Hero Of Broken History

Leontis's POV

The Imperial Academy City - Northern Gate

The protagonist arrived at dawn, because all great stories begin with the rising sun.

Leontis stood before the Academy City's massive northern gate, his travel-worn cape billowing dramatically despite the disappointing lack of wind. Three months of wandering had brought him here, following rumors and destiny and a particularly convincing dream where a golden fox told him his rival awaited.

The walls rose eighty feet high, black stone that seemed to drink in morning light rather than reflect it. Ancient construction, pre-Empire, with newer additions grafted on like architectural tumors. Guard towers every hundred yards, manned by bored-looking soldiers in Academy blue.

"Name and business?" The gate guard didn't even look up from his ledger.

"Leontis of Harrowhill, traveling bard and chronicler of destinies! I've come to witness the epic that's about to unfold within these hallowed walls!"

The guard's expression suggested he'd rather be anywhere else. "Tourist rate is five silver per day. Student enrollment closed two months ago. Merchant permits require guild certification."

"Ah, but what about wandering narrator privileges?"

"That's not a thing."

"It should be." Leontis produced five silver with a flourish that sent two coins rolling. "Tourist it is, then. Tell me, good gatekeeper, have any legendary figures arrived recently? Perhaps a brooding youth with a dark past? Or a mysterious heir with heaven-defying power?"

"Kid, everyone who comes here thinks they're legendary." The guard stamped a temporary pass. "Stay out of the Noble Quarter without invitation, don't go near the Underground at all, and if you die, it's not our fault."

"The Underground? How delightfully ominous!"

"It's where idiots who ask too many questions end up. Dead or wishing they were." The guard waved him through. "Merchant Ward's to your left if you need lodging. Temple District if you need last rites."

Leontis swept through the gate with appropriate grandeur, immediately assaulted by the city's morning chaos.

The Academy City wasn't like normal cities. It breathed differently.

The Merchant Ward - Morning

The Merchant Ward hit like a fist wrapped in silk and spices. Streets barely wide enough for two carts crossed and recrossed in patterns that defied conventional geometry. Every building tried to shoulder its neighbors aside for precious street frontage, resulting in architecture that leaned, twisted, and occasionally seemed to be having heated arguments with gravity.

"Fresh preservation salts! Quality guaranteed for all your alchemical needs!"

"Mana crystals! First-year students get ten percent off!"

"Protection charms! Ward against upperclassmen, bad grades, and unfortunate accidents!"

Leontis wandered through the commercial maze, lute in hand, following his instincts toward narrative significance. The merchants here weren't normal traders—they dealt in things that would get you burned at the stake in other cities. A shop window displayed bottled screams ("For Advanced Curse Work"). Another advertised "Slightly Used Souls - Previous Owner Graduated!"

The crowd was its own education. Students in Academy blues clustered around weapon shops, their year marked by collar pins—copper for first years, silver for second, gold for third, platinum for the rare fourth-year survivors. Between them wove servants in house colors, faculty in scholarly robes that somehow conveyed threat, and the occasional figure in unmarked black that everyone gave wide berth.

Perfect. An audience awaits!

Leontis found a fountain depicting some historical figure being righteously stabbed by several other historical figures and claimed it as his stage. His fingers found familiar chords, voice rising above the morning bustle:

"Gather 'round, ye seekers of wisdom and pain! Let me tell you of the Academy's chain! Where nobles learn to kill with style, And commoners survive through guile—"

"Oi! You got a permit for that?"

Two Academy guards pushed through the gathering crowd. Unlike the gate guard, these ones looked like they enjoyed their job. The kind of enjoyment that involved breaking things.

"Permit?" Leontis affected shock. "Art requires no permit! The muse cannot be regulated!"

"The muse can be fined fifty silver or spend a week in stocks." The larger guard cracked his knuckles. "Your choice."

"A tragic misunderstanding! I was merely—"

"He's with me." A woman's voice cut through the tension. The crowd parted for someone in faculty robes, though she looked too young for the position. Red hair fell to her shoulders—not the ember-red of her younger sister, but deeper, like old blood. Burn scars decorated her arms like badges of honor, some old, some suspiciously recent. "First-year scholarship student. Arrived early to get acclimated."

