Aiden Crest had been taught that evil announced itself.
Not with speeches. He was not a child.
Evil could be subtle. It could smile, flatter, manipulate, and wear expensive clothes. His tutors had made sure he understood that darkness often preferred clean gloves and polished manners.
Still, evil had a shape.
A pattern.
Cruel people enjoyed cruelty.
Cowards abandoned the weak.
Villains protected themselves first.
Cedric Valdrake Arkhen kept ruining the pattern.
That bothered Aiden more than it should have.
He sat beneath the western arcade after evening drills, uniform jacket folded beside him, practice sword across his knees. Below the floating terrace, clouds rolled beneath Astral Zenith like a white ocean. Students crossed the bridges above them in clusters sorted by rank, house, faction, and fear.
Already, the rumors had changed.
Cedric Valdrake was broken.
Cedric Valdrake had saved a servant.
Cedric Valdrake had endangered everyone.
