Archives Division, Year of Compilation Unknown

  The Academy Siege: Four students killed. Two professors. Forty-three Church knights. Eastern district destroyed. Operations suspended for eight months.

  Lord Avian Veritas, son of Aedric Veritas, was declared traitor by imperial decree two weeks following the event. Bounty: fifty thousand gold. The Eyes of Potestas disappeared from the vault during the attack.

  Official records cite documentary evidence and witness testimony as basis for charges. Some contemporary scholars noted inconsistencies in provided timelines.

  The manhunt lasted six months.

  The herald's voice woke Kai before the sun did.

  "—Lord Avian Veritas is hereby declared traitor to the Empire, enemy of the Church, and thief of sacred relics—"

  Kai was at his window before the words finished, watching Church heralds in white robes take positions at every major intersection in the district. Their voices carried through the morning air, amplified by magic, reaching into every corner, every home, every fucking place someone might be sleeping.

  "—bounty of fifty thousand gold for his capture or confirmed death—"

  Fifty thousand.

  Kai's hands gripped the windowsill hard enough that wood creaked. Half the Empire would be hunting Avian for that kind of money. Mercenaries, bounty hunters, opportunistic nobles, desperate farmers—everyone.

  Behind him, someone knocked. Didn't wait for permission before entering.

  Leontis looked like shit. Still in yesterday's clothes, hair a disaster, none of his usual theatrical energy. Just exhaustion and anger. "They're saying he orchestrated everything. That he planned the siege. That students died because—"

  "I heard."

  "It's horseshit. Complete, absolute—"

  "I know." Kai turned from the window. "Where's Seren?"

  "In the guest wing. Still asleep probably. I didn't want to wake her for this." Leontis moved to the window, watching the heralds spread through the district like a plague. "What do we do?"

  "Nothing yet."

  "Nothing?" Leontis's voice cracked. "Kai, they're—"

  "What would you have me do? March to the Cathedral and call them liars? Get arrested as a conspirator?" Kai grabbed the broadsheet someone had shoved under his door during the night, threw it at Leontis. "Read it. They have evidence. Letters. Witness testimony. Financial records. It's a complete case."

  Leontis caught the paper, scanned it. His expression went from anger to something worse. "This is... thorough."

  "Professional. They spent two weeks building this." Kai paced, mind already working the problem. "Probably more. The Archbishop likely planned this outcome from the start—the siege gave him the opportunity, but he'd been preparing the pieces long before." He paused at the window. "The letters would need access to genuine samples of Avian's handwriting. Someone at the Academy, or someone in House Veritas."

  "You think someone here—"

  "I think the Church has resources we can't match and however much time they needed to make this perfect." Kai stopped pacing. "We need to see the actual evidence. Not just what they're claiming, but the documents themselves. Find the flaws."

  "How? Just walk into the Cathedral and ask nicely?"

  "We start with the compound. Someone here had access to Avian's writing. We find who, we find how the forgeries were made."

  A sealed letter arrived with breakfast.

  Kai recognized his father's handwriting on the envelope. Heavy paper. Formal seal. The kind of correspondence that meant politics, not family.

  He opened it while Leontis pretended not to watch.

  Kai,

  The Church has declared Avian Veritas traitor. The Emperor has confirmed it. Evidence is substantial. Bounty is fifty thousand gold.

  Our branch will issue a formal denunciation today. I am sending the statement to the main compound for the assembly. You will read it on our family's behalf, as you are currently residing there.

  This is not a request. We survive by choosing the winning side, and the Church has already won. Your opinions on the matter are irrelevant. You are the seventh son of a minor branch—your duty is to preserve our family's standing, not to question political reality.

  The main family will be deciding today whether to support or condemn Aedric's son. Either way, we distance ourselves from this disaster.

  Read the statement. Publicly. Before noon.

  Do not make this difficult.

  —Your Father

  Kai read it twice. Then set it down carefully.

  "Bad news?" Leontis asked.

  "My father wants me to read a denunciation. Publicly. Representing our branch."

  "Will you?"

