The towering gates of Class Imperium opened with a groaning creak, revealing a classroom unlike any other in Faeloria Royal Academy. Intricate banners of noble houses lined the walls, while soul crystal chandeliers illuminated the carved marble floor beneath.
Serenil Aetheryn stepped inside, his presence quiet but undeniable. The son of Queen Elenora and bearer of Voidrender, he was already a legend whispered about among the students.
But inside Class Imperium, everyone was royalty.
He scanned the room. There were only five other boys, each sitting in their own luxurious, insignia-marked seats.
The first to approach him was a tall boy with unruly dark red hair, wolf ears, and a long matching tail. His confident smile stretched ear to ear as he leaned in with a mischievous wink.
"You're Serenil, right? The one with all the ladies? I'm Robert Siltharion, future Alpha of the Siltharion pack," he declared with a booming laugh. "Hope you don't mind me flirting with your girls. Unless one of them's already marked?"
Serenil smirked, already sensing the trouble Robert would bring. "Just don't bleed on the floors when they slap you."
Robert cackled and slapped Serenil's back.
From a corner seat, a boy with elegant black hair fading to dark turquoise, pale skin, and horns rising like curved spires from his skull, gave them both a disinterested glance. His eyes—bright green with slit pupils—were almost feline.
"Peter Arkwell," the boy said smoothly. "House Arkwell governs the west under the queen's direct favor. You'll find me either fascinating or dangerous. Either is accurate."
Serenil nodded, intrigued.
A soft voice followed. "That's just Peter being dramatic again."
The speaker was a boy no taller than Serenil, with blonde hair, long elf ears, and unusual emerald-purple eyes. Calm yet composed.
"Jon Iskareth, heir of House Iskareth. My family handles the royal archives and shadow intelligence. I've heard of you, Serenil. We all have."
Before Serenil could reply, a stern voice cut through the air.
"Loud introductions in a noble hall… unbecoming."
A regal elf boy stood with arms folded—Ned Myrkwyn. His black hair had two cadet gray locks, and his catlike gray eyes were steady as stone.
"House Myrkwyn governs the northern borders. I trust we won't descend into barbarism here, Prince Serenil. Your presence honors the class, but discipline must be upheld."
Serenil raised a brow, amused. "As long as we're not dueling over seating arrangements, I think we'll get along."
Jon chuckled quietly, while Peter gave an approving nod. Robert only shrugged.
For the first time in his life, Serenil didn't feel like the only heir under the weight of expectations. These boys each bore their own legacy.
But more than that, they were brothers in power, soon to be brothers in battle.