Masks and Measures

The morning haze lifted gently over Arcanum Spire as the dormitories stirred to life. Sunlight streamed through crystalline panes, casting faint Aetherlines across the polished stone floor of Dormitory C. Outside, mana-runed banners fluttered in the breeze — each one a symbol of a House bound to an elemental or ideological legacy.

Lucien stood at the edge of the training grounds, his gaze drifting over the assembled students. Their postures ranged from jittery to arrogant, all eager to prove themselves in the first round of aptitude assessments. The Awakening was a spark — today was about showing what kind of flame it might kindle.

He rotated his wrist slowly, watching the threads of energy pulse just beneath his skin.

Null Sovereign.

It lay dormant now — concealed even from passive detection. The sigil no longer glowed unless he willed it, the System marking him only as “Unranked – Utility Type,” a convenient veil for someone who needed to be underestimated.

“Lucien!”

Kael jogged up beside him, hair tousled, a wooden practice blade slung over his shoulder. His energy was infectious — the kind of hope that people clung to without realizing it. Lucien remembered how, in the original script, Kael’s every action inspired loyalty. Even his rivals couldn’t help but respect him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here so early,” Kael said.

Lucien offered a half-smile. “I don’t sleep well in unfamiliar beds.”

“Same.” Kael grinned, then nudged him slightly. “Though I’m surprised. You didn’t seem the combat type yesterday.”

“I’m not,” Lucien said coolly. “But the assessments don’t care.”

Before Kael could reply, Professor Aldric’s voice boomed across the training yard.

“All first-years to formation! You’ll begin with foundational compatibility drills. No magic, no weapons. Just instincts.”

The students lined up. Lucien ended up opposite a tall, broad-shouldered boy named Garran, who radiated pure fire affinity. The moment the match started, Garran lunged.

Lucien moved like a shadow slipping through cracks — too fast to follow, too subtle to seem impressive. He let his foot catch slightly on gravel as he pivoted, allowing Garran to graze his shoulder. A clean enough dodge to avoid damage — but messy enough to look like luck.

From the corner of his eye, Lucien saw Kael watching him.

Good, he thought. Suspicion... still there, but dimming.

As the drill ended, Garran slapped Lucien on the back. “You’re quick, utility boy. Not bad for someone without a real Archetype.”

Lucien nodded, saying nothing. He’d spent lifetimes pretending. A few weeks at the academy would be easy.

Later, as they filed out toward the statue garden for meditation focus trials, Seraphina approached.

“You took a hit on purpose,” she said without preamble.

Lucien gave her a measured look. “What makes you think that?”

“You moved like a duelist. But your stumble was deliberate. Either you’re hiding something, or you’re incredibly lazy.”

“I’ll take the compliment,” he replied mildly.

She didn’t smile. Just studied him with that unsettling gaze — like a puzzle she hadn’t solved yet.

In the novel, Lucien recalled, Seraphina’s bloodline carried the gift of Empyreal Sight — a passive empathy trait tuned to magical resonance.

It wasn’t active yet. He could feel it. But eventually, it would awaken, and when it did... hiding would become much harder.

I’ll need to direct her attention elsewhere before that happens.

They arrived at the statue of the Founder Archmage, surrounded by faintly humming crystal obelisks meant to amplify focus. Students sat, one by one, to test the clarity of their inner channels.

Lucien approached last.

He touched the obsidian conduit at the base, closed his eyes — and immediately saw it:

A vast, endless field of fractured stars — the internal realm of the Null Sovereign. In it, power itself screamed for meaning, only to be silenced by the void. It was beautiful. And terrifying.

He kept his breathing even. When he opened his eyes, the reading was low. Predictably so.

“Barely a flicker,” Aldric muttered from his slate. “Either you’re talentless, or you’re good at playing dead.”

Lucien bowed slightly. “Sometimes, sir, the line between the two is thin.”

The professor snorted.

As the day closed, students sprawled across the courtyard, exhausted but buzzing. Lucien stood at the edge again, watching Kael and Seraphina spar — a dance of flame and starlight.

In the novel, he recalled, this was where they began to bond. The Arc of Radiant Duel.

He remembered reading this part long ago, moments before his character — the villain — appeared to destroy everything.

But now?

Now he watched in silence.

And this time, the villain was just another face in the crowd.