The guards exchanged glances. "Professor Cloveborn, he's clearly not—"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" Her smile promised consequences involving fire and regret. "Or shall I mention to Dean Blackwood that his guards are harassing my students?"

They retreated with mumbled apologies. The crowd dispersed, disappointed at the lack of violence.

"Thanks are in order, mysterious savior!" Leontis bowed low. "Though the protagonist could have handled—"

"You're an idiot." Professor Carina Cloveborn studied him with green eyes that held the same fire as her sister's, just better controlled. Then those eyes narrowed, focusing on something around him that others couldn't see. "But an interesting idiot. And there's something..." She tilted her head, studying the air around him like she could see threads others missed. "Come with me."

"The protagonist is being kidnapped?"

"The protagonist is being fed. There's a difference." She turned and started walking. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to the guards why you're really here?"

Leontis followed, because mysterious professors offering food were infinitely better than guards offering prison time.

The Golden Fork - Private Dining Room

The restaurant was the kind of place where they didn't list prices because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it. Crystal glasses that cost more than most people's yearly income. Silverware that was actually silver. And private dining rooms warded so heavily that Leontis's teeth ached.

"Order whatever you want," Carina said, watching him with those too-knowing eyes. "The Academy has an account here."

"The protagonist is suspicious of this generous—"

"Cut the act." She leaned forward. "That magic around you. It's not illusion. It's not bardic enhancement. What is it?"

Leontis froze mid-reach for a bread roll that probably cost more than his boots. "I don't know what you—"

"The resonance is all wrong. It's like..." She waved a hand, searching for words. "Like reality has a soundtrack around you, but the music is coming from somewhere else. Somewhere deeper." Her eyes sharpened. "That's sound magic, isn't it?"

The bread roll crumbled in Leontis's suddenly tight grip.

"Sound magic is theoretical," he said carefully. "The texts say it's impossible for humans to—"

"The texts say a lot of things." Carina poured wine that smelled like liquid gold and bad decisions. "But I've read the old accounts. Pre-Empire records. Sound magic was real once. Rare as dragon tears, but real. And you..." She studied him like he was a particularly fascinating experiment. "You actually have it."

"The protagonist maintains his mysterious—"

"Stop." Her voice carried the kind of authority that came from setting things on fire when annoyed. "I'm not going to report you. I'm too curious. The Resonance Codex, right? That's where you got it?"

Leontis nearly choked on air. "How did you—"

"Please. A bard suddenly developing actual magical abilities after a journey to the Westreach Mountains? The Singing Ruins are hardly a secret to academic circles. We just thought all the grimoires were destroyed." She leaned forward. "But you found one. The Resonance Codex—the last true sound magic grimoire."

"I barely understand it," Leontis admitted, dropping the act entirely. "The book... it sang to me. Called to me. And when I touched it, something just clicked. Like the universe started singing and I could finally hear it."

"Grimoire bonding. Even rarer than the magic itself." Carina pulled out a rolled parchment. "I can't get you enrolled as a student—that ship has sailed and sunk. But a teaching assistant position? That's within my authority. You'd help with my pyromancy classes, but really, you'd be studying in the restricted sections, figuring out your gift."

"Why would you—"

"Because things are about to get very interesting, and I have a feeling you'll be in the middle of it. Also," her smile turned mischievous, "I want to see my sister's face when she realizes her romantic rival is a teaching assistant who thinks he's the protagonist of reality. She's been complaining about the Veritas heir for three months. 'He's so rude, Carina.' 'He has no respect for tradition, Carina.' 'He told Lady Silviana no to her face, Carina.'"

"The Veritas heir is my destined rival!"

"The Veritas heir is going to eat you alive if you're not careful. But that's what makes it interesting." She slid the parchment across. "Teaching assistant position. Room, board, and access to the restricted library sections. In exchange, you help me understand sound magic and try not to die in the Underground."

