The afternoon breeze at the back of the Veinara Academy blew stronger, whistling through the gaps in the ruins of an old building that was used as a storage warehouse for training equipment. The place was quiet, covered by lush Ironwood trees whose leaves never fell, even in winter.

  On the ground, faint scorched marks were still visible—remnants of the battle between Mira and Lysandra a few weeks ago. The grass there grew unevenly, as if the ground was still traumatized by the fire.

  Mira stepped into the shady area with Lysandra by her side. Her leather shoes stepped on dry twigs with a sharp sound. She did not come to practice. She came because Lysandra had asked to talk in a quiet place.

  “Solstice,” said Lysandra when the situation felt safe and their voices could not be heard by anyone.

  That one word stopped Mira in her tracks. Mira looked at Lysandra. “What?”

  “Your prince... he announced that the Winter Solstice celebration will be held on a grand scale this year, after the New Year celebrations.” Lysandra lit her lighter, staring at the blue flame in her hand. “Everyone is cheering. Parties, fireworks, dancing. The common people are happy.”

  Lysandra laughed. It was a dry laugh, without any humor. “They don't know what the Solstice really means to the Runerre family.”

  Mira turned to face Lysandra fully. Her spy instincts kicked in. “What do you mean?”

  Lysandra extinguished the flame, then looked at Mira seriously. Her usually haughty, beautiful face now looked hard and old. “The Eriallve family is one of the oldest families of wizards, Rhea. We control fire. We understand thermodynamics. The law of conservation of energy: Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed in form. This also applies to Intian.”

  Lysandra stepped forward, closing the distance until Mira could smell the scent of cigarette smoke and cherries on the girl's breath.

  “Arlen's lightning...” Lysandra whispered, her eyes narrowing. “That's not normal. Natural lightning is chaotic. But Arlen's lightning... It's dense. Too dense. Too much Intian for one human body.”

  “He's a Runerre,” Mira argued, playing her part. “Their blood is pure.”

  “Pure my ass,” Lysandra cursed crudely. “No biological vessel can contain that much energy without exploding—unless it's constantly being refilled. Or unless... he's absorbing it from outside.”

  Lysandra took a gold coin from her pocket. She heated it with her fingers until it turned red, then threw it onto the wet ground. Immediately, white steam billowed up.

  “My father has a theory,” Lysandra said, staring at the steam. “The solstice for Runerre is not an astronomical celebration. It is a Harvest Ritual.”

  “Harvest?”

  “An ancient magical mechanism. When the sun and moon are aligned in a certain way... the barrier between elements thins. King Stormborn used that moment to perform forbidden techniques.” Lysandra stared sharply at Mira. “They don't produce Intian. They draw Intian.”

  Lysandra made a gesture as if grabbing at the air. "They suck Intian from the surrounding environment. From the ground. From the air. And... from other mages."

  Mira's heart raced. Ulric's theory about the missing population. Lysandra's theory about Intian extraction. It all began to connect.

  “So you're saying Arlen is an energy vampire?” Mira asked skeptically.

  “Not a vampire. Vampires only need blood to eat,” Lysandra corrected with disgust. “It's more like... a battery that needs fuel. And the fuel is high-level Mages.”

  Lysandra leaned against a tree trunk, hugging herself as if to ward off the sudden chill. “Two years ago,” her voice lowered, the emotional tremor beginning to crack beneath her cynical tone. “My aunt. Beatrix Eriallve.”

  Mira remembered that name. One of the strongest fire Archmages at the academy back then. She disappeared mysteriously during a mission at the border. The official report said she died in a monster attack.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “She didn't die,” Lysandra said, as if reading Mira's mind. “Aunt Beatrix was a woman who could burn an entire Orc battalion single-handedly. Monsters couldn't touch her.”

  Lysandra stared at the darkening sky. “She disappeared exactly one week before the Winter Solstice two years ago. She was invited to the palace for a ‘security consultation’. She entered those gates, Rhea. And she never came out.”

  Lysandra turned to Mira, her eyes glistening but full of vengeful fire. "My family tried to investigate. But every time we got close, the Council of Ministers blocked us. ‘State secrets,’ they said. And a week later, when the Solstice happened... Arlen appeared on the palace balcony, shining brighter than the sun, lightning striking with power never seen before."

  “You think...” Mira swallowed hard. “You think your aunt...”

  “I think my aunt was used as a battery,” Lysandra hissed. “I think they're holding the powerful Mages who ‘disappeared’ or ‘fell’ somewhere beneath the palace. They're locked up, their Intian drained dry to feed the ego and power of the Golden Prince during the Solstice.”

