Allochrony Academy

Death had a scent. It lingered within the walls of House Orthox long before anyone dared utter the word aloud. The fragrance of crushed herbs, incense, and expensive medicine filled the master's chamber, refusing to leave despite the servants replacing the braziers every few hours. Morning sunlight streamed through towering windows draped with ivory curtains, casting pale gold across marble floors polished enough to mirror the anxious faces gathered inside. Physicians stood near the walls with lowered eyes. Ministers whispered among themselves. House retainers waited in silence. No one spoke louder than necessary. The kingdom's greatest supplier of Astral Stones was about to lose its patriarch. Upon the grand bed lay Creed Otakar. Time had stolen the strength from his broad shoulders. His skin had become pale, his breathing shallow, and every rise of his chest seemed to demand more effort than the last. The man who once crossed dangerous mines with a pickaxe in one hand and his daughter on the other shoulder now looked as fragile as dried parchment. Standing beside him was Blairre Otakar. She neither cried nor trembled. Instead, her sapphire eyes studied him with the quiet intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle no one else could see. Blairre had never considered herself gifted. Not exceptionally beautiful. Not exceptionally talented. If there was one thing she possessed, it was observation. Her father had insisted on teaching her that from childhood. "Little Seer," he used to say while placing another report in front of her, "people rehearse their words. They never rehearse their habits." At seven, she learned to notice trembling fingers. At ten, she learned to recognize forced smiles. By thirteen, she could predict a merchant's lie before negotiations even began. Those lessons had shaped the person she became. And because of them... She noticed something no one else did. For three years... Her father had not been himself. It wasn't his appearance. His face was unchanged. His voice carried the same weight. But the tiny things... The things impossible to fake forever... Were gone. He no longer called her Little Seer. Whenever he read documents, he used to tap the table twice before making a decision. He always rubbed the signet ring on his right thumb whenever something troubled him. Tea was never complete without two cubes of sugar, followed by the same complaint that sweet drinks would one day kill him before laughing at his own joke. Three years ago... Every one of those habits vanished. The tapping stopped. The sugar disappeared. The ring remained untouched. Even the warmth in his eyes had faded into something distant. At first Blairre convinced herself people changed. Perhaps grief changed him. Perhaps marriage changed him. Perhaps illness changed him. Yet every explanation felt wrong. People changed. Habits rarely did. Especially habits repeated for decades. The thought she hated most returned once again. Who are you? The question frightened her every time it surfaced. How could a daughter suspect her own father? She wanted to believe she was imagining things. She truly did. Then Creed slowly opened his eyes. "The family..." His voice was weak. "...call them in." The massive doors opened. Lady Rorie entered first. Every movement she made radiated practiced elegance. Black silk mourning clothes flowed behind her, though the man she claimed to love still clung to life. Behind her came Rosetta. Beautiful. Graceful. Perfectly composed. She lowered her gaze with just enough sorrow to earn sympathetic glances from the nobles. One by one, ministers and relatives gathered around the bed. Silence settled over the room. Creed struggled to inhale. "My remaining time..." He paused to catch his breath. "...is short." No one interrupted. "I therefore announce my final wishes." The chamber became still. "So long as House Orthox exists..." "...Lady Rorie shall become its next Head." The words struck Blairre harder than thunder. Someone gasped. Another noble nodded approvingly. Whispers spread through the chamber. Creed continued. "Rosetta shall inherit my authority and continue her engagement to His Highness, the Second Prince." "What...?" The word escaped Blairre before she realized she had spoken. Not because she desired the title. Not because she wanted power. House Orthox meant nothing compared to the man lying before her. Because— The father she knew... Would never have said those words. Never. Not the man who once smiled while brushing dust from her hair after visiting the mines. Not the man who promised... "Everything I build shall one day belong to my Little Seer." Across the room, Lady Rorie hid the corners of her smile behind an embroidered handkerchief. "My dear..." she whispered delicately. "Even now, you think only of this family." She approached Blairre with graceful steps, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "I know this must be painful, darling. But from today onward, allow me to guide you as your mother." Mother? Blairre almost laughed. Two years beneath the same roof. Not once had the woman acted like one. Rosetta stepped forward, clasping her hands together. "Sister... please don't blame Father." Her emerald eyes shimmered with carefully measured tears. "The Second Prince and I... we simply fell in love. Feelings cannot be controlled." She hesitated, lowering her voice. "If speaking with Father would ease your heart... I could ask him to reconsider..." "Rosetta." Lady Rorie smiled proudly. "Your kindness truly knows no limits." Several nobles exchanged approving glances. "Such a compassionate young lady." "The future princess is truly admirable." Their praise echoed through the chamber. Blairre heard none of it. Her attention never left Creed. His breathing. His eyes. The rhythm of his silence. Even his illness... Felt wrong. Too controlled. Almost... Maintained. As though someone were performing the role of a dying man. The thought returned. Louder than ever. You're not him. Lady Rorie's hand tightened ever so slightly upon Blairre's shoulder. Possessive. Claiming. Without warning— Blairre brushed it away. The sharp c***k echoed across the chamber. Gasps erupted. Rorie stumbled back, clutching her hand dramatically. "Blairre!" Rosetta rushed to her side. "Mother, are you hurt?" For a heartbeat, the room froze. Blairre lifted her eyes toward Creed. She expected anger. Expected disappointment. Expected the father she remembered to correct everyone. Instead... He simply looked at her. Not with love. Not with hatred. Only with distance. "By 3 days..." His voice was quiet. "...you will leave House Orthox." No one breathed. "The Academy carriage shall arrive before noon." His gaze remained fixed on her. "And never again..." "...disrespect your mother." Mother. That single word severed the final thread of hope Blairre still held. She bowed once. Slowly. Perfectly. "As you wish..." She turned and walked toward the great doors without another glance behind her. Only one question echoed inside her heart. If you are not my father... Then where is he?