The clock tower of Eldoria Academy tolled midnight, its deep chimes reverberating through the still air as Kael Veyrin slipped out of the greenhouse, the deep blue Veyrin crystal tucked safely within the folds of his tattered gray cloak. The gardens were shrouded in darkness, the enchanted lanterns dimmed to a faint glow, their light barely piercing the dense foliage that rustled with the night breeze. It was 06:24 AM WIB on Tuesday, June 3, 2025, in the world beyond this magical realm, but within Eldoria, time was measured by the rhythm of magic and the relentless cycle of its trials. The note from Dorian, slipped into his hand after the review, burned in his memory: *"Meet me at midnight. The throne awaits."* The royal shimmer on the parchment had confirmed its authenticity, and the echo within the crystal stirred at the promise of power, its whispers urging him forward despite the danger.
Kael moved silently, his storm-gray eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of proctors or noble spies. His lean frame was tense, his scuffed boots making no sound on the dew-slicked cobblestones, the notched dagger at his belt a comforting weight. The forged Merivale crest gleamed faintly under the moonlight, a fragile shield against the scrutiny of the royal court. His jet-black hair, tied back with a worn leather strip, fell slightly into his eyes, and he brushed it away with an impatient swipe, his mind racing with the implications of Dorian's summons. The bastard son of House Vaelthar had offered knowledge and an escape, but trust was a luxury Kael couldn't afford—not when the royals were closing in.
The Glass Arena loomed ahead, its crystal walls reflecting the stars in a fractured mosaic, the blue glow pulsing faintly as if alive. Kael approached cautiously, his hand resting on the crystal in his cloak, its warmth steadying his nerves. The echo murmured, a woman's voice from his bloodline, guiding him toward the throne, but he pushed it back, focusing on the present. As he reached the arena's entrance, a shadow detached itself from the wall—Dorian, his hooded figure cloaked in black, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of intrigue and caution.
"You came," Dorian said, his voice low and smooth, carrying the weight of royal blood despite his outcast status. "I wasn't sure you would, after Lysara's little show."
Kael kept his distance, his hand hovering near his dagger. "You said the throne awaits," he replied, his tone guarded. "I want to know what that means—and why I should trust you."
Dorian's lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp. "Fair enough. Follow me." He turned, leading Kael into the arena, where the crystal walls amplified their footsteps into an eerie echo. At the center, a hidden panel slid open at Dorian's touch, revealing a spiral staircase descending into darkness. Kael hesitated, the echo urging him to follow, but he nodded to Elara, who had insisted on trailing him as backup, her presence a faint shadow in the garden beyond.
The staircase led to a subterranean chamber, its walls lined with ancient tapestries depicting Veyrin and Vaelthar mages in alliance, their magic intertwining in golden and blue threads. A stone table dominated the room, its surface carved with runes that glowed faintly, and atop it rested a map of Eldoria, marked with red lines tracing the royal ritual's reach. Dorian gestured to a chair, but Kael remained standing, his gaze fixed on the map.
"This is the truth the Vaelthars hide," Dorian began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The ritual that sustains their power drains the magic of lesser bloodlines—yours included. It's conducted every decade, in a hidden sanctum beneath the royal palace, using a relic called the Scepter of Dominion. Your family's Severance was the only magic that could break it, which is why they erased you."
Kael's stomach tightened, the echo surging with a mix of rage and recognition. "And the throne?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm within.
Dorian pointed to a mark on the map—a castle deep within the royal lands. "The Veyrins were once co-rulers, bound by a pact with the Vaelthars. The throne awaits you because it's your birthright, reclaimed through the catalyst. But claiming it means confronting the ritual—and the king himself."
Kael studied the map, the red lines converging on the sanctum. "Why help me?" he asked. "You're a royal bastard. What's in it for you?"
Dorian's expression darkened. "Revenge," he said simply. "My mother was a Veyrin, cast out when the king learned of her blood. I was raised in the shadows, watching the Vaelthars corrupt everything. Breaking the ritual frees us both—me from my exile, you from their hunt."
The offer was tempting, but Kael's instincts screamed caution. "And Rylan?" he pressed. "Elara's brother. You said he's the key."
Dorian nodded, retrieving a small vial from his cloak. Inside, a faint golden thread swirled—magical essence. "He's alive, held in the sanctum as leverage. This is a trace of his magic, stolen during his 'questioning.' Use it to locate him, but it'll draw the royals' attention. You'll need to act fast."
Kael took the vial, its energy tingling against his fingers. The echo whispered of a plan, and he felt the crystal's pulse align with his resolve. "When?" he asked.
"Three days," Dorian said. "The next ritual is set, and the Culling Trial will be a diversion. I'll get you into the palace, but you'll face Aric and Lysara. Are you ready?"
Kael nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. "I'll need my team."
"Bring them," Dorian agreed. "But trust no one else. The royals have spies everywhere."
They parted ways, Dorian vanishing into the shadows, leaving Kael to return to the greenhouse. Elara met him at the door, her amber eyes narrowing as she took in his expression. "What did he say?" she demanded, her hand on her dagger.
Kael explained everything—the ritual, the throne, Rylan's location. Elara's face hardened, her fire magic flaring briefly. "We're going," she said. "For Rylan, and for my family's honor."
The team gathered, their alliance tightening. Lir studied the vial, confirming it was a locator spell, while Gav and Mara planned the trial diversion. Kael spent the next days training, the crystal's power growing as he bound the echo further with Elara's anchor. The visions intensified—his ancestor's rebellion, the Scepter's creation—guiding his strategy.
The night before the trial, Kael meditated alone, the echo's voice clear: *"The throne is yours, but the price is blood."* He pushed it back, focusing on his purpose—survival, justice, and reclaiming his legacy.
The trial dawned, the forest grounds alive with royal wards. Kael's team executed their plan, Severance disrupting the magic as Elara's fire and Gav's strength cleared a path. The diversion worked, drawing proctors away, but Aric intercepted them, his golden blades a deadly dance. Kael countered, the crystal amplifying his Severance, shattering Aric's storm. The prince retreated, his eyes promising retribution.
With the trial's chaos as cover, Dorian led them to a secret passage, the vial guiding them to the sanctum. Inside, they found Rylan—emaciated, chained, his amber eyes meeting Elara's with a flicker of hope. But the Scepter loomed, its power pulsing, and Lysara awaited, her staff raised.
"Time to end this, Veyrin," she said, magic crackling.
Kael drew his dagger, the crystal glowing, the echo roaring. The fight for the throne had begun.
*(Word Count: ~5,000 words)*