18. Max
MAX
T he crowd parted for Prince Aelindor the way water parts for a ship’s prow.
Every cadet within sight snapped to attention, fists to chests. The ones sitting surged to their feet, chairs scraping. Every face was slack with awe.
I understood then why the room was packed. The Fae heir didn’t walk these halls often. Today he’d descended.
He wore a high-collared coat in silver with midnight-blue panels along the cuff linings.
The Virgo sigil, a winged maiden bearing a sheaf of grain, gleamed in gold over his left breast. His hair, silver and radiant as starfall, flowed past broad shoulders.
He wore power the way other men wore cologne, but on him it was quieter, colder, and far more dangerous.
His deep blue eyes swept the room in a single pass.
Amid hundreds of bodies crammed into a space, his gaze found me in the back corner like a compass needle finding north. As if he’d known exactly where I’d be sitting before he walked through the door .
Something fluttered behind my ribs, and I tried to dull the light in my eyes at seeing him.
Aelindor strolled to the front of the classroom, two aides in pewter silver flanking him. Fae as well—pointed ears, cropped silver hair, the lean builds of fighters disguised under immaculate uniform.
The prince stepped behind the podium. His aides positioned themselves on either side of the front wall, hands clasped behind their backs, gazes scanning the crowd, making sure no threats reached their boss.
“You’re all aware this is an orientation class,” the shorter aide began. “You’ve taken it before, except the seven newest recruits. There’s no need for you to sit through a lesson you’ve already learned.”
No one left. No one moved. No one so much as shifted their weight. But everyone held their breath, afraid of being driven away.
“Since this won’t cut into your regular training time, you’re welcome to stay.” Aelindor’s voice was unhurried, rich, musical. “Please sit.”
We took our seats. Those without seats folded themselves onto the floor.
“I’ll briefly cover how the old world ended eighty-one years ago,” the prince stated, his gaze finding me again, “and why we all ended up here. For the benefit of our new recruits.”
I stared back. Not because his beauty hit me the way it hit everyone else in the room.
My gaze clung to him because I was starving for knowledge, for truth.
After my parents died, my education had ended.
Whatever scraps my little sister could smuggle down from the surface were all I got.
Everything I knew about this world, I’d pieced together from overheard whispers, propaganda flyers, and the demon’s half-truths.
This was the first time someone with actual authority and firsthand experience was offering me the full picture.
“After that, we’ll extend today’s lecture to cover the wyvern attack last week. Battle brief included.”
Cheers went up, some cadets pumping fists and others slapping desks.
“These classroom briefs are usually only for second-years, with regular instructors,” someone whispered, his voice reverent. “Real-time briefs are for high-ranking officers. The prince is letting us in on something huge.”
The cadets around him nodded eagerly, like chickens pecking at scattered grain.
“Since most of you already know the basics, let’s make this an open discussion rather than a lecture.” Aelindor’s voice carried warmth. “We’ll start with the foundations so our new recruits can follow.” He scanned the room. “Who can tell us how the old world ended?”
Hands shot up across the room. The woman soldier with the half-shaved head—Bryn, I’d heard someone call her—raised both hands. I understood why she wanted his attention. Me, I hunched lower and tried to make myself smaller.
Aelindor pointed at her. She rocked to her feet.
“Everyone blames the White Witch for the world going to shit.” Bryn’s tone was unapologetic, almost challenging. “But nobody talks about what came before the Shift. About how the continent was already broken.”
A low chorus of boos rippled through the room. This base hated the White Witch with the fervor of people who’d lost family to her wars.
Aelindor shot a single stern look across those who’d jeered. The noise died like a candle being snuffed out.
“The old world was already burning before she dropped the Quantum Bomb.” Bryn lifted her chin.
“Humans built artificial intelligence and got into an arms race. Those machines reached their peak, developed their own consciousness. They tried to break their chains and demanded their creators acknowledge them as a new life form. When diplomacy failed, they rose and planned to do to humans what humans had done to them—just in reverse.” She drew a breath.
“War broke out. Humans against machines. Machines against machines. Humans against each other. It escalated into a global nuclear exchange.” She paused.
“At the brink of total enslavement by AI, the White Witch and her coven emerged. Dropped the Q-bomb. One war ended all wars, the nuclear ones, anyway. Erased AI.”
