Chapter 5 The Academy's Gilded Cage

The three days passed in a blur of frantic, whispered lessons. Lyra was a relentless tutor, drilling him on names, faces, and factions. She described the Academy’s sprawling, ancient campus nestled in a neutral valley between the four Dominions—a place of learning, but also a crucible for future rulers. Aelric’s head swam with the information, but a cold, sharp part of his mind—the part that was still Riven, the survivor—catalogued it all. This was intelligence. This was survival.

On the morning of his return, his valet dressed him in the formal uniform of an Academy student: tailored black trousers, a high-collared tunic of deep Vaelthorn blue, and a cloak clasped with a silver brooch bearing his family’s crest—a phoenix intertwined with a healing staff. The boy in the mirror looked every inch the prince, but the eyes staring back were still a stranger’s, wide with a fear he could not afford to show.

He met Lyra in the main courtyard where a royal carriage, emblazoned with the phoenix, awaited. She gave him an encouraging nod. “Remember,” she whispered as the footman opened the door, “head high. You are a Vaelthorn. You belong there as much as any of them.”

The journey was a silent, tense affair. Aelric watched the capital of Ardentis slip past the window—a city of sun-bleached stone and glittering domes, vibrant with the energy of fire and light magic. Soon, the landscape shifted to rolling hills and deep forests, the air itself thickening with a confluence of magical energies. He could feel it—the warm pulse of fire, the gentle glow of light, the deep, cool pull of water, and a sharp, crystalline chill that could only be ice.

And beneath it all, a fifth sensation, a subtle, hungry void that resonated deep within his own bones. His magic.

The carriage passed through a colossal, rune-etched archway and into the Academy grounds. It was even more magnificent than Lyra had described. Towers of white stone pierced the sky, connected by delicate, arched bridges. Below, students in colored cloaks—blue, gold, sea-green, and silver—moved in clusters across emerald lawns. The air hummed with power and youthful ambition.

Their arrival did not go unnoticed. As the Vaelthorn footman helped him down, a hush fell over the nearest students. Whispers began to snake through the crowd like ivy.

“...Prince Aelric…”

“...heard he nearly died…”

“...doesn’t he look pale?”

“...they say his magic is…”

Aelric kept his head high, his face a carefully constructed mask of neutral calm, just as Lyra had instructed. He could feel their stares, their curiosity, their judgment. He was a spectacle.

“Aelric!”

The voice was a familiar, charismatic sunbeam cutting through the tension. Solian Radiant strode towards them, his golden Academy cloak flowing behind him. He clapped a friendly hand on Aelric’s shoulder, a public display of alliance for all to see.

“Welcome back! We were all so worried.” His smile was brilliant, but his eyes were sharp, scanning Aelric’s face for any crack in the facade. “You look well. Ready to be thrown back into the fray?”

Before Aelric could formulate a response, another voice, calm and fluid, joined them. “I believe ‘the fray’ can wait until he’s at least found his dormitory, Solian.”

Lyren Mareth approached, his sea-green cloak a splash of serenity amidst the vibrant colors. He offered Aelric a small, understanding smile. “Do not let him rush you. Re-acclimating will take time.”

Aelric felt a wave of gratitude towards the water prince. “Thank you, Lyren. I… I’ll take it slow.”

“A wise course,” a cool voice stated.

Eryndor Frostveil stood a few paces away, as if he had simply materialized from the chill in the air. His silver cloak seemed to repel the sunlight. His pale eyes swept over the scene, lingering for a moment on Solian’s hand still resting on Aelric’s shoulder. “The library is a suitable place to start. Quiet. Ordered. Few… distractions.” His gaze flicked meaningfully towards the gathering crowd.

The four of them stood there, a living representation of the four Dominions, with Aelric at the center. The air crackled with the unspoken tension between them—Solian’s possessive charm, Lyren’s gentle support, Eryndor’s aloof protectiveness. It was a dizzying, dangerous dance, and Aelric was the new, unsteady pivot point.

It was then that he felt it. A gaze, more intense than all the others. He turned.

Kael Ardentis stood at the top of the stone steps leading to the main hall, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t looking at the group. He was looking only at Aelric. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was a bastion, a fixed point in the swirling social chaos. He gave a single, slow nod. A silent message: I am here. You are safe.

The moment was broken by the sharp, ringing tone of the midday bell.

Solian sighed dramatically. “Ah, duty calls. Elemental Theory. A bore, but mandatory. Will you be joining us, Aelric?”

“His schedule has been amended,” a new, stern voice interjected. A tall, severe woman in scholar’s robes, a glowing crystal hovering over a ledger in her hands, approached. “Prince Aelric is to report to Headmaster Theron. Immediately.”

A fresh wave of whispers erupted. A private audience with the Headmaster on his first day back? It was unprecedented.

Lyra shot him a worried glance. Solian’s smile became fixed. Lyren’s brow furrowed in concern. Even Eryndor’s icy composure seemed to shift minutely.

Kael, from his position on the steps, had gone perfectly still.

The woman gestured. “This way, Your Highness.”

As Aelric followed her, leaving the circle of princes and the murmuring crowd behind, he felt the gilded walls of the Academy close in around him. It was not just a school. It was a cage, beautiful and treacherous. And his audience with the Headmaster felt less like a welcome and more like a summons to the warden’s office.

The game was no longer just about survival. It was about discovery. And he had a sinking feeling that Headmaster Theron knew far more about his "fall" than anyone had let on.