House of Blood

The silver bell of spatial recall resonated across the sky of Elysium, its deep, reverberating tone shaking the mist from the ancient oak trees.

In a single blinding instant, the remaining examinees were forcibly pulled from the trial grounds, returning to the massive limestone amphitheater of the Imperial Academy’s outer plaza.

Above the roaring crowd of tens of thousands, the grand obsidian slab of the Tablet of Judgment flashed a brilliant, violent crimson, locking the final standings in stone.

[RANK 1: Mirain Sec Sangius — 8,950 Points]

[RANK 2: Solene von Sol — 6,400 Points]

[RANK 3: Pollux Ter Sangius — 4,800 Points]

[RANK 4: Valen — 4,200 Points]

[RANK 5: Castor Ter Sangius — 4,150 Points]

[RANK 6: Lyra Medeis — 3,900 Points]

[RANK 7: Kaelen von Valerius — 3,400 Points]

[RANK 8: Therese von Eisen — 3,100 Points]

[RANK 9: Cassian von Draven — 2,950 Points]

[RANK 10: Yvaine von Aurelius — 2,800 Points]

A roar erupted from the spectator stands as the top ten examinees were summoned to the central marble podium.

These ten would form the apex unit of the new academic year: the Class of Sovereigns.

Valerian stood in the fourth spot, his rain-soaked black leather coat clinging to his frame, his blindfold tied tightly around his head.

Beside him stood the twin prodigies of the Ter Sangius house—Pollux and Castor—their silver-and-crimson surcoats immaculate, their eyes darting toward him with silent, sharp disdain.

Further down stood Lyra Medeis, her hand resting casually on her silver rapier, and Princess Solene, regal and unbothered in her torn white-and-gold battle robes.

At the very top of the podium, standing alone in absolute radiance, was Mirain Sec Sangius.

She was breathtaking and cold—a marble statue carved by a bloodthirsty god.

Her dark crimson hair fell past her waist like woven silk, and her crimson eyes held a quiet, terrifying stillness that made even the high-born Archmages in the observation boxes lean back.

Before the Headmaster could step forward with the golden crests, a loud, ragged shout shattered the ceremonial music.

”Wait! Disqualify him!”

Toby pushed his way past the perimeter guards at the base of the podium, his clothes torn, his eyes bloodshot with bitter rage.

Behind him walked Dahlia, holding the elbow of a pale, fragile girl who leaned heavily against her—Calla.

The crowd went quiet.

Thousands of eyes shifted to Toby as he pointed a trembling finger straight at Valerian’s blindfolded face.

”He doesn’t belong on that stage!” Toby roared, his voice echoing off the stone tiers. ”He is a coward! A sellsword named Valen who used us as human shields during the Beast King’s surge! He stood by and watched Calla bleed out without raising his sword! He has no honor! The Academy cannot grant the Class of Sovereigns to a monster who abandons his allies!”

Murmurs rippled through the noble boxes.

Kaelen von Valerius scoffed softly from his spot on the podium, while Cassian von Draven crossed his arms, waiting for the proctors to act.

The Headmaster’s brow furrowed, his hand hovering over his staff.

”If these allegations of intentional endangerment are true—”

”They are not,” a soft, trembling voice spoke up.

Calla stepped forward from behind Dahlia.

She was weak, her skin still translucent from her near-death experience, but her voice was clear.

Toby whipped his head around, his eyes wide with utter betrayal.

”Calla, what are you—”

”He didn’t abandon us,” Calla whispered, her eyes fixed on the stone floor, refusing to look up at Valerian.

”When my heart stopped... when the life force left my body... he ran through the storm to find the Nine-Leaf Blood Lotus.

”He forced my lungs to breathe again.

”He saved my life, Toby.

”He owes us nothing.”

Dahlia bit her lip, pulling Calla closer, while Toby stood frozen in the middle of the floor, his mouth opening and closing in hollow, silent shock.

From the second spot on the podium, Princess Solene turned her ice-blue eyes toward Valerian.

”Personal disputes have no bearing on the slate’s tally,” Solene spoke smoothly, her voice carrying effortless royal authority over the amphitheater.

”His point tally was earned in single-strike engagements against Tier-4 beasts. If House Valerius or any other noble feels aggrieved by a mercenary outperforming them, win it back in the duel rings.”

Kaelen von Valerius gritted his teeth, shutting his mouth instantly under Solene’s cold glare.

The Headmaster raised his staff, striking the stone floor with a reverberating THUD that ended all debate.

”The results are sealed!” the Headmaster declared. ”Let the Student Representative step forward!”

Mirain Sec Sangius took a single step to the center of the high dais.

The silver spell-amplification array flared around her, projecting her cold, exquisite voice across the entire valley.

”You look upon this leaderboard,” Mirain began, her tone devoid of warmth, passion, or pride.

It was the dry, absolute truth of iron and blood.

”You see names, ranks, and numbers.

”You see honor.

”You see noble heritage.”

She paused, her crimson eyes sweeping over the thousands of cheering students, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on Valerian’s covered face before moving on.

”Elysium did not care for your titles,” Mirain continued, her voice slicing through the silence like a drawn blade.

”The mud does not ask for your family crest.

”The beasts do not bow to your royal blood.

”Those who stand on this podium today are not here because we are noble.

”We are here because we killed more, survived longer, and bled less than the rest of you.”

She did not offer congratulations.

She did not offer hope.

”The Academy is not a sanctuary,” she concluded, her crimson hair fluttering gently in the rising mountain wind.

”It is a forge.

