Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

Michael took a few moments to steady himself, letting his eyes roam over the transformed great hall. The space was now alive with noise and movement, long tables stretching from one end to the other, each draped in a different colored banner—yet all bearing the proud Arcadia crest.

Above, the aurora still shimmered, its ethereal ribbons gliding through the air between the banners. Each graceful twist shifted its colors, reflecting the hues of the Arcana.

Michael glanced up at the banner above his own table. It was a deep violet, perfectly matching the emblem etched on the back of his hand.

"Ugh… I really hate that feeling," Rudy muttered beside him, his voice strained.

Michael finally turned his attention to the people sharing his table. Melody sat to his left, Rudy on his right, and six others occupied the remaining seats around the round violet table. Their gazes were fixed on the newcomers, curiosity mingled with mild surprise.

"Three first-years? I thought only two were assigned to the violet dorms each year," remarked a boy with large blue eyes and a crooked nose. His features were unusual, yet something about him carried an air of quiet intrigue.

"It's not unheard of," replied an older teen in a calm, measured tone. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing the faint violet lining inside her mage robe. "When I first enrolled, there were three in the year above me."

From that detail alone, Michael pegged her as a fourth-year student. The boy who had spoken first, dressed in robes lined with blue, was clearly a second-year.

The violet table occupied the prime spot in the great hall—closest to the raised platform where the professors sat. Its nearness to the front, combined with the fact that only nine students were seated there, spoke volumes about its prestige.

Michael felt a flicker of awkwardness. The conversations at the table didn't feel like introductions so much as casual discussion about the three of them—as though they were exotic specimens newly delivered for observation.

"That blue hair… Are you perhaps related to—"

"I am Melody Winterborne," Melody interrupted smoothly, her voice leaving no room for uncertainty. "The man beside me is Michael Ellis, my fiancé."

Michael froze at her matter-of-fact delivery. He'd barely managed to offer a weak greeting before she continued.

"And this is…" She hesitated, her brow creasing slightly.

"Rudy Graves, pleased to meet ya!" Rudy chimed in cheerfully, saving her the trouble. He stood and bent at the waist in an overly formal bow, coming dangerously close to smacking his head on the table.

His performance earned a few chuckles from around the table.

"Looks like we've got another commoner at the violet table, eh, Ren?" the second-year boy said with a smirk, elbowing the student next to him—another second-year by the look of his robe lining.

Ren was a sturdy, broad-shouldered youth with a square jaw and a prominent brow half-hidden beneath a mop of unruly red fringe. His green eyes studied Rudy with the cold precision of a predator assessing prey.

Michael's gaze dipped to the boy's wrist, catching the faint red glow of a ring just visible beneath his sleeve cuff. A subtle, instinctive tension coiled in Michael's gut. Something about Ren radiated the raw, barely restrained presence of a wild beast—one that could strike without warning.

"Stop scaring the first-years."

The cool, level voice came from the opposite end of the table. Instantly, the second-year froze.

"B-Big Sis, I wasn't!" Ren stammered, his confident demeanor crumbling into that of a chastised child in an instant.

His so-called big sister scoffed and flicked her fingers lazily. Though they were seated far apart, the motion struck Ren across the head with invisible force, snapping it backward and drawing a sharp yelp of pain.

He rubbed the spot with a wince, muttering under his breath in a way that was probably best left unheard.

Michael's eyes widened. The action had been so quick he barely caught it, but he could have sworn he saw the air condense before being fired with pinpoint accuracy. The sheer control required for that level of precision… it was impressive.

When Michael turned to her, he noticed the unusual streak of icy blue running through her otherwise crimson hair. The contrast gave her an almost elemental aesthetic—half fire, half frost.

"Sorry for my little brother's rudeness," she said warmly, her lips curving into a polite smile. Her fair complexion was accented by soft pink lips, and her green eyes—so like Ren's—were bright and assessing. "I'm Rose Lyon, and that stone-faced rascal is my brother, Ren."

Ren ducked his head, clearly embarrassed.

"Nice to meet you," Michael said with a respectful nod.

Taking on the role of an informal host, Rose began introducing the rest of the table. The broad-shouldered, blue-eyed second-year beside Ren was Mason Hays, while the poised older teen who had spoken earlier was Michelle Watts—a fourth-year.

"This one here beside me is Blake Child, a third-year. Don't let his glasses fool you, he's actually an idiot," Rose teased with a smirk.

Blake sighed heavily, removing his glasses to polish them in exaggerated defeat. "Rose… please don't fill the first-years' heads with nonsense."

She stuck out her tongue playfully before turning her attention to the final person at the table. Her expression subtly shifted—playfulness fading into something more formal.

"And this is Magnus Prichard," she said simply, without further comment.

Prichard? Michael stiffened at the name. That was the royal family's surname.

Magnus was striking—his looks carrying the kind of elegance that bordered on unfair. His demeanor reminded him of Brian Winterborne, though his blond hair and easy charm marked him apart. Everything from his posture to the unshakable calm in his gaze radiated the presence of someone raised in privilege and authority.

But it wasn't the nobility in his bearing that unsettled Michael. It was the way Magnus's eyes were fixed entirely on Melody, utterly unbothered by the impropriety of staring. His expression didn't seem predatory, yet Michael had seen too many arrogant suitors at Arcadia to take the gaze at face value.

Don't tell me… even someone from the royal family is interested in Melody?

Which begged the question: Just what kind of background does the Winterborne family have?

Magnus's lips curved into a dazzling smile, his teeth gleaming. "It's good to see you again, cousin," he said, his gaze still locked on Melody.

Eh!? Cousin!?

Michael's head whipped toward Melody so fast it nearly strained his neck, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. But Melody, ever composed, didn't so much as glance at him—utterly unfazed by the bombshell that had just detonated in his mind.