Leontis looked at the contract. It was more than he'd dreamed of finding here. Access to knowledge, a legitimate position, and the chance to understand what he was.

"There's a catch," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Several. First, my sister can never know I arranged this. She holds grudges, and I like this Academy un-melted. Second, the Dean of Theoretical Magic will want to study you. Extensively. Try not to let him dissect you. Third..." She paused. "Sound magic was banned for a reason. The Empire considers it too dangerous, too unpredictable. If the wrong people find out what you can do..."

"The protagonist accepts these dire terms!"

"Good." Carina raised her glass. "Welcome to the Academy, Teaching Assistant Harrowhill. Try to survive the first week."

She vanished into the crowd, leaving Leontis with official documentation he hadn't asked for and questions she'd definitely be asking later.

Destiny! It provides... with terms and conditions!

Scholar's Row - Midday

Scholar's Row was everything the Merchant Ward wasn't—ordered, quiet, and absolutely riddled with barely contained neurosis.

The buildings here were uniform limestone, each one a perfect cube with precisely placed windows. The main library dominated the district, a twelve-story monument to knowledge that seemed to lean forward, ready to fall and crush the unworthy.

Leontis climbed the library steps, noting the students collapsed over books, some literally drooling on ancient texts. The doors were ironwood bound with enough protective runes to stop a small army.

Inside, silence reigned with an iron fist.

The library's interior defied external dimensions. Shelves stretched up into darkness, accessible only by floating platforms that responded to whispered commands. Students hunched over texts while tiny lights floated beside them, occasionally zapping those who dozed off.

"No unauthorized personnel." The librarian materialized like judgment given form. Her eyes were solid black—an occupational hazard from reading too many forbidden texts, or possibly just for intimidation.

"Behold! A teaching assistant!" Leontis presented his documentation with a flourish that echoed inappropriately.

She examined it with the intensity of someone looking for reasons to commit murder. "Teaching staff. You have access to floors one through five. Sixth floor is senior faculty only. Seventh floor doesn't exist."

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"What about floors eight through twelve?"

"What floors eight through twelve?"

"The ones I can clearly see—"

"What. Floors. Eight. Through. Twelve?" Her smile promised creative interpretations of library late fees.

"No floors. Got it. The protagonist accepts these mysterious limitations!"

He wandered the permitted levels, finding them more interesting now that he could access the mid-tier sections. Advanced magical theory, historical accounts of lost magics, and—most importantly—a small section on theoretical sound manipulation that looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.

Still, Leontis observed. Students here weren't just studying—they were desperate. He saw nobles frantically copying texts, commoners trading notes like contraband, and one girl literally crying over a book titled "Surviving Your First Duel: A Practical Guide."

A first-year noticed his teaching assistant badge and approached nervously. "Excuse me, sir? Do you know anything about the midterms?"

"The protagonist is new to this educational establishment!" Leontis declared, then caught himself. "I mean, I just arrived. What about them?"

"Twenty percent failure rate last year," the student explained, looking haggard.

"Failure rate? They kick you out?"

"Oh, for the written exams. The practical exams were thirty percent." The student returned to his book: "Advanced Theoretical Magic: When Natural Talent Isn't Enough."

Educational standards have certainly evolved. And the protagonist will be helping teach these poor souls. Delightful!

The Noble Quarter - Afternoon

The Noble Quarter didn't have gates. It had suggestions. Suggestions backed by private guards, ward stones, and the occasional automated crossbow.

Leontis approached with confidence, because confidence was half of any good infiltration. The other half was usually running very fast in the opposite direction.

The streets here were wide enough for carriages to pass without the passengers having to acknowledge each other's existence. Every mansion competed for most ostentatious display of wealth. The Goldshore estate had a fountain that rained liquid gold (an illusion, but convincing). The Blackstone manor's garden featured sculptures that moved, depicting the family's enemies dying in various creative ways.

And there—the Veritas Academy residence.

