Hero Of Broken History

Academy Grounds - Ten Days After the Ritual

The morning bell hadn't rung yet. Seraphina had been awake for hours.

She touched the pendant around her neck—a simple silver circle the Archbishop had given her on the eighth day. "A blessing," he'd called it. "To protect you from hostile magics while you work." It hummed with faint divine energy, warm against her skin.

What he hadn't said: it also masked her presence from the Academy's wards. Made her invisible to whatever senses the Dean used to monitor his domain. Brother Harren had explained it simply: "The Dean can feel mana moving through his Academy like a spider feels vibrations on its web. That pendant? It dampens your vibrations. Makes ye a ghost."

It felt like cheating. But Amara and Roland were still dead, so she wore it anyway.

Tenth day since the ritual. Her channels had stabilized three days ago, and she'd spent the last week doing exactly what the Archbishop ordered—watching, learning, memorizing. Avian Veritas's schedule was carved into her mind like scripture. Training grounds at dawn, always alone. Classes mid-morning, though he rarely attended. Library visits in the afternoon, restricted sections that should have been off-limits but somehow weren't.

And every night, he disappeared into the dormitories and didn't emerge until sunrise.

She'd learned the Academy's layout better than most students who'd been here for years. Guard rotations (sloppy, predictable). Ward locations (strong at gates, weak at servant entrances). Emergency protocols (evacuation routes all funneled toward three main exits—terrible design).

Brother Harren would be proud. The Archbishop would be pleased.

But she still didn't have what she really needed: proof that Avian Veritas was the masked killer. Hard, undeniable proof that would let her put a sword through his throat without the Dean interfering.

The administrative building loomed ahead, pre-dawn darkness making it look less like an office and more like a monument to bureaucratic indifference. She'd watched the patterns. Dean's assistant arrived at sunrise, Dean himself an hour later. The cleaning staff left at midnight and didn't return until after breakfast.

Three hours of empty building. Three hours to find something useful.

The servant's entrance wasn't as easy as she'd hoped. The lock was simple enough—she'd watched Brother Harren pick similar ones during training exercises. But her hands shook, and it took three tries before the mechanism finally clicked.

Not an assassin. Just a knight trying to do spy work. This isn't what I was trained for.

Inside, the hallway smelled of old paper and expensive wood polish. She moved as quietly as she could, but every footstep seemed to echo. Her combat training taught her how to fight, not how to sneak.

The ward structures hummed against her senses—amateur work, all focused on the front entrance and Dean's office. Nothing watching the records room. Either the Academy was confident or careless.

The records room door was locked. Of course it was.

Another five minutes of fumbling with the lockpick. Her fingers cramped. She cursed under her breath when the pick slipped. This was taking too long—someone could arrive early, hear her, catch her—

Finally. The lock gave.

Inside, filing cabinets stretched toward the ceiling. At least this part was easy—everything was labeled clearly. Almost too clearly, like the Academy wanted people to find things.

She started with "V" for Veritas.

Avian's file was thicker than she expected. Enrollment forms, class schedules, disciplinary reports (surprisingly few), combat evaluations (consistently excellent), and—

Nothing about heretics. Nothing about The Dissidents. Just the normal records of an exceptional student.

She moved to the correspondence section. "Recent Communications" was buried in a drawer marked "Administrative - Confidential." The lock was simple—took her two tries this time, fingers steadier with practice.

Inside, reports on everything from student complaints to budget requests to—

There. A letter marked "Imperial Relations." Her fingers stopped on it, dated three weeks ago.

To His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Karius Valerian,

The situation with the Church has become untenable. Their presence outside our walls grows daily, and their demands for "cooperation" are thinly veiled threats. I write to request Imperial intervention before this escalates into open conflict.

The Church claims authority over matters of faith, but their knights now number over three hundred and their Archbishop makes no secret of his intent to "inspect" our libraries and students. This is not religious oversight—this is preparation for occupation.

I formally request military support to reinforce Academy sovereignty. A show of Imperial force would make clear that the Academy remains neutral ground, subject to Imperial law rather than Church authority.

Respectfully, Dean Aldrich

Seraphina read it twice, her tactical training immediately recognizing the implications.

The Dean was asking the Empire to choose sides. Church versus Academy. And if the Empire sent troops, the Church would see it as an act of war.

This was it. The proof Archbishop Caldris needed that the Academy was actively working against the Church. Evidence of conspiracy, of political maneuvering designed to undermine divine authority.

She carefully folded the letter and slipped it into her jacket.

Then she kept searching.

