The matriarch’s lips curled—sharp for an instant, then soft and grandmotherly. Aaron stiffened. Blinked. His instincts screamed, but he forced them down.

  "It seems your wisdom extends beyond the recitation of old poets. Those are wise requests." She nodded, thoughtful.

  Aaron smiled. The others eased. Theon let out an audible breath.

  "I would love to instruct you myself," the matriarch continued, "but regretfully, my daughter will take on that duty." She turned to her.

  Xandros’s mother straightened. The tears were gone. Her face remained composed, but something shifted in her posture. "Yes, Mother. I shall take care of him."

  Their gazes locked. A pause. A shift. Something passed between them. Aaron swallowed. Am I really about to take lessons from the mother of the guy I sort of killed? His stomach twisted. Bad. This is bad.

  The matriarch held his gaze. A fraction too long. Aaron resisted the urge to shift. "My daughter will treat you as a divine champion deserves. One of our blood."

  That last word landed like a stone. Aaron let out a slow breath. Not fully.

  The matriarch’s gaze lingered, measuring. Weighing. A butcher deciding if the meat was worth keeping. His skin prickled. She wouldn’t throw me into something too messy. Right? His gut twisted. I’m not sure.

  The old woman smacked her lips, as if remembering something minor. "There is a final matter to attend to before I leave you with your friends."

  She paused. The silence stretched, slow and deliberate. Aaron felt the weight of unseen decisions shifting. "Which name will you take?"

  Another beat.

  "You will retain the Hellionis name?" she stated, too casually. Aaron hesitated. The room felt smaller. A question of identity. Am I a free agent or bound to them?

  His eyes flicked to Theon. Let’s throw him under the bus instead. "Theon, what do the names mean? And what is a clan?" For a heartbeat, nothing. Then—Theon tensed.The old woman smiled, slow and understanding.

  "How foolish of me. You need more information to choose wisely."No change in volume. No change in speed. Just weight. They stuck in Aaron’s mind.

  The matriarch turned to Theon. He flinched. Barely. A fraction of movement. She kept smiling. Why is Theon so afraid?

  Aaron studied her. The warmth in her expression never touched the steel behind it.

  Theon cleared his throat. "Yes, Holy Matriarch."

  Theon turned to Aaron. Aaron pushed himself upright. Lying down felt wrong. "Your name is…"

  He glanced at the old woman. She nodded gently. Some of the stiffness left Theon’s shoulders. His voice softened—not quite relaxed, but no longer strained. "Your name is Xandros Hellionis Erythros."

  "Xandros is your familiar name—family, superiors, people close to you. Hellionis is your clan name—one of the sixteen founding houses. Erythros is your branch—the direct bloodline." He swallowed. "The high nobility are Ultima, like the Matriarch herself." He nodded and paused, shifting slightly.

  "Well spoken, young Theon," the matriarch approved. She turned to Aaron, smiling with quiet expectation. "Champion, if you so ask, I would adopt you into the Ultima branch. High nobility enjoys priviliges befitting your role."

  Silence.

  Aaron felt the air press down, the weight of expectation tightening like a noose. He chuckled, light but deliberate.

  The others watched him in anticipation—except for his companions, who had gone rigid. Rhea’s hands clenched. Theon’s gaze flickered toward the matriarch, unreadable.

  Aaron exhaled, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I just realized we haven’t introduced ourselves. You should at least know my original name." Just avoided saying ‘real name’. That might be seen as an insult.

  He met the matriarch’s gaze. "I was born as Aaron Blackwell." A beat. The silence deepened.

  The she smiled. “Grandmaster Aurelia Hellionis Ultima, Archmage of robotomancy and noetimancey, Sacred Matrich of the Sixteen for House Hellionis”

  Aaron lowered his head in acknowledgement. Back to the subject of my name. She doesn’t like the idea of me keeping the old one. She wants me tied to her family. No surprise there.

  Aaron scratched his head. Tying myself to her house… can I afford that? His stomach twisted. It wouldn’t just be a name. It would be a bond. I need allies. A base. But—

  He clenched his teeth. Commit now, and I’m not just borrowing the name. I belong.

  The matriarch’s soft voice sliced through his thoughts, smooth as silk, weighted as iron. “Names are stories, Champion. They shape who we become. How would you like Xandros Hellionis Nightspring?”

  She smiled. A grandmother’s warmth. A viper’s patience. Aaron frowned.

  It wasn’t a bad name. But it wasn’t him. Also— "Xandros… He wasn’t the most adept at making friends, right?"

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  The old woman chuckled. "That is one way to phrase it. Reikaia, I think it prudent to ensure our champion knows what enemies his body has made before he came here."

  She turned to her daughter—my new mother. My etiquette teacher.

  Aaron gulped. Reikaia inhaled, composed. "He was a scoundrel who kept staining the clan’s name. He thought too highly of himself."

  She sniffed. Then, like poison slipping into honey, venom crept into her voice. "And his relations with that bastard Erai Neonis were a terrible idea."

  Aaron flinched. Rhea and Theon took a step back. The matriarch sighed, as if disappointed but unsurprised.

  "I heard that she was injured in the trials." She smiled—soft, grandmotherly. "Reikaia dear, we ought to send a healer to her to ensure no lasting damage has been done. Internal injuries can be missed by the young healers."

  Both women nodded. A mean smile flickered over Reikaia’s face. Rhea contained hers less successfully. What was this about?

  Well, Erai had executed prisoners and tortured a man. So the resentment is understandable.

  Aaron shook his head. "The name feels wrong. Xandros carries a lot of baggage. The Hellionis name is what matters."

