The deep indigo of the night sky slowly bled into the soft pinks and oranges of dawn.

  After my visit to Lady Ainsworth, I had wandered aimlessly through the snow-covered streets of Aegis, unable to grasp a single clear thought. And now, here I sat. In front of the window in my room at the orphanage. Sleep had eluded me the entire night, gnawing away at my composure.

  Lady Ainsworth had explained that she would pick me up in the afternoon for the audience with the Patriarch of the Ainsworth family. My entire body was wire-tight with tension. Not only would I be meeting the head of a powerful noble house, but there was a very real possibility he would convene the duel immediately.

  That meant facing Corbin again. From what I’d heard from Jim, the owner of The Broken Shield, the mage was disappointed in me—convinced I was wasting my potential. And now, I would be forced to face him.

  But far worse… I would have to face the House Adept, Tristan Ainsworth.

  And that was exactly where my problem lay. My first real battle was supposed to be against a human… a mage in training. But the worst part? I was expected to secure an overwhelming, crushing victory—without crippling him for life or killing him.

  That required a level of control I wasn’t sure I possessed. Who knew how strong the Adept of House Ainsworth actually was? Could I even defeat him? And if so, could I dominate him?

  As always, too many questions, and I wasn’t getting any smarter just by sitting here. Shaking my head, I stood up. It was still hours until breakfast, and I could definitely spend that time better than staring out a window.

  Sweat dripped from my forehead, stinging as it threatened to run into my eyes. With a heavy groan of exertion, I lifted my hand and wiped it away with the back of my fist. My chest heaved, lungs burning for air.

  Man, I am wrecked.

  But despite the exhaustion, my lips curled into a satisfied smile as the notifications flashed in my mind:

  < Skill improved: Gravity Magic (Adept) —> (Intermediate) > < Skill improved: Air Magic (Adept) —> (Intermediate) >

  My hand clenched into a fist. Finally… after months of grinding, it was happening. My plan was coming together, piece by piece. And with every single step, I was getting closer to my goal: saving Pip.

  I felt physically drained, but mentally, I felt incredible. Still, I had to stop now. My stomach was growling like a beast, and I smelled like a wet raccoon. I didn't want to attend lunch smelling like this, let alone face Patriarch Ainsworth.

  Twenty minutes later, freshly washed and in a mood that was surprisingly decent given the circumstances, I sat at the dining table. I still missed Pip with a painful, constant ache, but I had to admit to myself that I was slowly getting used to the silence. The thought terrified me. Would I one day give up on saving her because the pain had faded too much?

  A heavy sigh escaped my throat, and I shook my head violently to banish the thought.

  “Is everything alright?” a familiar voice asked from across the table.

  Involuntarily, my lips curved upward. My gaze lost itself in those infinitely kind, lavender-colored eyes.

  Mara. Over the last few months, this block of ice had thawed and become my best friend. She had been an immense help in researching the Phoenix Ember Root and, at times, the only thing keeping me sane. We spent hours together. Often with Arthur and the others, of course, but sometimes it was just the two of us, exploring the city or her keeping me company while I trained. She had truly grown on me, one of the few people in this life I wouldn't want to be without.

  “It depends on how you look at it,” I answered cryptically, scratching the back of my head.

  Not just Mara, but Elodie and Arthur—even though he was looking in slightly the wrong direction—were watching me inquiringly.

  “I… was with Lady Ainsworth last night,” I explained after taking a deep breath. “And today, I’m going with her to meet the Patriarch of House Ainsworth.”

  “You’re doing what?” a voice behind me asked in disbelief.

  I didn’t even have to turn around to visualize the frown on her forehead. It was Verity.

  “Why exactly are you visiting the woman—or rather, the widow—of the man who enslaved you?” she asked, confused, as she took a seat opposite me.

  I felt the eyes of dozens of people sticking to me. Sighing, I leaned back in my chair. “It’s like this… I will likely compete for House Ainsworth in the Adept Tournament. If I win the tournament, House Ainsworth will purchase the potential cure for Pip.”

  Somehow, the explanation didn’t seem to lighten the mood.

  “So, just to understand this correctly,” Verity said, her tone matter-of-fact. “You want to compete for the people who enslaved you. In a tournament where your chances are incredibly slim because the finest Adepts in all of Aegis are participating? Adepts who have been trained for years by master mages with limitless resources? You realize that sounds like suicide…”

  The others seemed to share her opinion. Elodie lowered her gaze with sad eyes. Arthur nodded slowly in understanding. And Emma looked at me with pure worry.

  But I just laughed and raised my right hand. I willed mana into my palm, compressing it tight. An apple sitting in a basket in the center of the table shot out and flew unerringly into my hand with a sharp thwack.

  With shocked expressions, everyone looked from the basket to me.

