Date: April 20, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Eight months. Eight months had passed since she first crossed the threshold of the "Golden Stronghold," and Eliza's world had changed beyond recognition. Here, in the heart of the Rakesh Dynasty, time flowed differently — faster, denser, more saturated than in her native Aurelia. Each day was a trial, each night an opportunity to catch up to those who had started earlier.
Eliza stood on the balcony of her room, wrapping her hands around a mug of morning herbal brew, watching the first rays of sun gild the academy's spires. The "Golden Stronghold" sprawled across seven hills, its pale stone buildings rising into the sky with sharp towers, and between them, on floating bridges, students already hurried about their business. This was a city within a city, an empire within an empire, and Eliza discovered something new in it every day.
She felt the warmth pulsing deep within her, in the very core of her Vessel — her power, her "Golden Thread." In eight months, she had advanced further than her mentors had expected. She stood on the threshold of the Pillar rank, and even the most skeptical instructors acknowledged this. Her achievements were significant, but not exceptional — there were those in the academy who moved faster, whose Spirits awakened brighter, whose families provided the best mentors and the rarest resources. Eliza was above average, nothing more. And that was enough.
Enough that no one looked at her with pity. Enough that she wasn't considered a burden. Enough to… survive.
She took a sip of the brew. The herbs were bitter, but she had grown accustomed. In Aurelia, Margot always added honey. Here, no one added honey.
From behind her in the room came a rustling sound. Eliza turned. On the neighboring bed, her roommate — the daughter of some western baron whose name Eliza could never remember — was snoring softly, her face buried in her pillow. They weren't friends. In the "Golden Stronghold," friendship was a luxury not everyone could afford.
Eliza slipped quietly from the room.
The lower courtyards of the academy greeted her with the familiar hum. Here, unlike the polished corridors of the main building, life was real. Students from less wealthy families, those who had entered through quotas or rare talent, gathered by the old fountain, discussing lectures, gossiping about professors, and sharing meager food supplies. Eliza loved this place. It smelled not of expensive perfumes and polished wood, but of sweat, bread, and youth.
"Eliza!" a voice called from the other side of the fountain.
She saw them — three. Rein, a broad-shouldered young man from a fishing village in the south, whose Spirit allowed him to breathe underwater longer than any diver. Mira, a quiet girl with chestnut hair, whose power lay in seeing weak points in any structure — from stone walls to human will. And Lis, the youngest of their little company, a sixteen-year-old scamp with perpetually disheveled hair and a gift the academy still couldn't classify.
"You're early today," Rein remarked, shifting to make room for her on the stone edge. "Didn't sleep again?"
"I slept," Eliza smiled, sitting down beside him. "Just woke early. Wanted to watch the sunrise."
"The sunrise," Lis snorted, chewing on some hardtack. "You're strange, Eliza. Who gets up at this hour just to watch the sunrise?"
"Those who appreciate beauty," she retorted, and Lis just waved his hand, hiding a smile.
They were her refuge. With them, she could forget that she was the daughter of Baroness Adelaide, that great deeds awaited her, that dozens of eyes assessed her every step in the academy. Here, by the fountain, she was just Eliza, the one who knew how to listen and sometimes could help with energy theory homework.
"Heard the news?" Mira spoke quietly, her eyes serious. "Yesterday on the third course, another scuffle. The aristocrats from the 'Night Owls' attacked one of ours. A boy from the orphanage. Broke his arm."
Eliza felt something clench inside her. The "Night Owls" — one of the student groups uniting the scions of noble houses. They didn't hide their contempt for those who couldn't boast a lineage. In the academy, they were feared. Or… pretended not to notice.
"What's his name?" Eliza asked.
"Doesn't matter," Rein shook his head. "What matters is what happened to him. No one stood up for him. Even the instructors pretended nothing happened. Said he fell down the stairs."
Eliza tightened her grip on her mug. She wanted to say something — about justice, about how this shouldn't be — but the words lodged in her throat. In eight months, she had learned many things. Including that her golden thread, no matter how strong, could not protect everyone.
"That's the system," Mira said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. "And as long as we're inside it, we have to follow its rules."
"Or change them," Eliza replied, and there was a steely note in her voice she hadn't expected from herself.
They talked for about another hour, until the bell summoned them to the first lecture. Eliza walked along the main avenue, her thoughts occupied with the morning conversation. She hardly noticed the figure that appeared before her.
"Eliza."
She looked up and froze.
Before her stood Aduvio. He was one of those the academy called "golden youth" — tall, with perfect posture and a face that seemed carved by a sculptor who knew beauty well. His uniform fit him impeccably, and on his chest gleamed the emblem of the "Circle of the Falcon" — a silver falcon with spread wings.
