The wind still howled through the open windows of the Arcane Spire as dawn broke over the academy, casting long shadows across the marble halls.
Marcus Valen stood in silence before the mirror in his sparse dormitory, fastening the silver-threaded collar of his robes — a mark of royal blood that now brought him nothing but disdain.
Today would be the first real test.
Not of magic, but of control.
He descended into the elemental chamber where Aelia Serin already awaited, her presence commanding despite her youth.
The class was filled with noble-born students eager to prove themselves, and beneath their veiled glances lurked something sharper: curiosity laced with suspicion.
Marcus took his place at the far end of the room.
"Focus your will," Aelia began, her voice clear and measured.
"Let the element find you, not the other way around."
The students closed their eyes, reaching for the subtle resonance of fire, water, earth, or air.
Marcus did not close his.
Instead, he remembered — he remembered the exact moment when, years ago, he had first mastered this very exercise in mere seconds.
That version of himself had been punished for it.
This time, he would see who remembered too much.
Drawing on the memory of his past self's technique, he extended his palm, allowing just enough energy to ripple outward.
A faint blue shimmer flickered above his hand — not raw flame, not water, but something… older.
Something not taught in basic lessons.
Aelia's eyes snapped open.
"Valen," she said sharply.
"Cease immediately."
Her tone was not anger, but something colder — warning.
"You're invoking an advanced resonance pattern. This is foundational training. Control yourself."
The classroom stirred.
Some whispered.
Others simply stared.
Marcus lowered his hand slowly, meeting Aelia's gaze without flinching.
"My apologies, Instructor," he said evenly.
"I thought I could contribute."
She didn't reply.
But she studied him, eyes narrowing slightly.
And from the back of the room, Solan Fein scribbled something furiously into a leather-bound notebook.
Night fell swiftly over the academy grounds, cloaking the world in frost-laced silence.
Marcus sat alone in the dim glow of his study lantern, reviewing the notes he'd taken during the lesson — though his real focus lay elsewhere.
His fingers brushed the edge of the Shadow Codex, its blackened pages whispering softly beneath his touch.
Then, a pulse.
[Alert: Anomaly Detected]
Target Identified: Solan Fein
Affiliation: Unconfirmed
Threat Level: Moderate
Available Action: [Track], [Ignore]
Marcus exhaled slowly.
So, the book recognized threats now.
Not just targets of interest, but real danger.
That changed everything.
He selected [Track].
A soft line of smoke curled from the page, vanishing into the air like ink dissolving in rain.
Somewhere, deep in the academy corridors, Solan Fein paused mid-step, glancing behind him as if sensing something cold against his spine.
But there was no one there.
Only the echo of a decision already made.
Later that night, as the last embers of the common hall fire dimmed, Calvin Rester entered the dormitory, steam rising from a clay mug in his hand.
"You're up late," he remarked, setting the tea beside Marcus's books.
"Training."
Calvin hesitated only a moment before sitting across from him.
"You were different today," he said carefully.
"In class. You held back, didn't you?"
Marcus looked up, expression unreadable.
"Why do you say that?"
"I've seen people pretend not to know things. My brother used to do it in the village, before the conscription. He didn't want to be noticed."
Marcus leaned back, folding his hands.
"And what do you want, Calvin?"
There was no accusation in his voice — only curiosity.
"A friend," Calvin admitted after a pause.
"Or at least someone who won't step on me to climb higher."
That earned a quiet smirk.
"Good answer."
He studied the boy more closely now — no hidden motives, no noble airs.
Just a soldier's son trying to survive in a court of kings.
Useful.
"Stay out of my way," Marcus said finally, sipping the tea.
"Unless I ask otherwise."
Calvin nodded, satisfied.
As he left, Marcus returned his attention to the Codex.
It pulsed once more.
[Solan Fein's Location Tracked: Restricted Archives Wing – East Tower.]
A smile ghosted his lips.
Tomorrow, then.
Midnight came.
Silence settled like dust.
And then, as sleep pulled him under, the Codex stirred.
Visions exploded in his mind — fragmented, sharp as broken glass.
Candlelight flickering over polished stone.
Laughter masked by clinking goblets.
A crown, half-raised.
Poisoned wine.
A woman's voice, velvet-soft and poisoned-sweet.
"You should have trusted me."
Marcus jolted awake, heart pounding.
His breath fogged the cold night air.
Beside him, the Codex turned a page on its own.
