The Grand Hall was a cathedral of noise.
Banners the size of ship sails hung from the vaulted ceiling, representing the four Great Houses. Gold for Aurelius, Granite-Grey for Stone-Hollow, Crimson for Vermilion, and Silver for Argent. The air smelled of expensive perfume, polished leather, and the electric ozone of two thousand excited mages.
We sat in the front row of the Argent section. To our right, the Aurelius benches were a sea of blonde hair and perfect posture. To our left, the Stone-Hollow students sat like boulders, immovable and silent.
"Welcome," Headmistress Vance's voice boomed, amplified by runes carved into the podium. She stood centre stage, her metal prosthetic hand resting on the lectern. "To the 65th Inter-Dorm Rift Wars."
The crowd erupted. It took her a full minute to quiet them down.
"We begin with the announcement of the Seeded Teams," Vance declared. "These are the squads chosen to represent their Houses. They are the best of the best."
She gestured to the Golden Banners.
"Seed One: House Aurelius."
Lysander Thorne stood up. The applause was deafening. He didn't wave; he just stood there, letting the adoration wash over him.
"Led by Captain Lysander Thorne," Vance announced. "Squad Roster: Garrick Stone-Hollow, Silas Vane, Isolde Vance, and the twin Battle-Mages, Castor and Pollux."
I studied them. Garrick looked like a tank. Silas looked like a snake in a suit. Isolde—the Headmistress's niece—looked like she wanted to be anywhere else. And Lysander... well, he looked perfect.
"Seed Two: House Stone-Hollow."
A group of students stood up. They were all wide, heavy-set, and looked like they chewed gravel for breakfast.
"Led by Magnus Flint," Vance continued. "Watch out for them," Grace whispered to me. "They aren't standard Earth Mages. They don't throw rocks; they change the map. They create walls, pits, and gravity wells. They control the zone."
"Seed Three: House Vermilion."
The Crimson section cheered, a sharp, disciplined bark of noise.
"Led by Zenobia Flame-Heart," Vance announced.
Zenobia stood up. She was terrifying. She wore blackened plate armour and had a greatsword strapped to her back that hummed with heat even in the scabbard. Her squad looked like a professional kill-team: two spear-wielders, a heavy shield-bearer, and two lightning mages.
"They are the Military House," Grace added next to me. "They don't duel. They make war."
"And finally," Vance said, her voice dipping slightly. "Seed Four: House Argent."
There was a smattering of polite applause, mostly from the upper tiers.
"Led by Captain Murphy Sunstrider," she read.
I stood up. My squad stood with me.
"Roster: Grace Voss, Finnian Sylas, Kael of the Iron-Reach, Pippa of the Vales... and Vespera Winter-Moon."
The hall went dead silent.
Every head in the Aurelius section snapped toward us. Lysander didn't turn, but I saw his jaw tighten. The betrayal was public now. The "Ice Queen" had defected to the Misfits.
Vespera stood tall, staring straight ahead, her face a mask of cold indifference.
"Moving on," Vance said, cutting the tension before a riot could start. "The Scenario."
She waved her hand. A massive illusion shimmered into existence above the stage. It showed a giant, stepped pyramid rising out of a dark, turbulent ocean.
"The Sinking Ziggurat," Vance announced.
A murmur of fear went through the crowd.
"The arena is a massive structure in an endless ocean," she explained. "However, the Ziggurat is sinking. Every minute, the water level will rise, swallowing the lowest tier. The safe zone shrinks constantly, forcing all combatants toward the peak."
The illusion zoomed in on the water. Massive, serpentine shapes coiled beneath the surface.
"The water is infested with Trench-Maws," she added cheerfully. "They are unkillable. If you touch the water, you are dead. This is a game of verticality and King of the Hill."
She looked at the bracket.
"Match One: House Aurelius versus House Stone-Hollow."
"Match Two: House Argent versus House Vermilion."
I looked over at Zenobia. She was already looking at me. She drew a thumb across her throat.
"Subtle," I muttered.
