Caelan stepped out of Professor Selwyn Malkorin's office, the warm scent of herbal tea lingering faintly on his clothes. The conversation they'd shared left him with a renewed sense of purpose, but also a familiar pang of curiosity. He glanced back at the closed door for a moment before making his way down the corridor, the echo of his boots on the polished stone floor accompanying his thoughts.
Professor Selwyn Malkorin. Or, as some called him, Elder Selwyn. The title was a mark of respect, one rarely bestowed upon someone so young. At just twenty-seven, Selwyn was a prodigy—a man whose wisdom and mastery of ancient languages, magic, and political acumen had earned him a position of high regard within the academic and magical communities alike. To Caelan, however, he was more than just a mentor. He was someone Caelan genuinely looked up to.
"Professor Selwyn feels like the older brother I never had," Caelan mused silently, a small smile tugging at his lips. Being an only child had its advantages, but it also left a void—a yearning for companionship and guidance that his parents, as loving as they were, couldn't always provide. Selwyn filled that role effortlessly, not just with his advice but with his quiet understanding.
What made Selwyn even more intriguing was his background. Like Caelan, Selwyn came from royal blood. He was the son of a king, the elder brother to a younger sibling who now sat on the throne. Yet, despite being born with every advantage and power at his disposal, Selwyn had chosen a different path.
"Instead of fighting for the throne," Caelan thought, his steps slowing as he walked past a row of arched windows overlooking the academy's sprawling gardens, "he left it all behind."
The story was well-known, though rarely discussed openly. Selwyn's younger half-brother, Prince Theron, had ascended to the throne after a quiet but undeniable power struggle. Selwyn, with his superior magical abilities and natural charisma, could have easily claimed the crown for himself. Many believed he was the rightful heir. But instead of engaging in a battle for power, Selwyn had walked away.
"He could have crushed Theron," Caelan murmured under his breath. "But he didn't. He chose peace over power."
That decision alone had earned Caelan's respect. Power, as Caelan had learned from his own royal upbringing, was a seductive force. To turn away from it—to willingly relinquish it—required a strength that few possessed. Selwyn had chosen to dedicate his life to knowledge, teaching, and the preservation of ancient wisdom. In doing so, he'd become a professor at the Central Academy of Eldranor and, eventually, an elder—a title granted only to those whose contributions to magical and academic fields were unparalleled.
Yet, for all his virtues, Selwyn remained something of an enigma. While most students revered him, there were whispers—rumors that he was aloof, distant, and disinterested in socializing. Caelan had found the opposite to be true. The professor was warm, insightful, and generous with his time, at least to those he trusted. Their tea sessions had become something of a tradition, and Caelan valued those moments more than he could admit.
Still, there was one person who didn't seem to share Caelan's unreserved admiration for Selwyn: Lysandra.
Lysandra, their brilliant yet enigmatic researcher, had been the one to suggest making Selwyn their club advisor in the first place. At the time, it had seemed like a pragmatic choice. Selwyn's expertise in ancient languages and ruins made him an ideal mentor for the Society of ACA. And to be fair, he had exceeded all expectations in that role. Yet, despite her initial suggestion, Lysandra seemed oddly wary of Selwyn, particularly when it came to the golden cage artifact.
"She's the one who told us to bring him on board," Caelan thought, frowning slightly as he walked. "But now, she won't let him anywhere near the artifact."
It wasn't just the artifact, either. Whenever discussions turned to the ruins where they'd found the golden cage, Lysandra would subtly steer the conversation away from Selwyn's involvement. She sought his guidance on other matters—translations, ancient scripts, historical context—but when it came to the artifact itself, she drew a firm line.
Caelan had asked her about it once, during a late-night meeting in the underground workshop. Her response had been evasive, brushing off his question with a vague excuse about "keeping things simple." It hadn't satisfied him, but he'd let it go. Lysandra was their lead researcher, and her instincts had always been sharp. If she believed keeping Selwyn at a distance was necessary, there had to be a reason.
"Even if it doesn't make sense to the rest of us," Caelan thought with a sigh. "We'll follow her lead. That's what we've always done."
The First Competition of the Year
As Caelan rounded a corner, the sound of distant cheers and laughter reached his ears. The academy was alive with excitement—the first competition of the year was upon them. For the founding members of the Society, this year's event marked a significant shift. Instead of participating themselves, they would watch from the sidelines as their trainees took the stage.
