Unveiling the Truth

«HEY DRACO—» Zinarphil’s voice cracked like a whip.
«Touch my boy, and I’ll break every bone in that hand.»

Dracensius jerked back as if scalded, whirling:
«You—! How did you—?!» His eyes darted between her and Arian, dawning horror in his gaze. «This boy… with YOU?»

Andreas’ laugh was velvet wrapped around steel:
«Well well! What an… unexpected honor, Lady Zinarphil.» He spread his hands, mocking. «Though I don’t recall authorizing your entry.»

She didn’t blink.
«The mana-cameras are still rolling, Andreas.» Her finger tapped her temple. «So I’d suggest less talking—»
Her glare swept the stunned kings.
«—and more listening. Now.»

A beat of glacial silence.
«EVERYONE. STEP. BACK. FROM ARIAN.»
«MOVE.»

Amidst the electric standoff—Dracensius’ fury, Andreas’ calculated smirk, Zinarphil’s icy dominance—
Arian’s slender frame crumpled.
Overexertion. Collateral damage of shattering limits.
His body hit marble—a fallen star silenced mid-burn.
Unseen. Unheard

Dracensius seethed, claw retracted:
«Sister. You will explain why you’re here—»
His glare flickered to Arian’s still form. «—and who this boy truly is.»
A growl rumbled deep: «And stop calling me Draco. How many times must I demand it?»

Zinarphil’s smile was a honed blade:
«Well done, my dear little cousin~» Her fingers brushed his scaled pauldron—too intimate, too dangerous.
«You remembered me! How precious.» Her voice dropped to a velvet purr:
«Still calling me "sister" after all these centuries…»
A theatrical pause. «When was our last meeting? I wonder…»
«Ah. No matter. It’s irrelevant now.»

King Roxelius stepped forward, eyes burning crimson:
«Lady Zinarphil—» His voice cracked like breaking ice. «—apologies for the interruption, but as a King, I demand: Why. Are. You. HERE?»

Zinarphil didn’t turn.
«No harm done, Roxelius.» Her tone frosted the air. «But that’s no way to address a lady.»
A dismissive wave. «Now move. I’m taking the child to the healers.»

Andreas cut in, steel beneath silk:
«Enough. Roxelius. Dracensius. Both of you—STEP BACK.»
His smile held knives. «Let her do as she pleases…»
The smile vanished. «…for now. But you WILL explain everything, Lady Zinarphil.»

Andreas’ voice was molten steel:
«Abraham. Announce the winners. End. This. Now.»

The professor paled.
«Your Majesty, but—the third phase! The sorcerers’ trial remains—»

«Did I stutter?» Andreas’ glare could flay skin.
«Finish it. Or I’ll finish you.»

Abraham’s scar twitched.
«Y-y-yes, Your Grace!»

After the kings stormed out, Abraham faced the shell-shocked hall.
«Exam terminated.»
The words fell like tombstones.
«30 entered Phase Two. 20 pass.»

He unrolled the scroll—hands trembling.
«Top Candidates:»
A pause, heavy as anvils.
«Drekarön Argolin. Maru. Arian.»
His jaw tightened.
«...and Leo.»

Jaw-dropping talents—each a marvel...
Had Arian not eclipsed them all.

Not a soul dared protest.
The air itself congealed with terror—thick enough to choke on. Whispers of dissent died unborn.
One wrong move, the crowd knew—a snapped neck would follow.

«RRRAGH—!»
Dracensius’ roar shattered vases. Tables splintered under his fists. Servants cowered like startled mice as priceless artifacts met their end.
«Why must that HAG haunt us?!» Venom dripped from every syllable. «Why does she always appear?!»

Roxelius’ hand clamped the dragon-king’s scaled shoulder—not soothing, but a shackle.
«Control yourself, Dracensius.» The vampire’s voice cut through the chaos. «You debase your throne with this tantrum.»
A crimson glare pinned him. «You are a king. Act like one.»

Dracensius’ heaving chest stilled—barely.
For now.

Dracensius whirled, scales rippling with fury:
«How can I be calm, Roxelius?! You KNOW her! Why should I—?»
His fist slammed into the wall, stone cracking. «And that boy—WHO IS HE?!»

Andreas finally turned from the tapestry he’d been studying.
A slow, icy smile spread across his face.
«Oh, I believe I know exactly who he is.»

Eldinor’s silver eyes narrowed—haunted.
«Then enlighten us, King Andreas. As I said outside… his features feel disturbingly familiar.»

Andreas’ gaze locked onto the Elven King.
«Truthfully, Eldinor? I wasn’t certain…»
He paused, letting dread coil in the silence.
«...until I saw him up close.»

Another beat.
«And until Zinarphil claimed him.»
His voice dropped to a blade’s whisper:
«Yes. That boy…»
«...is the son of Atreus.»
«The Legend-King.»

Dracensius shot up from his chair—face blood-drained.
«How?!» The word tore from his throat. «Didn’t we kill him at the Battle of Sundered Skies?!»