Because if the Dean was conspiring against the Church, odds were good his students were too. Particularly the one who'd killed two Church knights and walked away without consequence.

The file on "Recent Incidents" was buried in a drawer marked "Disciplinary - Confidential." She picked the lock in under a minute.

Inside, reports on everything from student brawls to property damage to—

There. Underground incident. Two Church knights killed, two wounded. Survivor's testimony claiming a masked Grandmaster with unusual techniques.

No suspect named. Investigation "ongoing." Status: Closed by order of Dean Aldrich.

Closed. Just like that. Because protecting Avian Veritas was more important than justice for murdered Church knights.

Her hands clenched on the folder.

Then she saw the other papers underneath. Letters. Correspondence. And the first one made her blood go cold.

The file was labeled "Intercepted Correspondence - Under Investigation." Inside, copies of letters, each one marked with a red stamp: "CONFISCATED - UNSENT."

To our allies in The Dissidents,

Your recent efforts to expose Church corruption have not gone unnoticed. The Academy stands ready to support your cause, though we must remain publicly neutral for political reasons.

Enclosed are documents from our archives that may prove useful for your publications. Use them wisely. The Church's authority rests on lies that have lasted five centuries—it's time those lies faced light.

The Academy remembers truth, even when others choose to forget it.

— A.V.

The initials. A.V.

Seraphina stared at the signature. A.V. could be anyone. Avian Veritas, yes, but also... she tried to think. Alexander? Adrian? There had to be dozens of students with those initials.

But the Archbishop had told her to find proof about Avian specifically. And here was A.V., writing to heretics about exposing Church lies. It had to be him.

Didn't it?

A note was paper-clipped to the first letter in the Dean's handwriting: "Found in outgoing mail system, sender unknown. Intercepted before delivery. Investigating source. — D.A."

She pulled out more letters. All marked with those same initials. All addressed to "The Dissidents"—the radical anti-Church group that had been causing problems across the Empire.

Brother Harren had mentioned them during training. A loose network of heretics who rejected Church authority, claimed the gods were false, spread propaganda about "divine corruption." They'd grown bolder in recent years—burning a cathedral in the eastern provinces last year, assassinating a Bishop in the south. The Church had declared them terrorists, enemies of the faith.

Her hands trembled as she read through them. Each letter offered support, shared "historical documents," coordinated against Church authority.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

But something felt... off.

Why would someone smart enough to be a Grandmaster at fifteen sign heretical letters with his own initials? Why not use a false name, or no signature at all? And if the Dean had intercepted these months ago, why were they just sitting here in a drawer? Why hadn't he confronted whoever sent them?

Unless the Dean was protecting him. Covering it up because Avian was Aedric's son. That made sense. Political immunity. The kind of protection that let a killer walk free after murdering Church knights.

She pushed the doubt down. The Archbishop had been right about everything else. He'd known Avian was dangerous, known the Academy was hiding something. These letters proved it.

Her chest felt tight. This was the boy who'd killed Amara and Roland. The masked fighter who'd cut them down without mercy. And now proof he was funding the same terrorists who'd burned churches, murdered priests, spread lies about the gods themselves.

It should have felt like victory. Like justice.

Instead, her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She forced herself to keep reading. Letter after letter. The same initials. The same heretical words. Evidence that would damn him completely.

The Archbishop was right. He knew.

She took all of them. Every letter, every piece of correspondence. Her fingers fumbled with the papers, nearly dropping them twice.

The administrative building's bells began their pre-dawn chime. She had maybe ten minutes before staff started arriving.

Seraphina moved quickly, returning files to their places, ensuring nothing looked disturbed. The servant's entrance let her out as easily as it had let her in, and she was three buildings away when the first assistant arrived for work.

In her jacket: proof of Academy conspiracy against the Church, and proof that Avian Veritas was a heretic collaborator.

The Archbishop would be very, very pleased.

Church Encampment - Dawn

"Your Grace, she's back."

Archbishop Caldris looked up from his morning prayers, that warm grandfather smile already in place. "Send her in."

Seraphina entered his tent still wearing her infiltration clothes, face flushed from running. She dropped the bundle of papers on his desk like they were on fire.

"The Dean is asking the Empire for military support against the Church," she said without preamble. "And Avian Veritas has been corresponding with The Dissidents. Providing them with documents, coordination, support for their anti-Church activities."

The Archbishop's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air. Like pressure building before a storm.

"Show me."

She laid out the Dean's letter first. Watched him read it with that same gentle smile, as if he was reviewing a particularly pleasant recipe rather than proof of political conspiracy.

