They stepped into the Cognit together, the doors sliding shut behind them. The moment it began descending, Todd’s excitement spilled over into animated talk of a banquet, of music, of food in ridiculous quantities. Sabrina matched him, suggesting details with bright enthusiasm. Cassian listened, amused, then said he would inform Timothy to begin preparations. Still, he preferred to wait until his parents returned before holding anything grand. It would not feel complete otherwise.

  They both agreed. The celebration should include them.

  Todd, unwilling to let the idea fade, proposed a smaller one in the meantime. Just the three of them. A private banquet. Cassian laughed at that and accepted.

  When the Cognit reached the first floor and opened, they stepped out together, still half planning what such a “small” banquet might entail. They were nearly at the entrance when Cassian paused. He had forgotten he needed to go to the headmaster’s office. He told them to go on ahead, that he would join them shortly. They agreed without concern and continued on. Cassian turned back and reentered the Cognit. The ascent to the twentieth floor was quiet. Soon he was there at the highest floor the academy had in the tower of wisdom.

  When the doors opened, he seemed to have left the tower completely. There was no ceiling. The circular level of polished stone seemed to float in open night. Above it stretched an endless sky, deep and velvety, pierced by constellations so vivid they cast silver light across the marble. The absence of a roof did not make the space feel exposed. It made it immense. The corridors cut across the round expanse like clean strokes of geometry against infinity, a perfect cross dividing the level, while along the outer rim ran a curved passage that embraced the tower’s edge. From where he stood, the stars arched overhead without obstruction, so near it felt as though one might reach up and brush their cold fire with the tips of their fingers.

  They shone brighter than any true night sky. Not harsh. Not blinding. Just enough to illuminate every detail of the stone floor in a soft, celestial glow. No torches. No lamps. The light of distant suns alone.

  The faculty had shaped this place for themselves.

  Here they relaxed after long days of lecturing and arbitration, sitting along the curved outer corridor beneath constellations that did not belong to this hemisphere. Here they planned lessons, drawing diagrams in the air beneath starlight, discussing theory while tracing invisible lines between distant stars. Here they held conferences when matters required quiet deliberation. Decisions that shaped the academy’s direction, its curriculum, its discipline, its future scholars. Important matters. Subtle ones.

  The sky itself was theirs to command. With a gesture, they could shift the heavens. With a flick of the wrist, unfamiliar constellations would drift into view, stars from lands across the world glowing above the Tower of Wisdom. They could slow the turning of the firmament, freeze it, dissect it, study patterns that common eyes would never see. Professor Semperoblitus had once been seen standing at the very center of the cross corridors, fingers raised as if conducting an orchestra, rearranging the night to examine a rare alignment that would not occur again for decades. It was a place of thought. Of quiet power.

  And at the end of the main corridor, directly ahead, stood the Headmaster’s office. He started moving, his eyes glued to the night sky above. When he had almost reached the center where the two main halls intersected, he heard it. A voice he knew. He stopped.

  “Are you stupid?”

  Ragnar Viamnova’s voice thundered through the starlit expanse, echoing against the circular walls and rising into the false heavens above.

  Cassian moved at once, pressing himself against the cold stone of the corridor. He followed the sound carefully and stopped just before the intersection of the two main halls.

  His uncle stood beneath the suspended constellations like a dark pillar, rigid and immovable. Before him, Siegfried and Athena.

  Siegfried’s head was bowed. His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had gone pale. Athena stood with her hands clasped before her, shoulders drawn inward. She did not look up. Her eyes were red from tears held back too long.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

  Siegfried raised his gaze, slow and reluctant.

  “Now tell me,” Ragnar continued, his voice cutting clean and sharp, “are you stupid? Because it certainly seemed that way. Why would you attack your sister like that? Why would you betray your party? Was there any point to that foolishness, or are you simply an oaf?” The words did not need to be shouted. They landed with precision.

  “Perhaps you are not fit to be a knight. Perhaps I should strip you of your armor and dress you in motley, send you elsewhere. Let another family laugh at your idiocy. That might suit you better.” Siegfried’s jaw tightened. “I have no doubt you suspected something. Seeing how things unfolded, perhaps you believed betrayal was coming. But instead of voicing those doubts, instead of exposing them for all to see, instead of showing composure and control, you chose to strike first. You made yourself the traitor.”

  Ragnar took a step forward. “It seems that thick skull of yours is only useful for headbutting opponents. Not for thinking.”

  Siegfried lowered his gaze again. His teeth ground together so hard it seemed they might crack.

  Ragnar turned to Athena next. Athena’s shoulders flinched before he even spoke further. “What have you achieved that makes you believe you are so grand?”

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  Silence.

  “I will answer for you. Nothing. You have achieved nothing. And if you continue like this, you will achieve nothing for the rest of your life.”

  Her fingers tightened over one another.

  “I do not know precisely how you maneuvered your brother into such idiocy. But I know you enjoyed it. It was written across your face. You thought scheming against your own family was clever. That it would earn you honor.” His voice hardened. “It only revealed how rotten you are.”

  Athena’s breath hitched.

  “Do you understand how easily you could have secured everything you wanted if you had supported your brother? If you had allowed him to support you in return? No. That thought never crossed your mind. Because in your twisted little world, you are the center of it, and everyone else exists to orbit you.”

