Priscilla Valemont touches with impatience the pommel of the sword at her side with narrowed eyes as she scrutinizes her children. She stomps a boot on the ground seeing their apologetic faces.

  “How can Jacob have disappeared?!” She finally lets out her frustration.

  Kai, the youngest of the four, the Champion in the Generation of Legends alongside Jacob, bows his head.

  “Mother, Jacob has disappeared. I’ve asked around but no one seems to know where he is, exactly. All that I’ve gathered is that he might be training.” Despite Kai’s gigantic frame, he looks very small in front of his mother’s rage.

  But, truthfully, it’s not exactly rage.

  It’s worry.

  “Mother,” Thorne, the third oldest brother, bows himself. “Jacob will be fine. He’s resourceful. He’s still under the Academy’s protection.”

  “Have you heard what the Headmaster announced, Thorne?” Priscilla Valemont is literally vibrating with fury. “They’ll soon be after Jacob!”

  The Headmaster has just dispatched a communication throughout the Academy that rattled everyone: the Generation of Legends has to be tested and trialed. The Generation of Legends’ prophecy, following what the Headmaster announced, is more important than the single members who make it up. And, therefore, the Headmaster announced that any student in the first year can challenge the current Champions once they meet them in person, and the Champions must accept the challenge unless they’ve already been challenged that day or they are just done with training. And even in the case they were exhausted, they are to rest and prepare for the next challenger.

  Ilyra Valemont, second oldest, clicks her tongue, “Mother, you have other business to worry about. Uncle Dorian is trying to muster up more support. They want to supplant the main line. Grandmother might not have the political support to keep the throne. You should return to court and challenge him.”

  “That’s what my cousin wants,” Priscilla Valemont growls. “Ilyra, you should know better. They’re provoking us.”

  “Mother,” the oldest, Valerius Valemont, says his piece, “I find myself agreeing with Ilyra. Jacob will be protected by the rules of the Academy. You? For Duke Dorian to take power, they need you out of the picture. He’s requesting a severing.”

  Priscilla Valemont raises an eyebrow.

  “How do you know of this, Valerius?”

  A severing is the process through which unruly members of the family who know too much about the secrets of the family’s heritage are… dealt with.

  “Mother, I’m not a child anymore. I’m deep into the matters at court.”

  Priscilla Valemont now grabs her sword until her knuckles whiten.

  “Duke Dorian is ready for anything, but right now, it doesn’t matter. If this is true, they’ll not just want me. They’ll want Jacob. He’s the Guide of Champions. And with people after his spot, soon many noble families will become desperate to make space for their scions. That means that they’ll employ whatever strategy in order to win. Jacob will soon be target of plots he can’t even begin to understand.”

  “Mother, you underestimate Jacob,” Kai frowns. “He’s much smarter than you give him credit for.”

  “Jacob’s a child, still,” Priscilla Valemont shakes her head. “He was not raised like the rest of you. He was brought up in a mine, Kai. I’m sure he knows hardships, but he has no idea what den of vipers and forest of crouching tigers he’s about to step into now that the Headmaster put out this new rule for the first year. You know how to be careful and you’re protected by the family. Jacob… he never accepted to become a Valemont. He’s still a Cloud… and a strong wind is about to blow him away.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Thorne frowns.

  “Find him,” Priscilla Valemont says. “Find him and tell him he has to give up.”

  “Give up?” Kai frowns.

  “He can’t be a Champion anymore,” Priscilla Valemont says. “He’s too weak. This game is about to become much harsher than he can take. He’s not someone who was made to win it.”

  * * *

  Vyrrak is slowly going through the motions of the Dance of Dragons in the courtyard of the small house his wife and he bought when he hears someone shouting his name.

  He turns to see Kaelric the Orphan.

  “Kaelric?” Vyrrak asks. “What’s going on?”

  The swordsman is frantic and it’s clear to Vyrrak, even before he starts explaining.

  “Have you heard what the Headmaster said?!” Kaelric says.

  “I heard,” Vyrrak says. “What about it? It was just announced.”

  “Vyrrak,” Kaelric slowly wets his lips before saying, “Zibrek and Boomgar already lost.”