Roxelius nodded, fingers steepled.
«I concur with Andreas.» His crimson eyes pinned Eldinor. «That "familiarity" you sensed, Eldinor? Likely just the silver hair—a twin to Atreus’.»
A cold smirk. «And that obscene power for a nine-year-old? Mathematically echoes the Legend-King’s adolescence.»

Eldinor closed his eyes—seeing ghosts.
«Alas, King Roxelius… I never knew Atreus as you did.»
His voice thickened with centuries-old memory.
«But his face?»
A shuddering breath.
«That face is carved into eternity. And I saw it—»
—living within that child.»

Andreas tumbled an obsidian die between his fingers, eyes fixed on the world map tapestry.
«Irrelevant who he resembles now.» His voice cut the silence like glass.
«What matters is what we do with the boy.»

At his words—
The kings’ masks snapped into place.
No mercy in their eyes. No hesitation.
Only the ruthless calculus of power as gazes locked—
Weighing. Measuring.
Deciding a child’s fate.

Eldinor broke the silence, tone clipped but urgent:
«My counsel? We do nothing—yet.»
He met each king’s stare.
«That boy is the first quad-elemental mage in recorded history.»
A pause, heavy with implication.
«Until certainty is ours… he is a resource too rare to waste.»

Eldinor steepled his fingers, voice glacial:
«Roxelius is correct—and consider this: his elements are complementary.»
His silver eyes narrowed. «But if we delay, and he learns the truth?»
A pause colder than grave soil.
«We couldn’t stop Atreus with an army. What hope against his heir?»

Dracensius’ scales breached his skin—neck shimmering with armored rage.
Vertical slit pupils burned like forge-fires.
«Friends?» His laugh held no mirth. «Recall the prophecy. Nine years ago. The omen carved in starlight and blood.»
He leaned forward, claws gouging the table.
«If that boy is the World-Ender—»
«—he dies. NOW.»

The kings had spoken—
Dracensius’ bloodlust. Eldinor’s caution. Roxelius’ cold analysis.
Now, all eyes sharpened on Andreas.

He stood motionless—staring at the floor—as if deciphering secrets in the marble veins.
A murmur, too low for others:
«If he’s Atreus’ boy… then he’s also hers.»
A faint, cruel smile touched his lips.
«Explains those black streaks in his silver hair.»

Two minutes bled past. Then—

Andreas lifted his gaze—
—and sealed Arian’s fate.

«Let him live. Send him to Krosalis.»
His finger tapped Roxelius’ shoulder.
«Your faction watches him there.»
The finger swung to his own chest.
«I’ll pull him into my circle.»
A pause, heavy as a executioner’s axe.
«We’ll use him.»
«For our ends.»

The kings exchanged stunned glances—silent consensus cracking under Zinarphil’s arrival.
She stood in the doorway, a storm given human form.
Her face: polished marble. Empty. Terrifying.
No rage. No contempt.
Just absolute, glacial certainty.

«How… fortunate.» Her voice sliced the air like shattering crystal.
«You’re all here. And disappointingly… intact.»

Her gaze swept them—scalpel-sharp, dissecting.
«Whatever schemes fester in your minds?»
A pause. Deadly.
«Hear this now:»
«That boy is mine.»
«My son.»
«Harm him—»
«—lay a finger upon him—»
«—or even wound him with words—»
Her eyes ignited—void-black flames.
«And I will unmake you.»
«Atom. By. Atom.»

Dracensius lunged forward, scales flaring:
«How?! How can you possibly stand against us ALONE?!»

Zinarphil didn’t pause. Didn’t turn.
Her laugh was frost-kissed arsenic:
«The same way I made you a king, my foolish baby brother.»
A blade’s-edge pause.
«Now. I leave.»
«Arian walks into Krosalis—whole, unharmed, and blissfully unaware of what transpired here.»
Her final words struck like a guillotine:

«You will play your parts. You will feign ignorance.»
«Or I will unmake the thrones I built.»

She left.
The hall door thundered shut behind her—
A sound like mountains colliding.
Crystal sconces shattered. Stone trembled.
And the echo clawed at the castle’s bones long after she’d vanished.

Eldinor turned, face pale with shock:
«Apologies for asking, but… who IS that woman?»

Dracensius snarled, cheeks still flushed crimson:
«If you don’t know?» His clawed hand crushed a chair arm.
«Then pray you never find out.»

«Uhn… Where—?!»
Arian’s eyes fluttered open—dazzled by sterile white walls.
He lay in the royal infirmary, body humming with residual pain.

A nurse rushed to his side, hands gentle but firm:
«Finally awake!» Her voice softened to a hush.
«Hey hey—DON’T MOVE!»
She pressed him back onto the pillows.
«Your body’s fragile as spun glass right now, sweetheart.»

Arian’s gaze dropped to his bandage-swaddled body.
A knife-edge headache spiked through his temples as he clawed for memories—
Nothing. Just static.

«E-excuse me, Nurse…» His voice rasped like shattered glass.
«Why am I here?»

