For once, the sparring grounds were quiet. No clashing steel, no bursts of aether igniting against training dummies. Today was different.
Alden stood at the edge of the academy's main lecture hall, the cold stone floor humming faintly under his boots. Around him, students slouched into their seats with little interest, a few even groaning at the prospect of sitting indoors. The general mood? Disappointment.
"It's history," one of them muttered. "Not like we'll be winning duels with dates and dead kings."
Another chuckled. "Maybe I'll nap and hope for dreams of action."
Alden, however, was alert. Focused. This wasn't just another class. To him, it was a window—a glimpse into a world that had existed long before their own, a world that might hold answers to the questions that clawed at his mind every time his powers surged without control. If he wanted to understand himself, he had to first understand the world.
And perhaps… its secrets.
The bell echoed across the hallway like a chime from some ancient temple, signaling the start of the lecture. The door swung open. All chatter faded instantly.
She entered.
Lady Helena.
She didn't walk. She glided. A tall, lean figure with elegance carved into every step. Her blonde hair shimmered like sunlight caught in gold thread, tied back into a practical braid. Her deep sapphire eyes scanned the room—not cold, but piercing, as though she measured the worth of every soul present.
Despite her youthful appearance, she wore the robes of a Four-Circle Mage Instructor, and unlike many others of her rank, she carried no ornamentation, no unnecessary flare. She was here to teach, not impress. And knowledge, not reputation, defined her.
"Good morning," she said, her voice even but commanding. "I know most of you think this is a waste of your time."
A few chuckles rippled across the room, confirming her suspicion. Helena didn't react. She simply raised a single finger.
"But always remember—the past is the key to the future. And history," she continued, "is the only language through which the past still speaks."
The students shifted in their seats. Some smirked. Others rolled their eyes.
Alden didn't. He sat straight, his gaze fixed, his fingers already twitching toward his notebook.
"And, since I know many of you only care about ranks and scores—this subject will be in your midterms," Helena added with a smirk of her own.
That got their attention.
"In this semester, we'll be focusing on the Four Kingdoms in detail—their origins, their philosophies, their rise… and what nearly caused their fall. Buckle up, young scholars. This is not a tale told by numbers or mindless dates. This is the story of the world you live in."
And so the lessons began.
The days that followed were unlike any Alden had expected. Each session with Lady Helena was a journey—a tapestry of ancient kings, monumental battles, fallen heroes, and impossible magic. She wove facts into stories, dry knowledge into drama, and legends into lessons.
At first, most students barely paid attention. But soon, even the skeptics leaned in when she spoke of the First Concord, or the rise of the Crimson Emperor, or how Mystrelis once sealed a star from falling using nothing but spellweaving and aether chains.
For Alden, every word was gold. Every tale opened a door, every map drawn with magic on the wall stirred questions in his heart.
And he wasn't alone.
Across the room sat Avan, sharp-eyed and confident, with an aristocratic air about him. He, too, answered questions swiftly, sometimes before Helena even finished asking them. There was an unspoken rivalry between the two—not born of hatred, but of mutual fire.
When Helena asked, "Who can tell me what ended the Technomancer Rebellion of Aurathar?" both Alden and Avan answered at once.
"When the Ironhold Legate betrayed the Pact," Alden said.
"When the Aetheric Core was overcharged and destroyed by its own resonance," Avan countered.
Helena smiled. "Both correct. And both of you are too damn fast for my liking."
The class laughed. The rivalry grew.
As the weeks rolled on, Alden's routine became a dance of discipline.
Dawn – Physical training, mastering sword drills.
Midday – Aether channeling and control lessons.
Evenings – History with Helena.
Nights – He would slip into the library.
It was during those late visits that something began to change.
Sometimes, Helena was there too—browsing old tomes, studying war scrolls, sipping lukewarm tea with a distant look in her eyes. One evening, as Alden sat with a dusty book on Verdanthean rituals, Helena glanced over and said softly:
"You always sit here."
Alden looked up, startled. "It's quieter near this aisle."
Helena nodded. "Also where the oldest records are kept."
She approached, folding her arms, curious. "What are you reading now?"
Alden hesitated. "A copy of the Verdanthean treaties with Aurathar… I wanted to know how they maintained peace despite the pressure."
Helena raised a brow, clearly impressed. "That's not part of the syllabus."
"I want to understand the world," Alden said earnestly. "And… maybe I'll understand myself better through it."
For a moment, Helena said nothing. Then she sat across from him, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Most nobles don't even know that treaty exists," she said. "And here you are, a first-circle trainee, quoting it."
From that night onward, their conversations grew.
They spoke of ancient warrior-mages, of the floating cities of Mystrelis, of the Ironhold Oaths carved in blood and stone. Helena never treated Alden like a child or a student—she spoke to him as an equal, as someone whose curiosity matched her own.
But one evening, as Alden pored over volume after volume, frustration tightened his brow.
"Something's missing," he said aloud.
Helena glanced up from her notes. "What is?"
"No matter how far I look… I can't find anything about the kingdoms before the Great War. It's like the world didn't exist before then."
The room fell quiet.
Helena's pen froze. Her expression didn't shift, but her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You noticed that," she said after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. Then—surprisingly—her lips curved into a small, approving smile.
"You're not wrong, Alden. There is a history before the war. A rich, complex, and… controversial one."
"Why is it hidden?"
"Not hidden. Just… protected." Helena stood and walked over to a sealed shelf at the edge of the room—tall, dark, and wrapped in a subtle barrier spell.
"These books contain truths too dangerous, too politically sensitive for general access. Only students of top ranking may petition to read them—usually in their final year."
Alden's heart sank for a moment. So close, yet so far.
But Helena wasn't finished.
"You're smart, Alden. And more importantly… you care." She turned to him with something deeper in her gaze now—respect, and maybe even hope. "If you keep rising like this, you'll earn that right. And when you do… I'll personally unlock the shelf for you."
Alden felt something stir in his chest—not pride, but purpose.
At last, he knew what path to take. Where to look. What to fight for.
Not just strength, not just control—but truth.
As the candlelight flickered between them, Alden offered a quiet bow of gratitude. "Thank you, Lady Helena."
And she, for the first time, smiled fully.
"Call me Helena. Scholars don't bow to each other."