Chapter 32: Lord Drakon

The afternoon light in the Academy had begun its slow shift toward evening by the time Lazarus left the training hall.

Most of the Class B students dispersed in small groups, still discussing the practical session. A few lingered near the platform to ask Drakon additional questions. Lazarus did not join them. He walked a short distance down the corridor, then stopped near one of the tall windows overlooking the central courtyard and simply waited.

He wanted another look.

It was not difficult to remain unnoticed. Students moved past him without paying much attention, and the instructors were already occupied with their own schedules. After several minutes, the last of the students left the training hall. Drakon remained inside for a short while longer, then stepped out into the corridor alone.

Up close, the perfection of his appearance was almost unsettling.

Blond hair arranged without a single strand out of place. Features so symmetrical they bordered on artificial. The leather jacket sat on his shoulders with the same precise fit it had shown during Orientation. Even the way he walked carried a controlled elegance that living bodies rarely maintained for long.

Lazarus pushed off from the wall and fell into step a short distance behind him.

Drakon noticed almost immediately. He slowed, then stopped near the junction of two corridors and turned.

"Lazarus," he said. The crimson eyes studied him with mild curiosity. "You stayed behind."

"I had a question."

"About the lecture?"

"About you."

Drakon’s expression did not change, but something in the quality of his attention sharpened. The polite instructor’s mask remained in place, yet the stillness beneath it became more noticeable.

"That is an unusual request from a first-year Squire," Drakon said. "Most students are more interested in improving their own summons."

"I am interested in both."

A faint smile touched Drakon’s mouth.

"Very well. Ask."

Lazarus did not waste time with indirect approaches.

"How long have you been serving as an instructor here?"

Drakon considered the question for a moment. "Longer than most of the current faculty. The Academy has undergone several changes in leadership since I first took up this post. I remain."

"And your summoner?"

The corridor was quiet. A distant group of students laughed somewhere below, the sound muffled by stone and distance. Drakon’s crimson eyes remained fixed on Lazarus without blinking.

"That is not information given to students," he said at last. "Even talented ones."

"I am not asking for a name," Lazarus replied. "Only whether the one who called you is still present."

Drakon was silent for several seconds. When he spoke again, his voice carried a slightly different weight.

"The Academy itself is my charge. That is the purpose I was given, and it is the purpose I continue to fulfill. As long as this institution stands, I will remain."

The wording was careful. He had not denied the existence of a summoner, nor had he confirmed that the original caster still lived. He had simply redirected the answer toward the Academy.

Lazarus filed the distinction away.

"You are a Historical Projection," he said quietly.

It was not a question.

Drakon’s smile returned, smaller this time and more genuine.

"You noticed. Most do not. Even among the higher-ranked instructors, only a few have ever looked closely enough to see the difference."

"The connection is too complete," Lazarus said. "There is no living tension between knowledge and Anchor. You are finished."

"An accurate observation." Drakon inclined his head slightly. "I was designed to instruct and to protect. My Domain is tied to the grounds of this Academy. Within these walls, I can exercise certain authorities that would otherwise be difficult to maintain for long periods. Outside them, my presence becomes... less stable."

That explained the Prince-rank impression Lazarus had sensed earlier. A Projection whose Domain was the Academy itself would naturally sit at that level while remaining within its boundaries. If Drakon ever left the grounds, the difference in power would likely be significant.

"Why reveal this to me?" Lazarus asked.

"Because you already knew," Drakon answered simply. "And because you chose to confirm it directly rather than spreading speculation among the other students. That suggests a certain level of discretion. Discretion is useful."

He studied Lazarus for another moment.

"You are an unusual Squire. Your Integration is higher than the records originally indicated, and your understanding of Projections exceeds what most first-years possess. The incident with the Paper Tiger was noted by more than one instructor. Neron has already mentioned you in passing."

Lazarus said nothing.

Drakon continued, "I will not ask how you recognized me so quickly. Every Historian develops their own methods. What matters is that you understand the boundaries. I am an instructor and a guardian of this Academy. I am not a weapon for students to command, nor am I a source of unrestricted information. As long as those lines remain clear, we will have no conflict."

The warning was polite, but it was still a warning.

Lazarus met the crimson gaze without flinching.

"I understand."

"Good."

Drakon turned slightly, as if preparing to continue on his way, then paused.

"One more thing," he said. "The Academy is short on high-ranking Historians. That is not a secret. Using a Projection of my level as permanent staff is one of the methods employed to fill the gap. There are others. You would do well not to dig too deeply into all of them at once. Some answers carry costs that first-year students are not prepared to pay."

With that, he walked on, the measured sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Lazarus remained where he was for a short while longer.

The conversation had given him more than he expected, and less.

Drakon was a Prince-rank Projection bound to the Academy as his Domain. His loyalty was fixed to the institution rather than to any living individual currently present. He had been active for a long time—long enough to outlast multiple changes in leadership. And he was aware that Lazarus could see through the surface of things more clearly than most.

That last point was both useful and dangerous.

Lazarus turned and began walking toward the East Wing.

The artificial sky above the courtyard had deepened into the soft tones of early evening. Students crossed the open paths in pairs and small groups, some still discussing the day’s classes, others already thinking about the evening’s free time. The Academy continued its usual rhythm, unaware—or unconcerned—that one of its instructors was not a living man at all.

Lazarus reached the East Wing dormitories and climbed the stairs to his floor. The corridor was quiet. Most of the other Class B students had not yet returned.

He entered his room, closed the door, and stood for a moment in the silence.

Drakon’s words lingered.

*Some answers carry costs that first-year students are not prepared to pay.*

Lazarus sat down at the small desk near the window and looked out over the Academy grounds. The light continued to fade. In the distance, the upper spires of the Inner Court caught the last of the artificial sun.

He had confirmed what he needed to confirm.

Lord Drakon was a Historical Projection.

The Academy was willing to use such methods to maintain itself in a weakened era.

And at least one of the instructors now knew that Lazarus could see more than he should.

That was enough for today.

"Tomorrow will bring its own complications..."

Lazarus leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, already turning over the next set of questions that would need answers.