Chapter I – Part One

CHAPTER I. THE ARCADIAN PRINCESS, KAYAMI RESHA VON BIELEFELLE

The nightmare always ended in white.

Resha bolted upright in her bed, breath catching, fingers clawing at the silk sheets. For a moment, she expected to see the towering pillars of the Inner Sanctum closing in on her. Or the massive tattered wings — blotting out everything — eclipsing her. 

But there was only the howling wind.

Within her bedchamber at Sol Academy, the heavy velvet curtains lashed against the walls. A violent gust had forced the balcony doors ajar, scattering the parchments on the floor.

That must be it. 

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. 

The wind. That must be why the memory of that night came back.

Resha pulled her knees close to her chest, drawing warmth from her own body. There was always the other thing — a dull, feverish thump behind her sternum that had lived in her chest for eleven years and refused, no matter the season, to go cold. The monstrous roar still vibrated in her ears, but the frantic thrumming of her own heart drowned it out.

She took a deep breath. Then another. Then she scrambled out of bed and crossed to the window. She threw her weight against the oak panel, forcing it shut against the gale. 

The latch clicked into place. Then the silence rushed back — heavy and artificial. 

She pressed her forehead to the glass. The cold biting against her skin grounded her. She let the fragments dissolve one by one: the howling wind, the clash of steel, the piercing red gaze through the shadows.

But the ache of losing her parents never did. 

She turned from the window.

Below, in the darkness of the treeline, a shadow detached — a silhouette that lingered for a heartbeat too long, watching her pale reflection through the glass before vanishing into the wind. 

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The sun had barely crested the jagged peaks surrounding the academy of magic. The pleasant morning breeze turned the gusty winds from last night to a distant memory. As the first bells chimed within Sol Academy, their resonance vibrated through the stone floors of the dormitories, signaling the start of a new day.

Through an open window on the second floor, Headmaster Rean Valerius Alistair sat at his desk with a cup of lavender tea, the steam curling into the morning air. To the world, he was the scholarly anchor of Sol Academy — a man of peace, content to wait. 

But few knew who he really was behind the scholarly mask: a man who had dedicated himself to the heir of the Arcadian throne.

Eleven years ago, the news of a winged beast shattered the kingdom, leaving a princess orphaned, and a throne empty. The young Resha — still too small, suffering from the shadows and nightmares of the attack that rendered her speechless — had been sent to Sol Academy to recover. To prepare. Leaving the affairs of the kingdom to her uncle and her savior, Remus Xanguis Von Bielefelle, acting as its Regent in her stead.

He had questions about that night that had never been answered. 

But while those questions remained locked in silence, he had dedicated himself to the girl. Not just as her headmaster — but as a quiet tribute to the man his old friend Regis had been. 

The mahogany door swung open with a loud thud, shattering the quiet. Rean looked up, his expression shifting from a scholarly fog to a patient, fatherly amusement. 

“Ah, Hollie,” he watched his assistant scramble in, heaving and panting like she sprinted the length of the academy grounds. “Staying out of trouble now, I suppose?” A chuckle escaped his mouth, knowing full well how she was a natural lightning rod for chaos.

But the girl didn’t offer her usual sheepish grin.

“H – Headmaster…! A visitor has come for you!” 

The amusement left his face. “A visitor?” 

“I – it’s….” Her hands fumbled. “A… An Arcadian envoy is here to see you.”

A wave of solemn nostalgia washed over him. An envoy meant one thing: a message from the regent. He had watched that girl grow from a child still trembling from a blood-soaked night into something that would have made Regis weep with pride. He turned his swivel chair to face the window. The peaks of the surrounding mountains were gold-tipped in the morning light. 

The cup suddenly felt very heavy.

The time has come, huh?

“Send them in.”

“Huh? Oh! R — Right away, Headmaster!” Hollie responded before hurrying out of the room.

Rean turned back to the window, watching the flash of movement toward the west wing.

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The walls of the academy’s training hall shone brilliantly in the spring sunshine. Located in the west wing, the hall was typically a whirlwind of activity, packed with students and squires engaged in mock battles.

Keiran Alexander Halberd — the future knight to Arcadia’s heir — frequented the hall more than any other. It wasn’t merely a place to spar; it was his sanctuary whenever he was off-duty. A man of immense promise, Keiran possessed a raw strength that rivaled Arcadia’s most seasoned veterans. Handpicked by the Regent Remus himself, he was the princess’s oldest friend: the obvious choice to become her shield. Yet, his rapid ascent earned him the shadow of jealousy. Disgruntled knights often challenged his right to the role, and Keiran always accepted with a sharp, confident grin. He was not the type of man to ever back down from a fight.

