Years 2115 - 2118. The Servant Quarters.
The servants' hall of the Ravaryn estate always smelled faintly of steamed bio-rice, recycled air, and the faint scent of ionized maintenance fluid. It was a place of endless work but also close-knit community.
This was where Alia Veryn learned to survive.
She was small, thin, bright-eyed… and troublesome in ways no one expected. Galen, now the limping groundskeeper, was her shadow, but even he couldn't keep up with her cunning.
While Galen focused on Alia's physical training through demanding chores, teaching her the foundations of movement and balance, Alia's mind was left hungry. Official education was forbidden for servants, but Alia was persistent. One day at the age of six, Alia burst into the kitchen at dawn.
"Mara! Teach me to read!"
Cook Mara blinked. "…What?"
"And write! Please!"
A pot clattered. One maid dropped a ladle. Another burst out laughing.
"You? Read?"
"You can barely reach the table!"
Alia stomped her foot. "I'm serious!"
Mara crossed her arms. "Ask Catha."
Catha shook her head instantly. "No, no, no. Not me. My last student set fire to the table!"
"That was ONE time!" Mara snapped.
Alia clung to Catha's apron, eyes shining dramatically. "Pleeeeeease!"
"No."
"Pleeeeeeeeease—!"
"No."
Alia turned to another servant. "And YOU—?"
They all panicked.
"Don't look at me!"
"I can't teach a squirrel!"
"She'll prank us if we refuse—run!"
They scattered. Alia puffed her cheeks angrily.
Then—A deep voice behind her said:
"You are… persistent."
She jumped. It was Head Butler Rowan—tall, stern, surprisingly kind-eyed.
"M-Master Rowan…"
"You want to read?" he asked.
She nodded furiously.
He studied her. Then nodded.
"Come with me."
He took a silver tray from the counter, carried it to the kitchen hearth, and dipped two fingers into cold ash.
Then he wrote on the tray:
$$A$$
"Repeat."
Alia's hand trembled. She copied it. Then B. Then C. Then the whole alphabet.
Rowan watched, fascinated. "She learns fast," he murmured.
Later that night, Rowan stood before the Patriarch in the grand hall.
Patriarch Ravaryn raised an eyebrow. "You taught a servant child?"
Rowan bowed. "She asked boldly. Fearlessly. And… she learned all letters in one morning."
A long silence.
"…Interesting," the Patriarch said.
The same year she learned to read, Alia established her reputation.
"Where is the synthetic storage container?!"
Cook Mara's shout shook the kitchen, sending tremors through the bubbling stew pots. Mara was a whirlwind of stern efficiency, and a missing ingredient in her realm was a crisis.
The large synthetic storage container should've been sitting right beside the nutrient re-heater—instead, when Mara finally spotted it and opened the lid—
POOF!
A sudden, dense cloud of powdered ash, perfectly sifted from the chimney exhaust, burst into her face, coating her spectacles and turning her fiery red complexion an instant, mottled gray.
"AACK—!! ALIAAA!!"
From behind a cryo-bin of nutrient paste, a tiny voice whispered to another maid, barely containing giggles:
"She fell for it! Again! She never checks for weight!"
Alia popped out from hiding, hands on hips, proudly declaring: "It's not my fault she never checks the bottom of the container for the weight displacement!" Mara chased her with a broom, shouting curses that were only half-serious, while the entire kitchen roared with laughter. Alia's cunning wasn't malicious—just chaos wrapped in a defiant, mischievous smile.
By eight, she had become the undisputed terror of the servants' quarters, specializing in nocturnal frights.
It was deep night. The laundry hall was dim, lit only by a single flickering kinetic lamp. Two maids, already jumpy from working late, folded endless stacks of starched sheets when suddenly—
WOOOOOO… WOOOOOO…
A ghostly white figure, unnaturally tall and flowing, drifted silently between the pillars.
The maids screamed so loudly the sound echoed off the stone courtyard, and the guards outside ran in, weapons drawn.
Then the sheet fell.
Under it stood Alia, proud, smug, and holding the kinetic lamp under her chin for maximum eerie effect.
"Behold," she announced dramatically, dropping her voice to a theatrical rasp, "the Spirit of Unfinished Laundry!"
The guards paused, then sighed heavily. The maids, infuriated, dropped their sheets and grabbed her cheeks, stretching them until her eyes crossed.
"You brat!!"
"Stop scaring us half to death!"
