The Forsaken Heir

As Lorian stepped out of the mana control classroom, the frustration from his struggles still gnawed at him. His thoughts were heavy, replaying the invisible resistance he had felt during the exercise. He clenched his fists as he walked, determined to push through whatever was holding him back. But for now, he had to put those frustrations aside.

His next class, Tactics and Strategy, was something he'd been looking forward to—especially after the morning's ordeal. Strategy had always been one of his strengths. If there was one thing that could restore his confidence after the struggle in mana control, it was putting his tactical mind to the test.

The classroom for Tactics and Strategy was located in the academy's newer wings, sleek and modern, in contrast to the older stone of the other buildings. The hallways were lined with historical battle maps and strategic diagrams. Lorian felt a surge of anticipation. This is where I can prove myself, he thought, the tension from earlier slowly fading.

When he entered the room, it was already filling with students. Unlike the typical classrooms with desks, this one had large tables displaying maps, markers, and various objects used to represent troops and fortifications. Lorian quickly took in the setting—rows of students organizing themselves into groups. The smell of parchment and ink hung in the air, blending with the faint hum of conversation.

He didn't recognize anyone, though a few stood out. Across the room sat a tall, sharp-featured boy, his posture straight and his expression focused. His eyes flicked over the map in front of him with cool precision, his movements deliberate, suggesting he was no stranger to tactical exercises. Beside him, a girl with auburn hair sat calmly, her fingers idly tracing the lines of a battle formation as if already visualizing the unfolding strategy. They both carried themselves with a quiet confidence that Lorian hadn't quite seen in anyone else at the academy.

Who are they? Lorian wondered, watching their quiet focus. He hadn't been at the academy long enough to know anyone's reputation, but he could tell these two weren't novices. His gaze lingered a little longer on the girl—there was something about her calm yet calculating demeanor that struck him as particularly formidable.

Before Lorian could dwell on it further, the instructor entered the room—a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver hair tied back in a neat knot. His presence commanded immediate respect. His deep-set eyes, sharp and clear, surveyed the students with the gaze of someone who had seen many battles and led others through them. He wore simple but dignified robes, and on his chest gleamed the insignia of Aldoria's military academy—proof of his long-standing service.

"Welcome to Tactics and Strategy," he began, his voice deep and steady. "I am Master Arlin, and in this class, you will learn how to think, adapt, and lead. It will not be enough to have power or skill. Here, your mind will be your greatest weapon."

Lorian sat up straighter, the weight of the instructor's words sinking in. Arlin's presence had an undeniable gravity, the kind that only came from years of experience. He wasn't just teaching theory—this man had likely lived through some of the very battles he would be lecturing about.

Master Arlin gestured to the maps laid out on the tables. "Today, we will be working through a simulation of one of Aldoria's most famous battles—the Siege of Eldenwatch. You'll be divided into groups. One side will command the attacking force, and the other will defend the city. The goal is simple: either break the siege or hold the city."

Lorian felt a surge of anticipation. He knew this battle well. He had studied the Siege of Eldenwatch during his training with Captain Aric. It was a classic scenario, requiring more than brute force—careful planning and coordination were key. If he could apply what he had learned, maybe today would restore his confidence after the rough start in mana control.

Master Arlin began assigning groups, and Lorian found himself paired with two other students. One of them, a boy with short blond hair, introduced himself as Mikel. "Not exactly my strong suit," Mikel admitted with a sheepish grin, glancing at the map, "but I'll do my best."

The other, a quiet girl with dark eyes and a serious expression, gave her name as Nia. "I'm decent at this," she said, her voice calm but measured. "I'll follow your lead if you have a plan."

Lorian nodded, appreciating her willingness to let him take charge. "Let's see what we're dealing with first."

As luck would have it, their group was assigned to defend the city, just as Lorian had hoped. He had an immediate mental map of Eldenwatch—a walled city with narrow streets and natural fortifications, designed to withstand prolonged sieges. His mind buzzed with potential strategies.

But as they gathered around the map, setting up their defenses, Lorian couldn't help but glance across the room at the tall boy and auburn-haired girl, who had been assigned to lead the attacking forces. He caught the boy's gaze, and the boy smirked, his eyes narrowing as though he already knew he had the upper hand.

"Tristan Vael," Mikel muttered quietly, noticing Lorian's glance. "His family's known for producing military leaders. He's got a reputation for winning these simulations."

"And the girl?" Lorian asked, his eyes flicking to her.

"Vera Eryndor," Nia chimed in. "She's the top student in strategy from her region. Quiet, but she's ruthless with tactics. Tristan and Vera usually work together."

Lorian swallowed, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. Perfect. He hadn't been at the academy long enough to know these students by reputation, but if they were as good as Mikel and Nia suggested, this was going to be a real challenge.