[History Rebound Unlocked – 1/10]
[First Memory Retrieved: The Night of Betrayal]
But Marcus did not reach for it.
Not yet.
Instead, he stared into the darkness, feeling the weight of the past settle over him once more.
The morning bell tolled through the marble halls of the Aetherion Academy, its chime laced with elemental resonance—sharp, commanding, and unyielding.
The second year of magical instruction had begun.
Inside the Hall of Orbs, where fledgling mages practiced channeling raw aether into structured spells, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Not from magic—but from the weight of status.
At the far end of the chamber stood Marcus Valen, his dark cloak folded neatly over one shoulder despite the academy's formal dress code.
His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were calculating.
He knew every face in this room.
Some he'd trusted once.
Most had forgotten his name by now.
Across the circle, Calvin Rester, Marcus's assigned roommate, sneered under his breath to a companion.
"Valen still hasn't been removed? I thought the High Council revoked his patronage."
The companion snickered.
"Maybe they just forgot about him."
They weren't wrong.
### ———
#### Flashback: The Night Before Ascension (Past Life)
Marcus sat upon the throne, the golden diadem cold against his brow.
The banquet stretched before him like a gilded grave.
Across the table, his betrothed, Lady Eryna Dain, raised her goblet with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"To the future Emperor," she said softly.
He drank.
The poison took less than a minute to sear through his veins.
#### ———
Back in the present, Marcus blinked.
The image faded, replaced by the sterile glow of the training hall.
"Focus," intoned Aelia Serin, their freshman mentor, stepping forward.
Her voice cut through the murmur like steel through silk.
She was young for an instructor—barely past twenty—and already rumored to be under the protection of the Arcane Senate.
A prodigy herself, some whispered she had ties to the Eastern Enclave, where experimental magic thrived beyond imperial oversight.
Her gaze lingered on Marcus longer than necessary.
"We begin today with the Basal Weave," she announced.
"Channel your mana into the sigil stones. No grand displays. Just control."
The students obeyed.
One by one, they pressed their palms onto the glowing orbs embedded in the stone pedestals.
Wisps of light curled upward—blue, green, red, gold.
Each orb responded to the mage's affinity.
Marcus stepped up last.
His fingers touched the surface.
The orb pulsed once.
Then flickered out.
A beat of silence followed.
Then laughter.
"Still can't even light a candle, Valen?" Calvin jeered.
"Maybe you're better suited to the scribes' tower."
Aelia narrowed her eyes.
But Marcus remained still.
Calm.
Inside his mind, the Shadow Codex stirred.
> [Codex Entry Updated]
> Target Identified: Calvin Rester
> Affinity: Pyrokinetic (Rank 1)
> Status: Hostile
> Current Fate Thread: Weak (0.3%)
> Available Action: Drain Fate (1% Threshold Required)
A subtle pressure coiled around Marcus's thoughts—a whisper at the edge of his will.
The Codex was offering a choice.
Instead, he let the orb remain dark.
"I've always preferred shadows to light," he murmured.
Aelia caught the glance.
She wasn't fooled.
Later that evening, in the library archives, Marcus found himself alone among ancient tomes and silent statues of long-dead magi.
He opened the Shadow Codex again—not physically, but mentally.
It hovered in his mind like a living grimoire, pages shifting with memory and intent.
This time, it offered more.
> [Codex Ability Unlocked – Tier I]
> "Fate Drift" – By subtly influencing the flow of fate threads, you may alter minor events to your advantage.
Chance success depends on proximity and emotional resonance.
Marcus smirked.
Nearby, footsteps echoed.
Solan Fein, the academy's unofficial liaison to the Imperial Magic Council, entered the archive with a scroll tucked beneath his arm.
He paused when he saw Marcus.
"You should leave," Solan said quietly.
"Some things are not meant for broken lines."
Marcus didn't move.
Instead, he focused.
> [Fate Drift Activated – Minor Event Alteration]
The air shifted slightly.
A draft from the high windows blew a loose parchment from Solan's hand.
It fluttered to the ground.
As he bent to retrieve it, a seal on the scroll cracked open.
A single line glowed:
> "Subject: Marcus Valen. Status: Monitor Only. Do Not Interfere Unless Directive Issued."
Solan froze. So did Marcus.
But only one of them understood what had just happened.
That night, atop the same tower as before, Marcus stared out over the academy grounds.
Far below, torches flickered in the courtyards.
Above, stars burned like ancient promises.
In his palm, the Codex pulsed.
> "Begin again."
Not a whisper this time.
A command.