The Silent Tides

The Imperial Academy of Icaris - Central Continent

3rd of Murarion, 1374 A.R. (After the Reconstitution)

The history hall was a dark stone chamber, with towering bookshelves nearly reaching the vaulted ceiling. In the dim light filtering through the windows, dust floated over the leather-bound manuscripts—silent witnesses to generations that had studied within those same walls. The students, dressed in sober-toned robes, maintained the composed demeanor expected of their status, quills in hand, eyes fixed on their parchments.

Master Corvail Veldris, a renowned historian, paced the classroom with measured steps. His dark-toned robe fell without a single crease, and his severe gaze swept over the students, assessing their attention before he spoke.

"History is not merely a tale of kings and wars," he said firmly, his tone unhurried, as if each word had been carefully weighed. "It is a warning. What happened before will happen again, in one form or another. The ignorance of past mistakes is the ruin of future empires."

Some students nodded seriously, others wrote diligently. Gwendolyn Itharis, however, had her attention elsewhere.

Her long, sleek hair framed her face with a dark sheen under the faint light, like the polished surface of obsidian. Her pale skin, touched with a subtle olive undertone, bore the delicate quality of an ancient parchment—each feature placed with precision, neither demanding attention nor fading into obscurity. And then there were her eyes: deep violet and crystalline blue, a contrast as striking as her perspective on the world.

While her peers wrote, she leafed through a book of chronicles, a compendium on the clans and kingdoms that had disappeared. She turned the pages with the patience of someone searching without truly expecting to find anything—until a particular passage caught her attention.

An old poem, embedded among the records.

"What are you reading?" Seyna whispered, leaning in discreetly.

Gwen glanced at the text and murmured under her breath:

"No gift is pure, no faith in vain, Every echo returns, every debt remains."

Lirien stopped writing and frowned slightly at the page.

"That seems more like a reflection than a poem," she remarked softly. "What is it doing in a history book?"

"The author cited it to illustrate the downfall of these clans," Gwen explained. "Not as a prophecy, but as an observation—how the past never truly disappears."

Seyna allowed herself a faint smile.

"So, are we in a history class or a philosophy lecture?"

"That is irrelevant if you are not paying attention."

The professor's voice cut through their conversation like a well-honed blade. The three of them immediately straightened, their gazes lifting.

"If your private analysis is complete," he continued calmly, "perhaps you would like to share it with the class."

The eyes of their peers settled on them. Gwen closed her book with measured grace, her composure intact.

"We were merely discussing the relationship between fate and the choices of the fallen clans," she replied in a controlled tone.

The professor glanced at the book on her desk, and after a brief silence, nodded.

"I know that work," he said. "And I know that poem."

He let the pause linger for a second before continuing.

"It is a common reflection in history. Not a moral judgment, nor a mystical warning, but a reminder: every choice leaves a trace. A ruler may conquer, reform, or eradicate, but every action—great or small—has consequences that are not always paid in their own time."

He left the words hanging in the air, allowing the idea to settle before resuming the lesson.

"Now, let us continue. If you believe history is an absolute record, you are mistaken. It is not only what has been written, but also what has been lost. The absence of records, the lack of witnesses, the versions molded by time… all of this leaves gaps that we may never fully fill."

The professor scanned the room before speaking again.

"Can anyone give me an example of a kingdom, a clan, or a civilization whose existence we only know in fragments because their history was never preserved?"

Lirien raised her hand with quiet confidence.

"The Eastern Clans," she replied. "Their ruins still stand, but there are no records of who they truly were. It is believed they ruled for generations, but their history has only reached us in the form of architectural remnants and incomplete inscriptions."

The professor nodded.

"A good example. Without written sources, what we know about them is barely a sketch. Theories vary—some believe they were conquered, their records destroyed; others suggest they simply vanished without a trace. What does that tell us about history?"

Some students took notes; others absorbed the idea in silence. Another student crossed his arms over the table and spoke without raising his hand.

"That it depends on who tells it," he said thoughtfully.

The professor turned his head slightly in his direction.