"Headmistress!"
A sharp, nasally voice cut through the air.
Professor Thaddeus Vex stood up from the faculty table. He smoothed his elaborate robes, adjusting his monocle. He didn't look at Vance; he looked directly at me with a sneer of triumph.
Lysander, sitting a few feet away, leaned back and crossed his arms, looking bored. But I saw the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"I must interrupt," Vex announced, his voice projecting clearly. "I wish to lodge a formal challenge regarding the eligibility of House Argent's Captain."
The room went quiet again. This wasn't part of the show.
"Speak, Professor," Vance said, frowning.
"The tournament is for the noble houses and the gifted citizenry," Vex said, walking toward the stage. "But there are rules regarding names. Specifically, Royal Names."
He pointed a shaking finger at me.
"This boy calls himself 'Sunstrider'. That is the name of the Extinct Royal House of the Dawn. It is a name that belongs to legends, not to an orphan from the Lower City."
Vex turned to the crowd, playing to the gallery.
"To claim a Royal Lineage without blood proof is not just a lie, Headmistress. It is Stolen Valour. It is Treason against the Throne."
He turned back to Vance.
"I demand he be expelled immediately and remanded to the custody of the Inquisition for fraud. We cannot allow a common liar to soil the sanctity of the Rift Wars."
My blood ran cold.
'It's a trap,' Ronan growled in my head. 'They know you can't prove it. If you admit you lied, you are expelled. If you claim it is true...'
'They will demand a Soul Tapping, and if your name comes up, I have to explain where the Hero of the Empire has been hiding for the past hundred years,' I finished. 'And why is he pretending to be a sixteen-year-old academy student?'
'It is worse than that,' Ronan countered, his voice grim. 'Even if the name came up as Ronan Sunstrider, it wouldn't be enough, Murph. That is not how nobility works. A rival Royal House showing up out of nowhere? A legitimate contender for the seat of the Emperor? We wouldn't be celebrated; we would be disappeared and never heard from again. Without an army or a proper show of power to protect us... I am sorry to say, but we are quite literally fucked.'
Headmistress Vance looked at me. She didn't look angry; she looked tired. She knew Vex was dancing to Lysander's tune, but the law was the law.
"Mr Sunstrider," Vance said, her voice grave. "Do you possess documents proving your lineage?"
"I... lost them," I lied weakly. "In the fire."
"Convenient," Vex scoffed.
"The Imperial Law is clear," Vance said, looking down at me. "If the name is challenged, the blood must answer."
She raised her metal hand.
"You have until High Noon tomorrow, before the start of your match, to provide irrefutable proof of your identity."
"And if he cannot?" Vex sneered.
"Then he will submit to a Soul Tapping," Vance decreed. "The artefact will read his True Name from the Aether. If it does not say 'Murphy Sunstrider'... he will be arrested for Treason."
I stood there, feeling the weight of two thousand eyes on me.
"High Noon," Vance repeated. "Dismissed."
I sat down heavily.
"We are scabbed," Finn whispered.
"Yeah," I said, staring at Lysander's smirk. "We definitely are."
The clock tower in the central quad didn't chime; it tolled.
BONG.
The sound vibrated through the cobblestones of the Grand Courtyard. Two thousand students, fifty faculty members, and a dozen high-ranking nobles stood in silence, watching the empty space in front of the Soul Tapping artefact.
The artefact was a jagged shard of obsidian floating above a white marble pedestal. It hummed with a low, dissonant frequency that made your teeth ache. It was an ancient, impartial judge. It didn't care about bribes. It didn't care about politics.
Professor Thaddeus Vex stood next to it, checking his pocket watch. He looked like a vulture who had just spotted a particularly juicy carcass.
"High Noon," Vex announced, his voice amplified by a Sonorus charm. "And the defendant is absent."
He turned to the Headmistress, a smug grin stretching his thin face.
"It seems the 'Sunstrider' has chosen flight over exposure. A wise choice for a rat, but a fatal one for a student."
