Interlude 2

I shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair outside Headmaster Reins' office, my royal posture slipping for just a moment. The stone walls of the Academy loomed around me, a far cry from my palace's warmth. A wry smile crossed my face; here I was, Queen of Morne, waiting like a common student.

The sounds of training echoed through the halls as steel struck steel, incantations cast. In just these few weeks, I'd already gained a level and reached level 15. Back home, such progress would have taken months, even with the best tutors gold could buy. The accelerated courses, as well as the scheduled trips down into the Academy Hellzone, had proved their worth.

Yet, not all of my fellow students advanced so easily.

My fingers traced the intricate patterns on my wand as I recalled Professor Shawe's treatment of a commoner student yesterday. Despite performing the spell perfectly, Shawe had marked her work as inadequate. And she wasn't alone; I'd watched many commoner students suffer needlessly at the hands of their noble professors. The problem was widespread. Professor Shawe was one of the worst offenders, but he was not the only one. The faculty seemed determined to degrade and belittle every non-noble student who crossed their path.

Even some A-rank students suffered. Barkatus, who'd earned his place by defeating that pompous prince, endured constant subtle jabs about his common birth from certain instructors. His swordsmanship was exceptional, yet Professor Vorgas always found excuses to critique his form.

The waste of potential made my blood boil. As someone tasked with protecting her people, I couldn't stay silent while talented warriors were held back by mere prejudice. The Academy claimed to value merit above all, but the reality was far different.

A memory of my own coronation flashed through my mind, the weight of responsibility settling on my young shoulders. I might be new here, but I was still a queen. If I couldn't use my position to address injustice, what good was wearing the crown?

The heavy oak door beside me remained firmly shut as I heard Headmaster Reins' muffled voice from within. I straightened my back, smoothing my uniform. I would wait as long as necessary. Some battles required patience rather than force.

The aide gestured me into Headmaster Reins' office. The room was stark, matching what I'd come to expect from the Academy's martial aesthetics. My attention immediately drew to an enormous shield mounted on the wall. Its intricate design spoke of masterwork craftsmanship, but it was the magical energy radiating from it that made my breath catch. The enchantments woven through that metal were beyond anything I'd encountered, even in the royal vaults of Morne.

"Please, take a seat," Headmaster Reins said, his eyes fixed on a crystal pyramid projecting images onto his desk. "I apologize for the delay, but there's a rather important duel about to begin."

I settled into one of the three chairs before his desk, recognizing the southern arena in the projection. The stands were packed with students, their excitement palpable even through the magical viewing device.

"Widow versus young Redflight," the headmaster explained, noting my interest. "I've been quite eager to see this match. You might find it educational as well."

My stomach turned at the mention of a duel. Back in Morne's court, I'd been forced to witness far too many of these "honor matches." I hated watching nobles kill each other over perceived slights while wearing polite smiles. I'd hoped to ban the practice once I had more political capital, but here at the Academy, dueling was practically sacred.

I kept my expression neutral, though inside I seethed at how casually violence was embraced here. Even as a student of war, I believed there had to be better ways to resolve conflicts than trying to murder each other in an arena.

The headmaster leaned forward, clearly invested in the upcoming spectacle. I stayed silent, not wanting to voice my disapproval of a practice so fundamental to the Academy's culture. Still, I couldn't help but think of all the talent and potential that had been wasted over the years in these senseless displays of pride.

I leaned forward, studying the projection with growing interest. Lyman Redflight; I recalled him from several formal gatherings, though his duchy's name escaped me. He wore intricate plate armor that was most likely enchanted, and his stance spoke of years of training.

But Widow... my breath caught at her transformed appearance. Gone was the mourning dress and demure demeanor. In its place stood a mechanical horror that barely resembled anything human. Four arms sprouted from a twisted frame, each gripping deadly weapons. Her legs bent backward like some predatory beast's, and only the familiar black hair streaming from her helmet identified her as the same quiet student from our classes.

"Fascinating construction," Headmaster Reins murmured, his eyes fixed on the projection.

The duel began with explosive force. I expected Lyman to overwhelm her; he was a seventh year with far more experience and training. Yet Widow moved with impossible grace, her multiple limbs working in perfect concert. Where Lyman struck with practiced technique, she countered with raw efficiency.

Steel rang against steel as Widow's weapons danced. A sword deflected Lyman's strike while a spear thrust forward. When he dodged, her shield was already there to block his counter-attack. It was like watching someone play an instrument, as every movement was precise and purposeful.

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My fingers clenched the arms of my chair as Lyman unleashed his supernatural speed. Even then, Widow adapted, her mechanical frame twisting to meet his assault. The fight reached its climax when she systematically disabled both his arms and knocked him unconscious.

The crowd's reaction was mixed, with boos and cheers competing for dominance. But what caught my attention was Headmaster Reins' response. Rather than disappointment at a noble's defeat, his face lit up with genuine pleasure.

"Remarkable," he said, grinning broadly. Only when Widow spared Lyman's life did his expression darken slightly. "Though perhaps a bit too merciful."

I watched him carefully, surprised by his reaction. I'd assumed he would favor the nobleman, yet here he was, practically glowing with approval at a monster student's victory.