"Then how do we distinguish truth from manipulation? If all we know is what the victor recorded, does that mean we will never know real history?"

Alric Dauvren tilted his head.

"No, but if there are no records, what we believe about them could be completely wrong."

The professor gave a faint smile before continuing the lesson.

Meanwhile, Gwen kept her eyes on her book, turning the pages with slow, deliberate movements. It was not disinterest, but another form of attention. She knew history was full of voids, of silences that would never be fully explained. Some omissions were accidental. Others were intentional. And those were the ones that interested her the most.

The murmur of the hall began to fade as students closed their parchments and gathered their things. The familiar sounds of chairs scraping against stone and quills placed back into their cases marked the end of the class. Gwen finished jotting down one last observation in her book before closing it with measured precision.

The echo of students' footsteps resonated in the stone corridors as class ended. Some hurried out, while others lingered, exchanging last words with their peers. Gwen gathered her things calmly, as always. She disliked rushing unnecessarily.

Seyna and Lirien waited for her outside, speaking in hushed tones. When Gwen reached them, Seyna cast her a look full of meaning and smiled in that way Gwen knew all too well.

"You're not going to say anything about him, are you?" she said, almost resigned as they descended the academy's steps.

Gwen sighed, already knowing exactly what she was referring to.

"There is nothing to say."

"Oh, but there is!" Seyna exclaimed, throwing her arms up as if Gwen's response was absurd. "Eryon Dauvrel watches you like you're a riddle he needs to solve. And you can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Of course, she had noticed. It would be impossible not to. Eryon was not one to be easily distracted. He wasn't someone who focused on things that lacked importance. And yet, he seemed to find constant reasons to observe her.

Gwen did not respond immediately, maintaining her usual serene and calculated expression. Not because the subject didn't matter, but because she knew Seyna wouldn't drop it easily.

"Perhaps it's just his way of analyzing people," she commented, diverting the conversation with an answer ambiguous enough to be useless.

Seyna squinted at her, unconvinced.

"That doesn't explain why he watches you more than anyone else."

A few steps away, the Itharis carriage awaited, the family emblem subtly engraved on the door. A servant opened it the moment they approached. Gwen stepped in first, followed by her friends, who did so with the ease of those who had already decided they were going with her.

"I assume you're coming to my house," Gwen remarked neutrally as they settled in.

"Obviously," Seyna replied. "I can't leave this conversation unfinished."

Lirien simply nodded, as if it was the most logical decision.

As the carriage started moving, Gwen looked out the window, keeping her expression unreadable. «Ridiculous. There is nothing to reveal». But she couldn't deny her heart beat a little faster than usual. Not because of Seyna's words— But because she couldn't shake the way Eryon looked at her.

The carriage slowed as it arrived at the Itharis estate. The sun was descending slowly on the horizon, casting elongated shadows over the pale stone of the residence. A servant opened the door with measured precision, and the young women stepped down with the natural ease of their upbringing.

Seyna glanced around before asking in a casual tone:

"Is your mother still away?"

"Yes, she'll be back later," Gwen replied.

Seyna murmured with a glint of mischief in her eyes, "How convenient. I hope that means we can snoop around in her jewelry box a little."

Lirien shot her a patient look, long accustomed to her antics.

"Don't get into trouble."

"I don't get into trouble, I simply observe it from a safe distance," Seyna replied with an innocent air.

"Go up to my room. I'll join you shortly," Gwen interrupted naturally, paying little attention to the conversation.

Seyna's curiosity sparked instantly. "Where are you going?"

"To speak with my father."

The answer was unexpected enough for Seyna and Lirien to exchange a quick glance.

"And what will you talk about?" Seyna asked, her interest renewed.

"University," Gwen said simply.

Seyna sighed dramatically and took the lead toward the stairs. "Of course, you'd be thinking about the future months in advance."

"Someone has to," Lirien murmured as she followed.

Gwen didn't respond. She turned in the opposite direction, her steps firm as she made her way to her father's office.

«But this time, she couldn't stop certain thoughts from lingering in her mind longer than she would have liked».