His finger still rested over the basin of Hollowing Heights where my father’s forces had crushed the rebellion.

  For a moment he said nothing.

  Then he looked at me again.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “You have explained how your father won.”

  His eyes sharpened slightly.

  “Now tell me something harder.”

  The room felt smaller suddenly.

  “If you were Carl Lockwood,” Maximilianos continued, “how would you defeat him?”

  My father’s attention snapped fully toward me.

  Not curiosity.

  Expectation.

  The kind of commander gives a junior officer who has just been handed an impossible problem.

  I studied the map again.

  The mountains had not changed.

  The cliffs were still there.

  The valley still formed a trap.

  But traps worked both ways.

  Inside the Hall of Lives, old battlefields stirred.

  Persian rebels harassing imperial roads.

  Steppe riders cutting supply lines before an army even arrived.

  Roman legions starving in foreign mountains because their grain wagons never reached them.

  Different wars.

  Same principles.

  I placed my finger on the valley.

  “I would not fight him here.”

  Maximilianos raised an eyebrow.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  My father spoke quietly.

  “Explain.”

  I moved my hand further down the map.

  “To defeat an army like yours, I would attack before the battle ever began.”

  Silence settled again.

  “Your forces depended on supply lines,” I continued. “Grain. Ammunition. Medical caravans. All of it moving from the lowlands into the mountains.”

  Maximilianos nodded slowly.

  “That is true of every army.”

  “Then that is where the war is fought.”

  I traced a thin road leading through the hills.

  “Small units,” I said. “Not an army. Riders. Miners who know the terrain. Ambush every caravan.”

  My father’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Guerrilla war.”

  “Yes.”

  Maximilianos leaned forward.

  “And if the army pushes deeper anyway?”

  “Then the mountains become the weapon.”

  I tapped the cliffs surrounding Hollowing Heights.

  “Collapse the roads behind them.”

  “Trap the army in the valley.”

  My father folded his arms.

  “And then?”

  “Wait.”

  The word hung in the air.

  “Armies do not die from swords alone,” I said quietly.

  “They die from hunger.”

  I moved my finger again.

  “No supplies.”

  “No retreat.”

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  “Cold nights.”

  “Fear spreading through the ranks.”

  I looked up.

  “Your soldiers are professionals.”

  “But professionals still bleed.”

  Neither man spoke for several seconds.

  Maximilianos slowly leaned back in his chair.

  “Well,” he murmured.

  “That would have been… inconvenient.”

  My father stared at the map.

  Then at me.

  “You think Lockwood could have won.”

  “Yes.”

  The answer surprised neither of them.

  “He almost did,” I added.

  Maximilianos exhaled softly through his nose.

  “That,” he said, “is exactly what he tried during the early stages of the revolt.”

  My father gave a short laugh.

  “Fortunately for us,” he said, “he ran out of time.”

  Maximilianos’ gaze never left me.

  “No,” the old cavalryman said quietly.

  “Fortunately for the empire…”

  He tapped the map once.

  “Lockwood was not sitting at this table.”

  His eyes met mine.

  “But someone who thinks like him is.”

  Silence filled the study again.

  And for the first time since the lesson began, I realized something important.

  Maximilianos Hippos was not just teaching me.

  He was evaluating me.

  After a couple of hours my father took Maximilianos to the main hall to drink and catch up.

  Their voices carried faintly through the corridors as servants moved between rooms preparing the evening meal.

  I returned to my chamber.

  The quiet there was welcome.

  After leaving the study I trained my access to the Hall of Memories. This ability had helped me control the flood of recollection that followed every reincarnation. Without it my mind would have shattered long ago.

  It allowed me to store memories safely instead of forcing them all into conscious thought.

  The discipline had taken years to master.

  I first began developing it during a life in which I followed the teachings of Buddha. For almost twenty years I meditated daily, learning to observe the mind without letting it break beneath its own weight.

  Eventually I achieved something close to illumination.

  That understanding became the foundation for the Hall of Memories.

  Now, each time I reincarnated, the structure allowed me to organize centuries of experience without destroying the fragile mind of the body I inhabited.

  Still, even with that control, the headaches persisted.

  After some time I left meditation behind and went to the library.

  Maximilianos had instructed me earlier to bury myself in the books, and I followed the advice.

