“The tunnel will serve as both our entrance and our escape once the sword has been secured,” Bereos began, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

  Kael nodded. That much had been clear from the beginning.

  Bereos’s gaze moved across the group. "All of you—except Varen and me—will take part in infiltrating the Academy. You will be—"

  “Wait.”

  Kael interrupted him, frowning. "Why aren't you two coming with us? With you there, it would be far easier.”

  Bereos smiled faintly, as though he had expected the question. He shook his head.

  "No, even with us, it would be impossible. The knights and the Commander of the Order himself are currently stationed at the Academy. If we entered, they would eliminate us in moments." His eyes shifted to Varen, who had not moved or spoken since the meeting began. "Instead, we will stay outside and create a distraction serious enough to force them to leave the academy."

  Kael’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. He did not voice it, but his gaze returned to Bereos, whose expression carried the calm of someone who already knew his fate.

  Bereos turned back to him. "While we draw them away, you and the others will enter the Academy, where there are far fewer guards. Once you exit the administrative building, you are to neutralize any guards you encounter.”

  He gestured toward Marco and Sera. "Sera has prepared a powerful narcotic. Marco will coat his arrows with it. There will be no deaths. Only silence.”

  Bereos raised a finger.

  "But remember this," he said calmly. "You must move without drawing attention. No one can see you. Not the guards, not the students. And try not to kill anyone."

  He deliberately shifted his gaze to the others. "That warning applies especially to you, Sera. And to you, Sylas. We are not rebelling for the sake of bloodshed. We are not here to punish people for the roles they were born into.” His voice hardened. "We are rebelling to dismantle the institution of royalty. Never forget that."

  Sera clicked her tongue, clearly displeased as if someone had just ruined her fun. Sylas paused for a brief moment while cleaning his blade, his expression unreadable. Then he resumed without a word.

  Bereos quietly exhaled at their reactions, then turned back to Kael.

  "You will move through the shadows," he continued. "Mal—"

  Mal met Kael’s gaze and winked, her soft smile unchanged.

  "—will guide you to the location where the sword is stored and guarded. She knows every corner of the academy and can bypass anyone who would otherwise slow you down.”

  Bereos studied Kael carefully. “Are you still following me?”

  Kael nodded without hesitation, fully absorbed in Bereos’s explanation.

  "Good," Bereos said with a faint smile. "Mal will explain the details of the actual break-in once you are in front of the building."

  He noticed Kael’s irritated expression and sighed. "I know this is frustrating for all of us. But some variables cannot be predicted. Plans change. It's better to receive the final instructions right before the heist than to cling to an outdated plan.”

  Then, his tone shifted.

  "What truly matters," Bereos said slowly, "is the escape."

  The atmosphere tightened instantly. Backs straightened. Conversations ceased. Everyone in the room was now focused on him, as if everything before this had merely been preparation for what came next.

  Bereos's expression turned grave.

  "I won't lie to you," he said quietly. "The escape will be difficult. The sword’s disappearance will be noticed quickly. Once that happens, reaching the tunnel will be impossible. The Academy will swarm with knights and guards, and I don’t know how long Varen and I can keep them occupied.”

  He looked out the window. His face was calm—almost peaceful—as if he were discussing nothing more than the weather.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “All I can give you are the parameters you will face,” he continued. His gaze returned to the room. "How you react to them in order to survive will be your responsibility."

  Bereos exhaled slowly. "We do have one trump card, But I would rather not use it." His voice softened. "I hope you return without a single scratch."

  Kael opened his mouth, but Bereos raised a hand to stop him.

  "I won't tell you what that trump card is," he said firmly. "No one in this room knows it except Mal and me. Whether it will be used or not is her decision alone.”

  Kael closed his mouth, his jaw tightening, and nodded reluctantly.

  "Fine," he said after a moment. “But you’ve told me everything except one thing: When do we steal it?"

  Bereos chuckled. "I thought you'd already figured that out. It will happen on a very special night.”

  Kael’s eyes widened. He immediately realized what it was.

  "You want to do it on New Year's Eve," he muttered more to himself than to anyone else.

  Bereos nodded.

  Kael shook his head. "That's impossible. I’ll be at the royal palace. How am I supposed to steal a sword from the academy on the same night?”