Lysander Thorne sat in the front row of the VIP box, legs crossed, looking impeccably bored. But I saw his eyes scanning the crowd. He wasn't looking for me; he was looking for the exit routes. He wanted to make sure I didn't slip away.
"Headmistress," Vex called out, gesturing to the empty gate. "I call for a default judgment. Expulsion. Arrest. And the erasure of his name from the Academy records."
Headmistress Vance hesitated. She looked at the sun, then at the gate.
"The law allows for a five-minute grace period, Professor," she said stiffly.
"The law applies to citizens," Vex sneered. "Not to frauds. Expel him."
The crowd began to murmur. The jeers started from the back—House Stone-Hollow and Aurelius students laughing at the coward who ran away.
"He ran!" someone shouted. "Back to the gutter!"
Vex raised his hands, basking in the mob's approval.
"Very well," Vex declared. "By the authority vested in me as Proctor of—"
BOOM.
The ground shook.
It wasn't an explosion. It was a footstep.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The rhythmic, heavy thudding echoed from beyond the main gates. It sounded like a siege engine. Or a heartbeat.
The jeering stopped. Vex froze, his mouth half-open.
The heavy iron gates of the courtyard groaned. They began to swing inward, pushed by unseen hands.
First came the sound of trumpets—clear, bright, and piercing.
Then came the procession.
Twenty figures marched into the courtyard. They moved with a synchronisation that was unnerving. Every boot hit the stone at the exact same millisecond. They wore pristine livery that hadn't been seen in the Empire for a century—deep crimson tunics embroidered with a golden sunburst.
Ten of them carried halberds made of polished steel. Ten of them carried banners of silk that snapped in the wind.
They weren't walking; they were flowing.
They split down the middle, forming a corridor of honor leading straight to the pedestal.
I walked into the centre of the path.
I was wearing a tailored black coat with silver stitching—courtesy of the Jester's emergency funds. I looked calm. I looked bored. I looked like I owned the place.
But nobody was looking at me.
They were looking at the man walking one step behind my right shoulder.
He was a giant. Seven feet tall. His shoulders were encased in Golden Plate armour that caught the noonday sun and threw it back with blinding intensity. A crimson cape flowed from his shoulders like a river of blood. His hair was a mane of white silk, and his face was a mask of terrifying, ancient nobility.
He didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like a King.
The crowd parted. They didn't mean to; it was instinct. You don't stand in the path of an avalanche.
We stopped ten feet from the pedestal.
Professor Vex looked at the giant. He looked at the crest on the armour. He turned pale.
"You're late," Vex squeaked, his voice cracking.
"My apologies," I said, dusting a speck of lint from my sleeve. "My Uncle is a stickler for protocol. The armour takes a while to polish."
"Your... Uncle?" Vex stammered.
I stepped aside, gesturing to the Ronan-Clone.
"You wished to verify my lineage, Professor? You claimed I had no one to vouch for my blood?"
I looked at Lysander. His bored expression was gone. He was sitting up straight, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
"Imperial Law, Clause 74," I recited, my voice carrying over the silent courtyard. "A minor may bypass the Tapping if the Patriarch of the House is present to Vouch."
I pointed at the giant.
"Ask him."
The silence stretched. It was heavy and suffocating.
"This... this is a farce," Vex hissed, though he took a step back as the giant turned his head. "This is an actor! A mummer in a costume! Ronan Sunstrider has been dead for a hundred years!"
The Ronan-Clone stepped forward.
CLANK.
The sound of his sabaton hitting the stone was heavy. Real.
He looked down at Vex. His eyes burned with blue fire.
"Dead?" the Clone rumbled. His voice wasn't my voice. It was deep, resonant, and echoed with the authority of a man who had commanded armies before Vex's ancestors were born. "I was merely... away."
The Clone reached out with a gauntleted hand. He didn't hesitate. He grasped the jagged obsidian shard of the Soul Tapping artefact.
Vex flinched, expecting the machine to reject him.