  “What?” Vyrrak frowns. He’s not particularly attached to either, but they have gone through months as Champions together. “Now, there’s a frenzy and everyone’s out looking for Jacob! They want to take his spot!”

  Vyrrak stops for a moment.

  In the aftermath of passing Vice Principal Caradoc’s test and making a mockery of Traps and Cracks 501’s teacher, Professor Kharzun, Vyrrak has been busy spending time with his wife, who’s visiting the Academy, and training the newly-learned Dance of Dragons.

  It has completely gone over his head that Jacob Cloud, the Leader of Champions, still is the weakest of all Champions. He’s pretty sure that even Zibrek, in a one on one situation, would have easily taken him down. Yet, knowing just how resourceful and astonishing Jacob can be, he has completely forgotten how weak he is in an actual duel.

  “Fuck,” Vyrrak says, seeing Guinevere walking toward them.

  “What’s happening?” His wife asks.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” Vyrrak says, walking rapidly and then breaking into a run. “I need to talk to my grandfather!”

  Guinevere becomes pale and nods, looking at Vyrrak’s back.

  Kaelric, confused, turns to the woman and asks.

  “Who’s his grandfather? And why does it matter?”

  * * *

  A man with golden framed spectacles looks at the Dragonkin who bursts through his door. A powerful gale of wind makes a bunch of papers and forms fly all over the room.

  “Well, Vice Principal John will have to sort those again, I suppose,” the Headmaster scratches his beardless chin.

  “Grandfather,” Vyrrak says.

  “I’m only your grandfather when you need something,” the Headmaster laments dramatically. “Why don’t you come more often for tea, Vyrrak?”

  “Grandfather,” Vyrrak grits his teeth. “I am busy.”

  “Not too busy to come and ask for favors,” the Headmaster yawns and then points at the young Dragonkin. “I’m happy, by the way. I spoke to Caradoc. I know what you managed to do.”

  Vyrrak suddenly gets on his knees and touches his head on the floor.

  “Grandfather, please, take it back.”

  “Huh?” The Headmaster stretches his neck to look at Vyrrak since his large mahogany desk blocks his view. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Vyrrak says, not moving his forehead. “Jacob can’t lose his place as Leader of Champions. He’s the only thing that could win us the war against the Dark Champions!”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “My goodness,” the Headmaster gets up with a frown and now doesn’t look like a young man in his manners anymore as he gets close to Vyrrak, hoists him up as if the Dragonkin weighs nothing, and dusts his scales. The Headmaster plucks a dead scale from Vyrrak’s forehead and tosses it away, caressing his grandchild face.

  “Vyrrak, do not kneel for anyone. Not even for me.”

  “Grandfather, I—”

  “Just call me grandpa, Vyrrak. I can’t stand your father using all the honorifics with me and his obsession with pure blood. If I was so obsessed with pure blood, he wouldn’t have never been conceived. Now, call me grandpa or I won’t answer you questions.”

  Vyrrak sighs.

  “Grandpa, I need your help.”

  “Why don’t you let me show you something?” The Headmaster says.

  Before Vyrrak can ask what, the Headmaster touches his spectacles and a high-pitched ringing is the last thing Vyrrak hears before he opens his eyes again on a mountaintop. It’s night, and a giant host of stars shine in the sky.

  Cold winds buffet the two and Vyrrak looks around, confused, until his grandfather points at a plateau on which thirteen giant pillars have been erected.

  Vyrrak squints his eyes and sees Jacob in the middle of it, completely covered in blood. From the looks of it, his own blood.

  “What’s happening?” Vyrrak mutters.

  “Caradoc was Baalrek’s closest friend, and the one who helped him develop his most feared Primordial Spell,” the Headmaster explains. “From what I understand, Baalrek passed his best Skill and his Primordial Spell to Jacob.”

  “Grandfather—” Vyrrak corrects himself when he sees the Headmaster eyeing him. “Grandpa, why does he look like he’s about to die, then?”

