Senior Healer Elira Valcora sat alone in her modest office, the glow of a single enchanted crystal lamp lighting up her office. She held a delicate glass of amber liquor, its subtle warmth offering fleeting solace against the storm of thoughts in her mind. The familiar sounds of the first-year section of the Imperial Academy Infirmary beyond her door provided a background of comfort, but her gaze was fixed on the ripples of her drink, as if seeking answers in its depths.


    It was early in the school year, far too early for the first-year scions to be acting so brazenly against each other. Yet here she was, nursing a drink and pondering the dangerous precedent already set by the actions of some of the current crop of first-year scions at the Academy. The incident with the Blacksword boy — Klarion, she reminded herself — was troubling. Nothing had been said by him, nor by the Sentinel that had brought the Blacksword scion and his bodyguard to the Infirmary, but she could read between the lines. A few discrete inquiries with the Sentinels who had been stationed near The Pit yesterday had all but confirmed what she suspected. Klarion had been forced into a Dungeon by an as-yet-unknown number of scions from other Houses, and he had barely survived the ordeal with his Leporine bodyguard. Already enemies of House Blacksword were seeking to settle the grudges of their Houses in blood before the school year had even properly begun.


    Elira let out a long breath, swirling the liquid in her glass. “It always starts younger with each generation,” she muttered to herself. The Academy was no stranger to such power plays. After all, its main purpose was not merely to educate the scions of the Empire’s Houses, but to prepare the young nobles for the unrelenting grind of politics and power struggles that awaited them beyond this Pocket Plane when they graduated. Adversity, the Imperial doctrine declared, bred resilience.


    And yet, Elira couldn’t help but wonder at the cost of that resilience.


    The Academy’s tacit approval of these conflicts — so long as they stayed within carefully prescribed boundaries — was built on a foundation as old as the Empire itself. The idea was a simple one: by exposing scions to the betrayals and rivalries they would face beyond the Pocket Plane of the Imperial Academy, they would be molded into capable leaders and survivors. After all, the thought went, if they couldn’t navigate these treacherous waters now, how could they hope to stand at the helm of their own Houses in the future?


    The Senior Healer downed the last of her drink, the burn in her throat satisfying, as well it should be given the cost of what she had just finished. No, as much as she disliked the approach taken by the Academy, it had stood the test of many centuries now. The Houses needed their heirs sharpened like blades, their cunning and strength honed in the crucible of their time here.


    Elira set her glass down with a clink and leaned back in her chair. She reflected with some distaste on what she would have to look forward to sooner than she had expected this year. Bloody duels, injuries from unknown sources, and political maneuvering spilled over into brawls. Thankfully in her decades here, open warfare had never occurred, and direct assassinations in classes had remained off-limits for even the most bloodthirsty or vengeful of scions. Her thoughts returned to the scion of House Blacksword.


    It left a bitter taste in her mouth, and not from the drink. The young lord, barely more than a boy, was untested and already bearing the weight of a House that had seen better days. Klarion’s House was a shadow of its former self, its influence and power diminished to a husk of what it once was. That much was common knowledge. She’d seen it all before: when a House fell from grace, the sharks circled, eager to strip away what power and influence remained.


    But to force a scion of his background into a Dungeon — a lethal, unpredictable environment — was a new level of ruthlessness.


    Still, she couldn’t deny that Klarion had survived, and that was no small feat. She poured another measure of liquor into her glass and took another sip, her mind circling back to the night before. She had donned the simple uniform of a low-ranked nurse in order to examine Klarion and his companion, Hatsune. Both had been exhausted, battered, and dangerously close to the brink. Yet she had noticed something else — a quiet determination in Klarion’s eyes.


    Elira had seen that look before in legionnaires who survived the impossible. It was the look of someone who had been forged, not by choice, but by circumstance. Her thoughts swirled around Klarion Blacksword, the scion of a declining House whose actions the previous night had shaken her more than she cared to admit. What she had learned about his survival in The Pit — solo, burdened with an injured bodyguard, and without even a class — was staggering. It defied all logic, all expectation.


    Klarion’s performance wasn’t just impressive; it was nearly unprecedented. It was one thing for a properly balanced group of scions with classes and properly equipped bodyguards to handle a Dungeon with grace, another entirely for an untested scion to not only survive but conquer a Boss as well. No true training, no class abilities, just raw determination and grit.


    Her composure cracked further as she replayed their conversation in her mind. She’d confronted him under the guise of routine questioning, but her curiosity and disbelief had bled through far more than she intended. She winced at the memory. It wasn’t often she lost her temper — or her carefully maintained air of superiority — but the absurdity of his situation had pulled her from her usual equilibrium.


    “You were supposed to be composed, Elira,” she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with irritation. But how could she have been prepared for someone like Klarion? Her information on him had been accurate at least — House Blacksword’s young scion was said to be reserved, lacking the arrogance so common among noble heirs — but even that hadn’t prepared her for the quiet intensity in his eyes, the way he’d answered her questions, even the way he had looked on the Leporine as something more than a tool. More, he hadn’t once tried to use his rank to shield himself or gain her favor, a rarity among the Academy’s first-year scions who usually did so until they learned better.


