Rain tapped gently at the window, its rhythm soft yet unrelenting, like fingers drumming against the bones of the world. The cold crept in beneath the heavy blankets, curling around me in a cocoon of unnatural warmth. I woke with a start—lungs heaving, chest burning, as though I'd broken the surface of some drowned dream. Sweat clung to my skin, hot against the chill of the room.

  This was the dormitory. And yet... it wasn’t.

  The last thing I remember was the pain. Pain as lightning ripped through my veins, scorching my skin as my own magic turned against me. I remember falling, the scent of burning earth, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I remember Rowan shouting my name, the distant hum of Alina's voice, urgent and fearful. And her... her presence lingering at the edge of consciousness like a half-remembered dream.

  My robes are gone, the ones torn and blackened by the lashes of my thunder. Instead, I wear a clean tunic, light against my skin. Someone changed me. Someone healed me. My fingers brush over my throat, searching. But find nothing. Panic digs its claws into my gut, sharp and cold.

  My amulet is gone.

  I throw off the blankets and swing my legs over the bed. My movements feel light, wrong, as if something vital has been stripped from me. The weight I carried, the ache of exhaustion—it's all gone. But this isn't right. None of it feels right.

  A shift in the air stills me. The temperature drops, my breath forming a thin mist before my face. Slowly, my gaze lifts to the doorway.

  A woman stands there, and my heart stops.

  Golden strands weave through her silver hair, cascading over her shoulders like woven moonlight touched by dawn. Her crystal-blue eyes bore into me, deep as winter lakes, holding secrets I've seen a thousand times in my dreams. She doesn't move. Doesn't speak. But the weight of her presence is suffocating, heavy with unspoken words and ancient promises.

  A silver bracelet glints on her left wrist, golden threads catching the dim light like captured flames. Phoenix wings spread across its surface, the creature's gem-gold eyes seeming to pulse with an inner light. On her left hand, a ring adorns her finger—silver with intricate golden carvings that spiral along its edges, while on her right middle finger, a golden gemstone catches the moonlight, throwing fractured light across the walls.

  My lips part, but no sound comes. My breath stills, the warmth I felt upon waking vanishing under an icy grip. She turns without a word, disappearing beyond the threshold, her movements too fluid, too graceful—like water flowing through shadow.

  A heartbeat passes. Then another.

  I don't think. I move.

  The wooden door groans under my grip as I pull it open. The corridor stretches before me, dark and empty. The sconces remain unlit, leaving only the pale fingers of moonlight reaching through the high windows. A breeze drifts in from the far end, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The night is hollow, soundless but for the distant murmur of rain.

  And then, just at the edge of my vision—I see her. She stands still, her back turned, her form wavering like smoke in moonlight.

  Her silver-gold hair glows faintly in the dark, an otherworldly beacon.

  I step forward, yet the space between us does not change. No matter how many steps I take, she remains just beyond reach, like trying to grasp mist.

  A whisper escapes me. "Valeria... Is that you?"

  She does not turn.

  Instead, she speaks. "You remember me?" Her voice is soft, yet it cuts through the silence like a blade. Cold and distant. A voice that has waited too long, carried too much.

  I hesitate. The certainty in my own voice unsettles me. "Yes. Somehow. I've seen you in my dreams. Every night. Your face, your eyes..."

  "Why didn't you come?" The words unravel, bitter and raw. "I waited, Einar. For years. Through darkness and light. Through death itself."

  She turns in an instant.

  The hollow glow of her eyes is gone, replaced with something darker. Blood trails from the corners, thin rivulets streaking her pale skin, staining the white of her gown. Her beauty becomes terrible, haunting—the kind that makes mortals go mad, that speaks of things beyond death and time.

  The first drop hits the floor.

  The world twists.

  The scent of rain is consumed by something fouler. Blood. Thick, cloying. It fills my lungs, coats my tongue with iron and rot.

  "You are to blame for that, mortal." A sharp voice, edged with cold amusement, cuts through the void.

  I turn sharply toward the voice, surprised to see him.

  A warrior draped in crimson, his armor dark with dried blood. His sword drips, fresh and gleaming under a phantom light. His smirk is sharp, knowing, carved from the remnants of a man who once was. But there's something familiar in the way he holds himself, in the cold calculation behind those eyes—something I've seen in my own reflection.

  "You... you are him," I whisper, my hands clenching into fists. "The one from my nightmares."

  He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. "Nightmares? Is that what you call them?" His laugh is hollow, devoid of warmth. "Tell me, boy, what do you see when you look at your hands? Do you feel it? The power that writhes beneath your skin, begging to be unleashed?"

