Chapter 42 A Teacher's Confession
Warden Voss
The door to the Magistrate’s office closed softly behind me, but the quiet felt heavier than it had any right to be. The words she had spoken lingered: Helena had children, hidden before her arrest. The Collapse had not been the dragons’ doing. Celestia had not perished by its own hand. Helena had discovered something in the Imperial archives, and Godwin had supported her. And for that truth, they had both been executed. I had thought I understood danger. I had thought I knew betrayal. But the Empire had erased not just lives, but the memory of courage itself.
I descended the winding staircase, my boots clicking against the marble, the soft echoes swallowed by the hum of students rushing to class. I did not need to hurry; the world around me moved too slowly for what I needed to accomplish.
The main hall was already filled with the sound of scurrying robes and whispered incantations. Students passed in clumps, carrying scrolls and books with an innocent kind of pride. Some glanced at me, the black of my uniform cutting sharply against the sea of white, and then hurried on. I let them pass, unacknowledged. I walked toward the Hall of Distinction, where the brightest students of past decades were immortalized, where Helena’s own display had once dominated the center. I remembered the unveiling, how her brilliance had drawn awe and envy alike.
Her pedestal was gone.
In its place stood a larger, more elaborate display. A handsome boy with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes stared confidently from a gilded frame.
Cassian Ryven Mirelle Ironhart—Victor of the Grand Arcanis Trials
His posture was confident, his smile easy, his medals gleaming as though the Academy wished the students to believe he was irreplaceable.
I felt nothing. He was a shadow in comparison to what Helena had meant to this place.
And Helena’s absence spoke louder than any inscription.
I moved quickly past the central display, uninterested in the boy, scanning the walls for another shelf.
When I had been a student, I brought pride to this Academy. I defeated Arcanis and Lunara in the same year—a feat that had stirred whispers in faculty chambers. Strategy over spectacle. Precision over flair.
I found my name at the back. Tucked into a narrow section near a supporting column.
Elara Yolande Voss—Champion of Arcanis and Lunara (Year 312)
A modest case. Two medals. A brief citation noting “exceptional tactical foresight.”
No dramatic lighting. No gilded frame.
I studied my younger portrait. My hair had been shorter then, worn loose over my shoulders. My eyes less guarded. Less knowing.
I shrugged faintly.
I had never been as beautiful as Helena. Nor as effortlessly striking as the boy who replaced her. I had not been chosen for beauty. I had been chosen for skill, for cunning, for discipline.
Yet I wore black now. Warden. A position most mages would sacrifice reputation to obtain. That was enough.
Let them display me in the shadows. I preferred it there.
I turned from the shelf and approached the central directory—a floating bronze frame containing enchanted parchment. Names shimmered faintly as faculty shifted posts.
I traced downward.
Thorne, Andreas—Examiner of Relic Studies—Archive Basement Wing
Of course. The basement.
Relic scholars and historians who strayed too near forbidden subjects were often placed below ground—literally and figuratively.
I descended once more.
The architecture changed subtly. Marble gave way to darker stone. The lower halls felt colder, the light dimmer, the air carrying a faint trace of suppressed arcane energy. Footsteps echoed more sharply. Fewer students walked here.
His office was tucked at the very back of the corridor.
Just like my display.
I reached his door and knocked. The reply came as a clipped “Yes?” from a woman sitting at a cluttered desk. She looked up at my sigil with what I suspected was polite recognition and then returned to her work.
“I am here to see Examiner Thorne,” I said evenly.
“He is on sick leave,” she replied without lifting her pen.
“For how long?” I asked, keeping my tone calm.
“I do not know." Her tone implied she did not care to know.
The words were meant to dismiss me, and perhaps they would have dismissed anyone else
I stepped closer to the desk. “When did this leave begin?”
“A week ago,” she answered, her quill scratching across parchment.
“A sudden illness?” I asked.
She hesitated. “I was not informed of the details.”
“Of course you were not.” I folded my hands behind my back. “I require his address.”
She stopped writing and hereyes flickered up at me with surprise, as though she had not expected me to insist. “His residence is private.”
“I am aware,” I replied calmly. “And I am Warden.”
A flicker of calculation passed over her face. Refusing a Warden required courage she clearly did not possess.
She pulled a blank parchment toward her and wrote Thorne's address with visible displeasure.
She slid it across the desk. “I assume this is official business.”
“It is,” I said, taking the parchment. “Thank you.”
She nodded stiffly, already returning to her work as though I were a minor interruption.
As I stepped back into the corridor, I folded the parchment carefully and slipped it into my coat.
Andreas Thorne on indefinite leave. Friend of Helena. A relic scholar.
And now conveniently unavailable.
There was one more person who might know: Professor Ysoria Alix, History. She had been my favorite teacher back when I still roamed these halls, her lessons the highlight of long, endless days.