    Still, had he done so, she wouldn’t have hesitated to put him back in his place if he had tried. Unlanded scion or not, her noble rank as a Countess carried weight greater than his for now, let alone the fact she might have revealed her position as a Senior Healer. But he hadn’t. His humility, paired with the sheer audacity of his accomplishment, had left her unsettled.


    Yes, she couldn’t deny there was something different about Klarion. He hadn’t just survived — he had defied the odds in a way that made her wonder if House Blacksword’s decline might not be as inevitable as everyone among the peerage assumed. The boy had an indomitable will, that much was clear. But willpower alone wasn’t enough in the Academy. Without allies, without resources and followers, he was vulnerable, no matter how impressive his personal strength. She thought back to the scars she had seen that traced all over his body. Those scars told a story, a silent testament to a life far more brutal than any first-year scion should have endured. The way they crisscrossed his body, standing out starkly against his skin. His scars, combined with what she could guess of his stats, painted a picture of someone who might one day become a monster — not in the literal sense, but in the way that power, tempered by pain and perseverance, could turn a person into something extraordinary and terrifying. Elira’s fingers tightened around her glass as a chill ran down her spine. Monsters weren’t born among the nobility; they were made. And Klarion Blacksword had begun to display the early makings of one.


    She hated mysteries, and Klarion was shaping up to be the biggest one she’d encountered in years.


    How had he done it? How had an unclassed, unprepared scion managed to survive what should have been certain death, dragging an injured bodyguard along with him no less? The thought gnawed at her, refusing to let go.


    For a moment, she almost felt sorry for whoever had tried to kill him. Using a Dungeon as a weapon was an old trick, one that was usually effective. Dungeons were impartial executioners, and even the strongest scions could fall to their machinations if caught off guard. But Klarion had survived to conquer the Dungeon. His attackers, whoever they were, had underestimated him, and that mistake would cost them dearly.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    “They have no idea what they’ve unleashed,” Elira murmured, her voice barely audible over the muffled voices coming from outside her door. She turned her attention from the Blacksword scion to what was happening outside her door. Apparently, someone had come to drop off some files with her secretary or was otherwise visiting. Claire was new to her position, but she was efficient. If she wanted a few minutes for office gossip, that was fine with Elira.


    Shifting in her chair, she set the remains of her drink aside. It had done little to soothe her turbulent thoughts, but she was grateful for the momentary reprieve it offered. She had just begun to reach for the papers she’d been reviewing when there was a knock on her office door.


    “Come in,” Elira called, her voice measured.


    The door opened and Claire stepped inside, her expression cautious but professional. “Senior Healer Valcora,” the woman began, inclining her head, “a pair of Sentinels are here. They wish to speak with you.”


    Elira raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity replacing the fatigue etched into her features. Sentinels rarely made formal visits unless something significant had occurred. “Did they say what it was regarding?”


    “They mentioned the Scion Blacksword and his bodyguard,” Claire replied. “The lead Sentinel identified herself as J-65.”


    “Very well,” Elira said, rising from her chair. She smoothed the front of her uniform. “Send them in.”


    Her secretary nodded and stepped out, returning moments later with the two Sentinels in tow. Based on what Claire had said, it was easy to identify J-65 as the one who entered first, their polished armor catching the light of the lamp in her office. Behind her followed a second Sentinel, his stance looser but no less imposing. Both wore the distinctive masks of their position, which hid their expressions behind the smooth, faceless surfaces.


    “Senior Healer Valcora,” J-65 said, her voice even but intent. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”


    “Of course,” Elira replied, gesturing toward the chairs opposite her desk. “Please, have a seat.”


    J-65 inclined her head but remained standing, their posture remaining straight and formal. “We are here to inquire about the events surrounding scion Klarion Blacksword and his bodyguard, the Leporine woman, Hatsune. We understand they were brought here after an incident involving The Pit.”


    Elira clasped her hands in front of her, her expression neutral. “That is correct,” she said. “What would you like to know?”


    J-65 wasted no time. “What can you tell us about their condition upon arrival? And, more importantly, what transpired in the Dungeon?”


    Elira leaned back against her desk, her gaze steady. “When they arrived, both were in poor condition. Hatusne was gravely injured, suffering from severe blood loss and internal damage in several locations. Scion Blacksword, while less physically harmed, collapsed from exhaustion almost immediately upon escaping the Dungeon. Both received immediate medical attention and were stabilized within the hour. As of this morning, they are fully healed, and there have been no complications.”


    “And the Dungeon?” J-65 pressed. “What do you know of what occurred there?”


    Elira hesitated, not out of uncertainty but caution. The details surrounding Klarion’s performance in The Pit were extraordinary, and she wasn’t sure how much she was at liberty to share. “I can tell you this much: Scion Blacksword successfully cleared the Dungeon, including defeating the Boss.”


    The second Sentinel, who had remained silent so far, shifted slightly, their masked head tilting as if to confirm they’d heard correctly. J-65, however, remained composed. “Cleared the Dungeon? With an injured bodyguard?”