  “Baalrek was, even in my accounts, one of the purest, most crystalline talents the world had ever seen and might ever see. His body received one of the roughest Rainbow Skills and tamed it without any external help. Not only he was possibly one of the greatest geniuses when it came to Primordial Spells, just like his ancestors, the Devils, but he also possessed the kind of physical and magical gifts that most people can’t even fathom.”

  “Are you saying that Jacob, not being as gifted…”

  “He’s trying to learn a Primordial Spell that made Baalrek sweat,” the Headmaster says, tilting his head upward.

  They both hear a blood-chilling scream of pain that comes out of Jacob before his body starts spasming. There’s more blood coming out of his skin, which is ruptured so much it barely looks anything other than raw flesh.

  “Grandpa, please, we should stop it, he’s about to die!”

  “He is,” the Headmaster nods.

  “He is,” the Headmaster nods. “And he has been close to dying every night for more than a week.”

  Vyrrak’s claws curl into his palms as he watches Jacob convulse on the stone. The pillars around him sends nigh-invisible shock-waves that rise and falls in rhythm with his screams, and every pulse drives another wave of Mana through his body. Jacob arches hard enough that his spine looks ready to snap, and then he slams back down.

  His breath comes in ragged gasps that tear at his throat, and each inhale drags little air into his lungs while each exhale spills blood onto the stone beneath him.

  “Training?” Vyrrak growls, and his voice shakes. “What insane training is this?!”

  “One not meant for someone like him. He’s weak, Vyrrak. Possibly more cunning than every Infernal I’ve met—possibly—but not near as strong as any of them.”

  Jacob’s hands claw at the ground.

  When he screams again, Vyrrak feels it in his guts.

  “Why doesn’t he stop?” Vyrrak asks. “Why hasn’t he stopped already?!”

  “Among the original Generation of Legends, only Kaelric comes from a humble background. And, unlike Jacob, he was born under a very lucky star when it came to physical gifts and talent. His understanding of the sword is beyond his age. If I had to give a personal assessment, as good as it gets for someone at the first year.”

  The Headmaster pauses.

  “Jacob Cloud was born in poverty despite a Princess as a mother. He mostly inherited his gifts from his father, which makes him below average even for the Academy’s standards. Luck, persistence, and the right meetings have brough him here. Yet…”

  The man takes off the gold spectacles to clean them with his tunic.

  “Yet, this is where he was never meant to stand. This is a trial for someone like you, Vyrrak. And even you would have struggled. For him? This is not possible. Caradoc warned him that if he continued he’d die. And, personally, I’d have expected him to give up in two ways: he could have either accepted that he was never meant to stand among the great and accept death during this trial—quite honorable and a great achievement for some—or just give up and go back to an ordinary life.”

  The Headmaster smiles at Vyrrak.

  “Do you have a guess why he’s refusing to give up?”

  Vyrrak shakes his head. He can’t imagine being willing to die for a Skill like this. He would give everything himself during such a trial—but not his own life.

  “What’s the most important thing in your life, Vyrrak?”

  “My wife,” Vyrrak replies. “My wife and my freedom.”

  “Every Champion in the Generation of Legends probably has a different answer but every one sounds like yours,” the Headmaster nods. “Everyone’s but Jacob’s. I suspect that if you were to ask him, he wouldn’t even understand, at first. He would just say something like ‘being a Knight.’”

  The Headmaster’s voice has a slight quiver that Vyrrak doesn’t fail to notice.

  Another surge hits, and Jacob’s chest caves inward for a split second before snapping back into place. Blood sprays from his mouth as his heart stutters and then forces itself to beat again.

  “I don’t think that most people set out on their journey with the best intentions. Every living creature has small desires, Vyrrak. Some, like you, independence, freedom, and love. For others, it’s revenge, proving themselves, or, simply, power. The difference between all of these small desires, and what the boy in front of you shows is that he’s at his core, as petty, as little, as human as it gets. But, Jacob Cloud funnels it into something… divine.”

  “What does that mean?” Vyrrak asks, confused.

  “You can’t explain faith to a deaf person,” the Headmaster smirks.

  Jacob screams again as Vyrrak takes a step forward, and the Headmaster’s hand closes on his shoulder.

