The dawn sun cast a weary glow over the Ivory Spires of Aetheria Academy. Normally, this was a time of quiet footsteps and the rustle of parchment. But today, the academy grounds bristled with a different tension. Soldiers clad in imperial black and gold stood at every corridor, their halberds gleaming under the morning sun, and their eyes sharp with duty.
A hush had fallen over the entire Academy. Rumors were no longer whispers—they were a storm surging behind closed doors. Students huddled in dorms, the faculty confined to their quarters, awaiting the hammer of the Empire's judgment.
And then, the horns blew.
They were long and haunting, their tones echoing across the high towers. The arrival of an Emperor was not a spectacle; it was an omen.
From the gates rode a carriage unlike any other—a midnight-black beast of a thing, pulled by four draconic horses with fire in their eyes. The Imperial Seal, a sun pierced by a sword, was engraved on its sides in molten gold.
Flanked by an escort of Crimson Templars, the most elite of the Empire's inner guard, the carriage came to a halt before the Grand Hall. The Headmistress Elara stood at the entrance, flanked by Professors Lysandros, Kaelen, Mira, and Austin Ravenclaw himself. Her face was calm, but the fine twitch of her fingers gave away her dread.
The door of the carriage opened, and out stepped a man with silver hair and eyes as sharp as a hawk's blade.
Grand Vizier Magnus Eron Valesh.
Not the Emperor. Not yet. But perhaps more dangerous.
He was the Emperor's right hand, the man who moved the Empire like pieces on a chessboard. He had orchestrated invasions, brokered impossible peace treaties, and assassinated kings—all without lifting a blade. But more importantly, he was the man who had once crushed the Ravenclaw family's influence within the Central Territories and was rumored to have been behind the death of their Vice Matriarch.
He stepped down, immaculate in black robes adorned with gold runes, and looked at Ravenclaw with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Austin," he said coolly. "Still breathing, I see."
Ravenclaw didn't flinch. "Vizier Valesh," he replied, bowing slightly but not breaking eye contact. "A pleasure."
"Hmm. We shall see."
He turned his gaze to Elara. "Headmistress. Assemble your staff. We will conduct a full inquiry and investigation under the Emperor's orders. The attack in the forest and the creature unleashed here are deemed threats on a national scale. Anyone withholding information will be... held accountable."
Hours Later – The Inquisition
In the vast marble-lined Mirror Hall, every professor stood at attention. The imperial guards lined the walls, their armor humming softly with enchantments. At the center, a long crystalline table shimmered with magic, designed to detect lies and illusions. The Grand Vizier stood with a scroll and a glowing quill, preparing for the inquest.
One by one, the professors were called forward.
Professor Lysandros was the first. The pale alchemy master with sunken eyes bowed before the Vizier.
"State your name and position."
"Lysandros Halvern. Head of Alchemical Sciences."
"Were you aware of any forbidden experiments taking place on or off campus?"
"I was not."
"Have any of your students attempted abyssal alchemy in the past three moons?"
He hesitated.
The table flickered red.
"I... I had suspicions. A few students, particularly from noble houses. But I had no proof."
Magnus's eyes narrowed. "You withheld suspicions about Abyssal activity in this climate?"
"It would've been a career-ending accusation without evidence..."
"Then perhaps it should end," Valesh said coldly. "You're dismissed for now."
Professor Mira of the Summoning Division was next. Her answers were sharp, confident—until Valesh asked her about the modified monster that attacked.
"Do you know of any cultic summoning circles in the forest or connected to Somara?"
"I... I have read of Somara, but none of my students would—"
"Do not lie, Mira. One of your second years was found unconscious near a blackened summoning mark, bearing Somara's sigil."
She was silent. Then whispered, "I didn't think it was real."
"That is your failure."
Finally, it was Ravenclaw's turn.
He stepped forward, calm as ever. The tension thickened, even among the guards.
"State your name."
"Austin Valen Ravenclaw. Grand Mage. Professor of Applied Battle Magic. Duke of the Northern Reaches."
Valesh's lips twitched. "Still clinging to those titles?"
"They're not mine to give up," Ravenclaw replied.
Valesh paced. "What happened in the forest? Detail everything. Do not lie."
And so, Ravenclaw recounted everything.
The wyvern. The chimera. Sonya's recklessness. The modified summoning circle. The creature's ambush. His battle in the academy's courtyard.
Valesh listened, unblinking.
"Why was the Princess with you?"
"She followed me without approval. I saved her life."
"Strange. That's not what some other reports suggest."