If Helena had uncovered the truths about Celestia and the Collapse, Ysoria would have known. They might even have been friends once, their ages so close, their paths through the Academy nearly parallel.
Her office overlooked the lower courtyard. I approached and knocked.
The door opened to reveal her teaching aide, a young man with dark hair and attentive brown eyes. He stood immediately upon seeing me.
“Warden Voss,” he said with a bow. “Good morning.”
Unlike Thorne’s secretary, he recognized authority without resentment.
“Good morning,” I replied. “Is Professor Alix available?”
“Yes, Warden.” He moved to the inner door and knocked. “Professor, Warden Voss is here.”
A pause. “Enter.”
He opened the door wider and gestured for me to step inside.
Time had been less kind to Ysoria than I remembered.
When I was a student, her dark brown hair had flowed freely, her bright eyes alive with curiosity. Now grey threaded heavily through her hair, tied back in a practical knot. Fine lines framed her mouth. And the spark in her eyes had dimmed into something more cautious.
“Elara,” she said, rising from behind her desk. “What a surprise. How’s Dust been treating you?”
“Nicely,” I said, returning the smile. “I cannot complain.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, gesturing to the chair. “Sit. Sit. It’s not often one of my former students visits, especially one as formidable as you. What brings you here?”
I lowered myself into the chair, keeping my posture straight, and spoke quietly. “I do not wish to cause you trouble, Professor, but I need information.”
Her smile faded. “That depends on the information.”
“I need information on Helena Valen.”
The pen slipped from her fingers.
She stood immediately and moved to the door. Opening it slightly, she addressed her aide. “Edmund, may you fetch me some bread and tea from the refectory? Lock the door behind you. Use your keys to reenter.”
“Yes, Professor.”
When he departed, she shut the door firmly and pressed her palm against the wall. “Absorbeo,” she whispered. A faint shimmer rippled outward.
“That will render the walls soundproof,” she said quietly. “Now tell me what you need to know.”
“She had children,” I said. “They vanished before her arrest. Did you know them?"
Ysoria inhaled slowly. “Speaking of this is treason, Elara.”
“I am aware.”
She studied me for a long moment before nodding faintly. “Yes. I knew them. A little girl and her younger brother. Bright children, both of them, with great magic—just like their mother."
“So why hide them, Professor?” I asked. “They should be here at the Academy… as their mother’s legacy.”
Ysoria sank back into her chair behind the desk and cleared her throat. “Fine,” she said as if weary from a long struggle. “I am a history professor, and this… this is part of history.”
She drew in a slow breath, as if bracing herself.
“The surname Valen comes from Valyn, the Celestial bloodline that ruled Celestia,” she continued. “The first Valen, General Elias Valen, was believed to have been the dragon-rider of the last surviving dragon.”
The image of the purple light from the Great Ranking Orb when Sera had touched it flashed through my mind, confirming my suspicion that she was a Valen—but Ysoria needn’t know.
I let a humorless laugh escape. “Dragons are extinct. And Celestials a myth, Professor.”
“That is what the Empire wants us to believe,” she said, voice taut. “The Empire shapes history to fit its needs. Truth is an inconvenient thing.”
I studied her for a long moment before asking, “Let us suppose a dragon still exists. Where would it be? In the Lost Kingdom? Another myth the Empire uses to terrify children?”
“Not that far,” she said quietly. “From our research, Helena and I believed the dragon resides in the mountains beyond the Forbidden Forest.”
I froze, the words striking harder than I expected. “A dragon lives here?”
“In hibernation,” Ysoria replied. “Helena believed that one of her children could awaken it.”
I swallowed. “The boy or the girl?”
“I do not know,” she admitted. “She was preparing them, teaching them what she could. Quietly. Then all our research, everything, was confiscated and burned. Then she and Godwin were arrested. I was forced to remain silent.”
“Did Helena have other allies?” I asked.
“Andreas Thorne,” Ysoria said, her voice low. “But like me, he chose survival."
“I have one more question, Professor,” I said, my voice measured. “Do you know the children’s names?”
Ysoria’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment before she shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Elara. I cannot divulge their names. You already know too much. I would help you further, but I have already lost a friend. I cannot afford to lose another.”
“I understand,” I said, feeling the gravity of her words settle between us. “What you’ve told me is more than enough. Rest assured whatever was spoken here today will not leave these walls. Thank you, Professor.”
I touched the orb at my throat. Light fractured, and the world reshaped itself around me. I did not call Dust. Instead, I found myself standing before the gates of Aetheria. Towering white walls etched with gold reflected the morning sun. Beyond them lay the Empire that had rewritten history, the authority that had executed truth. Somewhere beyond the Cursed Forest slept something ancient, and somewhere within the Empire, Helena’s children survived, possibly unaware of the power sleeping within them. One of them might awaken a dragon. One of them might change the course of everything.
The gates creaked open and I stepped forward into the city. I had a mission. I had Warden’s authority, and I intended to use it.