Eventually, Priscilla and Maximo's life had to return to normal. Their ocean voyage was still just a plan, but before embarking on that adventure, they had to face their responsibilities. Like all young men, they were obliged to receive a rigorous education at the Schola Patria Potestas, a renowned institution where discipline and knowledge were fundamental pillars.

  At seven o'clock in the morning, the last students entered the campus, some with sleep still reflected on their faces, others hurriedly reviewing their notes. Classes began at exactly 7:10 a.m. without exception. Tardiness was not tolerated, and the teachers made no concessions. They firmly believed in the equality of knowledge between men and women, so the treatment was equal... and, consequently, so was the rigor. No matter where each student came from, everyone in those classrooms was held to the same standards.

  The Schola's curriculum was broad and challenging. Politics, mathematics, astronomy, geography, literature, arts, sports... all students had to take these subjects and could opt for extracurricular activities according to their interests. However, excellence was not easily attained. Those who excelled were those who possessed a prodigious memory, physical stamina or a natural ability to speak in front of crowds.

  Priscilla excelled in many aspects. Her oratory skills and ability to remember details with precision made her an exemplary student in debates and dissertations. She did, however, have one weakness: physical endurance. Although she played sports, long jogs quickly exhausted her, and the sensation of sweat clinging to her skin was unbearable. Despite this, she strove to maintain a good performance in each discipline.

  Maximo, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. His strength lay not in his memory, but in his physical ability. Running, swimming, climbing, anything that required movement was his territory. He had no problem with rhetoric, but avoided public speaking whenever possible. Not that he was terrified of it, but the idea of being in the spotlight made him more uncomfortable than he was willing to admit.

  Then there was Selene. Her academic performance was inconsistent. She was easily distracted and often received calls for attention from professors because of her habit of talking in class. However, she had a natural talent for generating rebuttals in debates, although her rebellious nature and lack of discipline did not make her a favorite with teachers. Where she really shone was in tactical sports and in disciplines that required strategy and agility.

  The hours progressed with the monotony of the study days. The routine was exhausting, and lunch was a small respite before plunging back into the rigor of the lessons.

  When the clock struck noon, the students headed for the dining room, a large room with long wooden tables where they shared their meals. The day was not over yet, there were still several hours to go until dismissal at five o'clock in the afternoon, but it was time for lunch.

  As was customary, gustum de praecoquis was served, a dish of boiled apricots with ground pepper, mint, fish sauces, raisin wine, vinegar and a dash of olive oil. Although its consistency was reminiscent of a jam, its intense and spicy flavor set it completely apart. It was accompanied with freshly baked bread. Then, the main course consisted of a traditional Roman meal: a hearty stew of legumes, eggs and fish, with the unmistakable garum sprinkled on top.

  Maximus and Priscilla shared their lunch, chatting quietly about their upcoming trip. They knew that before they could carry out their plans, they had to tell the queen. It would not be easy to convince her, but if they wanted to embark on this journey, they would need her approval.

  However, something interrupted the conversation. Máximo felt an insistent gaze upon them.

  He barely turned and found her. Selene.

  His dark eyes were fixed on them, with an indecipherable expression somewhere between anger and curiosity. Maximo frowned, feeling his irritation grow.

  — She kept seeing us. — he muttered with annoyance.

  — I know. Ignore her. — Priscilla replied with an amused smile.

  — I'm going to talk to her. — he said firmly, setting the bread down on the plate. —After what she did to you at the Daggers Ball, she needs to learn that her actions have consequences.

  — Not at all. — Priscilla shook her head, giving him a warning look. Let's not make a fuss, Maximo.

  — But you have to...

  — We don't need any more trouble right now. — she interrupted him in a more serious tone. — We need my grandmother to be in a good mood before we tell her we're going on a trip for several days. Can you wait until then?

  Maximo sighed, clearly frustrated, but in the end nodded. Before looking away, however, he gave Selene one last icy glance.

  — Let's go to the library. We still have forty-five minutes before the debate.

  They both rose, picking up their trays and heading for the Schola's large library.

  Selene followed them with her eyes, her expression darkening with each step they took. Her hands clenched into fists under the table.

  She hated Priscilla. She hated her perfection, her confidence, the way everyone seemed to bow in her favor. But most of all, he hated the closeness she had with Máximo.

  He clenched his jaw, feeling anger spread through his body like burning poison.

  — That... that... that... damned spoiled little princess... — she muttered with contempt.

  Hatred consumed her, but so did fear. She knew that Priscilla had in her hands a secret that could destroy her family. And the worst part was that she had nothing to defend herself with.

  At least... not yet.

  Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind like a flash of lightning in the dark. A slow, mischievous smile tugged at his lips.