"Interesting," he murmured. "The Dean plays a dangerous game, involving the Empire. Though I suspect this letter never actually reached Imperial hands, given that you found it still in his files."

"He might have sent a copy—"

"Perhaps. We'll verify." He set that letter aside. "And Avian Veritas?"

She spread out the correspondence with The Dissidents. Letter after letter, all marked A.V., all offering support to known heretics.

The Archbishop read them slowly. Carefully. His fingers traced the signatures like he was memorizing their exact curves.

"Well," he said finally. "This changes things considerably."

He opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a sealed document. The wax was old, dated three months prior. He broke it open, scanning the contents with evident satisfaction.

"Contingency Seven," he murmured. "I had hoped we'd find sufficient evidence eventually. I prepared for this possibility months ago."

"Contingency Seven?" Seraphina asked.

"An operational plan I drafted in case we discovered proof of Academy collaboration with heretical elements." His smile was gentle. "When the Truth's Witness articles began destabilizing the region, I knew something deeper was at play. Three months to position forces, coordinate with allied noble houses, ensure legal justifications were airtight." He set the document down. "I prepared for various scenarios. Heretical collaboration was always the most likely. Everything is ready."

"We have him." Seraphina's voice was barely controlled. "Proof he's working with heretics. The Dean can't protect him from this. We can arrest him, try him, execute him for—"

"No."

She stopped. "What?"

"We don't simply arrest him." The Archbishop stood, moving to his window that overlooked the Academy walls.

Seraphina's hands clenched. After everything—after Amara, after Roland, after weeks of waiting—he was saying no?

"Your Grace, I don't understand. We have evidence. We can—"

"We can do something far more valuable than a quick execution." He turned back to face her, and his smile had changed. Not warm anymore. Sharp. "Think, child. Who is Avian Veritas?"

"A heretic. A killer—"

"Son of Aedric Veritas, one of the Five Great Blades." The Archbishop's voice was patient, like a teacher guiding a slow student. "Heir to one of the Empire's most powerful families. A Grandmaster at fifteen—something most warriors never achieve in their entire lives."

He gestured at the letters on his desk. "And now, proven to be working with terrorists who burn churches and murder priests. Do you see?"

Seraphina's mind raced. "The political implications..."

"Exactly." His smile widened. "We're not hunting some random heretic. We're hunting someone who matters. Someone whose fall will echo across the Empire."

Understanding began to dawn, cold and heavy in her chest.

"We're going to break him," the Archbishop said softly. "Publicly. Strip away his family's protection. Isolate him completely. Then capture him, bring him before the Empire, and show everyone what happens when you stand against divine authority."

"A public trial?"

"More than that. A demonstration." He pulled out another document—a list of names, all noble houses. Many were already marked with checkmarks. "I've been speaking with the great families for months. When we present this evidence, the nobility will turn against him. They'll have no choice."

Seraphina stared at the list. Dozens of houses. All positioning against one fifteen-year-old boy.

"His father," she said quietly. "Aedric Veritas. He's one of the Five Great Blades. He won't just abandon his own son."

"Won't he?" The Archbishop's voice held certainty. "When that son is proven to be a heretic collaborator? When supporting him means losing everything—title, position, the futures of his other children?" He tapped the list again. "Aedric Veritas is practical above all else. He'll make the rational choice."

The weight of it settled on her shoulders. This wasn't about justice for Amara and Roland anymore. This was about destroying an entire family. Breaking them so thoroughly that no one would dare question the Church again.

"And the Academy?" Her voice came out smaller than she intended.

"Will be forced to surrender him or face siege. Either way, we win." He collected the letters carefully. "If they hand him over, it proves they submit to Church authority. If they refuse, we have justification to apply overwhelming pressure until they break."

He returned to his desk, organizing the documents with precise movements. "But the real victory comes after. When we have Avian Veritas—this prodigy, this heir, this boy that everyone whispers might be the greatest warrior of his generation—and we parade him through the capital in chains."

The Archbishop's voice dropped, taking on a dreamy quality. "We'll strip him of his titles. Force him to publicly recant. Make him confess his heresies before the assembled nobility and commons alike. Show everyone that even the mighty Veritas family cannot protect those who defy the gods."

"And then execute him?"

"Perhaps." The Archbishop's voice went soft, almost dreamy. "Or perhaps we keep him alive—a broken, humiliated reminder of what happens to those who question divine truth. A reverse martyr."

Seraphina's stomach turned. She'd imagined Avian's death a thousand times. Quick. Violent. Watching the light leave his eyes the way it had left Amara's and Roland's.

But this... this was something else entirely.

