Talent.
What was talent? What did it an? Who had it—and how did one find their talent?
In the world Azriel and Jasmine ca from, talent was the rank a person could reach by absorbing only the mana in the air—no mana cores taken from humans or creatures slain. To asure that ceiling, humans built a device called a mana orb. The stronger the glow, the higher the potential rank.
But potential does not an attainable. Most people give up long before it; the work is arduous and numbingly slow—night after night, breath after breath, drawing in the thin river of the world.
The highest known rank reachable through such pure absorption was Saint, and even then few ever tested high enough to dream of it. Rarer still, in a handful of cases, the mana orb flared beyond the Saint’s radiance—toward a place no public record claid a human had reached.
Among the most famous examples were the children of the four great clans: many showed potential for Grandmaster, so even for Saint. And then there were the few who stood above even that.
It was obvious—to Azriel and to everyone—who they were: the four heirs.
Jasmine Crimson.
Celestina Frost.
Caleus Nebula.
...Lioren Dusk.
There were others, of course—Anastasia, Vergil, Liliane, Yelena—nearly all of the "main characters." Most kept their readings hidden in one way or another, but here was the cruelest joke of all:
Lumine—the protagonist himself.
His potential? Expert.
Not laughable in truth, but beside everyone else it may as well have been a whispered note against a storm. Imagine it: the supposed chosen hero, an ant among giants. And the closer a person crept to their ceiling, the harder each breath for mana beca—an Advanced nearing Expert would struggle more than soone born with a Master’s horizon. Once an Expert hit their limit yet still dared to climb, the only path left was to consu mana cores, a slower, harsher way to push the cap, always worse than the path open to those with Grandmaster potential.
So when the academy’s talent assessnt arrived in the book—when the apex was revealed as "only" the potential of an Expert—no one applaud. As for the current apex, Azriel... that was another story entirely.
Yet that hardly mattered. What mattered was that Azriel knew these monsters with monstrous ceilings—and he knew of another kind of talent altogether.
Sothing Azriel—sothing Leo—could never have.
...Prodigious talent.
They learn or perform at a level far beyond their peers. It cos quickly, almost unnaturally. People call it genius, or sothing past the human fra.
Imagine a swordsman who trains decades for mastery... and a prodigy who arrives a year later with the sa blade-sure grace. A pianist who bleeds for every note... and a prodigy whose hands simply know. A fighter who builds a body with a lifeti of bruises... and a prodigy who moves like water from the start.
Infuriating, isn’t it? Sotis work alone cannot bridge that gulf. And if a prodigy also works as hard as the rest, the world becos a bad joke.
Who but such prodigies—who grind as fiercely as they’re gifted—can beco kings and queens? Who else has the sharpened path toward being the strongest?
Even among prodigies, not all are asured alike; so are simply more monstrous than others. Among the four heirs, ranked as Azriel understood them:
Jasmine Crimson—the most monstrous of all, with the deepest potential.
...Lioren Dusk.
Celestina Frost.
Caleus Nebula.
Ironically, people often mistook Lioren’s experience for superior talent—putting him above Jasmine when that was never true. But in the end, labels didn’t matter.
What mattered was the man in front of Azriel now—the tall, handso, frightening figure with ash-grey hair to his shoulders and eyes as dark and feelingless as a sealed door—watching him without a flicker.
Azriel had reasons beyond Lioren’s gifts to be wary. Reasons to be careful—and then more careful still.
...Because Lioren Dusk was one of the main villains of the book.
Azriel straightened and t the Dusk Prince’s gaze, cold for cold, before Lioren spoke—eyes still fixed on the closed door.
"Amazing, isn’t it, that the answer was health potions. So simple. Ours don’t work, and the ones that do... no one thought it could be that simple."
He looked back at Azriel.
Genuinely, it was as if the man felt nothing at all. Azriel had t cold-eyed people before, but none whose very presence made it so plain—none but Lioren.
...If only that were all.
"I got lucky," Azriel said evenly.
"Now, if you’ll excuse ."
He stepped to pass. As he drew level with Lioren, the prince spoke again, freezing him mid-stride.
"It’s been a while, hasn’t it? When was the last ti we saw each other, Azriel?"