  “Let’s just say… I haven’t been idle these past months,” I explained confidently.

  I had over three years until the tournament. But first, I had to destroy the Adept of House Ainsworth before I could even think about winning the main event. My mind was racing, trying to prepare for every eventuality. I knew nothing about my opponent… I didn’t even know if I would get the chance to fight Tristan at all.

  With a heavy sigh, I bit into the apple, trying to push the doubts aside.

  I left the dining hall and strolled through the now-empty corridors of the orphanage. Verity had asked if she should accompany me, but honestly, I didn't know if that would just make me more nervous. So, I went alone.

  When I pushed open the large entrance doors, I saw a luxurious carriage standing in front of the building, surrounded by children. To my surprise, Lady Ainsworth was standing outside the carriage, wrapped in an elegant, thick fur coat that looked more expensive than the entire orphanage. Snowflakes drifted gently from the grey sky, landing on her dark hair as she chatted animatedly not just with the adults, but with the kids too. I hadn’t expected that.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  With slow steps, I walked toward the carriage, gazing in wonder at the crest painted on the door. It was a white stag on a blue background, encircled by green thorny branches with red roses. Was that the crest of House Ainsworth? I hadn't seen it at Lord Shitsworth’s estate.

  As I got closer, Lady Ainsworth looked me over and rubbed her hands together cheerfully. “Ready?”

  To make it short and painless: I was not ready.

  I thought we were going to the same district where Lady Ainsworth lived, but no. The ancestral seat of House Ainsworth was in the Central District… right where the Royal Palace was. I knew House Ainsworth was no joke, but that they lived here—rubbing shoulders with the top brass—I wasn't prepared for that.

  We stood before a gigantic double gate of black steel, towering an imposing twenty meters above us. Upon arrival, we were stopped by the City Guard and subjected to a strict check.

  I was led into a small building on the side, stripped down to my underwear in a sterile room, and examined via visual inspection and some kind of magic I didn't recognize. Even Lady Ainsworth, who showed a golden badge that acted as a kind of identification, was thoroughly searched by a female guard. Apparently, the security of the Royal Family and the high-ranking noble families was taken incredibly seriously here.

  The whole procedure took about ten minutes. When we climbed back into the carriage, the gate swung open slowly with the heavy rumble of moving metal. With a flick of the reins, we started moving. The carriage rolled smoothly over the cobblestones, through the massive gate, and into the heart of Aegis.

  With wide eyes, I stared out the window in shock. The massive structures of my old life made me think I’d seen it all, that nothing could amaze me anymore… but I was dead wrong.

  Behind the walls, a vast, snow-covered plain opened up. The trees were dusted with white powder, standing like frozen sentinels in the landscape. Even the small streams that flowed through the area were rimmed with ice, cutting through the pristine white fields. The first building we passed was a massive cream-yellow castle emblazoned with a large crest featuring a tower.

  “That is House Grenzmark. A Marquis family like ours. They train the best soldiers in Aegis,” Lady Ainsworth explained casually, gazing boredly out the window.

  I nodded in understanding, memorizing the crest. Every family here probably had its purpose. I looked eagerly out the window on the other side and saw a dense, snow-laden forest, from which the tip of a tower covered in blue tiles protruded.

  I waited patiently for Lady Ainsworth’s explanation, but it didn’t come. Disappointed, I leaned back in my seat and looked lost in thought out the other window.

  I was about to meet the Patriarch of House Ainsworth, and I had absolutely no idea how to behave. What should I say? How should I say it? Arrogance was often fine if you could afford it. But I was a penniless twelve-year-old who had been able to use magic for less than a year. My resume was rather sobering.

  “Ready?” I heard Lady Ainsworth ask.

  Startled, I looked at the Marchioness, who was now smiling mischievously at me. With a sweeping gesture, she pointed out the window.

  A gigantic castle, painted royal blue with black roof shingles, massive stained-glass windows, towers, and even a glass dome adorned the landscape. Here too, a crest decorated the main keep. A white stag on a blue background. Entwined by green vines and red roses.

  With wide eyes, I admired the masterful architecture, but my view was cut off as the carriage turned, now following a manicured path toward the castle.

  I swallowed hard. “Ready.”

  The carriage came to a smooth halt, and the door was promptly opened. Crisp, icy air streamed into the cabin, blindingly bright from the reflection off the snow. I was about to step out, but Lady Ainsworth beat me to it.

  Nervously, I heaved myself out of the seat and climbed down. The snow crunched under my feet as I landed, and something immediately caught my attention.

  “Genevieve, my angel!” I heard an old, deep voice call out.

  Descending the stairs that led to the massive entrance doors was a man. His hair was dark gray, combed back, and an imposing mustache adorned his lip. He wore a majestic blue tunic, fine black velvet trousers, and dark brown boots.

