Night had fallen over the palace like a velvet cloak, black and dense, studded with shimmering gems of stars. The royal gardens, normally serene at this hour, hummed with an unusual restlessness. Torches flared at the four corners of the inner courtyard, their flickering flames casting long, dancing shadows against the stone walls. Something was brewing — something Kaelian had not foreseen.
He was locked inside his secret office — a hidden room behind a bookshelf in the eastern tower — when he first felt it: a tremor beneath his skin, like a pulse of raw mana, fierce and uncontrollable. It wasn't coming from outside. It was inside him. His legs wobbled as he clutched the edge of the table, fingers trembling. The pain was sharp, radiating from his chest all the way to his skull, as if his mind itself was about to shatter.
He knew what it was. For weeks, he had been secretly experimenting with ancient glyphs, studying grimoires retrieved from forbidden galleries, cross-referencing forgotten rituals. But he had never used his own essence — his blood — as a catalyst... until tonight.
Blood magic, according to the texts, was a formidable power, feared and forbidden. But it was also pure, detached from lineage and noble privileges. It responded to will, sacrifice, and understanding. Kaelian could no longer content himself with watching the court's games from the shadows. He had to step onto the board, even if it meant sacrificing a few pawns.
The following morning, an event shattered the palace's carefully maintained order: a royal summons to all the children of the secondary nobility for an extraordinary magical evaluation. The king, advised by his counselors — and probably under Queen Virella's influence — demanded a full inventory of emerging young talents. An obvious pretext to assess potential threats... and to eliminate undesirables.
Kaelian received an official summons. Not as a prince, but as "the king's natural son, under special tutelage," a bastard designation that reminded everyone of his inferior status.
"They want to humiliate me, or trap me," he murmured to Lyssa, the only person to whom he dared speak openly. She was applying an ointment to the back of his neck, where the magical pain still left bruises.
"Or both," she replied with a sad smile. "But you'll get through it. As always."
He plunged his gaze into hers. There was a loyalty in her eyes he hadn't felt since his first life. She was more than an ally: a fixed point in a shifting world.
The day of the evaluation arrived. The Grand Spiral Hall, usually reserved for royal audiences, had been transformed into an observation arena. The children of the minor nobility, dressed in ceremonial attire, stood in lines according to their houses. Kaelian, clad in a plain cloak adorned with a single insignia — the split lion, symbol of royal bastardy — stepped forward slowly.
From the upper balconies, the entire court watched. Queen Virella, her smile frozen, sat beside Théor, arms crossed, eyeing Kaelian like an ant about to be crushed. Master Elgorn himself stood nearby, his figure cloaked in black, piercing eyes shining from beneath his hood.
The ritual was simple: each child had to place their hand on a purifying magical crystal. The crystal reacted to the level of mana, to lineage, but above all to the deep nature of the magic itself. The problem? Kaelian had no declared magical lineage. His only source was blood magic — unstable, volatile, dangerous.
He had a plan. As always.
When he stepped forward to the crystal, a heavy silence fell over the hall. The master of ceremonies announced his name with a hint of disdain:
"Kaelian... son of the king by a vanished concubine, student under observation."
Kaelian did not flinch. He placed his hand on the crystal.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then the crystal abruptly shifted from pure white to a deep crimson. A scarlet halo surrounded it. Ethereal flames swirled, like pulsing, living veins. A murmur ran through the assembly.
"Blood magic…?" someone whispered.
A wave of unease spread through the ranks. The soldiers near the throne tensed already. Master Elgorn leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with a new light.
"He's done it..." he breathed.
But Kaelian stood unmoved. He held himself straight, cold gaze steady, controlling the pain climbing from his arm like a burning bite. He knew he had revealed too much. But it was necessary.
"My power has no noble name," he said calmly to the assembly, "but it is real. And I will learn to control it."
A scornful laugh erupted to his right. It was Théor.
"A bastard wielding forbidden magic... How long before he loses control and kills his own nurse?"
Laughter broke out, but Kaelian remained impassive. He knew the eyes on him had changed. Today, he was no longer an insignificant illegitimate child. He had become a threat.
Later, in Master Elgorn's private sanctum, Kaelian was summoned.
The archmage studied him with a strange intensity.
"You crossed a line, Kaelian. Do you know what that means?"
"Yes," Kaelian answered. "I am now visible."
"And therefore vulnerable. You used blood during your rituals, didn't you?"
Kaelian said nothing.
Elgorn sighed. He stepped closer, pulling out a thin curved blade, which he placed on the table.
"You think you understand blood magic, but you have barely scratched the surface. If you continue to play alone with these forces, you will burn. Or worse: you will attract those who serve these forces. Things even shadow mages avoid."
Kaelian understood the archmage was not threatening him. He was warning him.
"Why help me?" he asked.
Elgorn gave him a dark look.
"Because I hate Queen Virella as much as you do. And because I haven't seen a mind like yours in decades. But know this, Kaelian: you will have to choose. Be a pawn, or become a player. Magic offers a path... but at a price."
Leaving the sanctum, Kaelian encountered a messenger. A folded note sealed with the mark of Counselor Dorn Valek was discreetly handed to him.
"The crystal has spoken. The king questions. But I see the possibilities. Let's meet before they decide for you."
A cold smile stretched across Kaelian's lips. The arena was expanding. The game was rising to a new level.
That night, alone in his chambers, he examined the burning scar on his palm — the one he had willingly left during the previous night's ritual. Blood was the price. Pain, the pact. But knowledge...
...was his weapon.
A whisper echoed in his memory — a distant voice from his past life, from a world where intelligence alone ruled conflicts:
"There is no clean victory. Only the one etched in the ashes of the losers."
Kaelian lay down on his sleepless bed. He knew tomorrow awaited an attempt on his life by poison. He had already spotted the suspicious exchange in the kitchens.
But this time, he would not merely survive.
He intended to strike back.
End of Chapter 12
(Cliffhanger for Chapter 13 – Failed Poisoning Attempt)
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