Azriel’s heart skipped, then ran hard.
"...I don’t rember."
Neither turned. Lioren humd—noncommittal, almost idle.
Sweat slid down Azriel’s temple. He glanced into the corridor’s shadows and saw, within each one, pairs of eyes—different colors, watching.
"You don’t?" Lioren said.
"Well, it has been a long ti." He sighed and finally turned. Azriel could feel that gaze press between his shoulder blades.
’Do I really have to fight him?’
He wasn’t in any condition—and even if he were, what were the odds? It would be Corven all over again—with fewer cards to play.
While his mind raced, mapping exits and bad options, Lioren spoke again, softer now—words Azriel had known were coming, words that made his chest tighten and every muscle lock against feeling.
"No wonder you forgot. It’s been more than two years since we spoke face-to-face. Then again, I imagined it would be morable for you... since that was the day I told you you were going to die."
Azriel turned at last and glared.
"Who would have thought. It seems we were both wrong that day."
’I’m going to ki—’
Before the thought could finish—before the temperature dropped any further, before the air thinned the way it does right before it takes the breath from ordinary lungs—the door opened.
At once Azriel shuttered his face. The eyes in the shadows vanished. The cold eased. The air lightened.
Both he and Lioren turned toward the doorway.
"There you are, Master," Nol said, relief breaking across his face.
Only then did Azriel notice Liliane and Celestina behind him. All three frowned almost imdiately, they felt the whisper of mana that had just been here.
"Is everything alright?" Nol asked again.
Azriel smiled quickly.
"Everything’s fine. Don’t worry."
"Prince Lioren, why are you here?" Liliane asked, wary. Whatever their history, it wasn’t friendly.
Lioren regarded her with the sa cool distance he’d shown Azriel.
"I was curious whether the girl would finally wake."
He said it simply, then narrowed his eyes at the closed door.
"Now that she has, the Count’s promise to be... accommodating is tenuous. He has no real reason to keep hiding us. Who knows when he’ll expose us. Best to remove him, and—while we still have ti—find sowhere else to et up from now on."
Celestina’s brows knit.
"He isn’t going to expose us now, not after all this."
Lioren shifted his gaze to her as Celestina continued.
"He already hates the Revolutionary Army. Before you arrived, Instructor Ranni, Cadet Lumine, Cadet Vergil and I—along with others—stayed here. We saved his daughter’s life and built a relationship of trust with him. Now that we’ve cured her, he’ll feel even more indebted. You may not know this, but he begged the royals and the dukes for health potions and was refused. His loyalty to them is at its lowest; to us, perhaps at its highest. His daughter is Cadet Yelena—she can persuade him further. Don’t be quick to judge."
Celestina’s voice wasn’t cruel or cold, but it was firm.
"Are you willing to risk our lives on your suspicion?"
"Are you?" she countered when he opened his mouth.
"If we do as you suggest, we’ll have a few days here at best before we’re forced to move everyone we’ve gathered. If we don’t, we can stay longer—safer, with fewer exposed seams."
"Why assu I care about the others?"
"You care enough to know they’re useful."
Their exchange felt less like a quarrel and more like Lioren testing her edges. At length, he sighed.
"I see."
He turned away. As he passed, he glanced once at Azriel.
"I hope we can continue our conversation soon."
Azriel gave a small nod.
"...Sure. too."
Lioren walked on.
As he walked away, Liliane spoke up.
"Cadet Yelena is fully awake. Lumine, and the Count and Countess, would like to express their gratitude to you."
Azriel looked at her, his expression softening.
"I’m glad to hear it, but I’m tired. I’ll accept their gratitude later."
Liliane nodded in understanding.
Azriel glanced at Nol and noticed he wouldn’t et his eyes. The quiet refusal pinched sothing in Azriel’s chest. When he looked to Celestina... she, too, avoided his gaze. Liliane alone seed untroubled.
He turned away.
’There are no maids or butlers to show to a guest room... and I don’t want to go back in there to ask. I’m so tired...’
As he searched for a solution, Liliane’s voice brightened.
"Ah—if you’d like, Your Highness, I still have more than enough mana. I can heal your wounds!"
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