"Not someone who died for their beliefs," the Archbishop continued, "but someone who was forced to live in shame. Power and pride destroyed. Which do you think sends a stronger message?"

A quick execution made martyrs. She knew that. Heroes who died for their cause became legends, symbols, rallying cries.

But a broken hero? Publicly humiliated? Abandoned by everyone? That would terrify anyone who considered following his path.

It would also destroy him more thoroughly than any blade.

"The second," she heard herself say. Her voice sounded distant.

"Exactly." The Archbishop's smile returned to its grandfatherly warmth. "We don't just want to stop Avian Veritas. We want to make sure no one else ever tries what he did."

Seraphina thought about Penny, the friendly scholarship student. About the professors who taught because they cared. About all the people at the Academy who weren't heretics, just... people.

"How many will suffer for this?"

"As few as necessary." He moved closer, his hand finding her shoulder again. That gentle, heavy pressure. "This is bigger than one boy, Seraphina. Bigger than revenge. We're protecting the Empire itself. The very soul of our faith."

She nodded. She had to nod. Because Amara and Roland were still dead. Because she'd come too far to doubt now.

"Three days," she said quietly.

"Three days to position everything perfectly. Three days to ensure every escape route is closed." He looked at her intently. "And you, my dear, will be at the front when we take him. Let him see that the girl he orphaned is the one who brings him to justice."

Justice. The word felt heavier than it should.

The Archbishop moved to a locked chest in the corner. "Of course, depending on how the siege unfolds, we may gain access to other objectives. The vault, for instance."

"The vault?"

"The Academy hoards relics that should be under Church protection." He produced a key, unlocked the chest. "Artifacts from before the Empire. Dangerous things." His voice dropped. "The Eyes of Potestas."

The name meant nothing to Seraphina, but the way he said it—with reverence and hunger combined—made her skin crawl.

"A forbidden god," he said simply. "Cast down before recorded history. The Church has spent millennia ensuring such powers never threaten the faithful again."

He didn't elaborate. Didn't explain. Just closed the chest and returned to his desk.

"And the Academy has his... eyes?"

"Crystallized divine essence. They've been using them for research, can you imagine? Treating the remains of a god like academic curiosities." His voice hardened. "Those artifacts belong in Church vaults, sealed and protected. Along with whatever other relics the Academy has been hiding from proper divine authority."

He straightened. "But the artifacts are secondary. If the siege forces the Academy to open their gates, we'll seize what we can. If they surrender Avian quickly, we may not get that opportunity—but the primary goal will be achieved regardless."

Seraphina's mouth went dry. This wasn't about justice for Amara and Roland anymore. This was about using their deaths as justification for something far bigger.

"The students—"

"Will be given every opportunity to cooperate when we siege the Academy. Those who submit to Church authority will be spared. Those who resist..." He shrugged. "But I expect most will choose survival over loyalty to one heretic. Especially once they learn his own father has disowned him."

"I didn't... I just wanted proof about Avian Veritas. About the knights he killed."

"And you found it. Plus so much more." The Archbishop's hand rested on her shoulder, gentle pressure that somehow felt like a vice. "You've done wonderfully, Seraphina. Your mentors would be proud. Through your dedication, we're going to end five centuries of the Academy's corruption. Think of all the lives we'll save. All the souls we'll protect from heretical influence."

She thought about the students she'd passed in hallways. Penny, who'd been kind when she had no reason to be. The professors who taught because they genuinely cared about knowledge. Even the annoying noble brats who just wanted to learn magic and go home.

"How many will die?"

"As few as necessary." His voice remained kind. "But some sacrifice is inevitable when cleansing corruption. You understand that, don't you? You've seen what happens when heresy goes unchecked. Your own family—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than she intended.

She caught herself immediately, realizing she'd just snapped at an Archbishop. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I didn't mean to—"

"No, no. It's quite alright." He released her shoulder, his smile understanding. "I should not have brought up such painful memories. Forgive me."

He stepped back, giving her space. "You've done your part beautifully. Now rest. Recover. In three days, we'll need you at your strongest. When we march on the Academy, I want you at the front. Let Avian Veritas see the girl he orphaned coming for justice."

She nodded numbly.

"Oh, and Seraphina? Not a word of this to anyone. Not Brother Harren, not the other knights. Operational security is paramount." His smile never wavered. "We wouldn't want the Academy to prepare for what's coming, would we?"

"No, Your Grace."

She left his tent with her legs feeling like water. Behind her, she heard him calling for his senior commanders.

The evidence sat on his desk. Proof of conspiracy. Justification for war.

And she'd handed it to him with her own hands.