CHAPTER 4: Never Alone
The tension in the plaza had reached a fever pitch. The murmurs of the crowd parted as a tall, sharp-featured student stepped forward. His red-trimmed blazer was immaculate, and his chest was adorned with a silver crest depicting a serpent entwined around a spear. This was **Alium**, the primary heir of the House of Castamir—a family known for their ruthless spear-techniques and their even more ruthless political maneuvering.
Alium stopped a few paces from Caspian, looking down his nose with a sneer that seemed etched into his very DNA.
"Do you even realize where you are standing, boy?" Alium's voice was like grinding stones. "You are breathing the air of the Valerius and the Solari. You are treading on ground consecrated by the blood of the Eleven Grands. I am the heir to the Castamir lineage—a bloodline that led the vanguard against the Asheron sorcerers while your ancestors were likely hiding in haystacks."
Caspian didn't flinch. He didn't even shift his weight. He simply stood there, his hands tucked loosely into his trouser pockets, his dark ash hair swaying slightly in the breeze. His blue eyes remained unnervingly calm, reflecting Alium's fury like a still lake reflecting a thunderstorm.
"And yet," Caspian said softly, "here I am. Wearing the same uniform. Walking the same stones."
Alium's face contorted, a vein throbbing in his temple. The lack of fear in the "Ordinary" was an insult he couldn't swallow. He stepped closer, leaning into Caspian's personal space, his voice dropping to a deadly hiss.
"You think this is a game? You think a fluke of administration makes you our equal? Look around you, commoner." Alium gestured broadly at the circling crowd of hostile, mana-sensitive nobles. "Every person here has a legacy. Every person here has a family that would kill to protect the sanctity of this school. You are a fly in a web of spiders."
Alium leaned in even closer, his eyes flashing with a cruel light. "Enjoy your first hour, Vane. Because once the professors look away, you'll realize the truth. You have no allies. No backup. No one is coming to save a blank like you. You are utterly, pathetically **alone**."
The crowd chuckled—a cold, jagged sound. Even Aisha, still leaning on Lyra, managed a weak, spiteful nod.
Caspian tilted his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. It wasn't the smile of a victim; it was the smile of someone who had just seen a trap spring shut.
"Alone?" Caspian repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with an amused lilt.
He looked over Alium's shoulder toward the main gates, where the morning mist was still clinging to the stone arches.
"But... I'm not alone."
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### The Arrival of the Outcasts
As if summoned by his very words, the heavy iron-reinforced gates of the academy groaned open. The sound of rhythmic, synchronized footsteps echoed across the plaza, cutting through the silence like a drumbeat.
Four figures emerged from the mist, walking with a swagger that didn't belong to "commoners." They moved in a diamond formation, their Aethelgard uniforms fitting them with a sharp, militaristic precision.
Leading the group was a girl who looked like she had been born from the dawn. Her waist-length **yellow hair** shimmered with a soft, internal light, and her **yellow pupils** scanned the crowd with the keen intensity of a hawk. This was **Louisa**, an Elf whose beauty was only matched by the lethal poise of her stride. She wore a bright, confident smile that didn't reach her eyes—eyes that were currently locked on Alium's back.
To her right was a girl with **fire-red hair** and **crimson pupils**. She looked as though she were vibrating, her enthusiastic grin revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. She didn't just walk; she stalked, her hands twitching as if she were itching to grab something and set it ablaze. This was **Edna**, and she looked delighted by the hostility in the air.
On the left was a male who looked like a handsome nightmare. His **pitch-black hair** was flecked with **shimmering white spots**, and his **devilish smile** revealed **canines** that were just a bit too long to be human. His **black fingernails** tapped a rhythmic beat against his thighs as he walked. This was **Zerav**, and he radiated a primal, chaotic energy that made the noble students instinctively take a step back.
Finally, bringing up the rear, was a figure draped in a **heavy hoodie**. His face was a mystery, shadowed by the fabric, with only the sharp line of his jaw and a stoic mouth visible. He moved like a ghost, silent and heavy with unspoken threat. This was **Silas**.
The four of them came to a halt behind Caspian, forming a wall of "Ordinaries" that suddenly made Alium look very small.
"Did she literally just faint?" Zerav asked, his voice a playful growl as he gestured toward Aisha, who had indeed crumpled back into Lyra's arms at the sight of four more "blanks."
"I think the 'nobility' of today, are a bit fragi" Edna chirped, her red eyes dancing with mischief.
Caspian turned his head slightly, giving Alium a look of mock pity. The heir of Castamir was trembling now—not with fear, but with a level of rage that threatened to make him lose control of his mana.
"Like I said, Alium," Caspian murmured, his blue eyes turning cold. "I'm not alone. And if I were you, I'd be very careful about who you call a 'fly.' Some flies carry a lot of rot."
Without waiting for a response, Caspian turned and walked toward his friends. The five of them moved as one, walking right past the stunned crowd.
Alium stood frozen in the center of the plaza, his face a mask of purple-red fury. He felt the eyes of his peers on him—the shame of being dismissed so casually by a commoner was a stain that wouldn't wash off easily.
"This will never be acceptable!" Alium screamed after them, his voice cracking. "You are filth! You are nothing! We will break you before the first moon sets!"
But the group of five didn't even look back. The word spread like a plague across the campus and beyond: Aethelgard hadn't just admitted one Ordinary. They had admitted a squad.
The academy was a machine of war, and its gears began to turn as the first-year orientation commenced. The students were required to choose their "Medium of Manifestation"—the method by which they would channel their power into the world.
**The Shooters**
For those who wanted to project their mana directly as raw physical or energy-based force, there was the Shooting Division. It was the most taxing path, requiring immense reserves of energy. **Edna**, whose spirit was as explosive as her red hair, signed her name with a flourish. She didn't want a sword or a bow; she loved her own hands to be the end of her enemies.
**The Archers**
Those who required precision and long-distance spell-weaving chose the path of the Archer. Using the bow as a focal point allowed for incredible accuracy and energy conservation. **Louisa**, the golden-haired Elf, naturally claimed this path. With her heritage, the bow wasn't just a weapon; it was a part of her soul.
**The Attackers**
Finally, there were the Attackers—the masters of the blade. By using a sword as a medium, they could unleash magical attacks through the steel, saving vast amounts of energy compared to the Shooters. It was a path of stamina and lethal grace.
**Caspian, Zerav, and Silas** all chose the sword.
As they walked toward the training halls, **Lyra Valerius** watched them from a high balcony, her violet eyes fixed on Caspian's retreating back. She clutched the *Book of the Falling Light* to her chest.