  Even if I hadn't recognized it from his words, this man was the Patriarch of House Ainsworth. He radiated an aura of untouchability, ease, power, and wealth. He was the real deal. Not a pathetic ego like Lord Shitsworth.

  With open arms, the Patriarch walked toward Lady Ainsworth.

  But before he reached her, Lady Ainsworth stopped. She sank into a curtsy so deep it looked painful, bowing her head with practiced, icy formality.

  "Patriarch Ainsworth," she intoned, her voice stripped of all warmth. "I greet you."

  The Patriarch dropped his arms, flabbergasted. His eyelid twitched threateningly, and his expression darkened.

  Oh, please no. Not already. He might not hurt his own daughter, but I would definitely be collateral damage.

  "Oh, come now," the Patriarch huffed, his mustache bristling. "Surely you can spare a hug for your old man, seeing as we haven't seen each other in so long? Your mother and I have been looking forward to finally having you back with us."

  Huh? What did he just say?

  Sighing, Lady Ainsworth raised her arms and was promptly engulfed in her father's embrace. The Patriarch closed his eyes, savoring the hug. His lips formed an honest smile. But after a few seconds, he opened his eyes and stared at me in wonder.

  “Well now, who is the young man you brought along?” he asked curiously, but with a friendly voice.

  Now my eyelid twitched. The scene had something… strange about it. I had expected us to hold an audience with an old, disgusting demon. Under threat of ending my life if I dared to breathe wrong. But by first impressions, the Patriarch was completely different from how I had imagined him.

  Lady Ainsworth ended the embrace and turned to me. She slowly raised her hand and spoke. “Father, this is Grim. My Adept for the tournament.” She explained cautiously.

  The Patriarch tilted his head, rubbed his chin, and looked at me curiously. His foot tapped quietly on the ground, and his forehead was wrinkled as if he were performing complex calculations. Suddenly, he started moving; he circled me at a certain distance, examining me from all angles.

  “Hm…” he grunted indecisively. His hands rubbed slowly together until he finally nodded and clapped his hands loudly.

  “JULIUS! HAVE THE ARENA PREPARED AND INFORM TRISTAN IMMEDIATELY.”

  The command boomed from the old man's throat. The man standing behind him, presumably Julius, clutched a hand over his heart in fright, bowed, and ran into the house. But the Patriarch himself waited not a second longer, marching at a brisk pace back into the estate.

  Confused, I looked at Lady Ainsworth, but it was like looking into a mirror. She stood there just as helpless and confused as I was. With a heavy sigh, she followed her father and said only, “You’d better think of a tactic, because it looks like you’re about to fight my nephew…”

  What? NOW?!

  My heart beat heavily in my chest, excitement spreading through me… I had feared it would come to this, but I had expected the Patriarch to reject it from the start, or for there to be long discussions. But we haven't even been here five minutes? And the fight is supposed to happen now?

  I took a deep breath and followed Lady Ainsworth. This fight was only the first of many to save Pip.

  We climbed the steps to the entrance and stepped into House Ainsworth.

  My eyes widened in shock at what I saw; words failed me. Literally. We wandered through the vast halls, and I couldn't put into words what I was seeing because I didn't even know what this style of decoration was called.

  I only knew it was incredibly opulent. It wasn't just wealthy; it was the kind of wealth that whispered of empires and centuries of dominance. The floors were a checkerboard of rare, polished black marble and white alabaster, gleaming so brightly I could see my own terrified reflection.

  Above us, the ceiling vaulted high like a cathedral, painted with breathtaking frescoes depicting the history of the house—heroic battles, mythical beasts, and crowning ceremonies—all framed in heavy, authentic gold leaf that caught the light from crystal chandeliers the size of small houses.

  Along the walls stood suits of armor that looked not just decorative, but functional—inlaid with jewels and pulsing with faint magical auras. Between them hung tapestries woven from silk and silver thread, depicting scenes of hunt and harvest. There were pedestals displaying artifacts that belonged in a royal museum: a massive, polished griffon's claw, a shield bearing the scorch marks of dragon fire, and ancient vases painted with scenes of a Aegis that hadn't existed for centuries.

  Lord Shitsworth's house had been trying to look rich. This house simply was power. It was like comparing a merchant's stall to the palace of an Emperor.

  But what really shocked me?

  In the middle of the house was a kind of… pit. A sunken atrium. And built into this pit was an arena. A dedicated combat ground right in the heart of their home. An entrance led down to the fighting floor, and surrounding it, raised three or four meters high, were viewing galleries with plush velvet seats.

  My eyes wandered through the bizarre construction when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone enter the arena floor below.

  A blonde boy, dressed in practical grey training gear, stepped onto the sand. His steps radiated confidence, and as his gaze swept through the arena and then up to us, a look of utter, unshakable arrogance settled in his eyes.