Novel Full Chapter 383: Separate Discussions And Discoveries
Chapter 383: Separate Discussions And Discoveries
The moon was just beginning to rise, casting a silver sheen across the rooftops of ElderGlow Academy, when Elias returned to the dormitory tower reserved for final-year champions.
The halls were quiet — not from emptiness, but reverence. Even the chatter of other students seemed to hush as he passed by. Whispers followed him like dust trails on polished marble.
He didn’t notice.
Or if he did, he didn’t care.
His footsteps echoed softly as he climbed the final flight of stairs toward his room.
But when he reached the last turn, he paused.
Someone was already waiting at his door.
It wasn’t a fellow student.
Nor a faculty member.
It was a woman — older than him by a decade perhaps, dressed in traveling leathers with a long gray braid down her back and an aura that didn’t waver even in silence.
She wasn’t smiling.
But she wasn’t hostile either.
Elias approached carefully, stopping a few paces short.
“You’re early,” he said.
“You’re late,” the woman replied. Her voice was calm. Measured. “You made a lot of noise today.”
“You watching from the capital?”
She said nothing.
Then, after a pause, “You’ve drawn attention. Unavoidable now.”
“I never planned to hide.”
“No. But now you can’t pretend you’re not being followed.”
Elias unlocked the door.
“Come in, then,” he said. “No point in whispering in the hall. The Porters might find out.”
Elsewhere, on the far western wing of the academy campus, a more formal meeting was underway.
A private banquet hall — smaller than the ones used for celebratory feasts, but no less elegant — had been prepared for only two people.
A circular table sat beneath a chandelier of hovering magical lights, glowing faintly gold. The food had already been laid: roasted boar, steamed roots, slices of citrus-touched venison, and a decanter of deep amber wine.
Damon Terrace walked in first, visibly stiff in his shoulders, though he tried to pretend otherwise.
Lord Terrace, already seated, motioned for him to take the seat opposite.
Damon hesitated only a second before doing so.
No words for the first few moments.
Only silence as they each studied the other — father and son, split by age, by power, and by layers of unspoken expectation.
“You made quite the impression in the tournament,” Lord Terrace said finally, voice cool.
Damon shrugged lightly. “Didn’t realize betting was so admirable.”
“You made calculated choices. Backed the right people. That counts.”
There was a pause.
Then: “But you didn’t fight as much as I’d expected.”
Damon raised an eyebrow. “You watched the Year Five Trials.”
“I watched yours as well.”
Damon’s fork froze halfway to his mouth.
Lord Terrace sipped his wine.
“You’re talented. But you’re playing below your class.”
“I’m not trying to show off. Besides, I gave it my all.”
“You’re not showing anything at all.”
Damon set his fork down.
The room grew heavier.
“I’m not Elias,” he said quietly.
“No. You’re not.”
“And I don’t want to be.”
Lord Terrace met his eyes. “Then what do you want to be, Damon?”
Damon opened his mouth.
Closed it.
No witty answer came.
Because he didn’t know yet.
Not really.
Not in a way he could say aloud and make sound respectable.
“I want to make my own way,” he said at last. “I want to stand beside the best — not behind or beneath them.”
Lord Terrace studied him.
Then leaned back.
“Good. Then stop running from the family name like it’s a curse.”
Damon blinked.
“This academy doesn’t care that you’re my son. But the world outside will. You can’t outrun the name Terrace. Not forever.”
“I’m not trying to outrun it,” Damon said. “I just don’t want to be defined by it.”
“Then outgrow it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t tense.
It was heavy.
Full.
Honest.
Lord Terrace set his wine down.
“I came here not to praise you, or scold you,” he said. “I came to see if you were ready.”
“For what?”
“For the path that’s going to open once this academy year ends.”
“You mean the Imperial selection?”
“That’s one of them.”
Lord Terrace’s eyes narrowed.
“But the world is bigger than the Empire. You’re still the heir of the Terrace family. Keep that in mind too.”
Damon didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Because for the first time in a long while, he understood something.
His father didn’t just want him to rise through ranks.
He wanted him to choose his own height.
“I do not want to end up like my twin brother just because I failed to live up to your expectations.” He muttered lowly.
“Then surpass him and I won’t have any reason to treat you like I did him.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
They finished the meal in quiet understanding.
And when they parted ways an hour later, Lord Terrace gave his son no promises.
Only a single piece of advice:
“Surround yourself with people who make your instincts sharper. Not quieter.”
And Damon, for once, didn’t argue.
