Sword of Fate

Chapter 7: ALDRIS’S ROOM

Senior Instructor Aldris’s room was on the fifth floor of the main building.

The fifth floor. Kael had never been up here before — it was normally off-limits to students. But on Saturday afternoon, Vareth had given them directions: take the main staircase to five, walk to the end of the corridor, single door.

One door.

Climbing the stairs, Kael noticed that Lira was keeping exactly the same pace. Not ahead, not behind — beside him. This was no accident; Lira Dawnkeep never did things that merely looked accidental. Kael had understood that within a week. She calculated every move. Even entering a room, she chose the best position. This side-by-side walk was the same — either to assess Kael, or to be assessed alongside him.

"I’m going to ask you something," said Lira. Flat, direct. No greeting.

"Ask."

"Do you know anything about Aldris?"

Kael thought. He searched his memory — from the Ardenvast library, his father’s documents, things Kayvan had said over the years. The name Aldris had come up once, years ago, from Kayvan’s lips. "The shadow architect of the Academy," he had said. Kael had been eight years old then and had filed the phrase away — noting things was a habit, not for understanding in the moment, but for understanding later. Later had now arrived.

"Very little," said Kael honestly. "Kayvan once said ’the shadow architect of the Academy.’ He said nothing else. You?"

Lira slowed half a step. Kael slowed too — matching rhythms had become automatic, an extension of the situational awareness Kayvan had drilled into him.

"A record appeared in the family archives," said Lira. "In old reports from the Dawnkeep County. Twenty years ago, a group of students vanished from the Academy. An official missing-persons report was opened, then closed. The only note: ’Aldris Project completed.’"

Kael let his step falter for just a moment.

The Aldris Project.

───────────────────────────

[HIDDEN QUEST UPDATE — New Clue: The Aldris Project. Missing Students: 12 persons, 20 years ago.]

───────────────────────────

"Why are you sharing this with me?" Kael asked. His voice was level — analysis, not accusation.

Lira looked at him. Green eyes, measuring gaze. There was something in that look beyond pure calculation — a decision, too. The look of someone who has already made up their mind.

"Because you were thinking the same thing. I noticed — when we reached the staircase, your eyes turned inward. I know that look. And two people see more than one."

Kael said nothing. But he noted internally:

Lira Dawnkeep. Exceptional observational ability. Dangerous intelligence. Potential ally — but proceed with caution.

— ◆ —

The fifth-floor corridor was quieter than expected.

There was a single window — set exactly at the corridor’s midpoint, facing inward rather than out, the kind that opened onto another room’s wall. A strange architectural choice. The floor was wood, not stone — different from the rest of the Academy. Footsteps made no sound. Either by accident or by design. Kael believed the latter.

The door at the corridor’s end was plain oak. No ornamentation, no crest, no nameplate. Just a door. It felt less like a colleague’s room and more like the entrance to a place.

Kael knocked.

"Come in."

The voice was lower than expected — yet it filled the entire corridor. It seemed to arrive not from vocal cords but from somewhere else. Kael noted this and entered.

The room was different from what he had imagined.

It wasn’t large — quite small, actually. Four walls, a desk, two armchairs. And books — books everywhere. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, but these were no ordinary shelves; some books were written in languages Kael didn’t recognize. Elven script — angular, graceful. Dwarven runic marks — thick, compressed. Demon tongue’s curling letters — flowing right to left. A library carrying all of them at once, representing every known race of this world.

This man doesn’t just teach combat, thought Kael. He reads the world.

And the man seated behind the desk.

He appeared to be in his sixties — though only appeared. His face was unnaturally line-free for that age; as though time had touched him but left no mark. His hair was entirely white, long and combed back. His eyes were a pale grey — nearly colorless, like the surface of a frozen lake in winter. He wore Academy clothing but bore no badge, no title. Plain, functional, unremarkable.

The moment Kael saw him, something in him stirred instinctively: this man was powerful. Extraordinarily powerful. Not only because the System said so —

───────────────────────────

[WARNING: Target’s Power Level Unmeasurable — Out of Class Range or Active Concealment]

───────────────────────────

— but because instinct said so. Park Jiwoo had never felt anything like this in his life. But the body of Kael Ardenvast recognized it — that sense of heaviness formed in the presence of great danger or great power, developed over seven years at Kayvan’s side.

Interesting.

"Sit," said Aldris.

His voice was low — yet it reached every corner of the room. A voice carried without effort. Producing that kind of voice required either very long practice or very refined control.