Ravenclaw narrowed his eyes. "I'm aware of the accusations. Let them prove it."
"Are you accusing a royal of conspiracy?"
"No. I'm saying I don't trust hearsay. You taught me that once, remember?"
Valesh's eyes gleamed with dark amusement.
The room was silent.
Finally, Valesh turned. "You're not cleared. Not yet. You will remain on campus, confined to the staff quarters. If you step outside, even to piss in the river, I'll know."
"As you wish," Ravenclaw said.
But there was no submission in his voice.
Outside the Mirror Hall – Later
Valesh met with the Emperor's envoys. One of them, a woman with piercing blue eyes and robes lined with Abyssal detection runes, whispered, "We found residual corruption in the forest. Abyssal signatures. It's worse than we thought."
Valesh nodded. "We must root out the source. And I know exactly where to start."
Dorm Tower Balcony – Nightfall
Sonya sat on her balcony, looking down at the courtyard where Austin had fought. The students still whispered about it. The single clean cut, the spellcraft, the cold rage in his voice.
She hugged her knees, thinking about what she'd heard in the forest... and the things she hadn't told him.
"I won't betray you," she whispered into the wind.
But she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
The golden rays of early morning had barely kissed the Academy towers when the bell tolled thrice—an urgent summons none could ignore. The Grand Inquisitor had arrived.
Whispers had already begun the night before. Guards had flooded the Academy gates under Imperial decree, cloaked in obsidian armor trimmed with red. A regal carriage bearing the sigil of the Imperial Senate had rolled through the courtyard like a viper gliding across glass. Word had spread like wildfire: Velsh is here.
Austin Ravenclaw, still bearing bruises from the prior night's encounter with the modified abyssal creature, barely had time to catch his breath before a student from the administrative block found him.
"Professor Ravenclaw," the boy said, eyes wide with awe and fear, "the Grand Inquisitor has requested your presence. Now."
Austin said nothing. He merely stood, brushing soot from his shoulder, and moved with steady, unflinching steps toward the central tower where the Grand Inquisitor had taken his station.
Austin offered no bow. Only a nod. "Grand Inquisitor Velsh."
"You were requested an hour ago," Velsh said sharply.
"And I was debriefing students injured under the shadow of an abyssal chimera, which, according to my reports, came from an area previously sanctioned as secure by your bureaucratic patrol."
A few heads turned. A few eyebrows rose.
Velsh's fingers twitched, but he didn't break composure. "You're not here to challenge my decisions, Ravenclaw. You're here to answer questions. Now tell me—why did Princess Sonya accompany you into the Black Forest?"
Austin exhaled. "I don't know."
Velsh's eyes narrowed. "You don't know?"
"That's what I said."
"You expect us to believe," Velsh said, standing slowly and pacing the hall like a hawk circling prey, "that a princess of the Empire, heir to the Frostveil March, willingly threw herself into an abyssal forest on a whim? With you, a Ravenclaw? With a family so disgraced that their vice matriarch tragically passed under suspicious circumstances—while you were conveniently 'investigating' Senate files on Imperial corruption?"
Austin's jaw tightened. He didn't speak.
"You've purchased large quantities of magical reagents, scrolls, and infernal barrier salts recently," Velsh continued, tapping a scroll with his finger. Some of which are only available to people with high clearance. Why?"
"That's confidential research sanctioned by the Academy."
"I am above Academy jurisdiction."
"Then file a request with the Alchemy Division," Austin replied, unmoved. "Section 43 of the Scholar's Privacy Accord states that an Inquisitor cannot demand details of academic research unless it is directly tied to a case of proven treason or demonic practice. Are you accusing me of such?"
Velsh's smirk flickered. He did not expect Austin to counter him legally. The room shifted with subtle energy; several professors leaned forward slightly.
Velsh stopped pacing. "Very well. Let us discuss your movements the night of the chimera attack. Several witnesses say you told a guard to stand down when the creature emerged. Why?"
"To avoid a massacre. The creature would have obliterated the eastern wing if the guards had charged in formation. I needed space. I needed a clear shot."
"You risked lives—"
"And saved thirty-six students. Including your niece, Velsh. You may want to read the medical logs."
That did it. For the first time, Velsh's mask cracked.
"You will address me as Inquisitor, Ravenclaw," he growled.
Austin stepped forward, just one stride, but it carried weight. "And you will remember that I saved this Academy from something your internal intelligence failed to anticipate."
A Deeper Cut
Velsh regained his composure and leaned in, voice low.
"You know, I remember your mother. Strong woman. Too proud. Too loyal. She died alone because of her loyalty to a cause that no longer existed. I wonder... will you follow her path?"