  He spoke evenly, thinking out loud. A flicker of something passed through the grey-haired matriarch’s eyes. Approval?

  "Yes, that is so," she said smoothly. He glanced around. The old woman was watching him again. So was everyone else. Their stares had shifted—lighter, waiting.

  I like what they did with my real last name. ‘Of the Nightspring’. Maybe I can keep the black. "Aaron Hellionis Ultima Melas." He paused.

  Black came out as Melas. It has a nice sound to it. The name settled into place.

  Aaron nodded. "The old within the new." He met her gaze. "Unless that's a breach of naming conventions?" The matriarch tilted her head, considering. A beat too long. Then, sharply, she nodded. "It is poetic. And fitting."

  The matriarch studied him, her gaze sharp as ever. Calculating. "Unless there is more, I will leave you with your friends."

  Aaron shook his head. "Thank you." She smiled and turned. Reikaia followed, silent as a shadow. The door shut. A finality in the sound.

  The room remained quiet for too long. The tension didn't break—it bled out, slow and uneven.

  Theon let out a slow breath, like he was forcing the tension out of his ribs. Rhea hugged her arms, a faint shiver running through her. They blinked, dazed, like divers breaking the surface after too long underwater.

  "Mother’s mercy," Theon muttered. "How did you keep your composure?"

  Aaron frowned. "You two look like you just escaped an execution."

  Theon shuddered, rubbing his arms like he could scrub off the weight of the moment. His breath came shallow. “An execution would be better. That was a Grandmaster. You didn’t feel it? The weight? Like she could crush you just by deciding you were insignificant?”

  His voice dropped lower. “That wasn’t a conversation. That was standing at the edge of a blade.”

  He exhaled, rubbing his arms. "I have never gotten this close to her. Never wanted to get close." He trailed off, eyes flickering across the room.

  Rhea smiled. "I am glad to have you back. How did you defeat the guardians in the last trial?" Aaron barely heard her. His eyes locked onto her hand.

  A raised flat palm—one that had stopped him several times before. Then a casual flick to clear her eye, followed by a scratch behind her ear with a hollowed hand. Finally, she shook her head. A warning. This is not a safe place to talk. The walls have eyes and ears.

  Aaron nodded, as if contemplating her question. "Never mind the trial. What has happened while I was unconscious? What will we do next?"

  Smiles crept over his friends' faces. "We have a tenth-cycle until we are sworn in at the academy. We have earned our medallions and can finally wear red instead of burgundy."

  Theon lifted his left sleeve, revealing a burgundy cloth wrapped around his arm. Aaron glanced at his own clothing. Fresh. His skin smelled faintly of lavender. His hair had been washed.

  Someone took care of me while I was out. Someone saw me as worth preserving. A burgundy band adorned his arm. He shook it. "I never managed to ask—what’s the deal with these colors? Do they determine the power of a mage?"

  Theon inhaled sharply, straightening. Serious. Formal. "The rank of a mortal is determined by the color of their medallion. Each medallion has a central crystal that binds to its owner. Around it are nine rings, which fill as you advance on the path of mastery.

  Rhea rolled her eyes, imitating Theon behind his back. Aaron clenched his jaws, trying not to smile. “The higher the frequency of the color on the rainbow, the more powerful the mage. Those under nineteen wear burgundy. The sages wear deep violet." Theon tilted his head, waiting.

  Aaron took the cue. "How many ranks are there?" He glanced at Rhea.Safe topic? Probably safer than discussing the matriarch in her stronghold.

  Theon stroked his chin. "That depends on how you count the unranked and the Angel rank. A medallion starts inert in a child’s hands and deepens in color as they progress. One hundred levels exist, but few ever reach the final ones."

  Aaron swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor. The silken sheets pooled around him. "Every answer just gives me more questions," Aaron muttered.

  Theon hummed as Aaron exhaled. "Where do we need to go? And would you two please elaborate on what I should avoid doing to prevent more incidents?"

  The two grinned. Rhea’s eyes sparkled. "You’ve been doing well so far. Only two martial sergeants think you have brain damage, and one high noble has reason to call you out to a duel."

  Aaron blinked. Theon shrugged. "It could be worse." Then his expression turned serious.

  "But you’re right. I’ll walk you through what will happen." He stepped toward the door, gesturing for Aaron to follow.

  "Let’s get moving. It pays to be early." They left the room.

  Theon spoke as they walked, explaining what to expect. Rhea interjected occasionally with sharp jokes, slicing through the formality.

  Aaron exhaled. He hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been holding. "The Senior President will give a speech to the young mages about the principles of the Polis," Theon continued.

  Aaron nodded absently. Sounds like a military promotion appeal. A rather tedious affair.

  His gaze drifted beyond the conversation. I wonder how the city will look. In a way, this is an alien world. Any scientist would kill for such an opportunity.

  They stepped into an inner garden. Sunlight filtered through carefully tended trees, casting dappled shadows over a deep pool—a cistern.

  Slaves in brown tunics moved quietly through the space, trimming vines and tending the water channels. The air smelled of damp earth and cut leaves.

  Aaron let his thoughts drift for a moment.

  The door slammed open. A man lurched inside, panting, his tunic clinging to sweat-drenched skin.

  The slaves froze mid-motion, hands trembling. The air stilled. Theon’s voice cut the silence, sharp as steel. “Speak up, Maltikes.”

  The man collapsed to his knees, forehead touching the stone. “Honored aspirants…” He sucked in a breath. 'The Sage of Light has landed near the city.'

  A silence thick enough to suffocate. Theon inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching. Rhea’s grip turned her arm pale. Aaron’s heartbeat slammed into his ribs.

  Who the fuck is the Sage of Light?

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  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

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