NOVEL NEXT Chapter 44: Her
Amadeus's gaze stayed on Vencian, silent long enough to pull at him more than any words could. Then his voice carried again, lower this time.
"My condolences. What happened to your family was cruel."
Vencian kept his face still. He had heard similar phrases too often in the past weeks. Everyone delivered them, some sincerely, some as performance. He had learned to receive them without reacting. A nod was the safest response.
Amadeus's eyes lingered, sharp yet not unkind. "Your father was a good man. He made choices others would not have had the strength to make. I fought beside him once. I know."
Vencian considered the statement. The memories belonged to a life that felt borrowed, yet hearing them reminded him of what he had lost. Amadeus was implying strength, loyalty, sacrifice—concepts easier to understand than to feel. He tilted his head in acknowledgment. Speaking would require more effort. He wondered if Amadeus expected more. Perhaps he didn't.
Beside him, Elías cleared his throat, but Amadeus turned to him before he could speak. "Your Highness." His head inclined, a short bow made possible even from the chair. The servant lowered his stance as well.
Elías raised a hand, awkwardly waving off the formality. "Professor, you don't need to address me like that here. The honor is yours."
Amadeus gave no smile, only a quiet acknowledgment. "Respect is not something I choose to withhold, no matter the place. But I will keep your wish in mind."
The prince dipped his head, faintly embarrassed, before stepping back to let the focus fall on Vencian again.
"Your brother," Amadeus said. His voice thinned slightly, though his gaze didn't falter. "If he had followed the same path as your father, he might have grown into the same kind of man. The world lost that chance."
Vencian let the words wash past. Thinking for the best choice for a response. He gave the same as before, a nod that neither confirmed nor rejected before adding in a low voice. "What good did it all amount to?"
Amadeus leaned back in his chair. His hand brushed the wooden armrest, fingers tapping once before he spoke again. "The truth is simpler than most care to admit. What we build or guard will slip away sooner or later. Men fight, men fall, and the names they carry fade with them. The world moves on, whether we remain to see it or not."
The statement cut differently from his earlier ones. Vencian searched his face, but Amadeus gave no hint whether it was regret, bitterness, or something else entirely. Only certainty.
The old soldier's eyes swept past them both, his attention already shifting away. He gestured to the servant, who began pushing the wheelchair. The wheels scraped against the courtyard stones as they moved across the open space.
Amadeus didn't turn again. His figure receded slowly, the chair sliding further and further until it vanished past the corridor. The hush he left behind stretched across the fountain, the courtyard stripped of its earlier noise.
Elías exhaled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "He doesn't waste words, does he?"
Vencian remained quiet, his thoughts caught somewhere between the condolences and the final statement. He had expected many things from a war hero, but not that.
The sound of the wheels faded into the corridor until Amadeus's presence was gone. The silence he left behind clung for a moment, then dissolved into the faint noise of students returning to their routines.
Vencian remained where he stood, staring at the empty corridor. The professor's comments felt different from others who had spoken of his father. There was something genuine about him, respect that came from experience rather than obligation.
Well… We will see each other again anyways. Often, if I can help it.
Elías exhaled, his head turning toward the fountain. His attention drifted back to what had nearly unfolded. "It's a shame," he said. "Two of the most promising students and all they can think to do with their gifts is threaten to kill each other. That's what most of our generation is like. They treat power like a game. They aren't worthy of it."
His hand moved as if brushing the thought away, but his voice grew firmer. "Someone like you deserves that bond more than they do. Take away Archeans, and you're still ahead of everyone. Not only with skill but with the sense to use it."
"That's a nice thought, but the world doesn't work like that," Vencian kept his eyes forward as he said that.
The comment should have been flattering, but it felt more like pressure.
Archeans themselves were finite, and so too the bonds they formed with mortals. Only a fraction of men and women ever carried that link, and when they did, it became tradition to pass it down within the bloodline. That inheritance ensured power remained clustered among certain houses, keeping their influence firm within the kingdom. The royal family, without question, held the largest share.
No matter how much of a genius the original Vencian was, he would still fall short of an Arkspren. His brilliance ended at the limits of the body. With Archeans, those limits broke.
Still, he has Quenya now. She gave him more than the ability to weave illusions, though he understood little of the full extent. His thoughts drifted back to a month ago, when the pact had first altered the bond and revealed its strange benefits.
She did not resemble an Archean in any form, carrying none of their traits apart from granting him powers that reached beyond what was natural. Quenya herself rejected the comparison outright, claiming Archeans were vile and unworthy of being placed in the same breath as her.
Vencian kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he was already thinking of how to steer the talk away. Elías meant well, but staying in his company too long felt less like progress and more like delay.
Elias then continued with a cautious tone. "Well, that still would've been possible if that event hadn't happen."
The remark stirred another memory for Vencian. The fall of his father and brothers was not the first time disgrace had marked the Vicorra line. A darker moment lay further back in their history, one that overshadowed everything else.
Once, the family had held five Archeans, passing them down with pride from one generation to the next. But more than a century ago, his great-great-grandfather had slaughtered them all, including the one bound to him. He gave no reason, and none was ever found.
That day became the black mark on the Vicorra name.
This is the reason the further generation of the family has grown weaker and weaker that not only the enemies but the allies too were turning against them.
People remember the worst parts. I stopped expecting anything else.
Vencian's lips parted at last, the word escaping quieter than he intended. "…Right?"
Vencian inclined his head faintly, already considering how to break away from him soon.
They had only started moving when another group of students poured out from the corridor opposite the courtyard. The end of a lecture, by the look of it. At the front, two girls emerged side by side.
Vencian recognized one immediately. Aline. Familiar enough that his attention should have lingered on her, but it slipped almost at once.
The figure next to her drew his gaze with a force that refused to release it. There was something different in her presence, something that did not allow comparison. Aline's presence faded in an instant, eclipsed by the girl who stepped beside her. Beautiful seemed inadequate to describe her. Vencian realized this first impression was likely only scratching the surface.