  The Corvus library occupied an entire wing of the manor. Tall shelves climbed toward the ceiling, packed with volumes bound in leather, parchment, and newer printed paper. Lamps fueled by Aether crystals glowed softly between the shelves.

  I began reading.

  Within a few hours I discovered something that surprised me.

  This world was not populated by humans alone.

  At first the references appeared only briefly. A mention here. A historical account there. Eventually the pattern became impossible to ignore.

  Humans shared the world with several other races.

  Beastmen.

  Elves.

  Dwarves.

  Each had their own histories and cultures. Some lived under imperial authority. Others existed beyond it.

  There were also creatures that did not belong to any civilization.

  Monsters.

  Dragons were mentioned in several older chronicles. Goblins appeared frequently in frontier reports. Orcs were described in military texts dealing with border conflicts.

  I closed one of the books slowly.

  My father had never mentioned any of this.

  Perhaps he believed such knowledge unnecessary for a child.

  Or perhaps the empire preferred not to discuss certain realities too openly.

  Either way, the information was useful.

  By the time a servant knocked to summon me for dinner, the lamps in the library had grown brighter as dusk settled outside.

  At dinner that evening the long table of the Corvus manor felt more like a council chamber than a family meal.

  Servants moved quietly between chairs, placing dishes and pouring wine while the conversation focused on a single subject. They worked with the careful silence of people who understood that General Corvus preferred efficiency to conversation.

  Xandros Corvus rested one arm on the table and looked toward me.

  “You met Maximilianos today,” he said. “That was only the beginning.”

  Cassian leaned back in his chair with obvious interest. He always looked most comfortable when conversations turned toward competition.

  Lucien pretended not to care, though his attention remained fixed on our father. Unlike Cassian, he listened first and spoke later.

  Ariadne watched her husband carefully. She did not interrupt him, but her gaze lingered on each of us in turn as if measuring how the words would land.

  “The empire is not ruled by swords alone,” Xandros continued. “A man who wishes to shape the future must understand more than war.”

  He began listing the tutors one by one.

  “Maximilianos Hippos,” he said first. “Strategy, logistics, and the mathematics of war. He will teach you how armies move, why they fail, and how men break before their weapons do.”

  Maximilianos, seated halfway down the table, lifted his glass slightly in acknowledgment.

  Cassian’s posture straightened slightly at the mention of strategy. He had always believed war was the quickest path to glory.

  My father took a sip of wine before continuing.

  “Yelena Alienka. An inventor from the northern frontier. She will teach you engineering, chemistry, and the principles of Aether technology. If the empire survives the next century, it will be because of minds like hers.”

  Lucien raised an eyebrow.

  “You hired an inventor?”

  His tone sounded casual, but I noticed he stopped eating while waiting for the answer.

  “Yes,” Xandros said simply.

  Cassian drummed his fingers lightly against the table while listening. He disliked subjects that could not be solved with a sword.

  My father continued.

  “Lord Therion Valmyr. An imperial diplomat and one of the oldest elves currently serving the court. He will teach you negotiation, statecraft, and the art of surviving politics.”

  Cassian smirked slightly.

  “That sounds tedious.”

  “It is,” Xandros replied. “Which is why most kings fail at it.”

  Lucien hid a faint smile behind his glass.

  Xandros moved to the next name.

  “Durnir Stonebinder. A dwarven merchant lord. Economics, trade, taxation, and how empires actually pay for their wars.”

  He tapped the table once.

  “Armies march on grain and coin. Not pride.”

  Then he added another.

  “Kaelen Varkas. A beastman officer from the southern frontier. He will handle physical training. Survival. Combat.”

  Finally he spoke the last name.

  “Professor Selene Arkanis. One of the leading scholars of Aether theory in the empire.”

  Ariadne tilted her head slightly.

  “You hired a philosopher?”

  “A scientist,” Xandros corrected.

  He looked down the table, letting his gaze pass from Cassian to Lucien before settling briefly on me.

  “These tutors are not here for one child,” he said. “They will teach all of my sons.”

  Cassian straightened in his chair at that. Lucien’s expression sharpened with quiet interest.

  “War, science, diplomacy, economics, survival, and philosophy,” Xandros continued.

  “Every Corvus will learn them.”

  “If you are to carry the name Corvus, you will understand the world that name must stand in.”

  Across the table Maximilianos chuckled quietly into his glass.

  “A demanding curriculum for children.”

  Xandros did not smile.

  “I will demand more.”