”Prepare your blades, or become the iron someone else beats into shape.”

Silence hung over the amphitheater for two long seconds—before the crowd exploded into wild, thunderous cheers.

Inside Valerian’s mind space, deep beneath his three suppressed dragon cores, a sweet, velvety chuckle echoed softly.

”My, my...” Aurelix’s voice purred lazily, her ethereal form lounging upon her bed of white-gold phoenix fire within his soul.

”What a charming little blood-puddle she is.

”Though, master... her blood reeks so strongly of ancient scales that it makes my ears itch.

”Don’t you agree?”

Valerian closed his mental eyes, ignoring the god-beast completely as the Headmaster began distributing the golden Sovereign Crests.

As the setting sun painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and crimson, the grand gates of the Imperial Academy opened to welcome the newly inducted students and their visiting families into the outer courtyards.

Laughter, music, and the smell of roasted meats filled the vast stone walkways.

Young examinees embraced their proud parents, showing off their acceptance tokens, while servants carried heavy wooden chests toward the student dormitories.

Among the crowd walked a young noble boy from House Aurelius—a thin, smiling youth who had barely passed the exam with a low rank.

He walked side-by-side with his mother, an elderly lady in silk robes who was weeping tears of joy.

”I knew you could do it, my boy,” she sobbed, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes. ”Your father would have been so proud...”

”Yes, Mother,” the boy said.

His smile was perfectly wide.

His tone was perfectly warm.

His eyes held the exact spark of filial devotion he had possessed since childhood.

He reached up, gently wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

Underneath his skin—deep inside his throat where no light could reach—a tiny, pale thread of black sinew tightened.

The stitches holding his face to his jaw clicked softly into place.

Inside his stomach, the wet, half-digested chunks of the real Aurelius boy’s liver dissolved in a pool of dark, acid bile, releasing memories like sweet wine into the construct’s mind.

Father’s signet ring...

Mother’s favorite tea...

The secret entrance beneath the east garden...

”Let us go to the hall, Mother,” the flayed construct whimpered softly, perfectly executing a slight tremble in its hands that the real boy always showed when nervous.

”I am... so very hungry.”

Fifty yards away, near the grand fountain of the main plaza, another group of examinees gathered around a laughing girl from a merchant house.

She was recounting her fight with a shadow-hound, her arms gesturing wildly as her friends cheered.

When she laughed, her neck tilted back slightly.

For a microscopic fraction of a second, the skin along her collarbone shifted, exposing a thin, raw line of un-healed muscular tissue before snapping back into place.

One hundred and fifty of them.

One hundred and fifty flayed constructs, wrapped in the fresh, supple hides of dead examinees, walked through the enchanted perimeter wards of the Imperial Academy.

The ancient protective runes carved into the stone gates—designed to repel demons, dark beasts, and unregistered arcana—swept over them smoothly.

The wards read the lingering soul-signatures floating in the stolen blood inside their stomachs.

Clear.

Clear.

Clear.

Clear.

The protective barriers did not flare.

The alarm bells did not ring.

The Archmages in the observation towers continued drinking their celebratory wine, completely unaware that the children entering their gates had no bones inside their flesh—only hollow, muscular frames of pale bone and dark intent.

Near the shadowed archway leading to the Class of Sovereigns’ private dormitories, two flayed constructs—disguised as minor nobles from House Draven and House Eisen—stood side-by-side, watching the top examinees walk toward the upper quarters.

Their stolen eyes locked onto Mirain Sec Sangius as she walked past, her crimson hair catching the dying sunlight.

Then, their gaze drifted to Valerian, who walked twenty paces behind her, his blindfolded head tilted slightly toward the ground.

A faint, sickening twitch passed through the Draven boy’s face as a microscopic, pale beetle crawled out from his inner ear, dropped into his palm, and dissolved into a droplet of black ink.

”The Doctor’s tracking-beetle...” the Draven construct communicated—not with words, but through the dark, silent vibrations of Xul’Gorgoth’s hive-mind.

”The girl’s blood is saturated with pure Sanguis essence.

”But the blind one...”

”The blind one’s blood burned the beetle to ash the moment it caught his scent,” the Eisen construct replied silently, its stolen eyes dilating with cold, unnatural hunger.

”Two sources of pure Sanguis blood.

”Two keys for the Mad Doctor’s vessel.”

The Draven boy smiled—a warm, cheerful smile that made three passing lower-tier students wave at him in friendly greeting.

He waved back politely, his stolen voice calling out a cheerful response before returning his gaze to the dark corridor leading to the dormitories.

”We do not strike tonight,” the Draven construct commanded through the hive-mind.

”We secure the lower vaults first.

”We disable the spatial containment arrays from the inside.

”When Lord Xul’Gorgoth brings the legion to the gates... we will deliver both of them to the glass tank.”

Valerian stopped at the foot of the stone stairs leading up to the Sovereign pavilion.

Behind his black blindfold, his spatial awareness flared with a sudden, icy sensation—not a threat of arcana, nor the heavy pressure of a Beast King, but a subtle, nauseating rot that smelled faintly of old formaldehyde and wet iron.

He turned his head slightly, his covered eyes sweeping over the bustling, cheerful crowd in the main plaza.

”Master?” Aurelix’s voice echoed in his mind, dropping her playful tone for a brief second.

”Did you feel that?

”Something in this crowd tastes... dead.”

Valerian said nothing.

He reached into his coat, his gloved fingers touching the cold dark-mithril suppressor at his wrist, before turning back around and ascending the stairs into the darkness of the academy.