  "It's simple," Bereos replied, leaning back in his chair. "After the celebration, excuse yourself. Tell them you’re tired and want to go back to the Academy. One of us will be waiting with a carriage to take you to our starting point.”

  Kael stared at him, considering the plan.

  I can spend my last hours with Lia and Zaros . . . and then leave the Empire, he thought.

  Maybe that’s more than I deserve for disappearing without a word.

  "I'm in," Kael said finally, his voice steady with resolve.

  Bereos nodded and clapped his hands once.

  "That's all," he announced. "Enjoy the remaining days. Do what you wish. This meeting is over.”

  The others stood and left the room or settled onto the couches scattered around it, chairs scraping softly across the floor.

  Kael remained behind.

  He walked up to Bereos, who was still seated with a distant gaze, as if he were already somewhere else. Bereos looked up at him, his familiar smile returning.

  "Still got questions?" he asked.

  Kael nodded. "Just one." Where is the sword we’re supposed to steal? You never told me its location. Maybe I could look into it and find something that might help us.”

  Bereos’s smile faltered. He shook his head slowly.

  “No, you can’t.”

  Kael frowned.

  “The sword is being kept in the Headmaster’s office,” Bereos continued. "In the professors' building."

  “What?” Kael's voice rose before he could stop himself.

  "That place is guarded by more knights than any other location in the academy. The headmaster’s office is practically the most secure room there is, not to mention the headmaster himself. He may not wield the Power of Words, but he is still a formidable opponent.”

  Bereos stood up, walked to the window, and clasped his hands behind his back.

  "He won't be there," he said calmly. "He'll be at the New Year's celebration at the royal palace, along with most of the professors. As I told you before, our plan is flexible. It must adapt to the situation. But I can assure you of one thing: we will take the sword from his office.”

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “Your plan relies on too many assumptions.”

  Bereos turned to face him, his expression steady and almost weary.

  "It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "We don't have another choice."

  Silence settled between them.

  Kael didn’t respond. Bereos’s words echoed in his mind: simple, bleak, and true.

  Without another word, Kael turned and left the room.

  Bereos remained by the window behind him, staring out at the snow-covered landscape. His eyes were distant and melancholic as birds circled high above the white fields.

  Most of the others had already left. Only Mal and Varen remained, seated on opposite couches. Mal knitted calmly, her needles clicking softly. Varen watched her in silence.

  Kael chose not to disturb them.

  He left the room and wandered through the first-floor corridors, eager to explore more of the mansion. Most of the doors led to abandoned rooms that were dusty, bare, and forgotten. A few were locked, and Kael assumed his newfound companions used them as private quarters.

  The mansion felt old.

  It was heavy with secrets.

  He descended the stairs to the ground floor and wandered through the vast, intricate mansion. He passed old laboratories, abandoned training halls, and silent shooting ranges until he reached the farthest corner of the building. There, a corridor led to a room without a door.

  Kael stepped inside and stopped.

  The room had once been a grand study. Tall shelves lined the walls and were still packed with books. A large desk stood in the middle of the room. A chandelier hung from the ceiling above. Yet everything was broken. The shelves were cracked, the books were torn and scattered, and the chandelier was dulled by dust and time. What had once been a place of knowledge and pride now felt hollow and ruined.

  Beautiful and unbearably sad.

  Kael walked slowly toward the desk, hoping to find anything that might tell him who had lived there before.

  Then he froze.

  Astra was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, clutching a picture. Her black eyes were fixed on the picture with such intensity that she hadn’t noticed Kael at all—something that, under normal circumstances, would have been unthinkable.

  Kael hesitated.

  He had never seen her like this.

  Quietly and almost reverently, he moved closer and sat down beside her, leaning against the wall only a few inches away. He tried to glimpse the picture, but strands of her dark hair obscured most of it. Still, he could make out the bright, innocent smile of a child holding a beautiful white flower.

  Something tightened in his chest.

  "Is that you?" Kael asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  Astra lifted her head as if she had just realized she wasn’t alone.

  She turned toward him, and their faces were close enough that Kael could see the confusion in her clouded, distant eyes. At first, she didn't seem to recognize him. Then her gaze softened. Slowly, she looked back down at the picture, her fingers tightening around its edges.

  "No," she said quietly. "That isn't me."

  Her expression darkened.

  "The person in that picture is already dead," she continued. "She died on the day her parents died."