Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

Michael spent the rest of the feast deep in thought, barely aware of the conversations flowing around the violet table. The tale of ancient mages and the Great War still lingered in his mind, coaxing him toward a troubling theory — that his storage ring might once have belonged to a mage from that lost era.

It was hard to reconcile. He had seen the violet mage's corpse with his own eyes. When he'd reached for the ring, the man had looked far too young — barely in his twenties.

Eventually, Michael abandoned the speculation for now. He lacked the knowledge to confirm anything. But he made himself a promise: he would research everything he could about the ancient era, even their lost written language. Perhaps the scrolls hidden within his storage ring would one day yield the answers he sought.

A light nudge on his left arm snapped him out of his reverie.

"Hmm? What is it?" he asked, turning to Melody. Her bemused smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Why are you so quiet?" she murmured. "Don't tell me you're upset with me." She added the last part with a small, almost playful frown.

Upset? Why would I be upset with her?

Then he remembered. Magnus — the one sharing the royal family's surname — had called her "cousin." Whether by blood or through some other connection, the revelation had blindsided him.

The earlier history lesson had kept him distracted, but now the thought resurfaced. And with it, an edge of irritation. Why hadn't she mentioned such a thing beforehand?

"We'll talk later," he said evenly, giving her only a brief glance.

Melody blinked at him, then exhaled softly, leaning her head back against the chair in resignation.

Across the table, Magnus's eyes glinted with amusement — and Michael caught it. The look stirred a quiet burn in his chest.

This bastard… Why does it look like he's enjoying a show?

"Ahem."

The headmaster's throat-clearing cut through the hum of chatter, his voice echoing against the great hall's stone walls. Instantly, the room fell silent — a testament to the authority the man commanded.

"Well, that brings our welcome feast to an end," he announced with a warm smile. "Once again, welcome, first-years. I will be expecting great things from each of you."

He clapped once, and the sound cracked through the air like a thunderclap. In an instant, the food and dishes vanished.

Rudy, who had been mid-bite into a drumstick, closed his teeth on nothing but air. His baffled expression quickly gave way to dismay.

"Aw, man…" he muttered under his breath.

"Now, go get some rest, my little seedlings," Bartholomew said with a sweeping gesture. "Your first day of classes begins tomorrow."

With that, the older students rose to their feet in unison. Thinking it a show of respect, Michael hurried to follow.

He was wrong.

Bartholomew gave a casual wave of his hand, and the tables and chairs winked out of existence — just like the food before them.

A chorus of thuds, startled cries, and muffled curses erupted across the hall as unsuspecting students tumbled to the floor. Rudy, slow to react, landed hard with a grunt. The older students erupted in laughter, their voices bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.

Thankfully, Michael and Melody had already been standing, avoiding the humiliating fate of most of their peers.

"W–what the hell, man?" Rudy groaned, pushing himself upright and rubbing his backside. Now that he was standing, Michael noticed the guy's stomach bulged slightly — as though he were several months pregnant after the feast.

"Don't worry, it doesn't happen all the time," Rose said with a wide grin, flashing perfect white teeth. "You could call it a… tradition for first-years."

"Stupid tradition…" Mason muttered darkly, shooting his sister a glare.

Michael glanced between the two, picking up on the unspoken tension.

Rose's chuckle was light, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Don't mind my brother. He's still upset I didn't warn him before his first year."

"I bruised my tailbone!" Mason growled, his heavy brow furrowed in frustration. "I couldn't sit or walk right for a whole week."

"Stop being a baby," she teased, biting back her laughter.

Turning back to Michael and the others, she offered a friendly smile. "Anyway — good luck in class tomorrow. We probably won't see each other again until the first student representative meeting next week."

"Oh… okay," Michael replied, slightly taken aback. "But won't we all be together at meals? At the violet table?"

"The tables are only set like this for special events," Blake explained, adjusting his glasses. "Most of the time, they just use the long tables, and you can sit wherever you want."

The older violet dorm students gave their farewells and joined the stream of people leaving the great hall, heading for the staircases that led to the dorm wings.

Michael lagged behind with Melody and Rudy, who now walked with a stiff, careful gait thanks to his fall. Michael glanced toward Melody — the look he gave her carried no words, but its meaning was clear. They would talk when they got back to the dorm.

Melody lowered her head without protest. For the young miss, such silent acknowledgment was rare — and telling. She understood she'd been in the wrong.

They climbed the stairs to the first level, watching most of the students continue their ascent toward the upper floors. Below them, the magical floor markings glowed once again — this time in color-coded streams guiding first-years to their dorm wings.

White, yellow, orange, and red lights pointed left; blue, green, and violet pointed right. Without a word, the three followed the violet glow, the silence broken only by Rudy's muttered grumbling.

Thankfully, Braydon and his lackeys were nowhere in sight. Likely victims of the academy's "initiation," they wouldn't be spoiling for a fight — at least not tonight.

The walk back to the violet dorms was blissfully uneventful.

"Man, I'm beat…" Rudy groaned the moment they stepped inside. "G'night." Without another word, he trudged into their shared room and collapsed onto his bed with a heavy thud.

He didn't even bother closing the door.

Michael shook his head, closing it quietly himself before turning to Melody. "I think it's time we had a talk," he said, his tone calm but firm. He gestured toward the lounge.