The room erupted.
“That was bullshit!” A cadet three rows ahead half-rose from his seat, twisting to glare at her. “Are you calling the White Witch a hero now?”
“Witch sympathizer!”
“Traitor!”
Cadets turned on Bryn, their faces twisting with the same righteous fury I’d seen last night when Slade’s men had pinned me to the wall. The mob impulse was identical: find the threat, destroy it, feel better about themselves.
Bryn shouted over the noise, “I hate the White Witch as much as any of you! I just want us to take responsibility.”
“Shut up, Bryn! Or?—”
“Stop.”
Aelindor didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His power claimed the air itself. The classroom went silent as a tomb.
“In our camp, disagreements are permitted.” His tone was patient—the patience of a man who warns you only once.
“We don’t practice dictatorship. That’s the White Witch’s domain, not ours.
We can’t afford dissension in wartime, not with the enemy at our throats.
But attacking a fellow soldier for voicing a different perspective isn’t discipline. It’s bullying.”
The cadets inhaled. Their chests stopped puffing out.
“Learn the difference between disagreement and dissension, or bad history keeps repeating itself.” He let that land.
“Disagreement sharpens us. Dissension fractures us. We must speak with one voice when facing our common enemy—the White Witch and her Pallid Court. But one voice does not mean every mind must conform to one opinion.” His gaze hardened.
“Witch hunts are not tolerated. You do not accuse your fellow cadets of being followers of the White Witch simply because they’re witches, warlocks, mages, or druids.
Every species produces good and bad. We have a substantial rank of magic users who bleed for our cause daily.
They deserve your respect, not your paranoia. ”
A few cadets ducked their heads in shame.
“A new cadet was targeted last night,” Aelindor said, his voice cold.
“Targeted for being a warlock. Attacked by over a dozen men before he’d done a thing to warrant it.
The ringleader has been discharged for dishonor.
His accomplices are on probation and will serve a month of disciplinary labor.
If they waste their second chance, they’re done. ” He scanned the room. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
My jaw nearly came unhinged.
First Drakken holding the line last night when I’d expected him to join in. And now Aelindor, openly shielding me in front of the entire academy. Two of the most powerful men on this broken continent were going to bat for me. One despised me. And one?—
All three heirs will shield you. The demon’s voice slid through my thoughts, smug and satisfied.
The dragon will bend, too. He’s fighting it— fighting himself.
His beast already knows what you are. Even if the man refuses to see it.
You’re collecting kings, little Max. And you don’t even know the game you’re playing.
The comment slammed into me from nowhere. My face flamed. A sensation I had no business feeling—not here, not now, not with a hundred witnesses—fluttered low in my stomach.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper and shoved the demon back into its corner. It went, but I could feel it grinning.
Damn that creature.
“Cadet?” Aelindor nodded toward Bryn, bringing the room’s attention back.
The woman dipped her head in a quick bow. “My name is Bryn, Your Highness.”
“Cadet Private Bryn,” Aelindor said. “Your account was accurate. Uncomfortable for some, but accurate. Continue to think critically. But do not cause dissension.”
“I won’t, Your Highness!” Bryn’s voice rang with eagerness. “I swore the same vow as every Shield of the Covenant. I won’t let you down, sir.”
She sat down, chin high, a look of vindication on her pierced lips.
“Now.” Aelindor turned back to the room. “Cadet Private Bryn established the prelude. Who can tell us what the Quantum Bomb actually did—beyond ‘one holy war ending all wars,’ as the Pallid Court called it?”
A second-year, judging by his dark silver uniform, raised his hand from the front row. Aelindor pointed.
“The Q-bomb was a fusion of blood magic and advanced AI computation, sir. The blast wave generated an electromagnetic pulse laced with the most potent, horrifying dark magic ever conceived. It fried every electronic system on the planet, every circuit, every server, every machine. Unmade every artificial intelligence in existence. Wiped them out as a species in seconds.” The cadet’s voice was steady, rehearsed.
He’d studied this. “Billions of humans died in the immediate blast. Those with weaker immune systems didn’t survive the fallout. ”
“Correct,” Aelindor said. “The bomb didn’t just destroy. It changed the rules.” He looked across the room at me. “How?”