The Thorne Estate loomed against the morning sky, all sharp angles and cold stone. Not grand enough to inspire awe, but substantial enough to announce wealth without saying a word. Much like the family itself, I supposed, significant enough to matter, not powerful enough to threaten.

  Cael and I stood at the wrought-iron gates, watching servants scurry about the manicured grounds. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his shoulders told me everything I needed to know.

  "Remember," he said, voice low, "from the moment we step inside, you're Rhys Thorne. Third son, returned after a mysterious disappearance years ago. The family has kept your return quiet for nearly a year while you..." he gestured vaguely at me, "readjusted."

  "Convenient," I muttered, adjusting the stiff collar of my borrowed formal attire. "And they just happen to look past the fact that I look nothing like them?"

  Cael's mouth quirked slightly. "The mother had an indiscretion years ago. The father knows but maintains appearances. The real Rhys Thorne had darker features than his siblings."

  "So I'm replacing the family bastard."

  "It's a role, Zane. Nothing more." Cael's eyes met mine, hard but not unkind. "Play it well, and it gives you everything you need."

  A footman approached, bowing stiffly before leading us through gardens that seemed designed more to intimidate than welcome. The manor's entryway opened into a cavernous hall where our footsteps echoed against marble floors and tapestry-lined walls.

  We were shown to a study where every surface gleamed with polish and pretension. Rows of leather-bound books stood like soldiers, their spines uncracked. The air smelled of beeswax and ambition.

  Lord Balthazar Thorne waited behind a massive oak desk, his posture rigid as the family crest carved above the fireplace. Beside him stood a woman with hair the color of faded gold and eyes that gave away nothing. Lady Thorne, I presumed. A third figure—a young man perhaps my age or slightly older—lounged against a bookcase, studying me with unconcealed curiosity.

  "Master Veydris," Lord Thorne nodded to Cael, then turned his sharp gaze to me. "So this is your solution."

  Not a question. An assessment.

  Cael gave a slight bow. "Lord Thorne, Lady Thorne, may I present Zane."

  Lord Thorne circled the desk slowly, measuring me with cold, calculating eyes. He wasn't a large man, but something in his bearing commanded attention, the practiced authority of someone who'd spent a lifetime ordering others about.

  "The resemblance is..." he paused, lips pursing slightly, "...sufficient."

  From the bookcase, the young man snorted. "How diplomatic, Father."

  "Marek," Lady Thorne cautioned, her voice soft but edged with steel.

  So this was the elder brother. The heir. He pushed away from the bookcase with languid grace, extending a hand.

  "Welcome to the family, little brother." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Try not to embarrass us."

  I clasped his hand firmly. "No promises."

  Something like surprise flickered across his face before his smirk returned.

  Lord Thorne cleared his throat. "That will be all, Marek."

  The heir shrugged, casting me one last curious glance before sauntering from the room. Once the door closed, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

  "Sit," Lord Thorne commanded, gesturing to a pair of chairs before the desk.

  Cael and I obeyed. Lady Thorne remained standing at her husband's side, her face a perfect, expressionless mask.

  "Our arrangement with Master Veydris is... unconventional," Lord Thorne began, steepling his fingers. "But necessity often demands compromise. You will attend the Academy as our son. You will maintain the fiction that you have spent the past year in seclusion, recovering from your ordeal."

  "What ordeal?" I asked.

  "Kidnapping," Lady Thorne supplied, her voice soft but precise. "By rivals who sought leverage against our trade routes. You escaped under... traumatic circumstances that you prefer not to discuss."

  Well, that explained the expected gaps in my knowledge and any odd behavior.

  "We've spread the appropriate rumors," Lord Thorne continued. "Your return has been kept discreet, but acknowledged in select circles. Your enrollment at the Academy marks your formal reintroduction to society."

  I nodded, committing the details to memory. "And what exactly does House Thorne gain from this charade?"

  Lord Thorne's mouth tightened. "That is between myself and Master Veydris."

  Cael remained silent beside me, his expression unreadable.

  "Fine," I said. "What do you need from me, specifically?"

  "Discretion, above all." Lord Thorne's tone was clipped. "You will represent this house with appropriate dignity. Your primary task is to attend classes, be seen in the right social circles, and avoid unnecessary attention."