But Aduvio's main feature was not his appearance. It was his power. He was a Pillar. At eighteen, he already stood at a level most could only dream of. His Spirit — "Weaver of Fates" — allowed him to see connections between people just as Eliza saw threads. But he didn't just see. He decided which of those connections to strengthen and which to sever.
"Good morning, Aduvio," Eliza inclined her head. With him, she was always especially polite. Not out of fear. Out of… respect? Or something she couldn't define.
"I was looking for you," he smiled, a warm, almost friendly smile. "You didn't come to the rector's reception yesterday."
"I was busy," she replied. It was true. She had been helping Mira with calculations for her fundamental energy exam.
"You're always busy," Aduvio stepped closer, and Eliza caught a faint scent of his cologne — expensive, but not overpowering. "You know, Eliza, you spend too much time with those who drag you down."
She tensed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," his voice dropped, almost gentle, "that you have the potential to be one of the best. Your 'Thread' is unique. But instead of developing it among your equals, you waste time on those who will never rise above average. No offense, Eliza. That's just reality."
She wanted to object, but he raised a hand, stopping her.
"I'm not asking you to abandon your friends," Aduvio said softly. "I'm asking you to think about your future. The 'Circle of the Falcon' is open to you. You know that. We could give you what you'll never get at the fountain with those…" he paused, searching for the word, "…with those children."
"I'll think about it," Eliza replied, though she already knew the answer.
Aduvio smiled wider. "That's all I ask. See you, Eliza."
He turned and walked down the avenue, his figure quickly swallowed by the crowd of students. Eliza stood, feeling her clenched fists begin to tremble. Not from fear. From anger she couldn't release.
"They're not dragging me down," she thought. "They remind me why I'm here."
But Aduvio's words lodged in her mind like a splinter. She looked at her hands. For a moment, she thought she saw a thin golden spark run between her fingers, but it quickly faded.
The lectures dragged on. Energy theory, Dynasty history, practical classes on controlling her inner essence. Eliza answered questions, performed exercises, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She thought about Aduvio's words, about the boy from the orphanage with the broken arm, about Rein and Mira, about how to change a system everyone accepted as given.
After classes, she stayed in the training hall. Here, in the silence, beneath the high vaults where the echo of her footsteps died without support, she could be herself.
She closed her eyes and summoned her Thread. Golden, thin, almost weightless — it slipped from her palm and stretched upward, towards the ceiling. Eliza felt it vibrate, responding to every movement of the air, every sound, every thought.
She imagined this thread stretching to Rein, to Mira, to Lis, binding them into a single whole. She imagined it becoming stronger, thicker, denser. She imagined this thread becoming not just a connection, but a… shield.
The Thread blazed brighter, for a moment becoming almost tangible. Eliza felt her Vessel respond, the energy within her flowing faster, demanding release. She was close. One more push — and she would cross the threshold of the Pillar.
But she didn't do it. Not here. Not now.
She slowly exhaled, letting the Thread dissolve. Golden sparks faded into the air, and Eliza was left alone in the twilight of the hall.
"You're holding yourself back," a voice came from the doorway.
She turned. Aduvio stood in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the jamb. He didn't look mocking. Rather… thoughtful.
"You were watching?" Eliza asked, and there was a note of steel in her voice she hadn't expected from herself.
"I was passing by," he stepped into the hall. "Your Thread has changed. It's denser. You're ready for the transition."
"I'm in no hurry," she replied, though she knew it sounded unconvincing.
Aduvio came closer. In the dim light, his eyes seemed almost black, but in them shone something warm, almost tender. "Are you afraid, Eliza? Afraid that when you become stronger, you'll stop understanding those you want to protect?"
She was silent, and that silence was louder than any words.
"Power doesn't make you a stranger," he said quietly. "Power gives you the ability to choose. You can stay at the fountain with those who will never rise. Or you can become someone who changes the rules of the game. The choice is yours."
He turned and left, leaving Eliza alone in the silence.
She stood for a long time, staring at the door where he had vanished. His words echoed in her head, intertwining with the morning conversation by the fountain. Somewhere deep inside her, in the place where her Thread lived, something stirred. Not broken. Just… shifted. Like a stone that had been teetering on the edge of a cliff and was now beginning to tilt, inexorably, downward.
Eliza clenched her fists. She didn't know what awaited her. She didn't know how many more such days would pass before her golden thread began to change the order of things. But she knew one thing: the world she saw was not the one depicted in textbooks. And to change it, she would have to become stronger. Much stronger.
She left the hall, and her steps on the marble floor were firm and confident. For the first time in a long while, Eliza felt she stood on the threshold of something greater than just successful studies. She stood on the threshold of a choice that would define her entire life.