  A tense silence fell between them. Only the sound of the wind rustling the leaves could be heard.

  This information was terrifying. If true, then Arlen—or whoever controlled him—was not just a usurper. They were magical cannibals.

  “Why are you telling me this, Lysandra?” Mira asked softly. “You hate me. You called me a palace whore.”

  “I do hate you,” Lysandra said, straightening her back, her face haughty once more. “You took the place that should have been mine. You took the attention of the Academy that I had pursued for years.”

  Lysandra stepped forward, pointing her sharp finger at Mira's chest. “But I hate those who killed my aunt a thousand times more.”

  Lysandra stared deeply into Amber Mira's eyes. “And you... you're different, Ashart. I know you're not an obedient puppet. You're wild. You're a rebel.”

  Lysandra smirked. “You can't be controlled. Just like me. And people who can't be controlled are the most dangerous to the Runerre order.”

  “You want me to be your spy?”

  “Don't get ahead of yourself,” Lysandra snorted. “I'm telling you because you were there. You slept next to that monster. You have access that the Eriallve Family doesn't have.”

  Lysandra reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, dimly glowing ruby-colored crystal. She tossed it toward Mira. Mira caught it with a quick reflex. The crystal was warm.

  “That's the Resonance Stone belonging to the Eriallve family,” Lysandra explained. "The stone is bound to Aunt Beatrix's signature. If she's still alive... if she's somewhere under that palace... the stone will glow hot when you get close."

  Mira held the stone. This was physical evidence. “If this stone glows... what should I do?”

  “Find her,” said Lysandra, her voice hoarse. "And if she's still alive... tell me. If she's dead...“ Lysandra clenched her fist until small flames burst from between her fingers. ”...let me burn the palace to the ground."

  Mira stared at the red-haired girl in front of her. All this time, Mira had thought Lysandra was just a cliché antagonist—a popular girl who was evil and jealous. But it turned out that Lysandra was also a victim. She was a grieving niece, seeking justice for her aunt in the midst of a corrupt system.

  “Arlen...” Mira hesitated for a moment. “Do you think he knows? That his power comes from... someone else?”

  Lysandra fell silent. She looked at Mira with a condescending yet slightly pitying gaze. “You're really in love with her, aren't you? Still trying to find reasons to defend her?”

  Lysandra turned away and walked off. "Whether she knows it or not, the result is the same, Rhea. She enjoys that power. She uses that ‘battery’ to become a God. Ignorance is no excuse for forgiveness."

  Lysandra paused without turning around. “Be careful, Doll. The next Solstice is next week, right after the New Year's festival. They'll definitely need a new supply of energy to make sure their Prince shines in front of international guests.”

  Lysandra turned her head slightly, giving a terrifying grin. “And with your recent conspicuous talent... You look like a very delicious battery.”

  With that warning, Lysandra jumped over the barrier wall, then disappeared behind the shadows of the trees, leaving a thin trail of smoke in the air.

  ***

  Mira stood alone in the quiet backyard. She opened her palm. The red crystal pulsed slowly, like a weak heart.

  Battery. The word spun in her head. Draven. The missing mage. The missing Machima race. And now, Beatrix Eriallve.

  Mira shivered. Not because of the cold evening breeze, but because of the horror of the reality that had just been revealed. Arlen, the man who had embraced her warmly, who was afraid of loneliness... was he really a monster who devoured other people's lives? Or was he just an empty vessel that had been forcibly filled by others—perhaps Queen Mathra, or the Council of Ministers?

  Arlen was not much different from Draven.

  “Arlene is right,” Mira whispered. “This place is a graveyard.”

  “Miss,” Anna's voice came from behind the pile of wooden boxes. The girl hadn't eaten anything this time. Her face was serious. She had heard everything.

  “Did you hear?” Mira asked.

  “Everything,” Anna walked closer, staring at the crystal in Mira's hand. “Eriallve's theory makes sense. It explains why the Intian in the palace feels ‘heavy’ and unnatural. It's not an aura of majesty. It's an aura of congestion of stolen energy.”

  “We have to check the basement,” said Mira. “Elodie gave me access to the medical records. Arlene gave me the key to the safe. And now Lysandra gave me the detector.”

  Mira clenched her hand, hiding the crystal. “We have all the keys, Anna.”

  “And if we find Beatrix?” asked Anna. “Or... if we find the remains of another Mage?”

  “Then we'll do what must be done,” Mira's eyes flashed coldly, her amber color darkening. “We'll pull the plug. And we'll see if the God of Thunder can still shine in the darkness.”