Caelan's mind turned to his team. Over the past two years, he had poured his energy into training a group of promising students, molding them into capable explorers and mages. Among them was Rhys, Aldric's younger brother, whose natural talent for blending magic and swordsmanship had made him a standout.
"They're ready," Caelan thought confidently. "We've trained for this. Now it's their time to shine."
The academy's grand arena was already buzzing with activity when Caelan arrived. Students milled about, some in uniform, others in the colorful attire of their respective clubs. The air was thick with anticipation, the hum of magic crackling faintly as teams prepared for the challenges ahead.
Caelan made his way to the staging area, where his team was gathered. Rhys was at the center, his sword strapped to his back and a determined look in his eyes. The other members of the team—mages, scholars, and fighters—were equally focused.
"Alright, everyone," Caelan said, clapping his hands to get their attention. "This is it. You've trained hard for this moment, and I have no doubt you'll make us proud."
Rhys stepped forward; his expression serious. "We won't let you down, Caelan."
"I know you won't," Caelan replied, placing a hand on Rhys's shoulder. "Remember what we've practiced. Trust each other, stay focused, and don't let the pressure get to you."
The team nodded, their resolve solidifying. Caelan watched them for a moment, pride swelling in his chest. This was the future of the Society—the next generation of explorers and scholars who would carry on their legacy.
The cacophony of cheers and the hum of magic in the air greeted Caelan as he entered the arena's reserved section for club leaders and senior members. The first round of the competition starts, and now it was time to reconnect with his closest friends and rivals. The energy in the arena was electric, the crowd's enthusiasm palpable as they awaited the match.
Caelan spotted the familiar faces of Dorian, Seraphine, Elena, and Aldric gathered near the edge of the stands, their attention momentarily fixed on the match underway. Dorian, with his dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes, stood out effortlessly, his regal bearing a testament to his lineage as the prince of Valenor. Seraphine, ever poised and elegant, exuded a quiet confidence, her crimson cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze. Elena's sharp green eyes sparkled with curiosity as she analyzed the competitors, while Aldric's stoic demeanor contrasted with the easy camaraderie of the group.
"Enjoying the show?" Caelan asked as he approached, his voice light but carrying over the noise of the arena.
Dorian turned first, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Caelan! Finally decided to join us, huh? What kept you?"
"Professor Selwyn's advice," Caelan replied, shrugging. "You know how he gets when he's on a roll."
Elena smirked. "And by advice, you mean a lecture."
"More like a conversation," Caelan countered, grinning.
Seraphine gave him a knowing look. "A conversation that likely turned into a strategy session. You're not fooling anyone, Caelan."
He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, you got me."
"Looks like we've got a good turnout this year," Caelan said.
"Better than last year," Aldric agreed, his tone steady as always. "Your team put on quite the show earlier."
"They've worked hard," Caelan replied with a nod. "I couldn't be prouder."
Dorian smirked. "Proud enough to treat us all to dinner after the competition?"
"Only if you win your match," Caelan shot back, earning a laugh from the group.
Before he could settle in with his friends, a familiar voice called out to him from the sidelines. Calvin Arlen Vyeth, leader of the Arcane Consortium, was leaning casually against the railing. His piercing green eyes and calm demeanor made him a magnetic presence, though his posture was relaxed, almost indifferent.
"Prince Caelan," Calvin greeted, his tone teasing as always. "Come over here. Let's catch up."
Caelan excused himself from his group and made his way to Calvin, who extended a hand in a firm shake. The two had become friends during their second year at the academy, sharing classes in advanced magic. Their bond had been solidified during the first club competition, where they had fought side by side against overwhelming odds.
"Prince Caelan," Calvin, his tone teasing. "Or should I say, elder statesman of the Society?"
"Don't start," Caelan replied with a chuckle. "You're not exactly a rookie yourself, Calvin."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Calvin said, his gaze drifting to the arena where their respective teams were preparing. "Watching them take the stage, knowing we were in their place not so long ago. Our first competition was a mess, wasn't it?"
"Speak for yourself," Caelan retorted, a grin tugging at his lips. "I seem to recall my team winning that year."
"Only because you caught us off guard with that illusion spell," Calvin countered, though there was no bitterness in his tone. "But I'll admit, your leadership was impressive. It pushed us to do better."
"And your team's victory the following year pushed us," Caelan replied. "It's funny how rivalry can bring out the best in people."
Reminiscing About the Past
The two fell into an easy rhythm, recounting the challenges of that first competition. The way their clubs had been pitted against each other, pushing each other to their limits. The camaraderie that had grown from that shared experience was something neither of them would forget.
