RELIC OF THE NAMELESS KING

7.

Lys’s POV

Thirty minutes later, Lys pushed open the door to the training hall storage room. The faint smell of scorched cloth still lingered in the air from earlier.

A few students paused and stared as he crossed the floor and went straight to the instructor’s observation balcony.

They had obviously heard of his outburst in the council. At Ardentum academy, walls had ears and it wouldn’t take long for the entire Central Eldara to hear of his defiance.

“Lys you are so dead…” he muttered to himself. His father was going to kill him and hang his body on the gates of the city, when he got back.

The vault below was open when he got there. Warden Mira stood beside it, marking inventory.

“Warden,” Lys called down, “was any weapon reported missing this morning?” he asked.

The woman looked up, blinking at him. “Not until after the spar between Dorian and Kael. A ceremonial blade, standard training issue. Why?” she replied.

“Where was it found?” he asked, not answering her question. He didn’t have the time to do that.

“In Kael Merren’s coat.” She said, this time, placing both hands on her waist and wondering where Lys was going to with his questions.

He sighed. “And you’re sure it was his coat?” Lys continued.

She hesitated. “…I assumed. Mistress Brennal brought it forward.” She said.

“Ahh…” Lys’s stomach sank. Brennal. Of course. He had expected nothing less from her. She was from House Vale after all and would always support her Young Lord.

He climbed down into the vault, bypassed Mira, and found the logbook. The page was smudged, but the timing was clear. Everyone in the academy trusted Mira to keep her records intact and up to date, so there was no doubt in whatever was found in there.

He traced the rows of names and stopped when he saw it. The blade had been signed out before the sparring match, but under a different student’s name.

Joren Vale.

Lys snapped the book shut and climbed out of the vault before Mira could stop him. He had gotten what he wanted and it was left for the council to realize their mistake.

“You have to wait a bit longer, Kael.” He muttered.

The truth burned behind his ribs as he marched through the halls, cloak snapping at his heels.

Joren Vale. Of course, Dorian’s shadow and cousin. The one always lurking just behind trouble, never far from Kael’s misery.

They’d planted the blade in Kael’s coat and planned it all. All of it, just to get Kael expelled.

By the time he reached the Council Chamber again, it was almost an hour and Lys was seething.

He burst through the doors. “The blade was planted,” he said without preamble. “It was signed out by Joren Vale before the duel. Check the inventory log.”

Elrik’s bushy brows arched. “You have proof?” he murmured.

Lys dropped the logbook onto the table in front of him. “Right there. Joren’s name. He never returned the blade. And if someone checks the scrying orb archives from the hall, I’ll bet you’ll see Joren passing Kael’s coat to him just before the match.” He said.

Mistress Elira waved her hand, summoning the orb. She whispered a command, and the glass shimmered with moving color.

It showed exactly what Lys claimed; Joren slipping the blade into Kael’s coat before passing it to him. Gasps echoed around the chamber.

It baffled Lys that the council had not even looked at the case closely before the hearing.

These were the highest minds in Eldara, masters, scholars, strategists, truth seekers sworn to uphold justice above all.

And yet, they sat there in gilded robes and iron stares, ready to condemn a boy on hearsay and circumstance. No verification. No cross-examination. Not even a glance at the blade that had supposedly been found on Kael’s person.

It was as if the outcome had already been written, and this chamber, this hearing, was nothing more than a performance to make it look official. They had been set to expel Kael.

He clenched his fists at his side.

“Enough,” Elira said sharply. “Merren was set up. We must…” she started to say, but was interrupted as the doors slammed open.

A first year student that Lys recognized from his class stumbled in, panting, face pale as parchment.

“The ruins!” he cried. “The Forbidden Ruins… they’re on fire!”

For a heartbeat, the room froze.

Lys shot to his feet. “What?” he stuttered, knowing what that meant.

The boy waved his hands mindlessly in the air, as if searching for the right words. “It’s blazing, smoke coming out of the north tower, warding runes are failing, no one knows how!” he narrated.

Lys didn’t wait for him to be done with the explanation. He was already running.

By the time he reached the outer cloister of the ruins, the air was thick with smoke. Pale gray tendrils curled from the cracked stones like the breath of something ancient and angry.

Mages scrambled to form suppression circles. Fire-wards hummed, but the blaze was unnatural, resisting the spells. Something beneath the ruins pulsed with heat and rage.

Lys pushed through the crowd. “Where is he? Where’s Kael?!” he asked in a shaky voice, fearing the worse.

One of the senior wardens turned. “He was locked inside.” He said.

“You left him there?” Lys asked, dumbfounded.

“He was being punished…”

Lys didn’t wait for the rest. There was no way anyone without magic would survive the forbidden ruins, they all knew it and had been warned no to go in there.

When Mistress Brennal had instructed that Kael be taken to the forbidden ruins as his punishment, Lys had not expected the wardens to actually throw him inside the place. He had thought they would hold him in the outer cloister.

He surged forward, past the binding wards, and into the smoke.

“Lys, stop!”

“Are you mad?!”

But he was already inside and had to find his friend. He hoped that Kael hadn’t gone that far into the forbidden ruins.

The air was molten inside. Stone glowed faintly beneath his boots, as if the floor itself had turned to coal. The hall beyond was crumbling and the runes on the walls flickering like dying stars.

“Kael!” he shouted, but he got no answer.

Just the crackle of flames, the roar of something alive in the dark. He pressed forward. Down a narrow corridor. Past shattered archways. Into the heart of the ruin.

And then… he saw it.

The fire wasn’t consuming the ruins, It was spreading from within.

At the center of the ancient chamber, the walls pulsed with strange blue light. Symbols long thought dead now burned on the floor. Energy rippled through the air like flames.

And standing at the center was Kael.

With his eyes wide and arms at his sides. He wasn’t burning at all and he wasn’t even hurt. Lys watched in shock as the flames parted around Kael.

“Kael!” Lys yelled.

Kael turned slowly and Lys saw the glow on his chest. It was not a wound, but a mark.

A sigil, ancient and deep, glowing faintly red and gold. A relic-bound mark. One that every person who could weave magic desired to have.

Lys’s breath caught. His friend was Weaveless and had no magic running through his blood. He didn’t have a relic bound to him or the mark. So that meant only one thing.

Kael had been chosen.

Then the chamber shook. A rumble rose from deep below. He had been frozen on the spot and had forgotten the chaos around him.

“Lys!” someone called from behind. “Get him out of there!”

Kael collapsed to one knee as Lys sprinted forward, catching him before he fell to the ground. The flames that surrounded them died instantly as if it had been turned off by the source.

He didn’t care what it meant, not yet. He just knew one thing:

If they didn’t get out now, they weren’t getting out at all.