  — I'm going to keep a close eye on you, Priscilla... — she whispered to herself.

  Her time would come. And when it did, she would make sure the princess had no escape.

  After finishing their lunch, Priscilla and Maximus made their way to the library of the Schola Patria Potestas, a majestic place where knowledge seemed to spread out in all directions. The main room was lit by wide leaded glass windows that let in the afternoon light, reflecting golden glints on the dark wood shelves. The library was a haven for the most dedicated students and a battleground for those seeking answers among the ancient texts.

  The two young men advanced through the aisles, running their fingers along the spines of the books. Each shelf contained volumes on politics, history, philosophy and science, but what most caught their attention were the texts dedicated to prophecies and oracles.

  — There are many books on prophecy here. — Maximo commented, pulling out a dusty parchment. They used to be very superstitious.

  — They say that many have been correct. — answered Priscila, leafing through a manuscript with illustrations in dark ink. Maybe there are people who can read the future.

  They looked at each other for a moment and then laughed. They found the idea fascinating but absurd at the same time.

  Time passed quickly between readings and research, until the ringing of the bell echoed throughout the building.

  — It is time for debate. — said Priscilla, closing the book gently.

  They both hurried to gather their things and left the library, walking briskly toward the classroom where the class would be held.

  The debate hall was a large space with wooden bleachers surrounding the center, where the main stage was located. The room was arranged in such a way that all students could see and hear the speakers. A large shield with the Schola emblem hung above the moderator's table, where the teacher in charge of the debate waited with a stern expression.

  The students took their seats while the teacher tapped the table with a wooden stick, calling the students to order.

  — Today we will discuss a topic that has been the subject of controversy in our society. — the teacher announced. — Is war a legitimate means of settling disputes between nations?

  A murmur went through the room. Some students straightened in their seats, excited by the debate that was about to begin. Others crossed their arms, preparing to listen and take notes.

  — The main participants in this debate will be... Priscila Lorena Albani and Selene Akvis.

  The murmur grew.

  The clash between the two was expected. Priscila and Selene had never been friends, and their enmity was evident every time they shared the same space. Now, with a debate ahead, everyone knew the tension would only increase.

  The two young women stood up and walked to the center of the room. Priscilla stood tall and confident, her posture straight and her chin held high. Selene, for her part, smiled defiantly, her eyes sparkling with the promise of an intellectual fight.

  — Priscilla will defend the position that war is not a legitimate means. — the professor explained. — Selene will argue the opposite. You have five minutes to present your initial ideas. You may begin.

  Selene took the floor first, her tone confident and provocative.

  — History has shown us that war has been an effective method of resolving conflicts and establishing a nation's power. — he said, glancing at the students. — If we look at the most prosperous civilizations, we see that they have achieved their glory through conquest and strategic battles. Without war, kingdoms would be vulnerable to foreign oppression.

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  A few heads nodded in the audience. Selene smirked and took her seat.

  It was Priscilla's turn.

  The princess took a deep breath before speaking. — To say that war is a legitimate means is to justify suffering and destruction in the name of power. — While it is true that many nations have grown through conquest, it is also true that war has left irreparable scars. Each battle brings with it the loss of innocent lives, starvation and devastation. Is that a fair price for the ambition of a few?

  A murmur of approval went through the room. Selene leaned forward slightly, crossing her arms.

  — You speak of suffering, but you forget that war also brings progress. — she replied. — After wars come periods of innovation, technological advances and political changes that benefit society.

  Priscilla was quick to respond.

  — Progress should not come at the cost of the blood of innocents. — she said. If innovation and political changes are necessary, then let them be achieved through intellect, diplomacy and understanding. Not through fear and destruction.

  Priscilla's words echoed through the room. Even the students who initially supported Selene's stance now seemed to hesitate.

  The professor watched both young women with interest before intervening.

  — We have heard strong arguments from both sides. — he said. We will now proceed to a vote to determine who has convinced the majority.

  The students raised their hands in favor of one of the two positions. The difference was clear.

  Priscilla had won the debate.

  Selene pursed her lips into a thin line, her dark eyes glaring at the princess.

  — Well done, Priscilla. — said the professor. You have presented a well-supported and convincing argument.

  Priscilla bowed her head slightly in respect.

  Selene, on the other hand, clenched her fists under the table. She hated to lose. But what she hated most was losing to Priscilla. As the class ended and the students gathered their things, Selene did not look away from the princess.

  — Enjoy your victory, Priscilla. — she murmured through her teeth. It won't always be like this.

  And with one last resentful glance, Selene left the classroom.

  Priscilla watched her back disappear into the crowd and sighed. She knew this was not the end. Selene was not someone who accepted defeat gracefully.