The simulation began, and almost immediately, Lorian realized that Tristan and Vera were formidable opponents. Tristan moved his forces with startling precision, exploiting weaknesses in their defenses that Lorian hadn't anticipated. Vera, on the other hand, coordinated her support units with surgical accuracy, cutting off Lorian's reinforcements and leaving key sections of their defenses vulnerable.

"They're too fast," Mikel muttered beside him, his brow furrowed as they watched another section of their defenses fall. "I don't see how we're going to hold them off."

Lorian clenched his fists, his mind racing. He wasn't used to being outmatched like this. He had expected a tough fight, but Tristan was attacking with such speed and precision that Lorian barely had time to adjust. His strategies, carefully laid out at the beginning of the simulation, were already falling apart.

Think, Lorian. Think!

"Come on, Aeloria," Tristan called out from across the room, his voice dripping with amusement. "Is this really all you've got? I expected more from someone wearing a Bronze Griffin Pin."

Lorian's jaw clenched at the taunt, but he forced himself to focus on the map in front of him. His defenses were crumbling, and the city was on the verge of being overrun. If he didn't act fast, Tristan would win—and worse, he'd be humiliated in front of the entire class.

"What do we do?" Nia asked, her calm demeanor cracking slightly as the pressure mounted. "We can't hold them like this."

Lorian stared at the map, the pieces of his defenses scattered and disorganized. Tristan had forced him into a reactive position from the start, and Lorian realized with a sinking feeling that his usual methods wouldn't work here. Tristan was too fast, too sharp.

"Pull back," Lorian said suddenly, his voice firm. He pointed to the main gate, the most vulnerable part of their defenses. "Leave the gate open."

Mikel blinked at him, bewildered. "You want to leave the gate open? That's suicide."

"Trust me," Lorian insisted, his eyes scanning the map. "We let them think we've collapsed. When they charge in, we'll trap them in the narrow streets."

Nia hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, understanding Lorian's plan. "We'll create a bottleneck."

Lorian gave her a quick nod. "Exactly. Once they're inside, they'll have no room to maneuver. We'll hit them from the sides and the back."

Mikel still looked unsure but followed Lorian's lead. They pulled back their forces, abandoning the outer defenses and leaving the main gate wide open—a calculated risk. As expected, Tristan's forces took the bait, storming through the open gate with confidence.

"I knew you'd break," Tristan called out smugly as his forces surged forward, pushing deeper into the city. "That was easier than I thought."

Lorian's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the attackers close in. For a moment, he wondered if he had made the right call. But as Tristan's forces funneled into the narrow streets, Lorian's defenders sprang into action. From hidden positions, they struck with precision, cutting off Tristan's retreat and trapping his forces in a choke point.

But Tristan didn't falter.

With a sharp command, Tristan redirected his forces, adapting to Lorian's tactic in an instant. Lorian's trap, which should have crushed the attackers, was quickly turned against him. Tristan's soldiers surged forward with renewed vigor, breaking through Lorian's weakened flanks. The defenders, outnumbered and overwhelmed, collapsed under the assault.

Within minutes, the city was lost.

Lorian stood frozen, his chest tight as the reality of the loss sank in. His unorthodox strategy had worked—at first. But Tristan's quick thinking and relentless adaptability had outmatched him.

"Looks like you're not quite there yet, Aeloria," Tristan said, his smirk returning as he surveyed the battlefield. "Better luck next time."

Master Arlin stepped forward, nodding to Tristan and Vera with approval. "An impressive display of adaptability, Vael. Well done." His eyes shifted to Lorian, though there was no reproach in his gaze—only a thoughtful appraisal. "A bold move, Aeloria. But not all risks pay off."

Lorian forced a small nod, though the sting of the defeat weighed heavily on him. He had tried—he had pushed himself—but today, it hadn't been enough. His chest felt tight, and his breath came shallow as his mind replayed the moment Tristan turned his trap against him. He had been so sure—so certain his plan would work—but in the end, he'd been outplayed.

Not good enough. The words echoed in his mind. I'm not good enough.

He barely registered the voices around him—Mikel and Nia trying to talk, their words muffled in the background as his thoughts spiraled inward. The classroom seemed to blur as frustration boiled in his chest, twisting into something darker. It wasn't just today. First, there was the bitter reminder that he wasn't chosen as heir—passed over in favor of Elara. Then, his struggles with mana control. And now this. Everything he had excelled at before coming to the academy was falling apart.

Am I even meant to be here?

He was a Bronze Griffin Pin holder, a status that should have set him apart, and yet here he was, floundering in both strategy and mana control—the two areas he had always taken pride in. He clenched his fists tightly, nails biting into his palms, the sting of failure burning sharper with each passing second.

"Lorian?"

Mikel's voice cut through the fog, and Lorian blinked, suddenly aware of his teammates standing nearby, their faces concerned. Mikel was frowning, and Nia had her hand slightly outstretched as if debating whether to touch his arm.

"You alright?" Mikel asked, his tone light but tinged with concern. "I mean, Tristan's a tough opponent, but you held your own."

"Lorian, we're still a team," Nia added gently. "It's not all on you."