The headmaster waved his hand, and the projection disappeared. "Now then, Queen Bethani. What brings you to my office today?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Headmaster Reins, I must speak with you about the systematic mistreatment of commoner students by the teaching staff."

His smile never wavered as I detailed incident after incident. Professor Vorgas marking down a perfect sword form. Instructor Mills refusing to teach advanced magic theory to anyone without a noble title. My frustration mounted with each example as his expression remained unchanged.

"And Professor Shawe is by far the worst offender," I said, my hands clenching in my lap. "He openly mocks commoner students, refuses to explain basic concepts, and deliberately fails them despite perfect performance. He's an awful teacher who has no place in this institution."

To my shock, Headmaster Reins laughed. "I must disagree, Your Majesty. Malakin Shawe is an excellent teacher, though perhaps not in the way you imagine. He teaches through his actions rather than his lessons."

"I don't understand."

"The systemic oppression you speak of? I am well aware of it. In fact, I approve of it entirely."

My jaw dropped. Though I shouldn't have been surprised. Here was just another prejudiced noble who-

"You misunderstand, Your Majesty," he interrupted my thoughts. "You see, the War Academy is a cauldron. We boil and melt our students, allowing the impurities to float to the surface while the strongest metals settle at the bottom. It is only by facing the harshest environments that warriors can truly grow stronger." He leaned forward. "This is one of Lord Kaldos's most fundamental teachings.

"The commoners and monsters who overcome such overwhelming odds will become incredibly powerful warriors," he said with a savage smile. "And those who cannot..." He shrugged. "Well, war has many casualties."

I sat there, stunned by his casual cruelty masked as wisdom. The worst part was, I could see the twisted logic behind it. But that didn't make it right.

His next words struck me like a physical blow. "You, Your Majesty, will never be a true warrior."

My fingers tightened around my wand until my knuckles turned white. "How dare-"

"Because you've never known true struggle," he cut me off, his voice matter-of-fact rather than cruel. "Born to privilege, raised in luxury. Even your attendance here was smoothed by your title."

I wanted to protest, to tell him about the crushing weight of ruling at fifteen, about my desperate fight to save my people from their curse. But the words died in my throat as he continued.

"I was once like you: noble-born, privileged. Until my family cast me out. I lived in gutters, fought for scraps, killed to survive. Only when I reached the height of my power did they welcome me back with open arms." He gestured to the shield on the wall. "That's when I truly understood what makes a warrior.

"The noble students?" He waved dismissively. "They're props, nothing more. Tools we use to forge real warriors. Their arrogance, their cruelty; it serves a purpose. Every sneer, every insult drives the others to excel, to prove themselves better than their so-called betters."

My mind raced back to Widow's duel, to the raw determination in her movements. To Barkatus, who'd earned his place through sheer skill.

"The true gems of this Academy aren't A-rank nobility like yourself or Lyman Redflight," Headmaster Reins leaned forward, his eyes intense. "They're the ones you call trash. Widow. Her friends. The ones who fight against everything to prove their worth."

I sat there, my carefully prepared arguments crumbling. Everything I'd seen as injustice, he viewed as necessary tempering. Every hardship was intentional, designed to forge stronger warriors through adversity.

The worst part? I couldn't entirely disagree with his logic, even as it threatened everything I believed about fairness and justice.

"Was there anything else, Your Majesty?" He asked.

I shook my head. He dismissed me, and I exited his office. It wasn't until I was ten steps away from the door that the anger flared up inside me.

I stalked through the Academy's halls, my boots clicking against stone with sharp, angry steps. Students scattered before me, sensing the fury radiating from my small frame. How dare he? How dare he dismiss everything I'd accomplished?

My people loved me. They trusted me. When the plague struck last winter, I'd worked myself to exhaustion organizing relief efforts. When bandits threatened our borders, I'd personally led troops to defend our villages. I'd given birth at fifteen to secure my kingdom's future, enduring pain that would have broken lesser souls.

And he called me a prop?

I burst into an empty classroom, slamming the door behind me. My hands shook as I gripped my wand, frost spreading across its crystalline surface. The temperature in the room plummeted as my magic responded to my rage.

"A tool to forge real warriors," I muttered, his words burning in my mind. "Never known true struggle?"

I'd struggled every day since taking the throne. Fought against ancient traditions that kept my people weak. Battled court intrigue that threatened to tear my kingdom apart. Watched helplessly as elves barely older than myself withered and died from our curse.

That's why I was here! Not for some game of noble pride, but to gain the power needed to save my people. Every spell I learned, every technique I mastered brought me closer to breaking the curse that killed elves before their thirtieth year.

But Headmaster Reins saw none of that. To him, I was just another privileged noble playing at being a warrior. The frost crept up the classroom walls as my anger grew. He thought I had it easy? That I'd never faced real hardship?

I touched my stomach, remembering the agony of childbirth, the terror of knowing I might die before securing an heir. The crushing loneliness of ruling when other girls my age still played with dolls.

Tears of frustration burned in my eyes. I wasn't like the others. I wasn't here for glory or status. Every moment I spent training was for my people, for their future.

But his words wouldn't leave me. Had I truly earned my place here? Or had my title smoothed my path just as he claimed?

The ice coating the room began to crack as my rage warred with doubt.

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