Sirod Ramel

I’ve been staring at the envelope for half an hour now.

A message sent by Vahmir Bloodrose—the right hand, they call him—ordering the academy to prepare for an exchange program with the nation of Opeur. It’s been ten years since we last hosted such an event. If this is really happening, I need to pay the council a visit. I need more details.

I began packing my things, mentally preparing for the discussion ahead, when a knock echoed on the wooden door.

“Come in,” I called out.

Teacher Biljana entered, waving her hand casually. She was two years older than me—twenty-two to be exact—and a member of the Bloodrose family. Her signature asymmetrical bob framed her sharp features, and her deep crimson eyes, almost black, glimmered behind her round glasses. Most students probably had their first crush on her. Usually, she wore a cheerful expression, but today… something was off.

“You got the message, Sirod?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I was just on my way to the council to get more details about the event.”

She paused for a moment, then said, “Sirod… Master Vahmir Bloodrose wants you to head to the Bloodrose Mansion instead. The council session’s been canceled today anyway—someone special is visiting Cartha.”

Vahmir wants to meet me at the mansion?

Why?

I didn’t say any of that out loud, only nodded. “Understood. I’ll go there directly. Thank you, Biljana.”

She smiled softly and left the room.

I wasted no time. I left the academy and made my way to the Bloodrose estate.

The air was starting to warm—summer creeping in early this year. If this exchange program really happens, it’ll begin a month from now.

So much for a peaceful summer break.

The academy would have to prepare every student with proper training. We couldn’t afford to let them appear weak next to the other nations’ participants. That meant pressure—a lot of it—on the teachers first, and only then the students.

Sure, most of the royals had personal trainers, always a step ahead. But at least the academy gave less fortunate students a chance to train, to rise, to become something more. That was one of the things I respected most about it.

I was lost in these thoughts when the Bloodrose Mansion finally appeared through the trees—its massive black and red doors looming at the top of the steps like a monument to power and tradition.

I had arrived at the doorstep of the Bloodrose family.

“Who’s there?” a rough voice called from behind the massive door.

“It’s Sirod. Sirod Ramel. I was summoned by Sir Vahmir Bloodrose,” I replied, keeping my tone calm and confident.

The guard gave me a quick look before responding, “Wait a moment.”

A couple of minutes passed in silence. Then, with a soft creak, the smaller inner door embedded in the grand entrance opened.

“You may enter. Follow me,” the guard instructed.

I stepped inside, following his lead. It was my first time inside the legendary Bloodrose estate—and right away, I could see the stories were true.

The estate was massive, but what caught my eye were the strict architectural patterns. Every house followed the same structure and shape, with only one clear distinction: color.

White and black.

Just like the two dominant branches of the family—the White-Haired and the Black-Haired. The pride they carried was etched into every corner, every wall, every roof. It was a reflection of their legacy, their rules... and their rivalry.

We continued walking, leaving the main estate behind, until we reached a small wooden tent on the outskirts of the grounds. It looked oddly humble against the backdrop of wealth and structure.

Inside, a single table stood with a chessboard laid out on it. Two chairs. One occupied.

A man with long black hair and piercing dark eyes sat quietly, already adjusting the pieces.

It was none other than Vahmir Bloodrose himself—the head of the Bloodrose family.

“Do you play chess?” he asked without looking up. “Come. Take a seat.”

He gestured to the chair across from him as he finished setting the board.

I nodded and took the seat across from him.

Vahmir gave a brief wave to the guard, who silently turned and marched away, leaving us alone under the dim light of the wooden tent.

I hesitated for a moment before speaking, gathering my thoughts. “About the exchange event, sir... One month to prepare the students feels like a tight schedule, in my opinion.”

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he moved a pawn forward across the board.

“Sirod, what do you think the purpose of the exchange event is?” he asked, eyes still focused on the game.

“To allow the top elemental users a chance to study at Opeur’s most prestigious academy—and to strengthen ties between our nations,” I replied, mirroring his move and advancing my pawn as well.

He looked up slightly, his expression unreadable. “And do you believe that’s true?”

I paused, unsure where he was taking this. “If I’m being honest... I think the main reason is to recruit the most promising elemental users for Opeur. But I’d imagine the diplomacy part is at least somewhat true... isn’t it?”

It was then he looked at me—truly looked at me. His pitch-black eyes locked onto mine like a blade through fog, slicing through whatever illusions I had left.

“Sirod,” he began, his tone quiet but razor-sharp, “you’re still young. You know the history between our nation and Opeur, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Then let me give you a clearer picture. After the war—the war we lost—Opeur invented this event. Every few years, they come and take a look at our youth. And when they find someone gifted, someone with real potential… they recruit them. They make sure that instead of becoming threats to Opeur, those people become tools for them. A source of power under their control.”

He leaned slightly closer, voice low.

“That way, we’ll never rise. We’ll never rebuild into a true power. Yes, the other nations take part in the event too—but don’t be naïve. They don’t actually send their children to Opeur’s hands. No, they join only to observe Opeur’s power. And Opeur accepts them in return to measure everyone else’s strength.”

He paused, eyes never leaving mine.

“We need to change that. What do you think?”

His words weighed heavily on me. I knew there was tension with Opeur, but not like this—not this deep. I was still young, maybe even naive. What did I really know of national politics and old scars that hadn’t healed?

I stayed silent, trying to process it all.

“Sirod,” he continued, “forget the event. Don’t waste your energy training students for something that was never designed to benefit us. I want you to do something else for me.”

Before he could finish, I interrupted. “What about the message from the council?”

His expression darkened, and he let out a sigh of restrained disappointment.

“The council approved the event. It was Lord Dalfrid’s order. We have no choice but to obey,” he said. “But Dalfrid has always favored the illusion of peace. A peace he never had the power to shape. We can’t stand idle forever, waiting for disaster to strike.”

He looked straight at me again, and for the first time, I felt like I was being asked something far bigger than I expected.

“So what do you say?” he asked. “Can you help your nation?”

I swallowed my doubts and answered, not fully understanding what I was agreeing to—but certain of my heart.

“If I can be of help to the nation… I’ll gladly do what’s necessary.”

He gave me a small nod of approval, then leaned back slightly and said,
“Checkmate. Your king is dead.”

Only then did I glance back down at the board. I had almost forgotten we were still playing, too caught up in his words and the weight behind them. My pieces were scattered, my king cornered with no possible move to escape.

I let out a soft breath. “You won, sir,” I said, offering a weak smile.

His eyes didn’t leave the board, as if the game still echoed something deeper.

And maybe it did.