An unusual challenger had graced the training hall, drawing in curious spectators to the doors – eager to catch a glimpse of the sparring session. 

Inside, the ringing sounds of steel reverberated through the hall. To the crowd, Keiran appeared to be on the defensive, blocking a relentless barrage of attacks with his training sword. 

But the smug grin on his face told a different story.

“Someone seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed today!” He rolled his neck with grace, bones popping in unison. “Come on, princess. You’re barely making me sweat!”

“As prideful as ever, I see,” On the other side of the arena, Resha stood in her casual royal clothes, one hand on her hip, the other holding a standard academy rapier. “Your reputation precedes you, Sir Keiran. Though I’m afraid such arrogance could get you killed one day.”

“Hah. I’ll just have to make sure that day won’t come then.”

Resha shook her head, pressing a hand to her forehead. His playful arrogance was Keiran’s trademark — she had known it since they were children. She had grown up alongside it, but she never had quite decided whether it exasperated or reassured her. However arrogant he may be, he stood as a paragon of excellence now: the future Queen’s Knight.

The exasperation didn’t escape his notice. “There’s something bothering you.” He lowered his training sword, sensing the absence of the fire she usually carried. “You seem… unusually tense.”

“Nothing to be concerned about.” The smile came automatically. After all, it was the one she’d rehearsed in every mirror; the one that meant the opposite of what it said. She angled her rapier at him again. “Shall we continue?” 

Then she lunged. 

Keiran deflected her with a casual flick of his wrist. A resounding clash echoed within the hall each time their blades met. 

But in Resha’s mind, she could only hear the sound of her father’s blade being drawn that night. 

Keiran’s strength was undeniable; she knew he was holding back. But today felt more than usual. The bitter taste of resentment formed in her mouth: she hated the way he moved with such easy grace — always a step ahead, always ‘protecting’ her from a blow he knew she couldn’t land. She was that little girl again: hidden in the shadows, a scream locked behind her teeth, and the winged beast towering above her – its face dissolving into darkness before she could even name what she was losing.

 The feeling of being powerless clung to her like a venom.

No… I won’t ever let that happen again…!’

Resha saw it — a flicker of hesitation in his easy grace, a gap in his guard as he pivoted too widely: the opening she had been praying for.

“Eyes in front, Keiran!”

“What…?!”

With a quick spin of her sword, she lunged. The rapier became a silver streak, aimed straight for his hand. For a heartbeat, the venom in her chest transformed into pure, kinetic energy. 

She was going to land it. She was going to prove she wasn’t helpless. 

Caught off-guard, Keiran scrambled back, dodging the strike by a hairsbreadth. Resha gave him no quarter — she dropped low and swept his legs with a roundhouse kick. 

“Shardlicker!” The sudden attack stole his balance. He tumbled backwards.

He’d pulled his strength the whole match. He didn’t want to hurt her. He had reach, power, every advantage that should have mattered. But in that moment the princess had moved like the wind, and it was wrong to have given her a handicap at all.

His hand found the floor before he hit it. One push, and he was back on his feet, sword up.

“You better—” The words died. 

Resha was gone.

The moment he spun around, the tip of her rapier pressed against the side of his neck.

“Do you yield?” She asked from behind, breath heaving. 

Keiran’s eyes flared. For the first time, she managed to slip past his guard and had the audacity to hold him at swordpoint.

“Keiran, do you yield?”

The playful knight vanished, replaced by a man who refused to be bested.

“No.”

A faint, amber glow pulsed from within his gauntlet; the earth arcana shard responding to his emotions. There was no graceful parry this time – only a brutal, supernatural force. With a flick of his wrist, he swatted her blade aside. Resha fumbled, but withdrew her sword. The gap between them collapsed fast; Keiran’s stride ate the distance in a single step. She thrust her rapier towards him, but he caught the blade with his gauntlet. Resha tried to pry and pull her blade back. But the difference in their strength was apparent.

“Resha, you of all people should know that close combat is where I excel the most.” 

He swung his other hand upwards, knocking the sword from her hand, disarming her. The rapier flew the length of the hall and buried itself deep into the stone wall — missing a bystander by a hairsbreadth. The shockwave of the magical blow vibrated up her arm. For a moment, her fingers became numb.

Keiran stood tall: his breathing still shallow and posture still perfect. The amber glow faded, leaving only the bright spring sunshine. “Careful, Princess.” His voice was smooth as silk. “You nearly caught me there. But we mustn’t get reckless.” He offered her that same practiced, handsome smile. “A Queen’s shield must never be broken, after all.” 