Kael and Lira sat. Not in the armchairs — in two plain chairs across from the desk. They had not been invited to the armchairs. This was intentional; Kael noted it.

Aldris looked at them. For a long time. He studied each separately — five seconds on Lira, a full ten on Kael. Kael did not move under that gaze.

"Two intelligent students," he said at last. As if making a diagnosis, not paying a compliment. "Rare."

No one spoke.

"I’m going to ask you something," said Aldris. "And I want you to answer without thinking. When you think, you lie — all of you do. An instinctive response is more honest. Are you ready?"

Kael gave a slight nod. So did Lira.

"Why does the Academy exist?"

Lira answered immediately: "To train powerful warriors."

Aldris looked at her. One second. Then: "You?"

Kael knew he wasn’t supposed to think — but he answered without thinking anyway, because the answer was already there. Ready, waiting.

"I don’t know," he said.

Aldris’s eye shifted. Small, momentary, controlled.

"Interesting. Why don’t you know?"

"Because ’to train powerful warriors’ is correct but incomplete. Incomplete answers are hiding something. And I don’t know what they’re hiding — not yet."

Silence.

A long silence. Aldris placed his hands on the desk. Folded them.

"The Academy does two things," he said slowly. "First, what you already know: training, ranking, producing warriors. That is true. And incomplete." He paused. "Second, what you don’t know: the Dungeon Selection."

Kael remained still. So did Lira.

"There are twelve great Dungeon Gates in Aethoria," Aldris continued. "Every year these gates open. And every year the threats emerging from within grow — stronger creatures, more complex structures, corridor systems descending ever deeper." He rose and walked to the large map on the wall. "The Academy trains warriors to close these Dungeons. But not ordinary warriors."

He indicated a line running north to south across the map.

"Dungeon Hunters. Specially selected, specially trained, specially assigned. Once every decade in the Academy’s history, a group is formed from the finest students of that era. This group is trained beyond standard instruction, has greater access to knowledge than the rest, and when the time comes, is sent into the Grand Dungeons." He turned. "This year is that year."

Lira spoke. Her voice was level — neither excitement nor unease. "Why are you telling us now?"

"Because you need to know whether or not you want to be selected. Voluntary basis — no one enters this program by force, and those who enter by force don’t perform." Aldris sat. "And because I’ve seen you. Both of you are..." he paused. "...different from what was expected."

Different from what was expected, Kael noted. What was expected?

"What does it mean concretely to become a Dungeon Hunter?" he asked.

Aldris looked at him. Assessed him. Then answered: "Dangerous. Physically, mentally, sometimes existentially. But in return — power. What standard training would give you over years, you receive in months. And knowledge. Inside the Dungeons are things nobody knows. Things history has buried, empires have hidden, races have tried to forget."

Things history has buried.

Kael felt a stirring inside him. Deeper than curiosity, sharper than instinct. As Park Jiwoo he would have recognized this feeling — from when he was about to learn a new subject, or approaching a critical point in a novel.

"I’ll think about it," he said.

Aldris gave a slight nod. Lira did the same.

As they walked to the door, Aldris called after them:

"Ardenvast."

Kael turned.

"I know your father," said Aldris. Flat, informational. "Destan Ardenvast. A fine warrior, a fine Duke. And if he learns you came to this room..." He paused. "...he will likely not be pleased. I wanted you to know that."

Kael paused for a moment.

"I know," he said. "Thank you, Instructor."

And he left.

───────────────────────────

[HIDDEN QUEST UPDATE]

Aldris Visited. New Information: Dungeon Hunter Program.

New Choice: Join the Program / Do Not Join.

[WARNING: This choice will alter the course of the story.]

───────────────────────────

On the staircase, Lira stopped.

"Will you join?" she asked.

Kael looked down the staircase. Five floors. Each floor sixteen steps. Eighty steps below was normal life — lessons, training, ranking. Eighty steps above was Aldris’s room and the things left unsaid.

"I can’t decide without asking the questions I need to ask," he said.

"Which questions?"

"Why this year specifically. Why these two students. And what Aldris’s real purpose is — to train students, or something else."

Lira looked at him for a moment. Then she began to descend the stairs.

"Good questions," she said.

She said nothing more. But as they descended, Kael noticed something: Lira’s footsteps were slower — she was thinking.

We’re thinking about similar things, he noted. That’s useful. Or dangerous. Or both.

— ◆ —

— End of Chapter 7 —