The Imperial Academy of Arts rose before Lysander, a sprawling complex of seven towers connected by crystalline bridges that glittered in the afternoon sun. Each tower represented one of Valterra's provinces, with the central Aurenthian Tower standing tallest—a constant reminder of imperial dominance.
Lysander's carriage passed through elaborate iron gates adorned with magical runes that hummed with power—wards designed to keep unwanted visitors out and talented students in. Guards in Academy blue nodded respectfully but without deference as the carriage stopped in the central courtyard.
"Prince Lysander Aurelian," announced the driver, "by order of Emperor Tiberius IV."
A severe-looking woman with steel-gray hair approached. "Headmistress Octavia Vail," she introduced herself with a precisely measured bow—deep enough to acknowledge his royal status but brief enough to establish her authority within Academy walls. "Welcome to the Academy of Imperial Arts."
"Headmistress," Lysander replied, returning the bow with equal precision. "I'm honored to join your distinguished institution."
Her eyebrows rose slightly at his formal response. No doubt she'd expected arrogance or sullenness from the failed prince.
"Your accommodations have been prepared," she said, gesturing to a young attendant. "Normally, royal students receive private quarters, but Emperor Tiberius was quite specific—you are to be treated as any other student."
"Including shared accommodations?" Lysander asked, feigning surprise while suppressing a smile. In his previous life, he'd been outraged by this arrangement. Now, he recognized it as the opportunity it was.
"Indeed. You've been assigned to the Arcanum Tower, third floor, sharing with another first-year student." The Headmistress watched him carefully, clearly expecting protest.
"I look forward to the authentic experience," Lysander said smoothly. "May I ask the name of my roommate?"
"Marcus Thornwood, a minor branch member of House Thornwood." The Headmistress consulted her notes. "Solidly talented in Terra magic, though from a less prominent family line."
Lysander nodded, maintaining a neutral expression despite his inner satisfaction. Everything was proceeding as expected.
"The Sorting Ceremony begins at sunset," Headmistress Vail continued. "Until then, settle in and familiarize yourself with the Academy grounds. Attendance is mandatory for all first-year students."
After she departed, the young attendant led Lysander through the main courtyard where students moved between classes. Many stopped to stare, whispering behind their hands as the imperial prince passed. Lysander noted their house emblems, mentally categorizing potential allies and threats.
The Arcanum Tower stood to the east of the central complex, its blue-tinted windows reflecting the afternoon sky. Unlike the ostentatious luxury of the palace, the tower's interior was functionally elegant—designed for serious study rather than display.
"Your room, Your Highness," the attendant said, stopping before a wooden door marked with the number 307. "Mr. Thornwood has already arrived."
Lysander dismissed the attendant and paused before entering, composing himself. In his previous life, he and Marcus had become allies only after months of mutual suspicion. This time, he needed to accelerate that timeline.
He opened the door to find a modestly furnished room with two beds, two desks, and a shared sitting area near a window overlooking the eastern gardens. A young man with copper-brown hair was unpacking books onto a shelf beside the left desk.
"Marcus Thornwood?" Lysander inquired, deliberately keeping his tone friendly but uncertain.
The young man turned, his green eyes widening in recognition. He dropped into a hasty bow. "Your Highness! I—they didn't tell me—I mean, I had no idea my roommate would be..."
"An Aurelian?" Lysander finished with a self-deprecating smile. "The least important one, I assure you." He extended his hand. "Just Lysander while we're here, please. I'm told we're to be treated like any other students."
Marcus hesitated before accepting the handshake, confusion evident in his expression. "I... yes, of course... Lysander."
"I've taken up residence in many places, but never a dormitory," Lysander said, examining the room. "I suppose I'll take the right side?"
"Unless you'd prefer this one," Marcus offered quickly. "I can move my things—"
"No need," Lysander interrupted. "I have no preference, and you were here first." He set his bag on the unclaimed bed and began unpacking with deliberate casualness.