The air between them shifted.

Resha stared at her empty hand. The amber glow of his arcana shard had already faded, but the truth burrowed in her mind. Keiran hadn’t just defended himself; he had shut her down. 

Power. 

If she had possessed power, or even a fraction of her mother’s arcana that night — if she hadn’t been a cowering child in the dark — perhaps the beast would have been the one to fall. Perhaps her father’s blade wouldn’t have had to buy them those final, desperate seconds. The realization hit her harder than Keiran’s parry. She wasn’t just fighting a would-be knight; she was fighting a world where only those with arcanas could dictate who lived and who died.

The silence of the hall was shattered by a hushed, confused voice from the sidelines.

“Wait… did Sir Keiran just channel his arcana shard?” a young squire whispered, his voice carrying in the high arches. “Against the Princess? In a spar?”

The murmur rippled through the gathered students. It wasn’t just a breach of etiquette; it was an admission that Keiran had been forced to his limit by a girl he claimed to be protecting.

Resha snapped out of her trance, her eyes darting from her punctured rapier to Keiran’s composed face. The playfulness had returned, but she caught the slight tension in his jaw — a crack in his perfect porcelain mask.

“A knight must always be prepared, even in practice,” His voice was loud, but projected a calm authority that silenced the murmuring squires. 

He crossed the hall to the wall where her blade remained embedded, spared only a dismissive scoff for the terrified student who had nearly been impaled, and pulled the rapier from the stone with a single effortless tug. He walked back to Resha, offering the weapon hilt-first with a shallow bow.

“The Princess has grown formidable.” His eyes locked into hers. “I wouldn’t want her to think I wasn’t taking her seriously.”

But Resha didn’t reach for the hilt. She looked at the rapier: the academy-issue grip, the dulled steel – and left it hanging in his outstretched hand. A child’s toy; trinkets that could never hope to pierce the shield he claimed to be, or the wall he had just built between them.

“Your Highness!” a guard called from the entrance, his voice echoing through the thinning crowd.

Resha and Keiran both glanced up as the man wove through the students.

“What is it?” Keiran’s voice regained its sharp, authoritative tone as soon as the messenger came to a halt.

“Sir Keiran. Your Highness.” The guard panted, offering a hasty but respectful bow. “An envoy has just arrived from the Arcadian capital, Regalia. The Headmaster requests the Princess’s presence in his office.”

Resha’s heart lurched. The frustration from the spar didn’t vanish — dread simply arrived on top of it, colder and sharper – the way frost doesn’t kill a fire so much as seal it under ice. The nightmare from that morning flashed behind her eyes: the swirling blur of the beast’s face, the smell of smoke and her mother’s lifeless body. Her dream had been a warning. The capital, Regalia, would no longer be a distant memory. Soon, she would be standing at its gates again.

“Regalia…” The name came out as a whisper, masking the sudden chill in her veins. “Thank you, I will be there as soon as possible,” She thanked the guard before turning towards the exit, her eyes already fixed on the hallway leading to the Headmaster’s office.

“I’ll accompany you.” 

He handed their training weapons to the guard before following her. He looked at her, searching her face again for the fire she usually carried, but only found a quiet, focused stillness.

They passed the tall, stained-glass windows of the corridor, weaving through the cacophony of chattering students. Keiran stayed a few steps behind. Their silence was neither angry nor awkward, but heavy. The rhythmic clink of his greaves sounded like the ticking of a clock. The spring sunshine felt thin and pale, as if the capital’s shadows were already stretching to reach them.

“Who do you think my uncle sent over?” Resha asked quietly, breaking the silence between them as they approached the Headmaster’s heavy mahogany doors. 

Keiran’s jaw tightened, gaze fixed forward. “We’ll know soon enough.” 

He stopped a few steps behind her outside the office. 

She caught him watching her back — the careful, measuring way he always watched, as if her silence were a problem he could solve if he studied it long enough. 

“I wish you would trust me,” he said, low enough to pass as a whisper. He closed the distance between them, standing inches away, and leaned towards her ear.

“I am your shield, Resha. Whatever they say, just remember that you don’t have to bear it alone.”

Heat climbed her neck without permission. She didn’t answer, but his words settled in her mind like an iron anchor, holding her fast against the dread that threatened to pull her under. She took a breath, smoothed her academic clothes, and signaled the guards at the door. 

The heavy wood swung open, and she walked through it.