A storm was building at Arcanum.
Not one of wind or rain, but of whispers—names passed between lips like blades drawn in shadow. For Alex, the heat of his bloodline had barely cooled before he found himself entangled in something colder: the academy's hierarchy.
They called them the Throned.
Elite students not chosen by merit alone, but by birthright, raw power, and the favor of Arcanum's secretive inner council.
At the top of the food chain, they were stars around which other students orbited—or burned.
And Kaelen Varien was chief among them.
---
Veilshade's inner commons were abuzz. Students congregated in clusters, whispers dancing like embers.
"Did you hear? Kaelen crushed his second trial without using a single rune."
"Rivena silenced a fifth-year spellmaster in front of the entire council."
"Damien of the Bloodspire blocked a soul-brand with a blink."
Names. Power. Legacy.
Alex walked with Nikki toward the dining hall, still wincing from his bandaged shoulder.
"I'm starting to think we're at the bottom of a very sharp mountain," he muttered.
Nikki glanced sideways. "You're just noticing that now?"
They passed a black-onyx obelisk etched with arcane flames. Above it, a shimmering list of ranked students hovered, constantly shifting.
At the top: Kaelen Varien, Rivena Varien, Damien of the Bloodspire, Elis Nireth, and Zhariel the Pale Flame.
Alex's name was nowhere to be seen.
Yet.
---
Later that evening, Instructor Halvek gathered them in the Flame Court—an open-air arena surrounded by basalt statues. The statues, it was whispered, once represented former Throned who perished before graduation.
"Today," Halvek announced, "you witness the workings of power."
The Throned students filed in, robes trailing shadows, eyes unreadable.
Kaelen, regal in black and silver.
Rivena, quiet and cruel.
Damien, a stoic wall of muscle with crimson glyphs etched into his arms.
Zhariel, dressed in mourning gray, his skin pale as ash.
And Elis, a girl with void-black hair and a voice that echoed when she spoke.
Halvek gestured. "These five represent the Five Thrones of Arcanum. They answer to no instructor, only to Headmaster Solenar himself. And each year, five more may rise... or fall."
He turned to the gathered students. "You want power? Beat one of them. You want freedom? Take a throne."
Rivena stepped forward. "Who among you thinks themselves worthy?"
No one spoke.
Except Alex.
He raised his hand.
Gasps.
Kaelen's mouth curled into the faintest smile.
"Name?" Rivena asked, voice like glass.
"Alex of Bramblehold."
Damien raised a brow. "The curse-bonded."
Nikki swore under her breath.
Rivena gestured. "Step forward. Let the flame decide."
At the center of the arena, a fire burned—silent, white-blue, hovering above a stone basin.
Alex stepped toward it.
As he neared, the flames pulled toward him. Not violently. Not hungrily.
But knowingly.
The fire turned crimson.
Rivena's eyes narrowed.
"He's marked."
Kaelen stepped beside her. "He's dangerous."
"Or useful."
---
That night, Alex didn't return to Veilshade.
Therion summoned him to a private study lit by floating orbs of golden light.
"You embarrassed them," Therion said, pouring tea.
"I just stood near a fire."
"Fire that turned to your blood. That kind of reaction hasn't been seen since Eldoria fell."
Alex's eyes widened. "You think I'm..."
"I think you're drawing attention. And attention, in Arcanum, is a blade."
Alex sipped the tea. "Then I'll learn to sharpen mine."
Therion studied him a moment longer. Then he smiled.
"Good. Because your next trial will be against a Throned."
Alex blinked. "Which one?"
Therion stood. "The one who volunteered."
He turned to the door. "Rivena."
---