The lecture hall buzzed with quiet murmurs, the dull scratching of pens on paper, and the occasional shuffling of feet. Sunlight filtered through tall, arched windows, casting an almost serene glow over the room and the students, dressed in crisp uniforms, sat at attention.
At the head of the class, Professor Aldwin stood with his arms folded, his sharp eyes scanning the room. His voice, steady and deliberate, echoed through the stone walls.
"Now," he began, pacing in front of the board, "a question for you all. A town is under siege. Resources are running out, and there are too many mouths to feed. The governor faces a choice: prioritize the able-bodied workers who can help defend the town, or distribute what little remains equally, knowing it will not be enough to save everyone. What is the moral choice?"
The air somehow thickened as the question settled into the room. Students exchanged uneasy glances, whispers slipping between them.
A hand shot up from the back. It was the student representative, his voice confident. "The governor should distribute it equally. Everyone deserves a chance to survive."
Professor Aldwin nodded slightly. "An egalitarian answer. Does anyone disagree?"
A brief pause, and then Kael spoke.
"I disagree."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Kael, who sat casually in the middle row, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. He leaned back, seemingly unaffected by the tension his words created.
"And why do you disagree, Mr. Arden?" Professor Aldwin's voice held a note of curiosity.
Kael's gaze was steady, his tone calm but edged with something deeper. "Because morality is a luxury. It's easy to talk about fairness and equality when you're sitting in a lecture hall or when you know you'll have food tonight. But when survival is on the line, you have to make choices that others might call immoral. Prioritizing the strong, the ones who can defend the town, might seem cruel, but it's practical. In a crisis, you do what you must, not what you wish."
The room shifted, students exchanging nervous glances. A few frowned, others murmured under their breath. Kael could feel the weight of their judgment, but he didn't care. His eyes met Professor Aldwin's, waiting for the inevitable rebuke.
The professor cleared his throat, slightly taken aback. "That's... quite a cynical view. Are you suggesting that morality has no place in desperate situations?"
Kael's lips twitched, almost into a smile. "I'm suggesting that morality bends when survival is at stake. The idea that everyone deserves an equal share — sure, it's noble. But what good is nobility if no one survives? It's not about what's right or wrong; it's about what works."
"So the outcome matters, not the intent?"
"People do abandon their ideals when they're inconvenient. And when that happens, they justify it. Call it survival, call it necessity. Intent does not promise anything absolute. Outcome does."
Professor Aldwin straightened, his face a mask of professionalism, though his eyes held a hint of intrigue. "An interesting perspective, but flawed. Morality, even in the darkest times, is what keeps us human. Without it, we are no different from the very threats we seek to survive against."
Kael nodded, though he disagreed. He had seen enough to know that people who cling to ideals when the world collapses around them are the first to break. The professor moved on, but Kael's mind stayed with his answer, the murmurs around him a distant echo. He believed in what he said — morality was a luxury, one only afforded to those with the safety to ponder it.
When survival came first, everything else became secondary.
As the lecture came to a close, Professor Aldwin gave the students their assignment and dismissed them with a wave. "For tomorrow, I want you all to write an essay on whether morality is absolute or relative to circumstance. Make sure to cite historical examples."
Students began packing their bags, eager to leave the heavy atmosphere of the room behind. Kael took his time, his mind still lingering on the question. He had already decided how he would approach the essay. It wasn't about whether morality was relative — he knew it was. History admits it but the real question was how many people do.
"Mr. Arden, a moment, if you will."
Kael stopped and turned, stepping back toward the professor, who now regarded him with a thoughtful expression.
"You've got a sharp mind, Kael," Professor said, his tone softer now that they were alone. "Your answer today was… unexpected. But it's clear you think deeply about these things."
Kael didn't respond right away, unsure if this was meant as a compliment or something else entirely. "I just said what I thought."
"I wanted to suggest something. There's a debate competition coming up next week, and I think you'd make an excellent participant. Your views, while unconventional, are... thought-provoking. You might find the challenge worthwhile."
Kael considered the offer for a moment, though he was about to decline. "I have a volleyball tournament next week, Professor. I'll be busy with that."
Professor Aldwin smiled faintly, as though expecting the response. "That may be, but if you win the debate, you'll earn the opportunity to dine with the Simhika of House Valeran."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Simhika Arctura?"
"Indeed. A seat of great influence and not someone you encounter often. I'm sure you could adjust your schedule accordingly."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly.
House Valeran. The seat of the royal family and the center of Altara's political power.
Simhika Arctura was known across the kingdom as a cutthroat strategist, feared as much as she was respected. It was said that she had the ear of the Lord of the house and that her word carried the weight of a thousand decisions. Many whispered that she was the true power behind the throne.
A meeting with her could open doors Kael hadn't even thought to knock on yet. The Valeran influence stretched across the six kingdoms, but it was more than just power that intrigued Kael.
House Valeran was the lion of Altara, and everything revolved around its political maneuvers. They were the closest to the truth of Altara's structure, a kingdom that, despite its division into six houses, remained whole in ways no one quite understood. All of this lingered beneath the surface of their politics, and Kael knew how critical such a connection could be.
Kael weighed his options, his mind already working through the logistics. He could make it work. The Simhika wasn't just another politician; she was ruthless, decisive. She was someone who could change things, someone who mattered. Her opinion mattered as much as the Lord's word itself, and being in her presence would be... significant.
"I'll talk to the coach," Kael said finally. "See if I can adjust my schedule. I'll let you know tomorrow."
Professor smiled, a small, knowing smile. "Good. I look forward to your answer."
As Kael left the classroom and stepped into the open air of the sprawling university grounds, his mind was still on the offer.
Kael's steps slowed as he neared the edge of the campus, his eyes drawn toward the distant mountain even when he resisted.
Towering over the landscape, it was crowned by the shadowy silhouette of The Temple of Zarae. Even from here, the structure emanated a haunting presence. It was said that within the temple, the ancient divine power of the Deity Zarae slumbered, waiting for the moment it would wake again.
But it was more than just the unease of seeing it. That temple haunted him in ways he didn't fully understand.
Each night, it appeared in his dreams, looming in the dark recesses of his mind, as if it were calling to him — whispering from the shadows. Its presence was inescapable, growing more vivid with every passing night, pulling him toward something he couldn't yet see.
Something waiting.
He shook his head, forcing his gaze away from the mountain. The debate competition, Simhika Arctura, the doors it could open—these were the things that mattered now. Kael could rearrange his schedule, make the necessary adjustments. But as his feet carried him forward, the unease refused to leave him, lingering like a shadow at the edges of his thoughts.
Quickening his pace, Kael tried to focus on the plans and possibilities ahead. Yet, beneath the surface, something darker stirred. It was a quiet, creeping feeling, one that told him the path he was about to walk would be more perilous than any debate or tournament. The weight of it pressed against him, unseen but undeniable.
And still, the image of the temple remained, burned into his mind. A distant silhouette now, but not for long. He couldn't shake the sense that soon, it would be more than just a landmark on the horizon. Soon, it would demand his attention.
As if the world itself was waiting. Stirring. For something — or someone.