The journey from the obsidian ruins to the heart of the Empire ended not with a celebration, but with a cold transaction. Once the massive, white-stone gates of Grandis had closed behind them, the partnership was dissolved. Professor Elara, her mind already consumed by the secrets she had unearthed, handed Aleric a heavy pouch of gold. It was a substantial sum—hush money to ensure the secrets of the vault remained buried, and a parting gift to fulfill her promise of his enrollment.
With a final, distant nod, she ascended toward the High Spire of the Aetheria Academy, her robes fluttering in the wind. Aleric was left standing in the shadow of the great towers, a commoner with a pouch of gold and a scroll of enrollment. He heard nothing of her or the book in the weeks that followed. It was as if she had simply wiped him from her ledger once the debt was paid.
Life within the Academy was a slow, grinding monotony. Aleric was assigned a cramped room in the Outer Disciple’s wing, a section reserved for those of low birth. To the wealthy students who walked the marble halls in silks and jewels, he was a non-entity—a charity case who kept his head down, appearing to the world as a boy with plain, unremarkable brown eyes. He had learned to mask the crimson glow of his sight, projecting the image of a mundane student to avoid the prying questions of the faculty.
The Academy was a place where status was everything, and status was measured by one's Aura. Every afternoon, the central courtyard became a stage for vanity. Aleric would sit upon a weathered stone bench, watching the senior students "flex" their presence. They would stand in circles, projecting their internal energy outward to create a heavy, suffocating pressure in the air.
To these students, a "heavy" Aura was the mark of a true master. They took pride in how much they could make a commoner's knees shake just by standing near them. They closed their eyes, basking in the "feel" of each other's presence, judging one another by the weight of the invisible tide they gave off. If a person's Aura felt thin or weak, they were treated as if they did not exist.
Aleric, however, watched their Mana.
Behind his facade, the world was not a contest of feelings, but a web of moving parts. While a young lordling was busy puffing out his chest to make his Aura feel intimidating, Aleric saw the Mana leaking out of the boy's body in ragged, wasteful bursts. The students were so obsessed with the "show" of power—the weight of their presence—that they had no control over the actual energy within.
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They are obsessed with the shadow of the mountain, Aleric thought, his lip curling in a faint sneer. They want the world to feel their weight, but they do not even know how to hold the energy they carry. Their magic is a leaky bucket, yet they brag of how much water they spill.
The isolation of the Academy was a slow poison. He spent his nights in the library, but even the books here were guarded and censored. He knew that if he remained within these walls, his gift would rot. He needed to test himself. He needed a life that the Academy could not see.
Taking the gold Elara had given him, Aleric spent his leave days in the lower districts of the city. He found a tailor’s workshop tucked into a narrow alleyway. The tailor was an old man with steady hands who didn't ask questions. Aleric laid out his requirements: a heavy hoodie and trousers made of durable, common cotton, dyed in a visceral, deep Crimson. He also commissioned a mask of plain, hardened porcelain, smooth and featureless.
When the suit was finished, Aleric brought it back to his room in secret. He waited for the moon to rise high over the spires and for the heavy, arrogant Auras of the Academy to settle into sleep. He donned the crimson attire, pulling the heavy hood low over his brow and fastening the porcelain mask.
He stood before the mirror, a figure of blood-red cloth in the moonlight. With a slow, deliberate breath, he dropped the mental veil he had maintained for weeks. The dull, common brown of his eyes vanished, replaced by a piercing, luminous Crimson that seemed to glow from within the shadows of his hood.
The fabric was ordinary. It had no magic to hide him, and it did not suppress his Aura. To any mage or guard who happened to "feel" the air, Aleric still gave off the weak, unremarkable presence of a common student. It was a presence so small and ordinary that it was easily ignored by those looking for "powerful" threats.
"They have spent their lives learning to feel for the lions," Aleric whispered, his voice echoing hollowly behind the porcelain mask as his red eyes burned with a cold light. "They will never notice the spider until the web is spun."
He turned to the open window. Aleric Thorne, the quiet student with the brown eyes, was supposed to be asleep. But the Red Auditor vaulted over the stone ledge and vanished into the darkness of the city below.