Silence.
Velsh continued. "Tell me, what were the last words she said to you before her body was found in the Ravenclaw sanctum, surrounded by Imperial blades?"
Austin didn't answer. The room grew colder.
"I said..." Velsh whispered, leaning closer, "...what did she say?"
Austin's voice came out like steel drawn across stone.
"She said, 'If you ever meet Velsh, don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.'"
Silence again. Heavy. Dense.
Velsh stepped forward, slowly, his polished boots echoing through the grand marble chamber of the Academy's High Inquiry Hall. The room was dimly lit, and the air was thick with the scent of ink, parchment, and tension. The velvet-lined chairs of the inquisitorial board creaked as their occupants leaned forward with unhidden interest. Velsh's face was a mask of contempt and amusement—he was enjoying this.
He walked so close to Austin Ravenclaw that their noses nearly touched. "Tell me, Ravenclaw," he whispered with mock gentleness, "do your people always betray the throne by sleeping with imperial bloodlines or is this a first?"
The room stirred. A few board members chuckled darkly, especially Penfor Helm, a senator infamous for his ties to the Third Prince and various underhanded dealings. Velsh turned to face them with a smirk, clearly relishing the discomfort he was causing. "You see? Even the mighty Ravenclaws have their little secrets, crawling under the Empire's skin like rats in noble robes."
But Austin didn't flinch. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Velsh, unblinking. Calmly, he raised a gloved hand and said in a cold, firm tone:
"Section 45 of the Imperial Doctrine, enacted under the 204th Imperial Accord and reaffirmed by the High Tribunal under Empress Lavinia's oeal, states: 'Any attempt to probe into familial matters of a noble under investigation, with intent to intimidate or defame, is to be treated as an act of judicial heresy.'"
He stepped forward now, forcing Velsh to back off ever so slightly, his smirk faltering. "Which means, Lord Inquisitor... and you, Senator Helm... that you have not only breached code, but committed a prosecutable offense. I can drag all of you to the Grand Tribunal and see you sentenced to no less than sixty years in an Abyss-tier cell."
The room went dead silent.
"You bastard!" Penfor Helm snapped, slamming his fist on the table.
Austin turned to him slowly, his voice as calm and sharp as a drawn sword. "Senator Julius Penfor Helm—former general, now a failed politician who licks the boots of the Third Prince. You've tried to ruin my family's influence for years. Do you think I forgot the attack on the Ravenclaw Granary Bill? Or the scandal you tried to cook up with the orphanage funds we were managing?"
Helm tried to interject, but Austin didn't give him the chance.
"You run a business now, don't you? Medicinal drugs. Narcotic-infused variants that somehow always pass the Empire's regulations. You trade near the southern border, close to my duchy. I've seen the reports, Julius. I know who you're bribing in the Inspector's Guild. Would you like me to list their names too? Shall we bring them in for questioning?"
Velsh's amusement had turned to bitter silence. The board looked rattled, as if someone had just drawn a sword in a room where only pens were supposed to be used.
"Continue with your questions," Austin said, his voice cold enough to freeze steel, "but if any of you dare attempt to blur the line between law and political vengeance again... I will invoke Highborn Protection under Imperial Code 71 and have every one of you investigated."
Elara, who had remained silently watching from the back of the room, gave a small nod, perhaps of approval. Even she, who had questioned Austin's motives and loyalties, couldn't deny that he had the law memorized and wielded it like a master swordsman.
Velsh cleared his throat. "Very well... Professor Ravenclaw." The sarcasm in the title was less confident now. "You said you don't know why the Princess followed you into the forest."
"I do not," Austin replied, his arms now calmly crossed behind his back. "She acted on her own volition. She claimed it was a matter of curiosity and personal intent. I did not ask her to come. I instructed her to return more than once."
"And yet, she disobeyed," Velsh said, circling the edge of the room now like a wolf testing the fences. "Curious."
Austin looked unfazed. "So are many Imperial nobles. Does that make them criminals? Or just free people acting by their own will?"
Helm muttered under his breath, "Arrogant piece of—"
Austin cut him off, "Say it louder, Senator. Let the record show how a man in the Emperor's council uses language when he loses an argument."
Velsh tried again. "You purchased a variety of rare magical reagents a few weeks ago, did you not?"
"Yes," said Austin, "for research. I'm working on a magical preservation method for wyvern poison samples."
"Why?" asked Velsh.
Austin shrugged lightly. "Because wyvern toxins may be the only viable reagent to counter mutated abyssal mana blooms in the East. You'll find a letter from High Arcanist Viorne in my correspondence, authorizing the study."
