Princess Aurelia's POV :
The view from the Student Council's high balcony offered a panoramic look at the High Tower Academy, but my eyes were fixed on a single, limping figure crossing the courtyard far below. Cassian Valerius.
To the rest of the school, he was a tragedy—a fallen star. To the High Priest, he was a scientific curiosity. But to a daughter of the Emperor, everything is a piece on a board. And right now, the pieces weren't adding up.
"You've been staring at my brother for ten minutes, your Highness," a voice drawled from the shadows of the office.
I didn't turn. I didn't need to. The scent of ozone and the heavy pressure of Silver-Storm mana told me exactly who was there. Raiden Valerius was leaning against my mahogany desk, his arms crossed. Despite the chaos of the Blood Appraisal, he stood with the unshakable gravity of a man whose family name was his religion.
"He isn't a 'Dud' anymore, Raiden," I said, my voice as cold and smooth as polished marble. "Professor Hecate has officially classified him as a Fracture Neutralizer. A biological error that happens to eat low-level magic. It's... convenient."
"It's a heavy burden," Raiden grunted. "My father is already discussing roles with the Imperial Vanguard. He thinks if Cassian can soak up Grade-2 fireballs despite a shattered soul, the military might actually have a place for him. He's already drafting a speech about 'Valerius Resilience' to counter the Voss rumors."
I finally turned to look at him. Raiden's golden eyes were clouded with a strange mix of relief and protective fury. The Valerius family took care of their own—but their love was often as heavy as their armor.
"Is that what you see?" I asked, stepping closer. I allowed my Golden Solar mana to flare, just enough to push back against his storm. "A resilient shield? Because when I watched him in the arena today, I didn't see a boy struggling to survive the pressure."
"What did you see then?"
"I saw a boy who knew exactly when to fall," I replied. "Raiden, I have seen men die in the Rifts. I have seen mages lose their minds when their veins shatter. They don't have that level of... composure. When that Stone Lance hit him, he didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He just waited for the impact, and then he coughed up blood exactly on cue."
Raiden stiffened. "You think he's faking? The Eye of Truth recorded a zero, Aurelia. You were there. The Mirror doesn't lie. It's a divine artifact."
"The Mirror records what is there," I mused, walking over to a display of magical theory diagrams on the wall. "But what if what is 'there' is something the Mirror wasn't built to see? We call him a Null because he has no mana. But nature abhors a vacuum, Raiden. If there is a hole in his soul, something is filling it."
I tapped the glass of the diagram. "If he truly has a 'sink' that eats Grade-2 magic, why did it stop at Grade-2? Professor Hecate says the sink 'overflows.' But I watched his eyes. He wasn't overwhelmed. He was calculating."
"He's my brother," Raiden growled, his mana sparking dangerously. "If you're suggesting he's a spy or a Corrupted—"
"I'm suggesting he's the most interesting thing in this Academy," I interrupted, a small, sharp smile touching my lips. "The Voss family wants to humiliate your father by proving the Valerius Line produced a 'Dud.' They want to use Cassian as a joke to weaken your family's standing. But the Crown? The Crown loves tools that everyone else has thrown away."
I sat back in my chair, looking at the report on my desk.
"I've authorized a special 'Observation Period.' Since he is a high-risk invalid, he will be assigned a personal supervisor from the Third-Year Council. I'll be watching him myself, Raiden. If he's truly a dying boy, I'll ensure he spends his last days in comfort. But if he's a wolf in sheep's clothing..."
"Then what?" Raiden asked, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.
"Then I'll be the one to put the collar on him," I whispered.
Down in the courtyard, Cassian stopped walking. For a brief second, he looked up—not at the balcony, but at the sky above it. He looked bored. Then, he "tripped" over a loose pebble and continued his slow, painful shuffle toward the basement.
"He's too perfect at being pathetic," I murmured. "And that is his first mistake."