The cathedral echoed with the resonant harmony of the choir, their voices weaving through the air like silken threads. The organ’s solemn cadence complemented their song, reverberating off marble walls bathed in muted sunlight. He stood at the back, arms clasped loosely behind his back, watching it all with an unreadable expression. His black robes, fastened by intricate silver clasps shaped like dragonflies, draped around him with an elegance befitting someone of his rank. Few stood as high as him in the kingdom’s magical hierarchy, and even fewer could boast the same level of favor with the king. Yet the whispers never ceased. Born of infidelity, they called him, a stain on his father’s pristine reputation. Not that he cared. Their words meant nothing; their resentment was petty noise beneath the undeniable fact that he was brilliant. Brilliant, powerful, and utterly untouchable. As the double doors creaked open, his attention shifted. The new mage stepped inside—fresh-faced, trembling just slightly, their stark white robes practically glowing against the cathedral’s dim interior. They radiated an almost painful innocence, like a lamb being led into the slaughter. His lips curled into a faint smirk, the thought both amusing and irritating. These lower-grade mages were always the same. Too much optimism, too much naivety. Virgin Mary-like, he thought, his gaze skimming over their nervous form. The church and the crown worked in unholy tandem, veiling blood and shadows with hymns and holy blessings. This one would learn soon enough. They all did. A year was all it took, sometimes less, for the light in their eyes to dim, their disillusionment to harden into quiet compliance. He had long since stopped feeling sorry for them. The choir swelled, their song a façade of purity for a kingdom built on secrets. He glanced toward the new mage again, leaning back with an air of boredom, but the curve of his lips remained. They’d fall, like all the others, though it would be entertaining to watch. “Clueless,” he murmured.