  Kai looked at the letter. At his father's handwriting. At the unspoken threat beneath every word.

  Do this or be cast out. Obey or lose everything.

  "No."

  Leontis's eyes widened. "Kai—"

  "I know what I saw at the Academy." Kai stood, moved to his desk. "Avian defended students. Bled protecting them. My father can denounce him if survival demands it. But I won't be the one speaking the words."

  "Your father will—"

  "Disown me? Probably." Kai started pulling out papers. "The Church will investigate me? Definitely. But at least I'll know the difference between survival and cowardice."

  A second knock. A messenger in Veritas colors. "Letter for Lord Kai. From the main family."

  Fuck. Already?

  This envelope was heavier. Aedric's personal seal.

  Kai opened it with hands that wanted to shake but didn't.

  Kai,

  I assume you will refuse to denounce Lord Avian. Your character suggests as much.

  You will not be required to do so by the main family. However, understand the consequences: you will be monitored. The Church is investigating his associates. Your name will appear on lists. Be prepared.

  Your minor branch head has been informed that the main family will not force your compliance. How he responds is his concern, not mine.

  Act wisely.

  —Aedric Veritas

  Kai let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

  "What does it say?" Leontis asked.

  "Aedric's not forcing me to denounce him. But I'm officially on the Church's watch list now." Kai managed a bitter smile. "My father's going to be furious."

  "Worth it?"

  "Ask me after the Church finishes investigating."

  They worked through the morning. Building lists. Making notes. Documenting what they knew about the siege versus what the Church was claiming.

  Seren joined them after noon, brought food and more documents she'd somehow acquired. Her eyes were red but her hands were steady. "The timeline doesn't work," she said, spreading papers across the desk. "If we can get access to the actual letters, I can prove they're forgeries."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "How?" Kai asked.

  "Cross-reference with Academy gate logs. Church records. Travel times." Her smile was sharp. "I'm very good at my job."

  By evening, they had enough to prove the case was fabricated.

  And absolutely nowhere to use it.

  "The Church controls the printing houses," Seren noted. "The investigation. The narrative. We could have perfect proof and it wouldn't matter."

  "So we keep it." Kai locked the documents in his personal safe. "Document everything. Wait for the right moment. Eventually, someone will want the truth."

  "That's a lot of faith in eventual justice," Leontis said quietly.

  "It's all we have."

  Outside, the Veritas Compound was fracturing. Some branches believed the evidence. Some defended Avian. Most just wanted to distance themselves before the scandal consumed them all.

  Kai watched from his window as formal denunciations arrived from various branches. His own father's statement was read publicly in the main hall without him. Necessary for survival, he supposed.

  I'm sorry, Avian. I can't clear your name. But I can remember the truth.

  It would have to be enough.

  Seraphina's fist shattered the training dummy's head.

  Wood splinters exploded outward, raining down like broken teeth. She was already moving to the next target. Strike. Break. Move. Strike. Break. Move.

  Her knuckles were raw meat. Blood ran down her forearms in thin streams, dripping onto sand already dark with old stains. Every muscle screamed. Her enhanced body could handle more than human limits, but even Archbishop Caldris's modifications had breaking points.

  She didn't care.

  Not fast enough. Not strong enough. Not good enough.

  The memory played on repeat behind her eyes. The vault. Avian standing among corpses like death incarnate. Her best attacks doing nothing. Him sparing her like she was a child throwing a tantrum.

  Like she didn't matter.

  Like she was weak.

  Another dummy. Another strike. The head caved in with a wet crunch that sounded almost organic.

  The sun was rising. She'd been training since before dawn. Before that, all night. Before that... she'd lost track. Time blurred when you stopped sleeping. When you stopped eating. When you stopped doing anything except training and bleeding and training some more.

  "Yer gonna kill yerself, lass."

  Seraphina didn't stop. Didn't even look. Just moved to the next target and destroyed it.