  "You will show particular respect to House Eldermere's representatives," Lady Thorne added. "Their eldest daughter and son both attend the Academy. We are in delicate trade negotiations with their family. Your... favorable impression could smooth certain difficulties."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Conversely," Lord Thorne cut in, "avoid unnecessary contact with the Arkenwood cadets. Their family's recent push for military funding threatens our commercial interests. Three generations of their line currently attend the Academy, the grandfather teaches battle strategy to senior students."

  I absorbed this, nodding slowly. "Befriend Eldermere, avoid Arkenwood. Who else?"

  The briefing continued for nearly an hour, a blur of names, alliances, and rivalries that made my head spin. House Thorne's primary interests were in trade routes and agricultural expansion. They weren't among the highest nobility, but their moderate wealth and strategic marriages had secured them a respectable position.

  "One final matter of grave importance," Lord Thorne said, leaning forward. "On rare occasions, members of the Imperial family visit the Academy. If—and this is exceedingly unlikely—you ever find yourself in their presence, you will observe perfect protocol. Second form bow, eyes lowered, speak only when addressed directly."

  He demonstrated the movement, a precise dip with right arm crossed over chest. "A single misstep could ruin years of careful positioning."

  "I understand."

  "Do you?" His gaze pierced mine. "This arrangement benefits you and Master Veydris considerably. For us, it carries significant risk. If exposed, our standing would be irreparably damaged."

  "I won't expose you," I said firmly.

  Lady Thorne's cold eyes narrowed slightly. "See that you don't."

  After a few more instructions, Cael and I were dismissed. A servant escorted us back through the opulent corridors to the front entrance.

  "That went better than expected," Cael muttered as we departed.

  "Did it?" I shook my head. "They look at me like I'm a particularly risky investment."

  "That's exactly what you are to them." He glanced sideways at me. "Learn your part, and play it well."

  The next eight days passed in a whirlwind of preparation. Each morning began with mana control exercises, Lysara's pendant cool against my palm as I channeled thin streams of normal mana to balance the corruption in my chest. The crystal responded to my energy, humming softly as it helped stabilize the dual streams.

  Afternoons were spent with Seraphina and Mrs. Helvina, watching the former slave transform under the innkeeper's wife's patient instruction. Seraphina absorbed everything, how to serve tea without making eye contact, how to address different ranks of nobility, how to move silently through a room as if she didn't exist.

  "Back straight, eyes lowered," Mrs. Helvina instructed, tapping Seraphina's shoulder. "You're not invisible, girl. You're furniture. Useful, well-crafted, but ultimately part of the background."

  Something in me rebelled at seeing Seraphina practice submission after everything she'd endured, but she caught my expression and shook her head slightly.

  "It's just a role," she whispered later. "Like yours."

  Evenings belonged to Cael and the blade. We trained until my muscles screamed and sweat drenched my clothes. He was relentless, driving me harder than ever before.

  "The Academy isn't just books and politics," he grunted, parrying my strike. "Those noble brats have trained with swords since they could walk. You'll be expected to show at least basic competence."

  On the seventh night, exhausted and aching, I collapsed onto my bed. My mind spun with Thorne family history, Academy protocols, and the countless details of my fabricated past. Just as sleep began to claim me, a familiar electric buzz filled the air.

  Bzzzzt

  The glitched screen materialized before me, its edges flickering with unstable energy.

  I sat up, instantly alert. The system had been suspiciously quiet since my encounter with Asmoth and that strange void. Its sudden reappearance sent a chill down my spine.

  I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. "You want me to steal from the Academy? The place with the highest concentration of mages in the kingdom?"

  The system, predictably, didn't respond to my question.

  My blood ran cold. The skills were enticing, but the penalties... I looked down at my arm, where the faint purple veins still pulsed beneath my skin. Twice the corruption rate would kill me within weeks.

  "Crystal Codex," I muttered. "What the hell is that?"

  As if in response, the screen flickered and expanded.

  I hesitated, weighing my options. Stealing from the most secure magical institution in Eryndor was suicidal. But with my condition... did I really have a choice?

  "Yes," I said finally.

  The screen flashed once, bright enough to momentarily blind me.

  The system was speaking more clearly and in a more haunting way than before.

  The screen dissolved into particles of light that faded like dying embers. Alone in the darkness of my room.