“Aether Monroe…”

When Shel uttered that name, Nameless before him felt bewilderment—and… familiarity.

She strained to search her memories, frustration tightening her brow, yet nothing surfaced.

“Lord Shel,” she asked hesitantly, “did the HolySee truly have a Sword Saint by this name in history? Why… why does it feel like his name never appeared in any records I’ve ever read?”

Shel’s voice turned low. “After the Empire of Ypoli was founded, I erased him from history. Just like many truths from that era. You wouldn’t have heard of him. Don’t trouble yourself.”

But Nameless remained unsettled.

That name felt known to her.

And she sensed its weight for Shel—every time it was spoken, his tone dimmed, his head bowed as if mourning a father.

---

Thus began Shel and Hilna’s studies at the Divine Academy.

Yes, on Monroe’s suggestion, Shel—who’d planned only to be Hilna’s guardian in the City of Glory—now enrolled as a student himself.

As mentioned earlier, the Academy admitted three types of students:

First were the majority: ambitious commoners of modest talent and status. Those inclined toward combat trained as knights, guards, or junior officers. Those preferring civil roles studied to become local church leaders or missionary priests. Graduates became reliable HolySee cadres. With the Academy’s prestige, they rose faster than ordinary mages—some even caught nobles’ eyes, marrying into power and leaping from the dirt to the clouds. They’d owe the Eternal Church everything.

Second were the privileged few: heirs of mighty dukes, councilors’ children from wealthy city-states, princes and princesses of great kingdoms. Blessed as if by the Heavenly Father himself, they were born with silver spoons and magic in their veins. Destined to inherit power, they’d use their gifts to expand influence. The Church courted them carefully. They came to polish their credentials—learning governance, piety (as defined by the Eternal Church), etiquette (Church-decreed), and basic spells. Graduation granted them the Academy’s seal, securing local Church backing to cement their rule. Mutual back-scratching. Pure transaction.

Third were true prodigies: rare talents seemingly sent by the Heavenly Father to guide humanity. Youths mastering profound arcane arts before adulthood. Left unchecked, such power threatened the Church; only by claiming them could it rest easy. Usually, only a dozen such students enrolled yearly. Hilna’s talent? “Top three in recorded history.”

This stunned Shel more than he’d expected. He knew she was gifted—but not *this* extraordinary. The head nun even offered weekly sermons just for her.

Of course, Shel himself belonged squarely in the first category—a fact he accepted. He’d braced for being the oldest student at nearly thirty, possibly shunned by youths. Instead, he found most first-tier students were in their thirties. Forties and fifties weren’t uncommon. One white-bearded man in his seventies greeted Shel cheerfully, asking for leniency. Shel was among the youngest in his cohort.

These were relentless strivers.

Some earned their spot through battlefield valor for feudal lords.

Others served local parishes for decades before congregations nominated them.

Many took crushing debts, pulled every string, and survived the HolySee’s grueling exams—all to seize this one chance to change their fate.

Most hailed from the continent’s fertile heartlands: minor nobles or clergy with modest means, education, and latent magic. They’d hacked through thorns for this opportunity—and arrived middle-aged. They paid steep “study donations” (the Church couldn’t charge believers, so donations were “voluntary”) for crumbling dorms and meatless cafeteria meals. Only after two or three years of austerity did they earn graduation.

Shel? He’d gained entry solely because Hilna’s talent impressed Monroe.

While others crowded into shabby rooms, he and Hilna lived in the spacious house gifted by the Sword Saint. They feasted in their private dining hall, ignoring all fasting rules.

The ultimate nepo baby.

Everyone envied him.

Years later, Shel still felt unworthy of such privilege:

*“I thought: So the Heavenly Father truly is unjust. Even if magic talent seems randomly given, the powerful twist divine grace into tools for control.*

*Sometimes, what others bleed for falls into another’s lap like manna.*

*I’m the luckiest among us—but beside those silver-spoon second-tier students, I’m still a penniless worm.*

*Yet… compared to tenant farmers or starving city-dwellers who’ll never touch magic? Every Academy student is a god walking among ants.*

*That thought lifted me. No self-pity. I must seize this chance.*

*After all, I’m here to make Hilna an Empress.*

*I wondered: Could ‘Pontiff’ count as Empress? If empire is measured by faith’s reach… might she become the greatest religious sovereign? If I excel here, could I aid her future?*

*Coming to the City of Glory was right. Even if the Sword Saint uses me—I’ve gained too much already. For Hilna’s sake, I’ll give everything.”*

When a child fills most of your days and consumes your heart, she becomes part of your life—worth every sacrifice.

And Monroe? He watched Shel silently all the while.