Their words barely registered. Lorian's heart pounded in his chest, frustration and disappointment clashing in his mind. He couldn't think straight. He needed to get out of there.

"I—" he started, but his voice cracked. He shook his head, turning away from them abruptly. "I need to go."

Without waiting for a response, Lorian grabbed his things and made for the door. His steps quickened as he left the classroom, the walls of the academy suddenly feeling too close, too confining. He could hear his teammates calling after him, but their voices faded behind him. He just needed space—he needed to be alone.

He walked with no real destination in mind until his feet carried him to the only place he could think of—the library. Its grand, towering shelves had always been a place of quiet and calm, and right now, that's exactly what he needed. Pushing open the heavy oak doors, he slipped inside, the familiar scent of parchment and old books greeting him.

Lorian didn't bother acknowledging the few students scattered throughout the library. He found a quiet corner near the back, far from the usual foot traffic, and sank into one of the cushioned chairs by the tall shelves. The silence wrapped around him, but it wasn't the comforting kind. It was heavy, oppressive, pressing down on his chest as he buried his face in his hands.

Why wasn't I better?

For years, he'd been trained by Aric—Captain Aric, the Thorn of Aeloria, one of the greatest tacticians in the kingdom. Under his guidance, Lorian had learned to think ahead, to anticipate, to read the battlefield. But now, when it truly mattered, he had failed. And Aric wasn't here to help him. He wasn't there to ask for advice or to point out what he'd done wrong. There was no stern voice telling him how to adjust or what he'd missed.

Aric's absence felt like a hole in his chest. Back home, every misstep had been followed by a lesson, every defeat turned into an opportunity for growth under his mentor's watchful eye. But now, he was on his own, and for the first time, Lorian didn't feel like he had the answers.

"I wish you were here," he muttered under his breath, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the towering shelves above. "I need you, Aric."

The stillness of the library only emphasized the emptiness he felt. He closed his eyes, his hands resting on his knees as his mind swirled with frustration. It was as if the weight of every failure was crashing down on him at once. Not being named heir, struggling in mana control class, and now, the defeat in strategy—it all felt like a crushing reminder that he wasn't as strong as he thought.

I'm tired of losing, he thought bitterly. I've had enough.

But sitting there in the quiet, the thought that followed hit him harder than the rest.

If I don't figure this out, I'll keep losing.

Lorian let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He couldn't let this continue. He wouldn't let it continue. His thoughts drifted back to Aric's teachings, the countless hours spent not just practicing, but studying. Aric had always emphasized the importance of preparation—you don't just win on the battlefield, you win in the planning room, he had said once.

And that's when it clicked.

Lorian's gaze shifted to the shelves around him, the books towering like sentinels of knowledge. He had spent so much time honing his physical skills and focusing on the heat of battle, but here, in the academy, maybe that wasn't enough. He needed to dive deeper into the theory—into the knowledge that could turn the tide of a battle before a sword was ever swung.

Without hesitation, he rose from his seat and approached the nearest shelf, scanning the spines of the books. Tactical Manuals, Military Histories, Arcane Warfare, the titles read, each one offering something new, something more.

If Aric couldn't be here to guide him, Lorian would find the answers himself.

He pulled a tome from the shelf—The Art of War and Magic—and let its heavy weight settle in his hands. The cover was worn, the edges frayed from years of use, but the knowledge inside was still sharp, still waiting to be discovered.

For the next few hours, Lorian poured over the pages, his mind soaking in strategies, traps, and maneuvers used by the greatest tacticians of Aldoria. He lost track of time as the words on the page became a map in his head, weaving together new possibilities and insights. He took notes, sketched diagrams, and compared them to the mistakes he had made earlier in class.

But as the night grew darker and the pages blurred together, a nagging thought kept creeping back into his mind—his mana control.

The frustration he had felt earlier in class resurfaced, a sharp pang of inadequacy that refused to go away. He couldn't ignore the way his magic had felt off in class. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He had always been strong with internal mana control—channeling it into his body, using it to enhance his combat abilities—but when it came to external magic, something was wrong. There was a resistance he couldn't explain, like an invisible wall blocking him every time he tried to channel his power outward.

Determined to figure it out, Lorian scanned the library for any books related to mana control. He found a few tomes on basic theory—Principles of Mana Flow, Mastery of External Casting, and Unraveling the Mysteries of the Arcane. He grabbed them, setting them down on the table with a thud, and started leafing through the pages.

As he read, his frustration only grew. The books explained techniques he already knew—methods for controlling mana flow, exercises for increasing external control—but none of them explained the block he was feeling. Nothing seemed to address why his mana felt so wild, so untamable when he tried to cast spells externally.

Why is this happening? Lorian's fingers gripped the edge of the book tightly, his knuckles turning white. It didn't make sense. He was following every step, every method, and still, the results were the same—failure.

He slammed the book shut in frustration, the noise echoing slightly in the quiet library.