From the moment he could walk without stumbling, Asher Augustus had been watched.
Not in the warm way a mother watches her child. No. Watched like a relic. A prize. A weapon being sharpened for the right war.
He was the third prince of the Lunar Kingdom. A prodigy in both name and performance. He smiled when he was told. Spoke with a perfect tone. Learned faster than his older brothers—and they noticed.
Especially them.
His eldest brother, crown prince of the realm, saw Asher as a potential threat. His second brother saw him as a rival to crush early.
So Asher learned to smile a little wider. Speak a little softer. Be useful—but never threatening.
A golden boy.
A perfect mask.
And under it, he watched. Always watched.
At the academy, he had the rare gift of choice. For the first time, he wasn't confined to the Gold Circle like the rest of his family.
He chose the Pioneer Tower.
Idealists, visionaries, and mages who wanted to shape the world in new ways. They were brilliant. Reckless. And most importantly, unaligned with his royal legacy.
He could move freely here. Build something of his own. Observe and decide.
So, he did.
From day one, Asher watched the others.
Eric—strong, cold, and calculative but loyal. Sylvia—quiet and sharp like a hidden blade. Charles—explosive talent with little patience. They were all useful in different ways, and Asher had already begun pulling subtle strings to keep them within reach.
And then… there was Clayton.
The outlier.
Asher hadn't noticed him at first. Clayton arrived with nothing remarkable—average scores, strange hesitation, and barely any social presence.
But then the duel with Charles happened.
That was the first flag.
He shouldn't have won. By every metric, Clayton should've folded in under three minutes. But he hadn't. He'd clutched victory with timing, instinct, and a kind of chaotic adaptability that didn't belong to a new student.
That's when Asher really started watching.
He noticed the patterns—how Clayton played down his strength in classes, asked too few questions, and got too many things right on the first try. How his cards worked in a way that didn't match what little formal training he should've had.
It wasn't luck. It was control.
Someone playing a role.
So Asher investigated.
Subtly, of course. A few threads pulled here and there. A visit to the enrollment records. A trace of his origin. The usual checks.
But Clayton was a strange case. There were inconsistencies—records that felt forged, gaps in his background that didn't quite explain his placement.
And the more Asher looked, the more impossible things became.
No formal magical education. No mentorship. And yet, his tactical intuition rivaled some Adepts.
It didn't make sense.
Which made it fascinating.
Asher made a note to keep watching him. And so he did—for weeks. In training, in electives, in conversations with others. Clayton never quite settled into any faction. Always hovering on the edge, pretending not to notice the way people talked around him.
Smart.
It reminded Asher of himself.
And now, with a month passed, Clayton had unknowingly become a puzzle Asher couldn't ignore.
He didn't make moves recklessly. He waited. Measured. Watched how people responded to pressure.
But today? Today felt like the right moment.
The rune class had finished, and the mental fortification elective had just ended. Students were beginning to file out, chatting idly about resonance patterns and breath channeling.
Clayton, as usual, stayed behind.
Not talking. Just thinking.
So Asher walked over.
He made sure his steps were quiet. Not sneaky—just calm. He didn't want to spook him.
Clayton turned as he approached, eyes narrowing slightly in caution.
Good. He's alert.
Asher smiled, soft and polite. "Clayton. I've been meaning to speak with you."
Clayton didn't respond immediately. His eyes flicked to the sides, checking if anyone else was watching.
Paranoid. But not wrong to be.
"…Okay," Clayton said finally. "So speak."
No fear in his voice. Just curiosity with a layer of hesitation.
Asher liked that.
"I've been observing you," Asher said, tone calm. "Not in any sinister way. I simply find you… interesting."
Clayton folded his arms. "That doesn't sound less sinister."
Asher chuckled. "Fair enough. But you've noticed it too, haven't you? You don't fit in. Not the way most first-years do."
"That's because I'm new," Clayton said.
Asher's eyes gleamed slightly. "We're all new. But most of us aren't pretending to be weaker than we are."
That made Clayton pause. Just for a second. But Asher saw it.
He always saw the pause.
"You've been hiding," Asher continued. "I know because I do it too. Not the same way, of course. But I understand what it means to wear a mask."
Clayton didn't confirm or deny it.
Instead, he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't like wasting time," Asher said, voice still even. "I believe in gathering useful people. You're useful. But you're also unstable. I can't figure you out yet—and I don't like unknown variables."
Clayton gave a dry laugh. "So this is what? A recruitment offer? Or a warning?"
"Neither," Asher replied. "It's a conversation. One I think we both benefit from."
There was a long silence. Not uncomfortable—just weighted.
Clayton's expression shifted slightly. Still guarded, but no longer dismissive.
"Alright," he said. "Then talk."
Asher's smile widened just a fraction. Not victory. Just satisfaction.
The first piece had moved.
And the game was finally beginning.