The deep, resonant toll of the Academy's great bell echoed across the grounds, marking the beginning of the midday recess. It rang with such solemnity that it seemed to carry more weight than just the passage of time—a reminder, perhaps, of the gravitas expected within these hallowed walls.
I slipped out of class, keeping my gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The stares followed me, as they always did now, heavy with curiosity, envy, and awe. It was a burden I hadn't yet learned to carry gracefully, so I avoided it as best I could.
The Academy's park was a sanctuary of green amid the stone and grandeur. Towering trees stretched their arms skyward, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. Benches dotted the landscape, tucked under canopies of branches or nestled in sunlit clearings. It was beautiful, serene—a little pocket of peace amid the chaos of my new reality.
I chose a bench beneath the shade of an ancient oak, its branches forming a protective arch overhead. Settling down, I opened the lunchbox prepared by my family's chef.
The aroma hit me first, warm and spicy, as I unwrapped a carefully packed grilled chicken sandwich. I took a bite, the flavors bursting across my tongue in a perfect harmony of heat and savoriness. "Delicious," I muttered to myself, savoring another bite with closed eyes.
The moment was brief.
The bench shifted under added weight, startling me. My eyes snapped open to find someone sitting beside me.
"I—I greet Your Highness," I stammered, scrambling to my feet so quickly that my lunchbox tumbled from my lap, its precious contents hurtling toward disaster.
"Oh no!" I gasped, but before the thought could fully form, the prince moved.
With a speed and precision that belied his casual demeanor, Prince Valkas von Thane caught the box mid-air, its contents miraculously intact. He handed it back to me with a smile so effortless it seemed practiced.
"Please, Lady Elara," he said warmly, "be more careful."
I accepted the lunchbox, my cheeks flushing as I mumbled, "Thank you, Your Highness."
His smile didn't waver. "I simply wished to join you for lunch."
For a moment, my thoughts raced. The third prince wanted to eat with me? I wasn't naïve.
'This is because I'm a Diamond-grade summoner,' I thought, the realization as sharp as the spices lingering on my tongue. It made perfect sense. My status far outclassed anyone else in the Kingdom of Thane, and my future potential was staggering. A connection with me could be invaluable, politically and strategically—especially for a prince like Valkas, who faced formidable odds against the crown prince, his older brother.
I bit into my sandwich again, trying to calm my nerves as the implications churned in my mind.
'Be careful, Elara,' I reminded myself. Power, no matter how unrefined, attracted attention, and attention could be as dangerous as it was flattering.
Lost in thought, I barely noticed him leaning closer until his proximity jolted me back to reality. My instincts kicked in, and I shifted away instinctively, heart pounding.
The prince paused, blinking at my reaction before retreating with a soft laugh. "My apologies," he said, his tone light and teasing. "You just seemed to be enjoying your meal so much—it was hard not to notice."
My cheeks grew warmer, and I focused on my sandwich, chewing slower to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him retrieve his own meal, a neatly packed bento that looked far too delicate for someone of his stature. He opened it with the same practiced grace he seemed to bring to everything, his movements unhurried.
There was a quiet ease to him, but I wasn't fooled. Beneath that polished exterior lay ambition, sharp and deliberate. It wasn't hostility—I didn't sense malice from him—but there was a weight to his actions, a sense that every gesture carried intention.
I kept my guard up, though his smile and charm made it difficult. And, to my reluctant admission, he was handsome—annoyingly so. His crimson eyes, bright and sharp, held a warmth that felt like a summer sun, though I knew it could burn if I got too close.
"You have good taste," he said casually, nodding toward my lunch.
"It's my family chef's doing," I replied, my voice steadying. "He's very skilled."
"And modest, too," Valkas chuckled. "I wonder, Lady Elara, are you always so humble, or is it just because I'm here?"
I glanced at him, unsure how to respond. His teasing tone wasn't mocking, but it had an edge that hinted at layers beneath the surface.
"Perhaps I'll let you decide," I said finally, offering a faint smile.
