Sunlight spilled through curtains stitched with golden phoenixes, filling Empress Phenicia's chamber with a kind of warmth that almost felt alive. The place smelled faintly of roses and old books—rich, familiar, safe. It really was the beating heart of the empire.
Jane stood just in front of the Empress. Fifty-three, tall and straight-backed, she looked like someone who could slice through trouble with a word, or just stand quietly and wait for storms to pass. Silver hair, always in a tidy bun. The wrinkles around her eyes made her look sharp, not old.
She'd been with Phenicia forever. Maid, teacher, friend, she'd even been a mage, once, when magic still meant something in the palace. No one else came close to Jane's loyalty. Not even family.
Phenicia closed her book and looked up. "Jane," she said, voice gentle but impossible to ignore, "it's time."
Jane bowed, just a little. "Time for what, Your Majesty?"
The Empress rose, the hem of her crimson gown whispering over marble. "For Stephen. He's old enough. He needs to learn politics, history, everything about power."
A tiny smile flickered on Jane's face. "So, the boy's real lessons begin."
"You know who he is," Phenicia said, her words soft but edged. "You've known since the day he was born. You've kept the secret. I trust you to guide him."
Jane bowed again, deeper this time. "It's been my honor, Your Majesty. The young prince—or should I say, princess—means the world to you."
Phenicia smiled, but her eyes looked far away. "He's got too much of me in him. Too many secrets. But knowledge is everything. He needs to understand what our family is, what we hide, and why."
She turned and opened a velvet box, lifting out a thin card of golden crystal. It shimmered in her hand, humming faintly with power.
Jane saw it and nodded. "The Imperial Permit."
Phenicia handed it over. "With this, you can go anywhere in the palace. Take Stephen to the library. Teach him, alone. No one else can know."
Jane took the card in her gloved hands, her face calm as ever. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Her voice stayed calm, but if you really looked, you'd spot that quiet heaviness she carried. This wasn't the first time she'd been handed that card. Every time, it meant one thing: someone was trusting her with something rare.
Phenicia gave a small, knowing smile. "I knew I could count on you. Like always."
Jane bowed, deep and earnest. "I won't fail you, Empress Phenicia." She turned and strode away.
The palace gleamed, gold and white everywhere, sunlight pouring through tall windows, banners drifting overhead. Jane walked on, heels ticking against polished marble. Guards and servants bowed as she passed.
"Lady Jane," one of them greeted with real respect.
She nodded, her voice gentle but steady. "Good afternoon."
People in the palace didn't respect her just because she was older. It was more than that. She walked like someone who'd taught classes, woven spells, and soothed crying children, sometimes all in one day.
She stopped at the doors of the Imperial Library. They soared above her, runes glowing softly across gold. Two elite guards watched from either side.
Jane showed the golden crystal card.
The guards spotted it and snapped to attention. "Welcome, Lady Jane. You may enter."
The runes shimmered, and the doors parted, letting out a cool breeze that smelled of parchment and ink. Jane stepped inside.
The library stretched forever—rows and rows of books fading into shadow. Shelves framed in gold, each book wrapped in a little shimmer of magic. Crystal statues watched from silent corners, and not a hint of dust anywhere.
In the center, at a sprawling desk, sat Stephanie, or Stephen, depending on the day. He was surrounded by books and scrolls, and judging by his slumped posture, boredom was winning.
Jane smiled. "So here you are."
Stephen straightened, startled. "Lady Jane? What brings you here?"
Jane walked over, calm as ever. "Your mother sent me. You can drop the act, young one."
Stephen stared, then let out a long sigh. His shoulders dropped, his voice dropped, and the dainty movements vanished. "So you knew all along?"
Jane's eyes sparkled. "I've known since you could open your eyes. You never fooled me, dear." She gave him a quick once-over, grinning. "Honestly, you don't look much like a boy. More like a very pretty one."
Stephen smirked, flicking his golden hair out of his eyes. Those eyes, flecked with blue and green, flashed with mischief. "Pretty, huh? Well, what can I say? It runs in the family."
Jane snorted. "Guess arrogance does too."
He grinned wider. "It's called confidence."
She rolled her eyes. "Confidence won't help you pass your lessons." She turned toward the shelves, fingers moving. Glowing sigils flickered. Books slid out, floating in the air. One giant tome drifted down—thick, ancient, humming with magic.
Jane caught it without a second thought and set it on his desk.
Stephen's eyes went wide. "That's enormous! What is it?"
She laid the book down, its cover still perfect after centuries. "Rupertz: Volume One."
He blinked. "Volume one?"
She nodded.
He looked at the book, then back at her, almost horrified. "That's only volume one?"
Jane just nodded again.
He groaned, sinking into his chair. "It's huge! You're trying to kill me."
She chuckled. "If you survive, you'll thank me."