It was almost disappointing in its restraint compared to the other noble houses. A three-story mansion of black stone, functional architecture, and absolutely no decorations except for a single banner showing their sword and crown crest. While other families tried to recreate their ancestral homes in miniature, the Veritas family's message was clear: this is temporary lodging, not home. We don't need to prove anything here.

Leontis ducked behind a decorative hedge as a carriage rolled past, emblazoned with a roaring lion wreathed in flames. Through the window, he glimpsed red hair and an expression of profound irritation.

The Cloveborn heir. Fire magic royalty. Rumors say she could melt steel at age ten.

He made mental notes, already composing verses. Every good hero needed a love interest, and his rival would need someone impressive. Though from what he'd heard, Avian Veritas was about as romantic as a brick.

"You there! Commoner!"

A young noble stood in the street, pointing at Leontis like he'd discovered something particularly offensive. Silk clothes, soft hands, and the kind of face that had never met a consequence it couldn't buy off.

"The protagonist has been spotted! But is this friend or foe?"

"What are you babbling about?" The noble's face reddened. "You're in the Noble Quarter without permission! That's—"

"A terrible misunderstanding! You see, I'm documenting the architectural magnificence for my thesis on 'Excessive Wealth as Overcompensation for Personal Inadequacy.'"

"What?"

"Nothing! I meant nothing! I'm actually new teaching staff, just getting familiar with the Academy layout!" Leontis showed his badge.

The noble squinted at it suspiciously. "Teaching staff? In those clothes?"

"The protagonist's style is unconventional but authentic!"

"You're insane." The noble backed away. "Just... stay away from the important families."

He hurried off, apparently deciding a crazy teaching assistant wasn't worth his time.

Temple District - Late Afternoon

The Temple District radiated the kind of peace that came from everyone being too terrified to cause trouble.

The Grand Cathedral dominated the district like a mountain of worked stone and stained glass, dedicated to the Nine Supremes as a unified pantheon. The Church taught that all gods worked in harmony, each with their role in the great design. Smaller shrines within the cathedral honored each deity according to their rank - Erythis's creation altar at the highest point, descending through the tiers to Selthys's dream shrine in the basement where few ventured.

The Church controlled all official religious practice in the Empire. Their priests wore white robes with colored trim denoting which aspect of divinity they served - gold for Creation, black for Death, green for Life, silver for Time, red for War, brown for Nature, purple for Vanity, blue for Secrets, and grey for Dreams. But all answered to the same Archbishops, the same doctrines, the same iron control.

It was the Church that sent out Shepherds to enforce divine will. The Church that decided which histories were true and which were heretical. The Church that had somehow placed and maintained divine chains on certain individuals who grew too powerful.

Smaller buildings surrounded the cathedral - administrative offices, theological schools, the quarters where priests lived lives of supposed humility while managing vast wealth. Guard posts too, because the Church had its own military order, separate from the Academy Guard or Imperial forces.

But Leontis wasn't interested in the main cathedral. He followed whispers and instinct to the district's edges, where technically illegal shrines to lesser gods and forgotten faiths huddled. The Church claimed to represent all divinity, but some old beliefs died hard, and some gods had been written out of the official pantheon for reasons nobody discussed.

There—a temple that wasn't quite there. Stone that existed only when looked at sideways. The sign read "The Church of Remembered Names," which was somehow both specific and meaningless.

Inside, dust motes danced in light that had no source. The pews were empty except for an old woman knitting what appeared to be a scarf made of condensed regret.

"Looking for something specific, young man?" she asked without looking up.

"The protagonist seeks forgotten knowledge! Tales of gods whose names have been erased!"

"Dangerous curiosity, that." She continued knitting. "The Church doesn't like people remembering what they've worked so hard to make forgotten."

"And yet you're here."

"I'm old. What are they going to do, shorten my life?" She cackled. "Besides, someone has to remember. Even if we can't speak the names aloud."

She looked at him then, eyes sharp despite her age. "You have the look of someone who hears music others can't. Best be careful with that gift, boy. The Church has opinions about unauthorized magic."

"The protagonist appreciates the cryptic warning!"