  "I see my own hands," I say firmly, but even as the words leave my mouth, I feel the familiar burn of magic in my veins. "Nothing more."

  "Lie to yourself if you must, but don't lie to me." He steps forward, his boots sinking into the blood-soaked earth. "I've watched you struggle against it. Fighting what comes naturally, as if denying your nature will somehow make you better than what you are." His voice drops lower, almost gentle. "How many times must your magic turn against you before you understand?"

  The question hits closer than I'd like to admit. "My magic—"

  "—is not a tool to be controlled," he interrupts, voice sharp. "It is a storm that answers only to its own nature. Your nature." He gestures to the battlefield around us. "You think these men died because I was cruel? Because I enjoyed it?" His laugh is bitter now. "They died because I understood what you refuse to accept. Sometimes, the only way to protect what matters is to become what others fear."

  "And what did that cost you?" I demand, anger rising in my chest. "Your humanity? Your soul?"

  His smirk fades, replaced by something almost... sad. "My soul?" He shakes his head. "No, boy. It cost me everything else. But my soul?" He taps his chest, right over his heart. "That's what you're fighting right now. The very thing you're trying to suppress."

  I step back, unsettled by his words. "I won't become like you. A butcher who justifies his actions with pretty words about necessity."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "No?" He moves with impossible speed, suddenly before me. His hand, cold as death, grips my chin. "Then tell me, what will you do when they come for her again? When they threaten what you love? Will you stand aside, hands clean, and watch it burn?" His eyes bore into mine, crimson meeting crimson. "Your magic devours you because you refuse to accept its purpose. You think controlling it means suppressing it, when you should be embracing it."

  "And become what? A monster?"

  "Become what you must." His grip tightens. "You think I chose this path for glory? For power?" He laughs, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "I chose it because the alternative was watching everything I loved turn to ash. Better to be a monster who protects than a saint who fails. Though I died, my will lived."

  "There must be another way," I insist, but doubt creeps into my voice.

  His expression softens, just slightly. "Perhaps. But you won't find it by denying what you are." He releases me, stepping back. "Magic in your blood is neither good nor evil. It simply is. Like a sword, its nature depends on the hand that wields it. But until you accept that hand as your own, it will continue to tear you apart."

  "Why tell me this? Why talk with me in this vision?"

  He turns, surveying the battlefield with an almost wistful expression. "Because I remember what it was to be you. Standing at the crossroads, believing that purity of heart was enough to change the world." His voice grows distant. "I remember the day that belief died. The day I realized that sometimes, the only way to protect the light is to embrace the dark." He looks back at me. "You don't have to become me. But you do have to become yourself. All of yourself, include me."

  My nails bite into my palms. The blood at our feet ripples with my movement, but I force myself to ignore it. "And if I refuse?"

  "Then you'll lose her, not just her, but her true self." His words cut like ice. "And this time, there won't be another chance. The magic in your blood isn't just power, boy. It's a legacy. My legacy. And it demands acceptance, not control."

  "Then help me understand," I demand. "If you're truly my past, if you want me to learn, then tell me what I need to know."

  "Would you believe me if I did? Or would you reject it, like you reject everything else that doesn't fit your notion of right and wrong? Would you remove that mask you wore for me?" He shakes his head. "No. Some truths must be learned through experience. Through failure. Through loss."

  "You… are right," I say, standing straighter. "No matter what you were… we were; savior or executioner, light or dark—it matters not. I will not let the world choose my fate."

  “Fate…” His smirk fades slightly, replaced by something almost like pride. “Your battle is not with fate, Einar. It’s with yourself. The moment you understand that, you will realize what fate has for you."

  The darkness begins to dissolve, the battlefield fading. The scent of blood thins, replaced by the steady rhythm of rain. The bodies vanish like mist.

  His form wavers, his crimson eyes locking onto mine one last time. "Keep growing, Einar. Not for power's sake, but for hers. Prove to me that you deserve my will, my essence, my truth. Our time will come when destiny allows it. Till then, give her the time she deserves. The past will return to you, piece by piece. Some will lift you. Some will break you. But do not let it shackle you." His voice softens. "And remember—sometimes the greatest acts of love require the darkest deeds."

  His form fractures, dissolving into nothing, leaving me alone with the echo of rain and the lingering scent of blood. A memory as sharp as a blade. But now, mixed with the scent, comes understanding: the magic burning in my veins isn't fighting me. It's waiting. Waiting for me to accept what I've been running from all along.

  The question is, am I ready to face it?