Jane opened the book, and the first pages glowed faintly with magic. The script was elegant but plain—no flourishes, just black ink on pale parchment.
Stephen peered at it. "No pictures? No diagrams? Not even a magic doodle?"
"Not in this one," Jane said. "This is history. The roots of Rupertz."
Stephen groaned again, already yawning. "This is going to be the longest day ever."
Jane just smiled, the look of someone who's seen this a hundred times. "Let's begin."
Jane started to read, her voice smooth and steady, pulling the story right out of the page.
"Rupertz," she read, "wasn't born a hero. He wasn't even a noble. He started as a commoner—poor, hungry, and utterly alone."
Stephen blinked. "That's… not what I expected."
Jane nodded. "His family died in a disaster when he was eight. He wandered for years, begging, living off whatever scraps he could find."
Stephen leaned in, curiosity beginning to win over boredom.
"When he was sixteen, a farmer found him and took him in. He learned to work the land—and a little magic to help the crops grow. Rupertz was a natural. By twenty-five, he'd put magic and farming together in ways no one had ever seen."
"When he was twenty-seven, he rescued a dying swordsman by the side of the road. He didn't expect much to come of it, honestly, but that one act changed everything. The swordsman taught him to fight, and it turned out the kid was a natural—more than a natural, really. By twenty-nine, nobody could beat him. He was the best swordsman alive."
"But he pushed further, straight into magic. Not just the basics, either. He dove through a hundred layers, peeling them away one after another. By thirty, he reached Infinity Magic. People said his power and beauty could make even the gods envious."
Stephen's eyes widened. "Wait, he mastered a hundred layers? Isn't that, like, impossible?"
Jane just grinned. "For most people, yes. But Rupertz had surpassed humanity by then. When he turned thirty-three, the world went to war. He gave everything he had to protect his people… and almost everyone he loved died anyway."
Stephen went silent.
Jane continued, her voice quieter. "Grief and rage took over. He unleashed everything—destroyed his enemies in an instant. That kind of power never comes free; it cursed him with immortality. When it was all over, he picked up the fragments, gathered whoever remained, and built an empire from nothing. All using magic."
She closed the book with a soft thud. "And that's just the first ten pages."
Stephen slumped. "Wait, ten pages? How many more are there?"
Jane's smile grew. "Hundreds."
He groaned, the sound echoing between the shelves. "You're evil, Lady Jane."
She laughed—a gentle, maternal sound. "Maybe, but it's necessary. You'll finish the rest tonight. Tomorrow, I'll test you. Then, on to volume two."
Stephen almost fell out of his chair. "Volume two? How many volumes are there?"
Jane winked. "Enough to keep you busy for a lifetime."
With his face in his hands, Stephen mumbled into the desk. "I'm finished."
Jane chuckled, already stacking up more books. "Before you rest, here's these: Rupertz's Theories of Magic and Mana Flow, and The Way of Swordsmanship: Steps and Spirit."
He looked up, horrified. "You can't be serious! I'll never remember all of that!"
Jane merely shrugged, unfazed. "Oh, you will. You're your mother's child."
With a dramatic sigh, Stephen hefted the books into his arms. "If I disappear by morning, tell my sisters I died nobly, buried by homework."
Jane's smile softened. "I'll tell them you were a hero."
He groaned again, but this time a faint smile tugged at his lips. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"A little," she admitted. "Feels good to teach again."
She gestured toward the door. "Come on, young master. Back to your room. You'll study there."
Stephen followed, wobbling under the load. The library doors swung open, spilling warm light into the corridor.
Jane walked beside him, steady as always. Stephen muttered about unfair tutors and cruel mothers, but deep down, a spark lit in his eyes—the same stubborn fire Rupertz once had.
Night settled over the palace, stars scattered across the velvet sky. Through Stephanie's window, they shone dimly above her bed, where she lay buried beneath a heap of heavy books—spines cracked, pages brimming with history, magic, and law.
She stared at the pile with weary violet eyes and groaned. "How am I supposed to memorize all this tonight?" Dragging a giant book closer, she flipped through the cramped handwriting, endless lines of text. "Thousands of pages… just wonderful." She collapsed back into the silk pillows, gazing up at the painted constellations on her ceiling. They blurred as sleep crept up.
Then...knock, knock.
"Your Highness," a maid called softly. "It's dinner."
Stephanie bolted awake. "Ah, yes—come in!" Her voice went high and gentle, her polished princess tone.
Two servants entered, carrying a silver tray—roast meat, fresh bread, steaming soup. They placed it on the table. "Shall we serve you, Princess?"
She smiled, sweet and practiced. "No, thank you. Just leave it there. I'll eat soon."
"As you wish, Your Highness." The servants bowed and slipped away, leaving her alone with her mountain of books and the quiet, star-lit chamber.