Alia laughed so hard she almost fell over, her pranks having successfully broken the oppressive silence of the Ravaryn fortress—at least in their corner of the world.
But outside the safety of the servant hall… Alia was never mischievous. She was quiet. Careful. Distant. Because outside meant risking meeting him.
Eryx Ravaryn. The Patriarch's second son.
Alia was carrying a heavy, stacked tray of clean, starched towels when she turned a blind corner in the East Wing—and ran straight into him.
The towels scattered, flying across the polished, black marble floor in a sudden, white mess.
Eryx simply stared down at her—expression blank, unreadable.
Alia, terrified, bowed quickly, her hands trembling.
"S-sorry, Young Master. My deepest apologies."
He stepped closer. "Pick it up."
She scrambled immediately to gather the pristine towels.
Then—without changing his expression—he stepped on her hand.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.
She tried desperately to pull her hand back—he pressed a little harder, grinding the fine leather of his boot into her skin.
"You should watch where you walk," he murmured, his eyes observing her pain like an academic study. "You dirt from the servant hall spreads too easily."
A tiny, choked whimper escaped her.
Galen, alerted by the subtle Orak disturbance, rushed over.
"Young Master Eryx! My deepest apologies—let me handle this—"
He bowed again and again, desperate, practically shielding her small body with his own.
Eryx removed his foot slowly. He simply said, "Don't let the trash wander where it doesn't belong," and walked away.
Alia's small body trembled uncontrollably. She bit her lip so hard she tasted iron. Galen picked her up, but the hatred she felt then—a quiet, burning ember—would not go out.
Alia was bored. Physical chores were fine, but her mind craved real knowledge, and the servants' library only held recipes and boring ledgers. She needed the Archives. That is when she came up with the ultimate secret plan.
Her target: The Hall of Whispering Scrolls, near the Patriarch's private study.
She waited for the cold, clear night when the guards would be most sluggish.
Phase 1: The Distraction. Alia snuck into the high-status dining hall and found the Patriarch's massive, ceremonial silver tea urn. She didn't touch the tea. Instead, she precisely filled the urn's small, hidden overflow pipe—the one that drained into the courtyard—with the thick, slow-setting gravy left over from dinner.
She then waited in the darkness near the Archives guard post.
GURGLE... BLORT... SPLASH!
The sound was unmistakable: the massive silver urn, which was never supposed to be moved, sounded like it had just sprung a fatal leak and was emptying gallons of liquid onto the pristine marble floor.
"NO! The Patriarch's urn!" Guard Borin, a warrior known for his rigid adherence to protocol, yelled in pure panic. He sprinted toward the dining hall.
Phase 2: The Infiltration. The main door was locked with an Elya-based formula seal. Instead, Alia scurried around the massive marble archway until she found the small, dark access panel—meant only for tiny maintenance drones—hidden behind a decorative banner.
She'd oiled the latch earlier that week. With a soft click, it opened just enough for her to squeeze her nine-year-old body through the dusty, narrow passage.
She emerged into the Hall of Whispering Scrolls, a cold, cavernous space lined with thousands of data crystal cores and massive texts. The scent of dust and ink was overwhelming. She had the skill to read the thanks to Head Butler Rowan. She didn't grab the nearest book. She went for the highest, dustiest shelf in the darkest corner. There, she found a huge, leather-bound volume titled: The Annals of the Council's Foundation.
She yanked it free; dust exploded everywhere, causing her to stifle a loud sneeze behind her elbow.
Phase 3: The Revelation. Alia dragged the heavy book back to her tiny servant room. She devoured the text while everyone else slept.
She learned the truth: the dominion of Erythra was the last stronghold of human society to stand powerful enough against the dragons and the place where she calls home. Ruled by the Five Great Clans (Drakemont, Ironvale, Luminaris, Stonefang, Bloodthorn) forming the ruling Council, Erythra had some sort of centralized government. The council had different bodies to ensure control and safety, the Aegis corp being the main one.
She learned about the Aegis Corp and the terrifying Hive (TSCH), that amplified their power, and the brutal competition of the Academy. With so many new words and information Alia could feel that her head was to be blown off
She had just finished reading about the specific elemental weaknesses of the Stonefang Clan when the door of her room creaked open. Quickly she tossed the book under her straw mattress and then rolled down to the floor picking up boots.
"For a pair of boots loved by the Patriarch, they smell awful. Better clean—Oh! Galen, you are here."
Galen stood there, limping, holding a dim kinetic lamp. His eyes were filled with fury.