  But for now, the victory was theirs.

  After the debate, the students headed to the practice field for their sports class. As always, the day's exercise was a surprise. It didn't follow a pattern, which kept the students in constant anticipation and forced everyone to stay physically and mentally prepared.

  When they arrived at the field, the teachers were already waiting for them standing in the arena, with their short tunics and the stern expression that characterized the coaches of the Schola Patria Potestas.

  — Today we will run a series of obstacles. — announced one of the teachers in a firm, resonant voice. It will be a test of speed, endurance and strategy.

  The murmur among the students grew. They all knew what it meant: a demanding and, for some, humiliating challenge.

  — The circuit is divided into four stages. — the instructor continued. — First, run from one end of the field to the other, picking up four stones and returning them to the starting point. Then, climb a rope twice in a row. In the third stage, you have to prepare a horse, fit it with a saddle and ride it to the runners' track. Finally, ride three laps with a white flag.

  The students listened attentively, some already feeling the adrenaline pumping through their bodies.

  — If someone takes the flag from them and they fail to retrieve it before the end, they will lose half of their grade and receive a penalty.

  Priscilla, Maximo and Selene exchanged glances.

  — I hope you're ready, little princess. — Selene whispered, with a crooked smile.

  — I always am. — answered Priscila calmly.

  Máximo just shook his head. He knew that this confrontation would not only be physical, but also psychological.

  The sound of a horn marked the beginning of the competition.

  The students shot off. The sand made it difficult to advance, making each stride heavier.

  Maximo, with his endurance and strength, advanced quickly. His footsteps were firm and calculated. In a matter of seconds, he reached the first stone and picked it up with ease.

  Priscila, agile and with remarkable speed, moved among the other runners as if her body already knew the route beforehand. When she reached the first stone, she crouched down without losing momentum, picking it up naturally before continuing.

  Selene, although not the fastest, compensated with cunning. She watched the others and calculated the best times to speed up or slow down their pace, making sure not to expend unnecessary energy.

  One by one, the three picked up their four stones and returned to base.

  Priscila and Selene arrived at practically the same time, while Maximo took a few seconds longer due to his tactic of brute force rather than speed.

  With no time to catch their breath, they ran for the rope.

  Maximo was the first to grab it. With a strong, determined movement, he propelled himself upward with his arms and legs, climbing with ease. He quickly descended and repeated the process with impressive agility.

  Priscilla, on the other hand, knew that her strength was not her strong point, so she used the technique. She supported herself well with her legs to reduce the load on her arms and climbed efficiently. Her second ascent was faster than the first, making up for the time she had lost on the first attempt.

  Selene was not as lucky. Although she was not weak, her desperation not to be left behind worked against her. She tried to climb quickly, but halfway up she slipped and fell backwards into the sand.

  — Damn! — she grunted, getting up quickly.

  That cost her valuable seconds. While she was trying again, Priscilla had already finished and was running towards the horses.

  Maximo reached the stables first, but his inexperience in riding delayed him.

  — Come on, come on... — he muttered as he tried to adjust the saddle.

  Priscilla, on the other hand, had the advantage. She had ridden horses since she was a child, so her hands moved quickly and accurately. She placed the saddle and adjusted the straps without wasting time, climbing nimbly onto her steed.

  Selene, still furious about her mistake on the rope, arrived behind them. However, her frustration did not prevent her from moving deftly. Although it took her a few seconds longer to saddle her horse, she was not too far behind.

  By the time the three rode into the runner's lane, the difference between them was minimal.

  The second horn sounded and the horses broke into a gallop.

  Sand flew around them as the riders rode with intensity. Each held his white flag tightly, protecting it as they tried to pull ahead.

  Priscilla took the lead quickly. Her posture was impeccable and her control over the horse, perfect. Maximo stood close behind, urging his mount with powerful commands.

  Selene, however, did not plan to lose.

  On the second lap, she observed Priscila with a calculating look and took advantage of a moment of distraction to approach.

  — That flag is mine. — she muttered to herself.

  With a precise movement, she reached out and pulled Priscilla's flag, successfully snatching it from her.

  Priscilla's eyes widened in surprise, but she was quick to react.

  She spurred her horse and launched herself in pursuit of Selene. In a risky move, she leaned over the side of her mount and reached out her hand.

  — Not so fast! — he exclaimed, retrieving his flag with a deft maneuver.

  Selene gritted her teeth in anger.

  Maximo, meanwhile, took advantage of the distraction between the two to speed up. His horse advanced with power, overtaking them for an instant.

  The third lap was a direct confrontation between Priscila and Selene. Maximo was a few centimeters behind, unable to catch up.