  Brother Harren stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, watching her self-destruct with the patience of someone who'd seen this before. The Church had assigned him to oversee her training after the Academy suspended operations—official reason was "proper spiritual guidance," real reason was the Archbishop wanted someone watching his weapon to make sure it didn't break before it could be used.

  He'd been watching her burn herself out for two weeks. Hadn't intervened.

  Until now.

  "Then I die stronger than I am now." Seraphina's voice was hoarse. She hadn't drunk water in hours. Hadn't eaten since yesterday. "Better than staying weak."

  "Ye think beatin' yerself into paste makes ye strong?" He walked closer, each step deliberate. Boots crunching on sand and wood splinters. "That ain't strength, lass. That's just rage wearin' a training uniform."

  "Rage is all I have."

  "Aye. An' it'll burn ye hollow." He picked up a training sword, tossed it to her. "Stop hittin' wood. Hit me."

  She caught the sword reflexively. Stared at him. "What?"

  "Ye heard me. Ye want to get stronger? Stop pretendin' an' actually fight." He drew his own blade—blessed steel, well-used, the kind that had tasted blood and remembered. "Show me what two weeks of self-torture bought ye."

  Seraphina attacked without warning.

  The sword came down in an overhead slash meant to split him in half. Brother Harren blocked, redirected. She recovered instantly, flowing into a side strike.

  Good form. Solid technique. The Archbishop's training had made her dangerous.

  They exchanged blows. Fast. Brutal. His movements were economical, testing her defense. Hers were technically sound but too aggressive. Too committed. Each strike putting everything behind it like she was trying to kill him through sheer force of will.

  After two minutes of intense combat, she overextended on a thrust. He caught her wrist, twisted, and her sword went flying.

  She stood there, breathing hard, staring at the practice blade in the sand.

  "Again," she said.

  He picked up her sword, tossed it back. "Aye."

  They went again. Same result. She was fast, skilled, enhanced beyond normal limits. But exhaustion and obsession made her reckless. Made her commit too hard to strikes that should be feints.

  Third time, she lasted three minutes before he disarmed her.

  Fourth time, two minutes.

  Fifth time, ninety seconds.

  She wasn't getting better. She was getting worse. Each round, more desperate. More reckless. More willing to trade hits she couldn't afford for openings that weren't real.

  "Yer strong," he said finally, not even breathing hard. "Fast. Technique's solid. The enhancements are workin'. But yer burnin' out. Each round worse than the last."

  "I'll get better." She retrieved the sword again, gripped it until her hands ached. "I just need to keep training."

  "Trainin's not yer problem. Obsession is." He sheathed his sword. "Ye've got the skill. What yer lackin' is the power to back it. That rage? It's makin' ye reckless. Makin' ye commit when ye should hold back. Against someone like Veritas?" He shook his head. "Ye'll be dead in thirty seconds." He paused. "Hell, not even five."

  "What do you want me to do? Give up?" Her voice cracked. "They were my family. Amara, Roland—they were everything. And he killed them."

  "Aye." His expression softened, just slightly. "An' ye want revenge. Fair enough. Revenge is honest. But it requires survivin' long enough to take it. The way yer goin'? Ye'll burn out or do somethin' stupid that gets ye killed."

  Seraphina looked at her bloodied hands. At the destroyed training dummies scattered across the grounds like a massacre. At the carnage two weeks of non-stop training had created.

  "I can't stop," she said quietly. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them dying. See him walking away. If I stop, if I rest, it all comes back."

  "Then ye need smarter trainin'. Not endless trainin'." He gestured at the destroyed grounds. "This? This is just punishment. What ye need is real combat. Real experience. Sparrin' partners who'll push ye without lettin' ye kill yerself." He paused. "An' time. Time for yer body to catch up to yer enhancements. To reach Sixth Tier. Maybe Seventh. That's when ye'll have a real chance."

  "Time," she repeated bitterly. "While he's out there. Free."

  "Aye. While he's bein' hunted by half the Empire. While every bounty hunter and mercenary is chasin' him. While the Church is mobilizin' everything." Brother Harren's smile was grim. "Give it time, lass. He'll come back. Or we'll find him. An' when that day comes, ye'll be ready. Actually ready. Not just angry."