"Alia," he hissed, voice heavy with controlled rage. "What is under your mattress?"
Alia froze, her small body tense. She knew she couldn't lie this time.
Galen lunged, ripping the thin mattress away, revealing the massive, ancient tome. He snatched the book, his hands trembling.
"Do you have any idea the danger you just put us in?! The Archives are sealed by Elya. If they catch you—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his features contorted in a rare display of raw fear. "Do you think this is a game? The Patriarch's forgiveness only extends so far!"
Alia shrank back, the terror of his anger greater than the fear of the Archive guards.
He sighed heavily, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came. He put the book down, sinking onto the edge of her cot.
"Look at me, Alia."
She lifted her chin, tears pricking her eyes.
"I know you're smart. Too smart for this place. But you have to understand why we are here, and why knowledge is a weapon the wrong people fear."
He pointed to the book. "You read about the energies. Do you understand them?"
Alia nodded slowly.
"Good. Then listen closely. The War with the Dragons is not over. It is only hidden."
Galen lowered his voice, the silence of the servant hall pressing in around them.
"Humans fight back using Will to command the energy of reality, Orak. You read about the three paths: Vorx, the path of the Spirit, where you summon a power form like your mother's Fox. Elya, the path of the Formula, where you use ancient code to cast spells. And Rynu, the path of the Body, where strength comes from within, like my martial arts."
He looked at her small, fragile frame.
He stood up, his gaze stern. "Now. Where does this go so it's never seen again? You choose the spot."
Alia, humbled and wide-eyed with the weight of the war finally settling on her, pointed to the loose floor panel under the kinetic lamp.
"There," she whispered.
Galen nodded, secured the book, and left her alone with the knowledge of war and the burning image of her mother. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but the fear was now mixed with cold resolve. She would not be "dirt from the servant hall" forever.
In the dead of night, in the small, dusty corner Galen carved out for her behind the coal chute, Alia secretly studied. She utilized stolen paper fragments from the Ravaryn library. She poured over manuals on energy theory and the military world. Later she found about ability users who joined the ranks of Aegis corp, a unique military battalion which constantly fight with the dragon kind. That wasn't the end of her discovery for the only light out of her servant life was laid out in the lines of the book.
The Academy? she thought basically confused. As a servant she never had the chance to formal education. The closest thing she had seen would be the head butler's ash letters. The academy named Citadel, after the seat of the council, was the training ground for Aegis corp. Reading this her eyes glistened. Standing up she saluted the air and brought her right to the front and shouted, "fire ball" expecting a blasted wall. Then suddenly she covered her face with her hands rolling on the ground ashamed of her self
One night, aged ten, she was caught by a senior guard.
"What is this?" the guard sneered, snatching a diagram Alia had been secretly drawing—a complex geometric sequence related to Elya formulas. "Reading about the energy of the formula? Planning to be smart, servant?"
Alia instantly dropped the book she was holding, her eyes wide with manufactured terror. She slid to her knees, her voice a small, terrified squeak. "Sir, please, it was just junk paper! I found it! I don't understand it, I promise! I just thought the shapes were… pretty." Her performance was flawless, a perfect mask of the ignorant, simple child.
The guard laughed, crushing the paper in his hand. "The ambition of a talentless dog. Keep to your scrubbing, girl. We don't need intellectuals in the service." He kicked the dirt-stained book aside and walked away.
Alia remained on her knees until his footsteps faded completely. Only then did her eyes narrow. She stood, retrieved the book, and quietly returned to her corner.
Alia closed the book, running a finger over the smooth, unblemished skin of her neck .where the curse mark lay hidden. 'They think I am broken. They think I am a weakling.' The thought was a raw, burning ember in her mind. Although the anguish she endured outside of Galen's and servants' sight was hell for a child of her age, never was she broken. After confirming she was at a safe distance, she stuck out her tongue mocking the guard
Every tear, every bow, every whispered, meek apology she offered in the Patriarch's manor was a calculated deposit into the bank of her future. She wore the mask of the terrified, talentless servant because it was the strongest armor she possessed.
She knew exactly what leverage she possessed, and she knew the only place large and chaotic enough to allow her to start her investigation and build her true power was the Academy.
'I have to get out of this place. I need contacts. I need power beyond Galen's protection. I need the strength to make Eryx Ravaryn pay for every single humiliation, every footstep on my hands, every smug look of contempt. Finally I will get revenge for my mother, but there is little to be done in this stuck up hall. I need to get out of here and that would be on the promised date with the Marshal.'