"Less cryptic than you think." She returned to her knitting. "Now go. This place doesn't exist, and neither did this conversation."

Training Grounds - Evening

The Training Grounds sprawled across the eastern quarter, a showcase of controlled violence and magical innovation.

Dueling circles occupied flat spaces, each one shimmering with protective enchantments. Inside, students fought with training weapons that glowed with blue light—enchanted to deliver the pain and impact of real combat without permanent damage. When a "lethal" blow landed, the victim would freeze in place, surrounded by red light indicating their theoretical death.

"Ten gold on Marcus!"

"Twenty on Elena! She's been practicing that decapitation strike!"

The students below fought with all the intensity of real combat. The enchanted weapons left bruises and taught consequences, but the Academy's healing mages could fix anything short of actual death. Only in the final-year examinations were real weapons permitted, and even then under extreme supervision.

Practice dummies lined another field, enchanted to fight back with skill levels ranging from "Drunk Peasant" to "Veteran Knight." Several were actively winning against their opponents. An obstacle course stretched into the distance, featuring sections with magical hazards that would stun or temporarily paralyze rather than kill.

"Beautiful violence!" Leontis declared to no one. "The kind of carnage that builds character!"

"You're that weird bard," a voice said. Leontis turned to find a student watching him—third year by his gold pin, built like someone who specialized in hitting things until they stopped moving.

"The protagonist is indeed weird! But purposefully so!"

"Right." The student sat down, pulling out a flask. "You're here early. Term doesn't start for three days."

"Scouting the narrative terrain! Tell me, what wisdom would you impart to someone about to embark on their Academy journey?"

The student took a long drink. "Keep your head down, work hard, and hope you're not interesting enough to become a target."

"That sounds rather pessimistic!"

"It's realistic. The Academy's competitive, sure, but it's not a warzone. Just..." Another drink. "Watch out for the really ambitious ones. They're the ones who'll step on you to get ahead."

"And yet you remain!"

"Where else would I go? At least here, if you're good enough, you can make something of yourself."

He left, slightly swaying, leaving Leontis to contemplate the Academy's educational philosophy.

The Underground - Night

Every instinct screamed this was a terrible idea.

Which is exactly why the protagonist won't do it!

The entrance to the Underground wasn't hidden. It didn't need to be. The stairway down was carved into a plaza everyone walked around, not through. Street lamps bent away from it. Even shadows seemed reluctant to fall across the entrance.

Leontis stood at the edge, peering down into the darkness. He could hear sounds filtering up—laughter that wasn't quite right, music that suggested its composer had been beautifully insane.

"The protagonist is many things," he declared to the empty plaza, "but suicidal is not one of them! This particular chapter can wait until the narrative provides proper protection!"

A passing student snorted. "Smart choice. Teaching assistant or not, the Underground doesn't care about your badge."

"You speak from experience?"

"I speak from watching them carry three students out last week. They lived, but they'll never look at shadows the same way." The student hurried on.

Leontis backed away from the entrance. "The Underground shall remain a mystery for now! The protagonist must maintain his cover as respectable teaching staff to advance the plot!"

He headed back toward the Commoner's Market, making mental notes about the Underground's entrance for future reference. When he had allies. And better protection. And possibly a small army.

Commoner's Market - Late Night

The Commoner's Market never truly slept. It dozed fitfully, one eye open for opportunity or threat.

Here, the Academy's servant class, scholarship students, and various hangers-on conducted business deemed too unimportant for the Merchant Ward. Food stalls served things that were probably meat. Taverns offered drinks that were definitely alcoholic and possibly toxic. And everywhere, gossip flowed like water.

Leontis found a tavern called "The Failed Scholar" and claimed a corner, lute out and ready. This crowd didn't want epic ballads. They wanted drinking songs and dirty jokes and occasionally accurate information disguised as rumor.

"Oh, the Dean's daughter and the stable boy, They thought their love was secret, But nine months later came the joy, And now the Dean's decrepit!"

The crowd roared approval, coins clinking into his hat. But Leontis listened more than he sang.

