There was no room for objection.

  The Royal Magic Academy of the Capital was about to begin its annual term—an obligatory summons for every noble heir. Sophia would have preferred to keep her son under the Duchy’s protection, far from the scrutiny of the Court. But politics offered no sanctuary.

  For four months, the heirs were required to reside in the Capital.

  To receive instruction.

  To present themselves before the Crown.

  To demonstrate loyalty.

  Then they would return.

  Because the Duchy of Douglas was no ordinary territory.

  It was the military pillar of the kingdom—the shield that contained the threats of the forest and the sword that held the borders firm.

  Yet even a bastion of steel depended on grain.

  Within its own lands, the harvests that sustained the duchy had to be carefully overseen. Though it enjoyed near-absolute autonomy, that independence came at a cost: it had to guarantee food for its armies and its people without relying on the Crown.

  And at this time of year, that duty became more dangerous.

  With the change of season came the mating and migration period of the creatures born in the forest. Monsters left the depths in search of safe territories to nest… and easy prey to feed their young.

  Open fields, filled with defenseless peasants, became the perfect target.

  Even in the Duchy of Douglas, harvest season was a military campaign.

  The true problem, however, was not the academic obligation.

  It was the destination.

  In the Capital, Lusian would inevitably encounter his fiancée.

  Emily.

  The Saint of Light.

  The woman destined to pierce his heart.

  The memory was not his own… yet the images from the computer screen had shown him his future. A devastated hill. Black spears. A sword descending without hesitation.

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  Erwin inhaled slowly.

  I have to change that doomed future.

  Or he would walk step by step toward the scaffold.

  The internal fracture within House Douglas complicated any plan. Duke Laurence openly favored Martha and her son, Caleb. Sophia—Duchess by decree and a woman of Omega affinity—maintained her position with an elegance that concealed steel.

  The Duchy was divided into two factions.

  And the Capital would only magnify that division.

  When the day of departure arrived, a disoriented Lusian made his way toward the main carriage—the ostentatious vehicle reserved for the Duke.

  Sophia stopped him with a slight movement of her gloved hand.

  “You will travel with me, Lusian.”

  It was not a suggestion.

  Erwin understood the implication instantly.

  Laurence would travel with Martha and Caleb.

  Sophia would travel with the rightful heir.

  Even in transit, the family moved like two separate kingdoms.

  The contingent departing for the Capital was imposing: five hundred soldiers under the command of Albert and Garet. Monica, Sophia’s personal attendant, boarded the carriage with them.

  An unnecessary display against bandits.

  But not against intrigue.

  An army cannot protect me from a sword blessed by light, Erwin thought.

  The carriage he entered was more discreet, though protected by a complex rune engraved along its chassis. Inside, the softness of velvet and the filtered glow of enchanted glass contrasted with the tension building in his chest.

  There were no horses.

  Beneath the floor, a mana core pulsed like a restrained heart.

  “Different technology…” he murmured.

  “Applied magic,” Sophia corrected calmly, settling into the seat opposite him. “The Douglas bloodline does not spare expense when stability is at stake.”

  Stability.

  Erwin held her gaze.

  Sophia was, without question, one of the most powerful figures in the kingdom. Chosen for her exceptional magical affinity—an affinity Laurence despised, perhaps because he could not control it.

  Did she know something?

  Did she sense the change in her son?

  “You have changed, Lusian.”

  Tension ran down Erwin’s spine.

  “I am still the same, Mother.”

  Sophia tilted her head slightly, studying him as if assessing a newly forged blade.

  The carriage began to glide along the road with almost unreal smoothness. Trees receded like orderly shadows.

  One week of travel.

  Seven days to think.

  Erwin wasted none of them.

  The Capital would not be an open battlefield. It would be worse.

  There, the heroes were still students.

  Emily was not yet the woman who executed without trembling.

  That meant one thing:

  Fate was still taking shape.

  It could be altered.

  It had to be altered.

  He would not face the Saint of Light as an enemy.

  He would blend among the nobles.

  Lower his profile.

  Avoid prominence.

  For now, becoming irrelevant was his greatest weapon.

  But he knew one thing with absolute clarity:

  Fate was not a passive force.

  It would react.

  When the walls of the Capital finally appeared on the horizon, rising like a colossus of white stone, Erwin felt an invisible pressure tighten around his chest.

  It was fear.

  Recognition.

  Of a stage where he was meant to die.