  “You cannot interfere,” the man says, and there is no humor left in his voice. “If you pull him out now, the spell will collapse halfway bonded, and it will finish killing him.”

  Jacob’s scream fades into hoarse coughing as his body finally runs out of strength.

  It seems like he’s finally broken.

  “What now?! He’s dying! I don’t understand you’re telling me, grandfather!”

  “That boy,” the Headmaster continues, “has been challenged, hunted, dismissed, and used as a symbol since the day he was dragged out of a mine. Now that the world has decided he is weak, he is answering in the only way he knows how.”

  “He’s about to die! What is even supposed to do?! How is he going to answer?!”

  “Do you know that Dragons say that those who die for others, those whose heart was at peace save for the worry for those whom they loved turn into bright, very bright stars that watch over their loved ones?”

  Vyrrak finds that his grandfather saying something so poetic but so meaningless like this is preposterous, but then, as he’s about to shout at the Headmaster, moments before Jacob is about to take his last breath, the man with gold spectacles points at the sky, where one lone star that Vyrrak never saw before shines so much until everything goes white for a moment.

  When Vyrrak’s eyes can see again, he notices something changed inside the pillars.

  Slowly, Jacob lifts his head, and for a moment his gaze clears as he looks at the firmament and raises a silvery sword toward the same star that blinded them.

  With one heart-rending shout, the pillars are drained of Mana, which slam all at once in Jacob’s body, tearing it apart, but also giving it more power than it ever had before.

  Jacob keeps shouting until the last pillar crumbles to dust and Vyrrak swallows.

  “Let’s go,” the Headmaster says. “Hes’ going to come back soon. I want to give him some privacy now.”

  * * *

  I’m absolutely sure of what I just felt.

  It was King Baalrek’s Mana.

  I don’t know if I just had an hallucination or what, but I felt King Baalrek helping me to my feet, guiding the Mana inside my body.

  But he’s not here anymore.

  Even in the aftermath of the Skill beeping in my head, telling me it was absorbed, I’m still only focused on that sensation.

  I look at the sword, which felt like a channel for that power, which I raised toward the star in the sky that shined so bright because it felt like it was empowering me. I barely got enough power from it to absorb the Skill without it killing me. But still, I can feel that my grasp on it is very faint.

  What has just happened? I wonder.

  But my string of thoughts is cut off as I see Vice Principal Caradoc walking toward me with a large bundle in his arms.

  Seeing my quizzical expression, he points at the ground with his head.

  “You shredded your old cloak.”

  I look at the cloak I got at the very beginning of my journey and grimace.

  It belonged to Orvick’s son, and old man Orvick gave it to me when I left Shit’s Creek. I guess it went through enough to be torn to shreds.

  “I’m the only person who could access Baalrek’s old place. He didn’t really leave anything behind and you already have his sword, so there’s not much you could have looked forward anyway. The sword is pretty much the best thing he could have left you, but…” Vice Principal Caradoc seems a bit embarrassed—no, not embarrassed.

  Is he emotional? I think to myself.

  “This,” he sniffs lightly, “belonged to him. It’s got enough enchantments to last against the worst of the worst. Usually, he would have passed it to his first son once he passed the throne down. But… he never got to.”

  I widen my eyes until they hurt as Vice Principal Caradoc hands me the bundle, which I take with shaking arms.

  I slowly undo it and see a large cloak with blood-red runes on a dark brown thick fabric. He gestures for me to turn and then clasps it around my collarbone.

  It flutters around me in the dark night and I hug it closer to my body—not because of the cold.

  “How is it?” Vice Principal Caradoc says, passing a hand over his old eyes.

  “It’s…”

  “It suits you,” the old man says. “He would have never admitted it, knowing him, but it suits you.”

  I look down at the cloak and I nod.

  “He would have hated it,” I smile, hugging the cloak tighter.

  “Many are going to try and rip it away from you,” Vice Principal Caradoc says.

  I slowly close my eyes and enter in contact with the Domain of Ruin and Bones, activating the Primordial Spell King Baalrek left me at the same time.

  When I turn, there’s the shape of a skull painted over my face.

  “They can try.”