"—Veritas heir arrives tomorrow—"

"—heard he killed a death mancer at twelve—"

"—Cloveborn girl could burn the whole Academy—"

"—Underground's planning something for the new nobles—"

"—Church has three Shepherds enrolled this year—"

The pieces of a grand narrative swirled around him. His rival was coming, bringing chaos in his wake. The Academy would never be the same.

Outside, carriages began rolling past, heading for the Noble Quarter. Through a window, Leontis glimpsed one in particular—black wood, minimal decoration, and through its window, a figure with dark hair and an expression of profound annoyance.

"He arrives," Leontis whispered. "My destined rival comes to the stage at last!"

He ran outside, following the carriages, already composing the epic's next verse. The Academy City spread around him—deadly, beautiful, and absolutely insane.

The perfect setting for the story about to unfold.

The Noble Quarter - Midnight

The Veritas carriage rolled to a stop before the Academy residence gates. Other noble families had gathered to witness arrivals, because apparently gossip was a competitive sport among the elite.

Leontis perched on a nearby roof, lute ready to capture the moment.

The carriage door opened.

Avian Veritas stepped out, and the temperature seemed to drop. Six feet of controlled violence in an expensive suit he obviously hated. He surveyed the gathered nobles with the expression of someone calculating minimum effort required for maximum discourtesy.

"Lord Veritas!" A nobleman stepped forward, all false smiles and political calculation. "Such an honor to—"

"No."

Avian walked past him.

"I... what?"

"Whatever you want. No." He kept walking.

A girl with ember-red hair stood by another carriage, watching with poorly hidden amusement. Canaline Cloveborn—the fire to his ice.

Their eyes met.

She nodded slightly.

He nodded back.

The greatest romance in Academy history communicated entirely through mild acknowledgment.

"The tension!" Leontis whispered. "The unspoken attraction! The—"

"Who the fuck is singing?"

Avian looked up, storm-blue eyes finding Leontis instantly.

"The protagonist has been spotted!"

"Leontis?" Avian's expression shifted from annoyance to genuine surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Destiny, rival! The narrative demanded our paths cross at this pivotal moment!"

"Of course it did." Avian shook his head, but there was something almost like fondness in his exasperation.

"The protagonist has been preparing the stage for your arrival!"

"Preparing what, exactly?"

"Acquiring a teaching position through mysterious circumstances!"

Kai emerged from shadows Leontis hadn't even noticed, grinning. "Teaching? You? This should be entertaining."

"Kai! Comic relief number one has arrived!"

"Still calling me that?" But Kai was smiling. "Good to see you survived whatever insane quest you went on."

"The protagonist always survives! Though there were some close calls involving angry librarians and bottled concepts."

Avian turned toward the residence. "We can catch up tomorrow. It's been a long journey."

"Such measured response! Our rivalry has matured!"

"No, I'm just too tired to deal with your particular brand of insanity right now." But he paused at the door. "Try not to get expelled before classes start."

"The protagonist makes no promises!"

As Avian disappeared into the residence, Kai looked up at Leontis. "Teaching assistant, huh? How'd you manage that?"

"Through the power of narrative convenience and sound magic!"

"Sound magic?" Kai's eyebrows rose. "You actually found that grimoire you were babbling about?"

"The Resonance Codex revealed itself to the worthy!"

"You mean you got lucky."

"That too!"

They walked together back toward the Commoner's Market, two old companions reunited. Behind them, the noble students settled into their Academy residences, preparing for a term that would definitely not go according to anyone's plans.

The Academy City breathed around them—ancient stones holding modern ambitions, shadows hiding darker truths, and somewhere beneath it all, mechanisms older than the Empire grinding toward purposes nobody remembered.

Tomorrow, term would begin.

Tonight, all the pieces were finally on the board.

"Let the games begin!" Leontis shouted to the uncaring sky, then laughed as Kai threw a pebble at his head.

The Academy City swallowed his laughter, adding it to the symphony of ambition, violence, and terrible life choices that defined higher education in the Empire.

The stage is set, Leontis thought as he walked with his friend. Now comes the fun part.