  A steady rhythm of rain drummed against the window. Soft, steady, relentless. The scent of damp wood filled the air, mixing with the faint musk of old parchment and candle wax. Somewhere near me, Rowan’s slow, even breaths punctuated the silence, a stark contrast to the restlessness clawing at my chest.

  I pushed back the blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold against my bare feet. I flexed my fingers, feeling the remnants of sweat on my palms, and took a moment to gather myself. The dim light seeping through the window told me it was still early, the world caught in the quiet before the day’s chaos began.

  The dormitory was still. I moved through it without a sound, stepping into the corridor. Empty. Not even a single lamp burned, only the occasional flicker of lightning illuminating the stone walls. The rain muffled everything, making the world feel distant. I exhaled, running a hand through my damp hair. The dream still lingered at the edges of my mind, raw and vivid.

  Back inside, I grabbed a towel. A cold bath would clear my head.

  The bathhouse was near silent, save for the occasional drip of water echoing against the stone walls. Only a handful of students were here, their voices hushed, their movements sluggish. The pool sat empty, steam curling faintly above its surface. I took the liberty of slipping in, letting the water swallow me whole.

  For a while, I just floated. My limbs felt weightless, my thoughts less so.

  The man in my dream—was that truly me? He had spoken with conviction, warning me, urging me to let go of the past. But how could I, when the past held the only answers that mattered?

  I closed my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my bones. My essence, once a raging river, now felt like a still, deep lake.

  A tap on my shoulder pulled me back.

  I opened my eyes to find Valen crouched beside the pool, his hair damp with mist.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, slipping into the water beside me.

  “Better. Much better than… you know.”

  He exhaled, resting an arm on the pool’s edge. “Yeah. We were worried. Rowan kept insisting it was just a loss of control, but…”

  I scoffed. “No one would have believed that.”

  “No,” he admitted. “Your wounds were there one moment—then gone the next.” He studied me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Whatever happened is insane… like some miracle.”

  I leaned back, staring at the vaulted ceiling. “Miracle, huh? I came here for answers. Thought I had a clear goal. But now…I just want to learn. To control what’s in me.”

  Valen nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. It’s a start. But trust me, the answers will come whether you seek them or not.” A shadow crossed his face. “And so will mine.”

  Silence stretched between us, comfortable in its weight. I could hear my stomach growling, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since I’d last eaten. I pushed myself up from the water.

  Before leaving, I turned back. “Have you seen my amulet? It’s missing.”

  Valen didn’t look at me as he answered. “No. It wasn’t there when they brought you.”

  I frowned but said nothing.

  Back in the dorm, the air was thick with the warmth of sleep. Rowan and Lucas were still buried under their blankets, their breathing deep and steady. Outside, voices drifted from the common room—students stirring, the day beginning.

  I dressed quickly, pulling on my last clean uniform. My gaze flickered to the sword resting against the closet. The only thing I owned here that felt truly mine.

  Lucas stirred as I fastened my tie, his emerald eyes cracking open just enough to offer a lazy smirk before muttering some half-assed comment and rolling out of bed. He left without another word.

  Rowan slept on.

  I hesitated, my fingers curling into a fist. Yesterday, I had nearly killed him. Nearly killed Alina.

  Were they safe around me?

  I turned on my heel and left without waking him.

  The common room was quieter than usual, the rain dulling the usual morning chatter. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows against the stone walls.

  Near the fireplace, Seraphine sat alone, her silver-white hair glowing in the dim light. She caught my gaze and waved me over, her expression warm.

  I lifted a hand in return, then gestured toward the hall. Food.

  She smiled, giving a small nod of understanding.

  I slipped out into the corridors, the chill of the morning pressing against my skin. The main building was alive with movement—students huddled along the walls, avoiding the rain, voices bouncing off the stone arches.

  By the time I reached the feast hall, most of the tables were still empty. Only a few students sat scattered across the room, their plates half-filled, their voices low. The teacher’s table had even fewer occupants—Professor Selvar and Professor Varon, both lost in their meals.

  I dipped my head slightly in acknowledgment as I passed. Selvar, usually a force of chaos, looked almost…normal. Not a morning person, I guess.

  I slid into a seat at the Drakenhall table, my back to the professors, and focused on what mattered most—food.

  My hunger was unnatural, gnawing at me like I hadn’t eaten in days. The first bite of honey bread was enough to ease the tightness in my chest. Then came the roasted meat, the boiled eggs, the warm broth. Simple meals, but to an empty stomach, they might as well have been a feast.

  For a moment, everything else faded around me. There was only me and the food.

  And that was enough.