Marcus watched him surreptitiously while returning to his own unpacking. "If I may ask... why is an imperial prince attending the Academy as a regular student?"
It was the opening Lysander had been waiting for. He paused, allowing a carefully measured vulnerability to show. "Officially? To broaden my educational experience beyond court tutors."
"And unofficially?" Marcus asked, then immediately looked embarrassed by his boldness.
Lysander sighed. "Unofficially, I'm a disappointment. The failed prince with mediocre magical talent, sent away where I won't embarrass the family."
Marcus frowned. "That seems harsh."
"It's politics," Lysander replied with a shrug. "In the imperial family, power is everything." He met Marcus's eyes directly. "But then, you'd understand something about family expectations, wouldn't you?"
Marcus stiffened almost imperceptibly. "What do you mean?"
"House Thornwood has a reputation for excellence in Terra magic," Lysander said casually. "I imagine there's pressure to uphold that tradition."
"Some," Marcus admitted, relaxing slightly. "Though as a minor branch member, expectations are lower."
Lysander nodded, letting the subject drop as he continued unpacking. He'd planted the seed of shared experience—both young men under family pressure—without revealing he knew Marcus's deeper secret: his true parentage as House Drakos's illegitimate son.
They prepared for the Sorting Ceremony in companionable silence, Marcus gradually becoming more comfortable as Lysander deliberately avoided any princely airs. As sunset approached, they joined the stream of first-year students heading toward the Great Hall.
"What do you know about the sorting?" Marcus asked as they walked.
"Only what's common knowledge," Lysander replied. "We'll be assigned to one of twelve factions based on our magical affinity and character."
"I've heard Arcanum is the most prestigious," Marcus said nervously. "Only the most talented get sorted there."
"And the politically connected," Lysander added with a knowing smile. "Merit isn't everything, even here."
The Great Hall was a vast circular chamber topped with a transparent dome that revealed the darkening sky above. Twelve banners hung around the perimeter, each representing a different faction: Arcanum, Solaris, Umbrath, Terravian, Ignatius, Animus, Tempest, Crystallis, Fatebound, Vitalus, Nethermancy, and Concordia.
First-year students gathered in the center while upper-year students observed from tiered seating beneath their respective banners. At the front of the hall, the Academy's twelve Archmages—one representing each faction—stood in formal robes beside an ancient artifact known as the Discerner.
"The Sorting Ceremony will now begin," announced Headmistress Vail. "When called, each student will approach the Discerner, which will determine your magical compatibility and faction assignment."
As names were called alphabetically, Lysander watched the process with keen interest. Each student placed their hands on the crystal sphere, which would glow with colors representing their magical affinities before one banner in the hall illuminated, signifying their faction.
"Aurelian, Lysander," the Headmistress finally called.
A hush fell over the hall as Lysander stepped forward. In his previous life, this moment had been one of humiliation—the Discerner had barely glowed before assigning him to Concordia, the faction for students with balanced but unremarkable abilities.
This time would be different.
Lysander placed his hands on the crystal sphere and closed his eyes, focusing on the blocked magic within him. Though he couldn't break the blockage yet, he could channel his awareness around it, revealing his true potential to the Discerner.
The sphere began to glow—first with the silver light of Lumina, then deepening to the purple of Umbra, flickering with Ignis red, before settling into a brilliant white radiance that no other student had manifested.
Gasps echoed through the hall. Even the Archmages leaned forward in amazement.
Above, the banner of Arcanum—home to the most magically gifted—blazed with answering light.
"Arcanum," the Headmistress announced, unable to fully hide her surprise.
As Lysander walked toward the Arcanum section, he caught sight of Marcus's astonished expression and the calculating looks of his new faction mates. Most importantly, he noticed an older professor watching him with intense interest from the shadows—Professor Thorne, the man his father had specifically warned him about.
Everything was changing already. The game had truly begun.