Back in the dorm tower, Elias finally closed the door behind him, the woman seated on the window sill of his room now watching the city lights.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then she said:
“You’re going to be forced to choose soon.”
“I know.”
“Do you trust anyone here?”
Elias thought of Damon.
Of Anaya’s blunt curiosity.
Of Daveon and Celeste’s wide eyes when he spoke casually.
He thought of Leana.
Of Dean Godsthorn who still had something important to discuss with him.
Then answered softly.
“Some.”
“That’ll have to do.”
~~~~~
Razel Acheon stepped through the southern corridor arch, sharp coat trailing behind him like a shadow.
Students passing by stopped and stared—some out of recognition, others because it was hard to ignore the presence of a man like him.
He rounded the corner and walked up to the side balcony where the third year dormitories were nested. And there, as expected, was his younger brother.
Daveon Acheon, sprawled lazily across the balcony bench, eyes tilted up to the darkening sky.
Razel didn’t speak immediately. He just leaned against the stone rail, watching the stars flicker to life.
“…Still dreaming under the stars?” he finally asked.
Daveon startled slightly. Then sat upright. “Razel?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot your own brother’s footsteps.”
“You walk heavier now.”
“Muscle does that.”
The two shared a quiet smile.
They didn’t need grand reunions.
Not when blood tied them tighter than titles.
Soon, they were strolling through the lower courtyard, side by side.
Razel handed Daveon a small bottle wrapped in cloth—strong, distilled, and far too expensive for academy standards.
“Figured we could use one of these again,” Razel said.
Daveon took a sip and grimaced. “Still burns.”
“And you still flinch.”
They walked past the training yard where fresh Year Ones were already returning to drills. Past the lecture halls, now quiet. Past the statue of the First Archon, where Daveon paused to glance at the inscription again—something he’d done since his second year.
“You’ve grown,” Razel said, watching him.
“Not as much as you.”
“You’re a better caster than I ever was at your age.”
“That’s a first.”
“You’ll get your recognition soon.”
Daveon exhaled. “That supposed to be what tomorrow’s about?”
Razel’s smirk deepened. “You seem to already know I wanted to inform you that we’re meeting.”
“You’re not subtle.”
Razel clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder.
“I’ll keep the surprise for now.”
Eventually, they circled back to the residential wing. Razel paused just outside the dorm entrance.
Daveon blinked. “Not coming in?”
“I’m old. I need the soft beds Godsthorn arranged for us visitors.”
“Afraid of academy mattresses?”
“Afraid of your snoring.”
They shared a quiet laugh.
Then Razel added, voice softer now: “Sleep early. Tomorrow matters.”
Daveon gave a short salute. “Yes, Big Brother.”
Razel rolled his eyes and turned to go.
The walk back to the guest suites near the Dean’s tower was quiet.
At least at first.
Razel passed the greenhouse garden on his right and the old marble pathway that led toward the outer perimeters. No student should’ve been this far out so late, but as he crossed the bend, something made him stop.
It was subtle.
A whisper of magic.
Low-level concealment, not military-grade. Designed for stealth, not war.
And someone—hooded, lean, focused—was kneeling by the edge of a sculpture base, half-hidden by trimmed hedges. They were holding something small. Orb-like. Etched with faint glowing lines.
Razel narrowed his eyes.
The figure dug a shallow hole with practiced speed, placed the orb, covered it, and then moved on as though nothing had happened.
Razel considered interfering—but for now, he stepped into the shadow of the closest arch and simply watched.
A few minutes later, he passed near the alchemy lab yard and saw another figure doing the same thing.
This one looked different—taller, older maybe. Same kind of orb. Same careful digging. Same pattern of moving quickly between locations, as if mapping out the campus.
And then a third.
Near the base of the southern spire.
This one wasn’t even pretending to be subtle—he walked with purpose, pausing just long enough to bury the orb and walk again.
Razel frowned now.
This wasn’t coincidence.
It was a pattern.
A placement strategy.
He stepped into a clear patch, muttered a low-level tracking phrase, and activated a sensory glyph woven into the back of his coat. One of the enchantments placed there during his recent assignment in the Border Outlands.
A soft hum responded.
Twelve.
Twelve matching mana signatures around the campus.
All small.
All buried.
All synchronized.
And all designed to go unnoticed—unless you were looking.
Razel straightened, his eyes narrowing.
This wasn’t casual mischief.
This was preparation.
He turned toward the Dean’s quarters.
Time to report.
But even as he walked faster, a cold thought crept into the back of his mind.
“No one’s scouting like this without intent.”
“And nothing good ever starts with quiet orbs buried in the ground.”