The nurse froze—spoon halfway to a healing vial.
«What?! You don’t REMEMBER?!»
Her eyes swept over his fragile frame—pity warring with disbelief.

Sighing, she adjusted his pillow.
«Alright, truth then:»
Her finger tapped his bandaged forearm.
«You’re a prodigy…»
«…trapped in flesh too weak for your own magic.»
A somber pause.
«Your mana veins are scorched, kid.»
«Pushed power your body couldn’t withstand.»

Arian’s small fists clenched—knuckles bone-white.
He bit his lip. Hard.
Blood welled, crimson against parchment skin,
dripping onto sterile sheets.

«Thank you,» he whispered, voice fraying.
«Now please… leave.»

The nurse recoiled—«This child!»—but obeyed.

The door clicked shut.
Then—
A SCREAM.
Not of flesh.
Of SOULSHEAR.
A sound to splinter mirrors and still hearts.

Zinarphil’s measured strides shook dust from ceiling beams.
She didn’t glance at the trembling nurse.
«Worry not.» Her voice frosted the air between them.
«I thank you for your care.»
A pause.
«His scream?»
«The sound of a soul tormented by its own perceived weakness.»

Teachers sat frozen—
Silent. Stunned.
Eyes darted—loaded glances traded like poisoned blades.

To some, Arian shimmered as:
«The Prodigy. Champion of Mana-Weavers. A king uncrowned.»

To others—hollow-eyed veterans of the Sundered Skies—
He was:
«The Omen. The Prophecy’s Vessel. Living Cataclysm.»
Fear hung thick—a contagion in the stillness.

He rose, palms flat on the obsidian table.
«Colleagues.»
The word quenched all whispers.
«Lay aside these… vacuous conjectures.»
His gaze swept the room—cold. Final.
«Remember our oath:»
«We teach. We tend. We guard.»
«Not prophesize.»

Abraham drew a deep, steadying breath.
«Master Naius is right.» His scarred jaw tightened.
«Though, Master…» His gaze sharpened. «With your Eye of Insight—did you sense nothing… unusual in that boy? Arian?»

Naius remained still as mountain stone.
«Nothing noteworthy.»
A pause. Then—quiet as falling snow yet final as execution steel:
«Except this: He will be my apprentice.»

Abraham’s head dipped—once. Sharp. Unquestioning.
He addressed the room:
«Colleagues. This year’s talent pool is exceptional.»
A scroll unfurled in his hands.
«Ten selected from each faction. You’ve witnessed their caliber.»
His finger tapped the parchment.
«Master Naius has claimed his student. I shall assign the others—»
A ghost of approval touched his lips.
«—including that elven boy. He’ll make a fine sorcerer.»
His eyes swept the silent masters.
«Unless you have further claims?»
«Then you are dismissed.»

Arian’s voice fractured with shame:
«Master… I’m sorry! I couldn’t—» He choked. «—couldn’t control my power!»

Zinarphil exhaled—a sound like wind through ancient tombs.
«Hush, my boy.» Her hand brushed his bandaged arm.
«Your wholeness matters more than control.»
Her eyes hardened to obsidian shards.
«But mark this:»
«Eyes everywhere are now locked onto you.»
«Poisoned eyes. Hungry eyes.»
She leaned close, her whisper colder than grave soil:
«Avoid the kings like plague-rot.»
«Surround yourself with allies—»
«—not courtiers.»

Arian clutched Shadwolf, tears carving silver paths down his cheeks:
«I promise, Master…» His voice cracked. «But this means we’ll be separated! I don’t want that!»
He buried his face in the wolf’s fur. «Come with me. Please.»

Shadwolf huffed, tail thumping the bed—
«Hey! Quit the waterworks, kid!»***
«Weren’t YOU the one bragging about going to school?»

Arian lifted his head—
And saw it.
The glimmer in Zinarphil’s eyes.
The faint tremor in her clenched jaw.

A laugh burst from him—bright, startled, freeing:
«Whoa!» He wiped his tears, grinning. «Never thought you’d be such a softie, Master!»

Zinarphil’s composure shattered.
«YOU LITTLE BRAT—!»
A pillow slammed into his face.
«Want another beating?! HUH?!»

The days bled into weeks—
Until departure dawned.
Until Arian’s new chapter tore its first page.

Abraham faced the twenty first-years, a scarred monolith against the academy spires.
«Well, well.» His voice cracked like whip-thunder.
«Welcome to Krosalis, fledglings.»
A smile like a freshly sharpened blade:
«May you survive…»
«…long enough to graduate.»

He paced before them, boots crushing gravel to dust.

«Know this:»
«You are this continent’s crown jewels—»
«—but brighter gems exist.»
His gaze skewered their budding pride.
«Lesson One:»
«Greater power births greater burdens.»
He halted.
«And a knife in a child’s grasp—»
«—is deadlier than a sword in a soldier’s hand.»

Twenty voices roared as one:
«YES, MASTER!»

I hope you like this writing style.