"And now," Calvin said, gesturing to the arena, "we get to watch the next generation go through the same thing. Makes me feel old."
Caelan laughed. "You're twenty, Calvin. Don't start acting like an elder."
Calvin grinned. "Fair point. Speaking of which, your team looks strong this year."
"Your team's mage—Rhys, was it?" Calvin asked. "He's one to watch. His blend of swordsmanship and magic reminds me of someone."
"Don't flatter me," Caelan said with a smirk. "But yes, Rhys has potential. What about your team? I've heard your mage, Lydia is exceptional. Her spell work is impressive. We'll have to be careful."
"Flattery won't save you," Calvin teased. "But I'll take the compliment."
As their conversation shifted to the present, Calvin's gaze lingered on Caelan, a curious glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, "I still can't get used to your new look."
Caelan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Your hair and eyes," Calvin clarified. "When we first met, you had silver hair and blue eyes. Now it's dark hair and golden eyes. It's... striking, to say the least."
Caelan smiled faintly. "It's a trait of the royal family of Eryndor. Not everyone has it, though—only those with high mana reserves. It's a side effect of our heritage."
"Fascinating," Calvin said, his tone sincere. "Magic runs deep in your bloodline."
"It does," Caelan agreed. "Though sometimes I wonder if it's more a curse than a blessing."
Calvin tilted his head. "A burden of expectations?"
"Something like that," Caelan replied, his voice thoughtful.
Their conversation turned to the future, a topic that loomed heavily over their final year at the academy. Caelan leaned against the railing, watching the competitors below as he asked, "What about you, Arlen? What are you planning to do after this?"
Calvin chuckled, shaking his head. "Really, Prince Caelan? You're the only one who calls me by that name."
Caelan smirked. "And you're the only one who insists on calling me 'prince.' Isn't this only fair?"
"Whatever you say, Your Royal Highness," Calvin replied with mock solemnity.
"Enough of that," Caelan said, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, though. You could join me as Eryndor's palace magician. You've got the talent for it."
Calvin's expression softened. "I appreciate the offer, Caelan. Truly, I do. But you know I can't. As much as I love magic, I can't abandon my responsibilities. My family, my people, my younger brother—they need me."
Caelan nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I knew you'd say that. And that's why I respect you, Arlen. You're a good leader and a rival I can always count on. But if you ever change your mind, there's always a place for you in Eryndor."
Calvin laughed, his tone lightening. "Don't call me your rival, Your Highness. Someone's bound to take offense."
"Who would take offense?" Caelan asked, genuinely curious.
Calvin's grin widened. "Who else? There's only one person in this academy who can rival you in anything—Dorian Valenor."
At the mention of Dorian, Caelan's thoughts drifted to his cousin. The prince of Valenor, with his charm and natural talent, had been a constant presence in Caelan's life since they met at the academy five years ago. Despite their shared royal blood and similar upbringings, their paths had rarely crossed as children. It wasn't until Dorian approached him on their first day at the academy that their bond began to form.
"Dorian's the only one who could ever match you," Calvin continued, his tone playful. "Social status, academics, swordplay—he's your equal in every way."
Caelan smiled faintly. "He's more than that. He's my cousin, my friend... though lately, he's been distant. Reckless, even. I'm not sure what's going on with him."
"You'll figure it out," Calvin said confidently. "If anyone can, it's you."
As their conversation wound down, Calvin's expression shifted to one of mischief. "Speaking of rivals," he said, "what about Seraphine?"
Caelan blinked, caught off guard. "What about her?"
Calvin smirked. "Don't play dumb. We all know you like her. When are you going to do something about it?"
Caelan's face flushed. "What are you talking about?"
"Come on," Calvin said, laughing. "This is our last year. If you're worried about rejection, don't be. From where I'm standing, it looks like she likes you too."
Caelan looked away, his thoughts swirling. "I don't know..."
"If you're not sure, ask your friends," Calvin suggested. "Dorian, Elena—they might be able to help."
"I'll think about it," Caelan muttered, his tone unconvincing.
"Don't wait too long," Calvin said, his voice serious now. "Time's running out."
As the conversation ended, Caelan found himself staring out at the arena, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The competition, the artifact, the friendships he'd forged, and the future that awaited them all—it was almost too much to process. But one thing was certain: whatever lay ahead, he would face it with the same determination that had brought him this far.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd find the courage to confront the feelings he'd kept hidden for so long.