He laughed, the sound light but genuine. "Fair enough," he said, taking a bite of his own food. "I think I'll enjoy getting to know you, Lady Elara. After all, it seems we'll be seeing much more of each other in the days to come."
I nodded politely, but inside, my thoughts churned. The prince was dangerous—not in the way of an enemy, but in the way of someone who could change the trajectory of your life without ever letting you see the strings he was pulling.
And if I wasn't careful, I might find myself tangled in them.
"If I may ask," I began hesitantly, curiosity lacing my words, "How did you catch my lunchbox so effortlessly? Did you… synchronize with your summon?"
Synchronization—a cornerstone of the Summoner Trait, allowing a summoner to tap into their summon's abilities, albeit in a diluted form. Heightened senses, enhanced reflexes, even bursts of physical power. If I could learn to synchronize with Aria, I could potentially strengthen my body, though nothing I could borrow would ever match the raw, unyielding strength of her Primary Trait.
But to my surprise, the prince shook his head. "No," he replied simply. "I partook in knight training when I was younger."
"Knights?" I repeated, tilting my head in confusion. The word felt foreign, archaic, like something from an old tale whispered around a fire. Knights were relics of a forgotten age, bound by the limitations of human biology. Alpha Terra—the lowest of all biological grades.
"Knights are…" I hesitated, unsure if I should voice my thoughts. "I mean, they're—"
"Obsolete?" he finished for me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I suppose they are."
Even the most skilled knights, honed through decades of relentless training, would falter before a Silver-grade summoner and their first summon. A single summon, even one of modest strength, could decimate entire battalions of knights with ease.
"Then why train?" I asked, my curiosity deepening.
He leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes scanning the garden as if searching for words among the swaying leaves. "Knights still exist," he said finally, his tone casual, though his gaze sharpened. "They're not gone, merely… diminished. Nowadays, most knights are failed summoners—those who manifested Bronze-grade grimoires and lacked the talent to summon anything useful. Knight orders persist because there are still plenty of those."
I blinked, taken aback. "I didn't know that."
"It's not exactly a secret," he continued with a wave of his hand. "But it's not something people talk about often, either. Knights have become a symbol of persistence rather than power. They hone their craft for years, decades even, but…"
His voice trailed off, and his smile turned faintly sardonic. "My Infernal Boar could tear through an entire knight order in minutes. They're good for ceremonial roles, maybe, but in battle? Useless."
"Isn't that a bit harsh?" I asked, though his words made an uncomfortable amount of sense.
"Perhaps," he said, his tone softening. "But it's the truth. The world changed when summoning emerged. It became humanity's lifeline. As long as we remain Alpha Terra, summoning higher-grade beings is our only path to survival."
His words hung heavy in the air, a truth I couldn't deny. Without summoning, humans were fragile, limited by their biology and unable to stand against the monstrous forces that dominated this world.
"Then why did you train as a knight?" I pressed.
He shrugged, but his movements were deliberate, not dismissive. "Physical ability still matters," he said. "Even as summoners, we shouldn't neglect our own bodies. What good is a summon if you can't keep yourself alive long enough to command it?"
I glanced at his hand, noticing the hardened patches of skin along his palm and fingers. Calluses.
My father's hands bore similar marks from his occasional sword training, though his were smaller, less defined—a hobbyist's scars. The prince's calluses, by contrast, were larger and more pronounced, evidence of years of dedication.
"But, Your Highness…" I began tentatively. "I may be presumptuous, but… you enjoyed knight training, didn't you?"
For a moment, his expression shifted, his polished mask slipping ever so slightly. His smile softened into something quieter, more genuine.
"I did," he admitted, almost wistfully. "There's a simplicity to it. A clarity. When you train as a knight, it's just you, your sword, and your will. There's no grimoire to guide you, no summon to shoulder the burden. It's a battle against yourself."
He paused, his gaze growing distant. "Of course, it's a doomed pursuit. No amount of skill or strength will ever let a human reach beyond their limits."