As soon as the doors clicked shut, Stephanie let out a long breath and dropped her voice back down to his normal tone. "Finally…"
He was Stephen again. He wandered over to the table and sat, poking at his food with a fork. Every little clink echoed in the quiet. "Competition's almost here," he mumbled between mouthfuls. "Magic, politics, swordfighting... and somehow, I'm supposed to be perfect at all of it."
When his plate was just about empty, he shoved it away and eyed the stack of books waiting for him. "Right. Time to study."
He picked up the first book and weighed it in his hands. "You're probably going to flatten me before I even open you," he muttered. His gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight spilled through the curtains, soft and inviting.
He grinned. "Books or training? Why not both?"
In a flash, he grabbed the three biggest books, popped open the window, and slipped out into the cool night. The palace guards were nowhere in sight—nobody bothered checking the princess's wing this late.
He landed lightly on the grass, brushed off his clothes, and dashed straight for the woods behind the palace, to that secret spot where he always trained.
His boots crunched softly on the leaves as he found his clearing. He dropped the books on a stump and drew his mana sword.
The blade shimmered with pale blue light. "Alright," he whispered, tightening his grip. "Let's go."
He swung once. Twice. Three times. The air hummed with each strike, blue sparks trailing from the blade and lighting up the trees. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he kept going—precise, sharp, almost like he was dancing.
Minutes slipped by. Then hours.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet.
"You seriously never take a break, do you?"
Stephen froze, sword halfway through a swing. He let it drop and turned, sighing. "You again."
Leaning against a tree, arms crossed and grinning like he owned the place, stood Nathaniel Tyler Von Cerzt—though honestly, everyone just called him Tyler.
"Been spying long?" Stephen asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Since you started," Tyler said, that lazy smile never fading. "I'm actually more impressed by those." He nodded at the books stacked on the stump. "Who brings homework out to the woods?"
Stephen snorted. "I've got a test tomorrow. Figured I'd study after training."
Tyler laughed. "In the middle of the forest?"
"It's quiet here."
"Quiet? There's a bear den not far from here."
Stephen shot him a look. "Super helpful. Thanks."
Tyler plopped down on a log. "You're wild, Stephen. Eight years old, and you're juggling sword practice, royal lessons, and spell theory. I'd be in bed by now."
Stephen sat down too, flipping open a book. "Not everyone's a genius like you, Lord Tyler."
Tyler raised an eyebrow. "You know, there's an easier way to study than just turning pages."
Stephen eyed him. "What are you talking about?"
"Magic," Tyler said, casual as anything. "Just put the words right in your head."
Stephen stared. "Sorry...what?"
Tyler smirked, clearly loving this. "It's an absorption spell. My family uses it all the time. Saves hours."
"You're telling me... there's a spell that just puts the whole book in your brain?"
Tyler nodded. "Pretty much."
Stephen leaned in, eyes wide. "And you never mentioned this?!"
"I thought you liked a challenge," Tyler shrugged. "Isn't that your thing?"
Stephen groaned, rubbing his forehead. "You're impossible."
Tyler grinned. "Alright, alright. I'll show you."
He stood and raised a hand. A soft, golden glow flickered in his palm. "It's called Mentis Libranium."
Stephen sat up, listening close as Tyler started to chant:
"Per atramentum et paginam, per mentem atque artem lore,
Flamma sapientiae in me volat et crescat more.
A verbis ad mentem, a mente ad animam meam,
Libri scientiam haurio — totam eam!
Mentis Librarium, nunc aperire te iubeo —
Scientia maneat, in me sedeo!"
The air in the clearing seemed to shimmer. The open book started glowing, its pages flipping wildly on their own.
Stephen's jaw dropped. "Whoa—!"
Blue energy streamed out of the pages, curling around him and flowing into his chest. When the glow faded, the book went still.
He blinked, dazed. "Did… did it work?"
"Try remembering the first chapter," Tyler said, arms folded.
Stephen closed his eyes. Instantly, every page, every diagram, every little detail popped into his mind. It was like he'd just read the whole thing in a second.
He opened his eyes and grinned. "This is—this is cheating!"
Tyler laughed. "Told you."
Stephen burst out laughing, shaking his head. "You're nuts. But seriously, this could save my life."
"Don't get excited just yet," Tyler warned. "It wears off at dawn. You'll forget everything unless you review a bit."
Stephen groaned but couldn't stop smiling. "Still worth it. Thanks, Tyler."
"Anytime," the older boy called over his shoulder, already heading for the trees. "Just keep quiet about where you picked that up."
Stephen watched him fade into the shadows, grinning to himself. "Mentis Libranium… total cheat code," he muttered.
He glanced up at the moon, almost daring it. "Alright," he whispered, "let's see if tomorrow's really mine."
TO BE CONTINUED...