  Her eyes brimmed.

  “I hope being humiliated by a ten-year-old taught you humility. For your own sake. Because if it did not, I will teach it to you myself.”

  The last of her composure shattered.

  Athena broke. The controlled stillness vanished, replaced by uneven sobs that echoed beneath the artificial stars. She tried to contain it. She failed. She was no sorcerer now. No schemer. Just a crying girl.

  “You stop that right now,” Ragnar snapped. “What gives you the right to feel sorry for yourself after what you did?”

  Cassian felt something tighten in his chest.

  He had heard enough.

  Slowly, carefully, he began to step backward, keeping to the shadow of the corridor. He could see the principal another time. There was no need to be here for this.

  He had almost turned fully away when Ragnar’s voice rang out again.

  “And you.”

  Cassian froze. For a heartbeat he thought he had imagined it. He turned around and saw nothing, his uncle wasn’t coming for him yet. He didn’t want to see him; he did not want to see him.

  He turned to flee.

  And found his uncle standing before him.

  No footsteps. No warning. One moment the corridor had been empty, the next Ragnar Viamnova loomed above him, vast and immovable beneath the cold starlight of the open ceiling.

  Cassian’s breath caught. How did he move so fast? Those eyes were merciless. Angry.

  “First,” Ragnar said, voice measured now, almost calm, “I must commend you. A worthy strategy. You deserve recognition, if only for that.”

  It did not feel like praise.

  “I do wonder,” he continued, “why your entire plan seemed to rely on the party collapsing. Do you mean to tell me that was merely one contingency among many? That you had prepared for all possible outcomes?”

  Cassian opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

  His uncle’s presence pressed against him, stealing the words from his throat. “Somehow,” Ragnar went on softly, “I do not believe that. Somehow I believe your only plan depended on betrayal.”

  Ragnar began to walk. Cassian was forced backward step by step. “I can understand why,” Ragnar said. “Considering how inadequate my son and daughter turned out to be. I do not blame you for seeing their weaknesses.”

  They stopped in the center of the crossing corridors. Athena and Siegfried stood rigid, watching.

  “But there is something that angers me about your performance.”

  Cassian’s heart pounded.

  “If they were disgraceful,” Ragnar said, “at least I can say they fought with everything they had, misguided though it was. I cannot say the same for you.”

  Cassian stared at him in disbelief. He had tried harder than he ever had in his life. “I-I” he began.

  “Do not lie to me.” The words struck like a slap. “I saw the spells you cast. Weak. Pathetic little things. What were you trying to prove? That the brilliant Cassian Viamnova needs nothing but his mind? That he is so far above his cousins he need not exert himself?”

  Cassian’s throat tightened.

  “Your clever tricks,” Ragnar continued, “were little more than a spectacle. A humiliation. Is that what the main line teaches now? Disrespect your opponents? mock them?” His voice hardened. “I can say many things about your father. But he has never treated an enemy with the contempt you showed your own kin today.”

  Silence felt heavy.

  “The three of you have brought shame to the name Viamnova. None of you deserve to bear it.”

  Cassian’s stomach dropped.

  “And you,” Ragnar said, eyes narrowing, “I will speak to your father. He should know how deeply you despise your own blood.”

  He turned toward his children.

  “I am taking the carriage. Both of them. You may walk back with the commoners. Let them see your disgrace.” He left without another word.

  Cassian stood rooted to the stone as if paralyzed by fear. Then he saw it.

  The hatred in Siegfried’s eyes. The tight fury in his clenched jaw. Athena’s tears still clinging to her lashes, no longer tears of sadness but tears of anger and frustration now directed entirely at him. All of it focused on him.

  Cassian ran.

  He did not remember reaching the principal’s office. He did not remember what was said. The rest of the day felt as though invisible hands were guiding him from place to place. Professors congratulated him. Praised his brilliance. Spoke of privileges earned.

  Each word felt like a blade. Eventually he was dismissed and thankfully his cousins were gone. He found Todd and Sabrina waiting, still glowing with excitement. He told them quietly he did not feel up for celebration. That he was tired.

  They looked at him and agreed at once. He did look terrible, Todd muttered. Sabrina said something about adrenaline finally fading. Cassian requested a carriage. He did not wish to walk through crowds. He did not wish to be seen. Gawked. Praised. He did not deserve it.

  When he reached home, he did not enter the manor. He asked for Timothy at the gate instead. He told him there would be no celebration tonight, he was too tired.

  Timothy accepted this gently, suggested a celebration for the next day, but Cassian shook his head. He preferred to wait until his parents returned, he said. Timothy smiled at him and agreed.

  Thus, he made his way up to his room unmolested by undeserve praise and admiration.

  He closed the door and collapsed onto the bed. Victory had tasted sweet only hours ago. Now it turned to ash in his mouth.

  He had done his best.

  His absolute best.

  His uncle had seen it.

  And declared it unworthy of a Viamnova.

  Cassian stared at the ceiling in the dim light. He knew his uncle was right, that even his best was not worthy of a Viamnova. And that meant that no matter what he tried he would never be worthy of the name.

  How foolish he had been. How could he have ever believed he was one of them? How could he have believed he could ever become a true Viamnova?