Chapter 23 – Aftermath of the War
The last drops of rain struck the stone.
The sky remained gray — as if even the sun refused to return.
The Academy was silent, but not in peace — it was the silence of fear.
Repair spells glimmered faintly over broken towers and cracked walls.
But people couldn't be repaired that easily.
Those who survived walked slowly, hollow-eyed, carrying the weight of ghosts.
Seryn crossed the courtyard, feeling eyes follow him.
Some watched with respect, some with unease.
He had fought at the front, survived where many had not.
But more than that — he carried the name Daskal.
Exiled or not, the name alone drew whispers.
The North still remembered the Daskals —
their power, their pride, their downfall.
---
In class, half the seats were empty.
The air felt heavy, thick with absence.
The instructor's voice trembled:
"Today we resume mana stabilization exercises. For those who remain."
Seryn focused on the glowing sphere,
but the screams and fire of that night still echoed in his mind.
The light flickered weakly — he sighed.
This was no longer a place of learning.
It was a tomb with walls.
---
By afternoon, the Academy was crawling with outsiders.
Imperial inspectors.
Temple priests.
They wandered the halls, whispering prayers and sealing doors.
Banners hung from the gates:
> "Under Imperial Supervision."
"Blessed by the Light."
The Academy was no longer free — it was owned.
Students whispered as they passed.
"They say the Temple will take over."
"No, the Empire's already in charge."
Seryn ignored them.
He didn't need rumors to know the truth —
the Academy's independence was gone.
---
At dusk, a messenger arrived.
"The Ritual Division requests your presence."
The corridor was dim, the scent of burnt mana still in the air.
Inside the chamber, Seraphine stood beside a glowing circle of runes.
Her violet robe shimmered faintly, her tone calm yet sharp.
"Your family name is being spoken again," she said without looking up.
"Even cast out, the Daskals are not forgotten."
"I'm not one of them," Seryn replied quietly.
Seraphine finally met his gaze.
"The world doesn't care what you believe, Seryn.
It only remembers what you were born as."
She gestured toward the circle.
"From today, you'll attend both the mage and ritual divisions.
The Empire watches you. The Temple watches you.
I want you to understand yourself — before they decide what you are."
Seryn nodded. "Understood."
He stepped into the circle.
The runes glowed faintly, as if recognizing him.
The floor trembled — and for the first time since the battle,
he felt the world respond.
---
That night, the towers of the Academy shone once again.
But it was not light born of peace — it was the glow of control.
Temple seals gleamed like chains against the stars.
Seryn stood at his window,
watching soldiers and priests move below.
His reflection met his eyes — gold and unyielding.
"I won't be their heir," he whispered.
"Not to my blood. Not to their god. Not to anyone."
And in the darkness,
he smiled.
Because for the first time since the war,
he felt free.
---
💬 Author's Note:
The war ended, but the Academy has become a stage of power.
Seryn walks beneath its ruins — not as a student, but as the heir to chaos itself. ⚔️