    “Yes,” Elira said simply. “But I don’t think it was a complete clear, only the Boss and the monsters in the way between it and the exit. From what I understand, Scion Blacksword carried his bodyguard out of the Dungeon himself after defeating the Boss.”


    For the first time, J-65’s rigid demeanor faltered, if only for a moment, though Elira was unsure what emotions the masked woman was feeling. “He carried her out?”


    Elira nodded. “Indeed. His actions were nothing short of remarkable, though I cannot speak as to the specifics of how he achieved such a feat. Scion Blacksword was not particularly forthcoming about the details, and I did not press him. It was clear to me he had endured enough for one night.”


    The Sentinels exchanged a brief glance, a silent conversation passing between them. J-65 turned back to Elira. “You mentioned that he did not reveal everything. Did he hint at anything unusual or noteworthy?”


    Elira shook her head. “No. He was understandably exhausted and in no state for a thorough debriefing. My priority was ensuring his and Hatsune’s recovery, not extracting every detail of their ordeal.”


    The room began to become heavy with tension as Elira’s carefully chosen words hung in the air. The two Sentinels remained still, their postures stiff and unreadable, but the silence was palpable. She watched them closely, her own composure intact, though her heart beat faster than she would admit.


    The second Sentinel, standing just behind and slightly to the side of J-65, was the first to break the silence. “Thank you for your cooperation, Senior Healer. We’ll take this information into account.”


    It seemed like the interview was over, and Elira began to relax ever so slightly. But J-65 remained rooted in place, the faint tension in her posture suggesting she wasn’t done yet.


    “Senior Healer,” J-65 said, her voice sharper than before, carrying an intensity that made the Elira blink. “If you have any additional information, even simple speculation, I would suggest you share it now.”


    Elira stiffened. “I’ve told you what I know. If you’re looking for more, I suggest asking Scion Blacksword himself.”


    J-65’s tone didn’t soften. “You’ve been at this Academy for years, and your insights are valuable. Tell me — what do you think happened?”


    Elira hesitated again, the Sentinel’s mask failing to contain the feeling of a piercing gaze locked on to her, much as a hawk would watch a mouse before striking. She’d been careful to avoid speculating too openly, but J-65’s insistence made it clear this wasn’t a request she could easily deflect. Letting out a slow breath, she went back behind her desk to sit in her chair, folding her hands neatly on her desk.


    “If you insist,” she said slowly, putting her thoughts in order. “I believe Scion Blacksword and his bodyguard were deliberately forced into the Dungeon. It’s not unheard of for rival Houses to use such tactics. The Dungeon’s inherent dangers make it the perfect cover for an attempted assassination. If he and and his bodyguard had perished, no one would have looked further than their own recklessness.”


    The second Sentinel shifted uncomfortably at her words, clearly uneasy with the implications of the first assassination attempt among the first-years occuring so soon this year. J-65, however, remained motionless, though something about her stance felt taut, like a bowstring stretched to its limit.


    “And who dod you believe was behind this?” J-65 asked, her voice low but charged with barely restrained anger.


    “I don’t know,” Elira admitted. “I can only speculate. It would have to be someone with enough influence to arrange such a setup but not so high-ranking as to fear backlash if discovered.”


    J-65’s fists clenched, the leather of her gloves creaking audibly. Though her mask hid her face, her fury was evident in the rigid lines of her posture. Elira had seen Sentinels angry before, but this was different — personal, almost visceral. For a moment, Elira wondered if she had overstepped.


    “Thank you for your candor,” J-65 said after a moment, her voice tight. She turned sharply to the other Sentinel. “We’re done here.”


    The second Sentinel nodded quickly, clearly eager to leave. The two of them exited the office without another word, the heavy door closing behind them with a definitive thud.


    Elira released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the closed door with narrowed eyes. Something about J-65’s reaction nagged at her. It wasn’t just anger — it was personal.


    “A Sentinel doesn’t react like that without reason,” Elira muttered under her breath. She tapped her fingers against the armrest of her chair, her mind racing. “What could it mean?”


    Her thoughts lingered on the peculiar exchange for a few moments longer, but there was little she could do to uncover the truth. She wasn’t about to start prying into a Sentinel’s motives, no matter how strange their behavior. With a sigh, she pushed the matter to the back of her mind.


    There were more immediate concerns to deal with — personnel issues, for one. The Infirmary had been stretched thin since the summer months, and the strain was beginning to show. The Academy’s constant need for skilled healers wasn’t limited to its walls; numerous Legions serving in the field required reinforcements, and the demand for fresh recruits, and fresh healers, was only growing.


    Elira opened the folder holding information on the latest roster of candidates, skimming through the names and dossiers with practiced efficiency. Most were promising, but the challenge lay in ensuring they were properly trained before being sent off to the front lines. The Academy prided itself on producing some of the finest healers in this region of the Empire, and Elira wasn’t about to let that reputation slip under her watch.


    “We’ll need to accelerate the training cycle,” she mused aloud, jotting down a few notes. “But not at the expense of quality. If we push too hard, we risk burnout — or worse.”