Penfor Helm was visibly sweating now.
"Do you always collect exotic poisons?" Velsh asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Do you always ask irrelevant questions?" Austin replied coolly. "Or are you simply trying to bait me into saying something you can twist?"
Velsh's fists clenched.
The air grew heavier as yet another inquisitor, this one wearing robes etched with blue sigils of magical jurisdiction, rose from his chair with a ledger in hand.
"Professor Ravenclaw," the man spoke, his voice calm but firm, "Our surveillance logs picked up reports of you and the Princess entering the Tribal Forest three days ago. As you are aware, this territory falls outside sanctioned academic excursions and, more importantly, lies dangerously close to the Wendigo Territories. Explain this breach."
Austin straightened his back, glancing first at the investigator and then at Elara, who gave a subtle nod, permitting him to speak freely.
"We were being hunted," he began, his tone smooth but resolute. "A king-class chimera, not an ordinary beast, but an aberration—engineered, I believe, by the cultists of Somara. It attacked us while we were conducting practical studies near the Black Forest. The situation escalated rapidly. We were forced to retreat. The only viable escape route at that point led into the Tribal Forest. It was not an act of intention. It was survival."
The board murmured among themselves.
"That's a convenient excuse," Velsh hissed from the corner, stepping out from the shadowed edge of the council row. His eyes gleamed with malice. "You, Ravenclaws—so-called mighty magicians and swordsmen. With all your lofty titles, your bloodlines, and your arrogance. Why is it you couldn't even fight a chimera without fleeing like cowards?"
The entire room tensed.
Austin remained calm, though his brow twitched ever so slightly.
He turned his gaze slowly toward Velsh. "You speak of cowardice? Interesting. Then let me ask you something, Lord Velsh—formerly General of the Iron Crest Division of the Duchy of Selcourt. What happened at the Ridge of Bakserville?"
The room froze.
Several of the more senior professors exchanged uneasy glances. Even Elara's eyes widened, just slightly.
The name Bakserville was a specter in the military annals of the Empire—an ancient disputed ridge located at the border between the Ravenclaw Duchy and the Duchy of Selcourt. It had been the site of a fierce, month-long battle nearly a decade ago. The battle had ended in disgrace, not for the Ravenclaws, but for General Vels, who had lost the entire ridge, two thousand soldiers, and his reputation in one of the most humiliating tactical defeats in recorded history.
And now, Ravenclaw had dragged that ghost into the room.
Velsh's face turned from smug to stone.
"You dare—"
"Yes," Austin interrupted sharply, stepping forward. "I do. I was seventeen then. Not yet a professor, not yet a master of sword or spell. Just the youngest strategist ever assigned to the Royal Tactical Division. You know how many men I commanded that day?"
Velsh didn't respond.
"Two hundred. Most of the volunteers. And yet, we routed you."
The senator beside Velsh muttered, "This isn't relevant—"
But Austin raised his voice over him, now letting his calm crack just enough to reveal the steel beneath. "You charged the central ridge with five regiments of cavalry, believing we had abandoned it. You were wrong. You lost eight hundred men in the first hour. And when you retreated, I met you face-to-face on the final hill. Do you remember what I said?"
Velsh's fists clenched.
"I told you," Austin continued, now circling him, "Don't mistake arrogance for strength. One brings noise. The other brings blood."
He paused, looking directly into Velsh's eyes. "The scar on your face—left cheek, near the jawline. I gave you that. With my left-hand blade. I could've killed you, but I chose to spare you. That mercy was my only mistake."
Velsh was shaking now. The crimson rage that filled his face made him appear less a man and more a beast cornered and exposed.
"You—"
"I what?" Austin asked, voice rising now, every word like a dagger. "I humiliated you? I exposed your incompetence? Or is your real problem that a Ravenclaw—a boy—outwitted a grown general and shattered your political ascent before it even began?"
As the heavy doors creaked closed behind the storming figure of Velsh, silence momentarily reigned within the grand tribunal chamber. That silence, however, did not last.
A silver-haired senator seated to the far right, draped in crimson silks adorned with the golden crest of the Imperial Senate, slammed his hand down upon the table.
"You cannot speak that way to an Imperial-recognized investigator!" he bellowed, pointing directly at Ravenclaw. "You are a professor, yes—but you remain a subject of this Empire! And you attacked a state-sanctioned inquisitor with words tantamount to treason!"
There were murmurs of agreement from other conservative senators, most of whom had long opposed the influence of magical families in Imperial bureaucracy.