  She looked at the sword in her hands. At the rising sun painting the training grounds orange and red. At the choice.

  Smarter training. Real sparring. Time to actually get strong enough.

  A real chance to kill Avian Veritas.

  "Alright," she said finally. "Your way."

  "Good." He turned toward the equipment shed. "Now drink some fuckin' water. Ye look like death, an' not the useful kind."

  Avian heard the herald from half a mile away.

  He was near a small trading post—close enough to steal supplies, far enough to stay hidden—when the Church herald's voice boomed across the morning air, amplified by magic to reach every ear within earshot.

  "—by order of His Grace Archbishop Caldris and His Imperial Majesty—"

  Avian stopped walking. Crouched in the forest, invisible behind trees, and listened.

  "—Lord Avian Veritas is hereby declared traitor to the Empire, enemy of the Church, and thief of sacred relics. A bounty of fifty thousand gold is offered for his capture or confirmed death—"

  Fifty thousand.

  He waited until the herald finished, until the small crowd gathered around started talking in excited, greedy voices. Then he melted back into the forest, moving fast but silent, putting distance between himself and anyone who might recognize him.

  Back at his cave, he sat in darkness and ate stolen bread while processing.

  Traitor. Enemy of the Church. Fifty thousand gold.

  He should feel angry. Should feel betrayed. Should feel something about being framed, about having his name destroyed, about House Veritas probably disowning him right now.

  He didn't.

  He felt... free.

  No more Academy. No more pretending to be a noble. No more political games or family obligations. No more delays.

  Avian laughed. Quiet at first, then louder, until the sound echoed off cave walls. It was the laugh of someone who'd just been handed exactly what they wanted without knowing they wanted it.

  They think I stole the Eyes of Potestas. They think I attacked the Academy. They think I'm a traitor.

  Good.

  Perfect.

  They just freed me from every obligation keeping me from Calfont.

  No more waiting. No more Academy bureaucracy. No more pretending Avian Veritas mattered.

  This was Dex's second chance. This life was always about finding answers—about Vaerin, about the betrayal, about why history painted him as the Demon King. Avian Veritas was just the costume he'd been wearing. The mask. The convenient noble identity that gave him access to resources.

  But he didn't need it anymore.

  Calfont. The mountains where Vaerin died. Where the truth is buried.

  He'd been planning to go eventually. After graduating. After building power. After careful preparation.

  Fuck careful preparation.

  The whole Empire would be hunting him now. Bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Church knights. Opportunistic assholes looking for fifty thousand gold.

  Which meant staying anywhere near civilization was suicide.

  Avian stood, checked his supplies. Almost nothing. Some stolen food. Water. Fargrim. The Eyes of Potestas absorbed into him, still not fully understood.

  Not enough for a journey through some of the most dangerous terrain in the Empire.

  I'll figure it out on the way. I've survived worse with less.

  He moved to the cave entrance, looked out at the forest. Somewhere to the south, the Imperial Capital was probably in chaos. Kai and the others dealing with fallout. House Veritas choosing sides. Canaline being forced to denounce him.

  He felt a brief pang of something—not quite guilt, not quite regret. Just awareness that people he'd fought beside were suffering consequences of his actions.

  They'll survive. They're smart. They'll distance themselves and move on.

  And if they didn't... well. That was their choice. He hadn't asked them to be loyal. Hadn't promised them anything. This was always about Dex finding answers, not about Avian building relationships.

  Cold. That's cold, even for me.

  He pushed the thought away.

  Outside, birds sang. The sun was rising. The whole Empire would be looking for him soon.

  Time to disappear.

  Time to go to Calfont.

  Time to find out what the fuck actually happened five hundred years ago.

  Avian Veritas, recognized son of Aedric Veritas, was dead. Killed by Church lies and Imperial decree.

  But Dex?

  Dex was finally free to find the truth.

  He left the cave without looking back, heading north toward mountains that promised answers or death.

  Probably both.

  He was fine with either.