Aerion sat in the Starfall Athenaeum. Sunlight, strained through stained-glass, painted colored patches on the worn wooden table.
He hunched over a grimoire, which was older than the Veridian Dominion. His fingers traced faded script, copying star charts onto a scrap of parchment.
He hummed a low, soft tune his mother used to sing. His dark hair fell into his blue eyes. He pushed it back, smudging ink on his cheek.
The simple blue tunic uniform, edged with silver, felt like a shield. Here, in this quiet corner, he could pretend the court's scheming of Veridian Dominion did not exist in this place.
The sounds of footsteps were slapping against the stone floor. Aerion stopped humming, looking up as Brother Felix burst through the oak door.
The head scribe, usually so composed, was a mess. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes wild with something Aerion had never seen in him: fear.
"Your Highness!" Felix gasped, clutching the edge of Aerion's table to steady himself. "Prince Aerion!"
Aerion's stomach twisted. He set his pen down, hands shaking just a bit. "Felix, what's wrong? What happened?"
Felix swayed, catching his breath. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. "The Dominion… the capital… Therion…"
He gulped air, struggling to get the words out. "He's taken the throne. A coup. The Emperor, your father, he's dead."
The words hit Aerion like a punch.
His father, dead?
His vision blurred, the room tilting. He gripped the table, knuckles white, trying to anchor himself.
Aerion tried to respond, but his throat locked up. He wasn't built for this, not a soldier, not a leader. He'd come to the Lyceum to escape the court's games, to study, to stay out of Therion's way.
A sharp crack rang out from the courtyard below, followed by shouts, harsh, guttural, in the thick accent of Vaelgard's eastern provinces. Then screams, cut short by the unmistakable sound of steel slicing flesh.
Felix's eyes widened further, if that was possible. "Vaelgard's here," he hissed. "They'll burn this place down and kill us all."
Aerion's heart pounded. He wasn't a fighter; he'd always preferred books to blades.
Vaelgard capturing a Veridian prince would give them leverage, a bargaining chip, or worse.
"Thaddeus!" Aerion called, turning toward the alcove where his mentor usually worked.
Professor Thaddeus Vaelen was already moving, faster than Aerion had ever seen the old man go. His face was set, eyes sharp.
"Felix, west stairs, ring the bell!" he barked. "Aerion, with me. Now!"
Shouts grew louder, metal clashing closer. Felix bolted for a narrow hallway, heading for the stairs.
Thaddeus grabbed Aerion's arm, yanking him toward a blank wall behind a statue of Archmage Lyceus. Aerion stumbled, his robe catching on his legs.
From a high window, Aerion glimpsed the courtyard. Men in dark leather armor, faces masked, cut down two Lyceum guards with brutal precision.
Not Vaelgard, he realized with a jolt, Therion's men. His brother had sent assassins.
Thaddeus pressed a pattern of stones on the statue's base. A wall section groaned open, revealing a dark passage that smelled of wet earth.
"Go!" Thaddeus urged, shoving Aerion inside. "Follow the blue moss down to the forest."
Aerion hesitated, his voice shaking. "Thaddeus, come with me!"
The professor stayed at the entrance. Footsteps thundered closer, furniture crashing.
"I'll hold them off," Thaddeus said, calm but firm. He raised his hands, the air humming with magic as he began a spell.
Three figures burst into the room, swords gleaming. Thaddeus didn't flinch.
The stone door slammed shut, cutting off Aerion's view, muffling the sounds of struggle.
Darkness swallowed him. "I'm alone," Aerion whispered, his voice echoing in the tight space.
He pressed his forehead against the cold stone, grief clawing at him. His father, dead. Therion, a traitor. And Thaddeus, likely gone.
A rumble shook the passage. The assassins had found the mechanism.
Aerion snapped out of it, fumbling in his pocket for a light-globe, a small stone every Lyceum student carried.
He whispered the activation word, and a faint blue glow lit the walls, slick with moisture. Patches of glowing blue moss marked the path downward.
He ran, tripping over loose stones, his robe snagging. The passage twisted, narrowed, grew colder.
Behind him, the stone door rumbled again, they were through. Shouts echoed, closer now.
The tunnel opened into a cave, an underground river rushing through it. The moss led to a ledge by the water, ending at a rusted iron gate.
Moonlight glinted beyond, the Enthem River flowing outside. Freedom, if he could reach it.
Aerion grabbed the gate's bars. Locked. He shoved, pulled, but it held fast. Despair hit hard, but he forced it down. Think.
He brought the light-globe to the lock, old, rusted, a simple tumbler. Digging in his pocket, he found his steel stylus, used for sketching diagrams. Not ideal, but it'd have to do.
Shouts rang out from the tunnel. They'd spotted his light. With shaking hands, Aerion jammed the stylus into the lock, twisting, probing. Sweat stung his eyes.
A faint click. He pushed the gate, its creak loud in the cave.
It opened just enough to slip through. He stumbled, falling into the icy river.
The cold shocked him, the current yanking at his legs. Gasping, he fought to stand, wading away from the gate.
Glancing back, he saw torchlight and figures at the gate, scanning the bank. One pointed, shouting.
Aerion ducked low, letting the current pull him around a bend. The Lyceum's towers vanished behind trees.
He dragged himself onto the muddy bank, shivering, soaked. His teeth chattered as he stood, stripping off his heavy robe and boots, hiding them in the bushes. In just his tunic and trousers, he felt exposed, vulnerable.
He glanced up at the stars, their calm beauty a cruel contrast to his reality. His breath misted in the cold.
He had to keep moving. Survive. That was all that mattered now.
Aerion stumbled into the forest, the darkness swallowing him whole.