  The sound of the crowd and the clatter of hooves mingled in the air as the two matched each other.

  The last few meters were a whirlwind of tension.

  And then, they crossed the finish line.

  Silence.

  The sports teacher moved forward with a neutral expression before speaking:

  — Tie.

  Selene froze. — Tie? — she repeated in disbelief.

  She looked at Priscilla with fury. She couldn't believe that, after so much effort, she hadn't managed to overcome her.

  — This is not going to stand, little princess. — He whispered between his teeth, got off his horse and rode away without another word.

  Priscilla, still mounted on her horse, watched with amusement as Selene rode away with a frown on her face, clearly irritated by the result of the draw. However, instead of being annoyed, the princess only let out a small laugh.

  — Always so dramatic... — she whispered to herself before turning her attention to the other classmates who had lost the competition.

  The students who had not reached the finish line now looked at her with a mixture of weariness and resignation. It was a familiar rule: the winners had the right to choose the losers' punishment, though it was usually nothing too severe.

  Priscilla straightened her posture on the horse and looked at them with a mischievous smile.

  — The winners choose the punishment. -She announced in a solemn voice, feigning seriousness.

  The students exchanged glances, wondering what would happen.

  Priscilla paused, as if pondering her decision, and then pointed toward a group of horses still in the arena, perfectly saddled.

  — See those horses?

  They all responded in unison with a “yes.”

  She raised her white flag with a playful air.

  — Do you see this flag?

  Again, the same affirmative response.

  Priscilla let a smile creep across her face before issuing the challenge:

  — Well... I'll be damned if you don't catch me!

  Her tone changed completely, becoming more childish and playful, as if she had suddenly returned to the days when she was four years old and played chase with the children in the castle.

  For a moment, the other students were taken aback by the sudden proposal, but as soon as Priscilla spurred her horse and galloped off with the flag waving in her hand, they all burst into laughter and ran towards the horses to start the chase.

  The field was filled with laughter and shouts of excitement as the students rode, some trying to snatch the flag from Priscilla's hands and others simply enjoying the unexpected moment of fun.

  Maximo, who had been watching silently, shook his head with a smile before joining in the game, issuing a warning to the princess:

  — Don't get overconfident, Priscilla, I'm going for that flag!

  — Ha! You'll have to catch me first! — she challenged him, quickening her horse's pace.

  For several minutes, the chase continued around the training field, turning what had been a serious competition into a child's game. Finally, as the sun began to descend and the horses showed signs of fatigue, the students called the game over, laughing and joking with each other as they dismounted.

  With the day's energy still coursing through her body, Priscilla decided to make one last stop before heading home.

  Instead of heading straight for her carriage, she detoured her steps to the library. The room was empty at that hour, with the dim light of dusk filtering through the windows and casting elongated shadows on the dark wooden shelves.

  He walked among the aisles, his fingers brushing the spines of the books until he reached the table where he had left the papers he had been looking through earlier.

  They were fragments of ancient prophecies, written on time-worn parchment. Although she hadn't paid much attention to them at the time, something about them had kept her distracted during the morning.

  She picked up the papers and ran her eyes over them, letting her mind try to decipher the meaning of those words.

  “The heir of the moon will rise when the crown is tinged with shadow.”

  “The blood hidden beneath the light of the stars shall awaken the sleeping truth.”

  “He who defies the waves will defy his fate.”

  She frowned. They were enigmatic phrases, full of symbolism, but he couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.

  Then his gaze fell on a prophecy She hadn't noticed before.

  The ink was older than that of the other fragments, almost faded by the passage of time, but its words were crystal clear:

  "The young girl of royal blood, born under the fire of kings, will seek truth in the darkness. Her sword shall be her ally, her foe shall bear her blood, and when the sun goes out upon her fate, she shall decide between justice and vengeance."

  Priscilla's heart pounded.

  "Born under the fire of kings... she was the heir to the throne.

  Her sword... the weapon she practiced in secret.

  Her enemy would carry her blood...

  Confidence cost her dearly...."

  A cold sensation ran through her body.

  It was impossible.

  It was just an ancient prophecy, a story written by some seer of the past with an overly vivid imagination. And yet she couldn't take her eyes off those words. A noise in the library made her jump. It was only the wind moving the curtains, but her breathing was quickened.

  Without further ado, she stuffed the papers in her bag and left the library with quick steps.

  Outside, the cool evening breeze greeted her as she climbed into her carriage. She leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment. It had been an intense day.

  A heated debate, a frantic race, an unexpected game and, now, the mystery of those prophecies. As the carriage began its journey back to the palace, Priscilla couldn't help but wonder if they were really just ancient words... or if fate was trying to warn her.