The artefact hummed. It screamed. The rune carved into the base flared with a blinding white light. It read the soul piloting the vessel. It ignored the polymorphed flesh and looked straight at the soul signature.
And the signature was Ronan Sunstrider.
"IDENTITY CONFIRMED," the artefact's mechanical voice boomed, shaking the windows of the Grand Hall.
"RONAN SUNSTRIDER. HIGH LORD. PALADIN OF THE DAWN. HEAD OF HOUSE."
The light faded.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then, the murmurs started. A ripple of shock and disbelief.
"It can't be," Vex whispered, staring at the readout. "It's a trick. It's a glitch. The machine is broken!"
"The machine is absolute", the principal muttered, still in awe.
"No!" Vex shouted, looking around wildly for support. "It is a deception! An illusion! This man is a ghost! I demand—"
"Enough."
The single word cut through Vex's panic like a blade.
Master Elrend stepped out from the faculty line. He was wearing his formal dress uniform, his medals chiming softly. He still carried the cane, but the heavy lean was gone; it was more of a habit now than a crutch, a lingering echo of the years lost to the bottle.
He walked past Vex. He walked past the Headmistress. He stopped in front of the Ronan-Clone.
Elrend looked up at the face of his old friend. He saw the eyes. He saw the posture.
He snapped his heels together. He brought his hand to his brow in a sharp, perfect salute—the salute of the Dawn Guard.
"Commander," Elrend said, his voice thick with emotion but loud enough for the front row to hear. "It is an honour to have you back, sir."
The Ronan-Clone nodded slowly. "At ease, Lieutenant."
Elrend turned to the crowd. He looked at Headmistress Vance. He looked at the students.
"I served under Ronan Sunstrider at the Siege of Aethelgard," Elrend announced, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. "I know his face. I know his voice. And I know him better than anyone alive save for the Emperor."
He pointed at the giant.
"That is the High Lord. There is no doubt."
The doubt in the crowd shattered. If Master Elrend—the cynical, war-torn veteran—vouched for him, it was true.
The Ronan-Clone turned to Vex. He didn't draw his sword. He just looked at him with profound disappointment.
"I vouch for this boy," the Clone rumbled, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. "He is my blood. He is my heir. Do you yield to the challenge, Professor? Or do you wish to settle this with a duel?"
Vex looked at the giant. He looked at the artefact. He looked at Elrend.
He shrank. He physically seemed to deflate.
"I... I yield," Vex whispered. He bowed, low and terrified. "My apologies... High Lord."
"Accepted," the Clone said dismissively.
He turned to me.
"Win," he commanded.
"Yes, Uncle," I said.
The Clone turned and marched out of the courtyard, his retinue of twenty perfect soldiers turning in unison to follow him. The gates closed behind them with a final, heavy boom.
I stood alone in the centre of the courtyard.
Headmistress Vance cleared her throat. She looked pale.
"The... the challenge is withdrawn," she announced shakily. "House Argent is cleared to compete."
She gestured to the portal gate.
"Squads, prepare for transport."
I turned and walked back to my team.
Finn was staring at the gate, his jaw on the floor. Grace looked like she was running calculations on the wind speed of the banners. Vespera looked like she was about to faint.
"Your uncle?" Finn squeaked. "Your uncle is Him?"
"Long story," I said, grabbing my sword belt. "I'll tell you later."
I looked over at the VIP box. Lysander was staring at me. He wasn't bored anymore. He looked furious. He looked like a man who had just realised the game board had expanded beyond his control.
I gave him a wink.
Elrend fell into step beside me as we headed for the portal.
"That was good theatre," Elrend whispered, his face grim. "You bought us a day. Maybe two."
"Worth it," I said.
"Is it?" Elrend glanced at the sky. "The Emperor has spies everywhere, Murphy. He will hear that a forgotten noble house has suddenly returned. By dinner, there will be agents on the road."
"Nothing we can do about that now, teach! Let's focus on the things we can control, and right now I have a match to win." I said with more confidence than I felt.