Austin Ravenclaw's expression didn't flinch. Instead, he turned toward the senator with the same composed chill he had reserved for Velsh.
"And you," he replied slowly, deliberately, "cannot accuse a mage recognized under Byrixian Accord law without triggering an international violation."
The room froze.
"Byrix?" the senator scoffed, confused. "What—what does Byrix have to do with any of this?!"
The question came sharply—slicing through the tension like the lash of a whip.
"What is this Byrix, anyway?"
It came from a younger investigator, probably no more than thirty-five, his military-pressed jacket still bearing the silver trim of someone recently promoted. His eyes were suspicious, sharp like a hawk, and far too proud for someone so clearly unaware of the names he invoked.
He stood, pen in hand, eyes flicking between Ravenclaw and the board.
"Everyone's tossing this word around like it's a crown I should bow to. I don't recall it being part of any sanctioned organization in the Empire's records."
Austin didn't flinch. He merely looked at the investigator with a neutral gaze, his fingers gently clasped behind his back.
He didn't need to answer.
Because someone else already stood.
Elara, the Headmistress of the Academy and perhaps one of the few individuals in the Empire who had seen enough of the world to know what true magic meant, stepped forward into the lamplight of the tribunal chamber.
Her long, obsidian-black robes whispered behind her like shadows slinking across the marble floor. Her silver-gray hair was tied in a crown braid atop her head, a mark of her station — and of her bloodline, older than even the Valentine nobility.
She faced the investigator directly.
"You ask what Byrix is?" she repeated, her voice calm but resonant, like frost curling against a windowpane. "You truly want to know?"
The man nodded—hesitant now.
"Then listen carefully," Elara said. "Because most who speak of Byrix do so in hushed tones. The rest? They're already dead."
She turned to address the entire tribunal now—senators, professors, inquisitors, even the Emperor's envoys seated behind the glass veil. The entire room quieted, the echoes of her heels ceasing as she came to a halt at the heart of the chamber.
"Byrix," she began, "is not a kingdom. It is not a guild. It is not a tower you can visit, nor a council you can petition. It is a truth that sits in the marrow of the magical world — older than your armies, older than your courts, older than the empires written in the history books of man."
Murmurs began, but she silenced them with a mere look.
"Two hundred years ago, when the War of the Eleven Flames ravaged three continents, it was Byrix that intervened. Not as an ally. Not as an enemy. As a reminder."
She lifted her hand — a flicker of glowing blue light appeared, forming an ancient sigil in the air.
Five rings. A sunburst at the center. Encircled by silent flame.
The investigator took a step back.
Elara went on.
"They are the keepers of balance. The unseen hand that ensures magic does not fall under the heel of monarchs or madmen. They exist outside laws because they were here before laws. There are fewer than seventy known members of Byrix in the world. Each one chosen, tested, marked by ancient trials older than recorded spellcraft."
She turned to Austin.
"And yes… Ravenclaw is one of them."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Some professors murmured prayers. Others simply stared in silence.
"He was chosen five years ago," she said, nodding. "During the Siege of Arvidor. I was the one who wrote his letter of observation. I saw the flame trials myself. I signed his elevation into Aurum Novus."
The young investigator swallowed visibly. "You… you endorsed him?"
Elara gave him a slow, precise smile. "Yes. And if I had not, Byrix would have claimed him anyway. I merely prevented the world from burning while he crossed into their ranks."
"But—but what do they want?" another board member asked. "What's their purpose?"
Elara's eyes sharpened. "To ensure that no empire—no throne, no senate, no blade of law—ever again tries to use magic for genocide. To keep what happened during the Third Purge from repeating."
That name hit like thunder.
Everyone knew the stories: the Third Purge of Magi, when a pan-continental alliance tried to exterminate entire magical bloodlines after a failed rebellion. Twenty-three bloodlines vanished from the world. Millions died. It was only when a storm of fire and shadow wiped out six capital cities overnight that the Purge ended.
The act was never claimed. But in the ashes, a sigil burned into the walls of every ruined palace:
The sigil of Byrix.
"They don't ask for permission," Elara continued, softer now. "They simply ensure that magic remains free. Not enslaved to swords or crowns or delusions of control. And you," she turned to the tribunal, "are playing with matches near a powder keg."
One of the older professors stood slowly, his face pale. "And if we… push too far?"
"Then Byrix will respond," Elara said. "Not with war declarations. Not with trials. With judgment. And none of your walls, your soldiers, or your precious noble lines will survive it."
Silence gripped the room like a vice.