”
“Then prepare us,” Renar said sharply. “If there’s more at stake here, we need to know. Shielding us won’t stop us from digging.”
Darius regarded Renar for a moment, then glanced at Lorian, who had remained silent but watchful. Finally, he leaned back in his chair again, letting out a weary sigh.
“You’ve backed me into a corner, haven’t you?” he muttered, more to himself than to us. “Very well. I’ll look into Fennor’s activities myself. But you will stay out of it from here on. This isn’t a fight you can win alone, Cadet Illiad.”
His words might have sounded like a concession, but his tone carried an undercurrent of warning. I didn’t trust it. Not entirely. Still, for now, we’d forced his hand, and that was a small victory.
As we left the office, the weight of his words lingered. He was right about one thing—this wasn’t just about the cadets anymore. Something far larger was at play, and if Darius was reluctant to take it on, then it was up to us to be ready for whatever came next.
**
As we left General Darius’s office, the gravity of the situation settled heavily on my shoulders. The conversation had been tense, charged with a subtle hostility that confirmed my suspicions—Darius was holding back. Whether it was out of fear, loyalty, or sheer pragmatism, I couldn’t tell. But what he didn’t say spoke louder than anything he’d admitted.
Renar and Lorian walked silently beside me as we navigated the Academy’s labyrinthine halls. The muted clatter of our boots against the stone floors was the only sound, each step reverberating with the weight of unspoken thoughts. I cast a quick glance at Renar. His face was a mask of calm, but the flicker of his eyes betrayed the calculations spinning in his mind.
Lorian broke the silence first, her voice a soft murmur, as if afraid the walls themselves were listening. “You don’t believe Darius, do you?”
I shook my head. “He’s deflecting. He knows more than he’s letting on, but either he’s too afraid to act or he’s protecting someone.”
“Or both,” Renar added, his tone grim. “Darius is too seasoned to be this naive. He’s seen the connections. He just doesn’t want to follow them.”
That brought us to a crossroads. If Darius wasn’t going to take action, we had to. But how? The risks were mounting, and even with Renar’s sharp mind and Lorian’s keen instincts, the scale of this conspiracy was growing beyond our current reach.
We reached a quieter part of the campus, where the evening air carried the faint scent of the distant forest. I stopped, turning to face the others. “We need a new approach. Darius may be hesitant, but we don’t have the luxury of waiting. If Master Fennor is involved, we need to find proof strong enough to expose him.”
Lorian crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “What about the document we intercepted? Isn’t that proof?”
“It’s a start,” I said, “but it’s not enough. Darius can dismiss it as circumstantial. We need something irrefutable—a direct link between Fennor and the cadets’ deaths, or better yet, Fennor and House Rithane.”
Renar nodded thoughtfully. “Fennor isn’t a careless man, but everyone makes mistakes. If he’s playing a role in this, there will be a trail. We just need to find it before he realizes we’re onto him.”
The question was how. Fennor was cunning, and if he was aware of the investigation—even indirectly—he would be tightening his defenses. I mulled over the possibilities, letting my thoughts churn through the scattered pieces of the puzzle.
“We need to watch him,” I said finally. “Track his movements, figure out who he’s meeting, where he’s going, and what he’s hiding. If he’s communicating with House Rithane, there’ll be signs—letters, messengers, something.”
Lorian raised an eyebrow. “And what happens if he catches us tailing him? He’s not just some cadet, Illiad. He’s an instructor, and a sharp one at that.”
“I know,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “That’s why we can’t rush this. Subtlety is key. If we act too openly, we’ll spook him, and he’ll go underground. We’ll lose our chance.”
Renar tapped a finger against his chin, his eyes narrowing. “We’ll need a rotation. Watching someone 24/7 is exhausting, and we can’t afford to let him notice a pattern. We’ll also need to figure out his schedule—classes, meetings, even personal habits. Every detail could matter.”
I nodded, appreciating his pragmatism. “We start tomorrow. Gather what we can without drawing attention. If Fennor is meeting anyone off-campus, that’s where we’ll find our strongest leads.”
The conversation turned to logistics, each of us contributing ideas and strategies to avoid detection. It was a delicate balance—maintaining our usual routines while probing into a man who could very well be our enemy.
As the plan took shape, a thought gnawed at the back of my mind. Fennor wasn’t acting alone. He was a cog in a much larger machine, and even if we succeeded in exposing him, the forces behind him—House Rithane—would remain.
This wasn’t just about Fennor. It was about dismantling the web of control and manipulation that House Rithane had woven across Valtheris. And if Fennor was our next target, then so be it.
The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves in the nearby trees. I clenched my fists, a quiet resolve settling over me. This was only the beginning. Fennor’s downfall would be the first crack in the foundation of the power that had oppressed us for too long.
“Let’s get to work,” I said, my voice steady. “We have a trail to follow.”