Darkness hummed.
Not the suffocating kind that pressed against the skin, but a deeper sort.
A silence so vast it became a sound in itself, humming with secrets.
Somewhere in that black, a heartbeat began.
Thud.
Thud.
Then came the laughter—light, bubbling, innocent.
"Glory!" Eden's tiny voice echoed through the corridors of Prairie Manor, small feet padding over polished floors.
The hallway stretched impossibly long in his memory, bathed in the warmth of twilight sunbeams filtered through arched windows.
Dust motes danced in the air, swirling like fairies in the fading light.
He was no older than four. A small boy with tousled white hair, wide eyes that always seemed too ancient for his age, and a laugh that rang like silver bells.
His twin, Glory, had darted off just moments before, giggling as she ducked behind one of the marble pillars.
"I'm gonna find you!" he called, his voice soft but determined.
No answer.
He moved past the guest corridor, past the old grandfather clock that hadn't chimed since their grandmother died, and then paused near the one place their nannies told them never to go—the study.
Lord Stark Prairie's study.
The door was closed, its wooden surface carved with sigils and runes long faded into the dark grain.
Most children would turn back. Eden, curious and filled with that strange itch in his soul, crept closer.
The door had a keyhole.
And what child could resist peeking?
He knelt, pressing his eye to the cold brass ring—and what he saw froze the breath in his lungs.
Inside, cloaked in swirling mist and shadow, stood a figure unlike anything he'd ever seen.
It wasn't fully human.
The smoke moved like it had intent, wrapping and folding into cruel shapes.
Beneath the hood was not a face but a gaping maw of darkness, like a sinkhole had opened where features should've been.
Black antlers arched backward from its head, etched with blood-red runes that shimmered and pulsed.
Across from the horror was his father.
Lord Stark Prairie.
Elegant, cold, imposing. His silver eyes glinted like daggers, his presence unmistakably noble.
And yet, in that room, with that thing, Stark Prairie seemed... smaller.
"Have the preparations begun?" the creature asked. Its voice was not a sound but a sensation. Cold. Slithering.
Like icy fingers brushing the inside of Eden's skull.
Stark nodded. "The bloodline is stabilizing. But the vessel still dreams."
"It must not remember."
"It won't."
"Failure will cost you everything. There are older debts than your House, Stark."
"I am aware."
The creature exhaled, and the mist thickened, coiling toward the hearth like smoke trailing from a dying star.
"Once the gates open, even the gods will burn. You only need to deliver the child."
"I'll handle it."
Then it paused.
So did Stark.
Both turned, in perfect silence, toward the door.
And looked directly into Eden's eye.
The boy gasped.
He fell backward, heart thudding, air stolen from his chest.
His tiny limbs scrambled against the polished floor, but the door never opened.
No one came out. The silence resumed.
Then came the second flash.
A woman weeping.
Calantha El'Gorin. His mother.
She stood beneath a bleeding moon, clutching a bundled child in her arms. Her silken white hair—blue-tinted at the ends—was soaked, tangled, and her once-glowing green eyes were sunken with despair. Her sobs echoed like broken bells.
The child in her arms was still.
Too still.
Not older than a month. A lifeless little thing with white hair and eyes that would never open again.
"No… no, please… wake up…"
Calantha rocked gently, her golden skin smeared with something black—not blood.
It hissed where it touched her. The shadows behind her twisted.
In them, stood the same figure.
No words were spoken. But Eden felt it again.
The pressure in his skull. The feeling of being watched not by a monster, but by a promise.
Then—
Gasp.
What the fuck!
The words tore from my throat as I jolted upright, drenched in sweat, breath coming fast like I'd just clawed my way out of drowning.
My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The room was too still. Too silent. Too...wrong.
Except I wasn't in danger.
I was in my room. At Silver Mist Academy. Or what they had the audacity to call a dorm.
I raked a hand down my face, chest still heaving as I stared at the ceiling, then the floor, then my hands like they'd reveal something.
But they were just hands. Just my damn hands.
What the hell did I just see?
"Echo," I muttered, my voice cracked and raw.
Her voice flickered in like a switchblade.
{Memory retrieval protocol complete. That was... one of yours.}
"Mine?"
{Fragmented and timestamped to your fourth year of life.
Category: suppressed memory.
Location: Prairie Estate, Southern Wing, Lord Stark's personal study.}
I squeezed my eyes shut. The image of that figure cloaked in smoke, speaking in a voice like dying stars—still burned into the backs of my eyelids.
"I don't remember any of that. I mean... I saw it.
I know it happened, but... why the fuck was I even—"
{Peering through the keyhole of a conversation you weren't meant to survive?}
I went still.
Then sat forward, bracing my arms on my knees.
"I saw Glory," I whispered. "We were playing. Hide and seek. I was looking for her."
Theories raced through my skull. None of them made sense. Not yet.
Had I been experimented on as a child?
Had my father made a pact with something not quite mortal?
Had I died? Been replaced? Was I a clone? A vessel? Was that why I didn't have a class?
Did the ritual I saw have something to do with what I am now?
"Echo—"
"No verifiable answers. Conjecture is... deliciously unproductive."
I snorted. Cold, bitter, hollow.
Still shaking the memory loose from my head, I glanced around the space I was in now.
Dorm.
Yeah right.
Calling this place a dorm was like calling a dragon a mildly upset lizard.
This was a full-blown penthouse, silverwood floors polished to a mirror shine, an elevated bed platform wrapped in velvet drapes, obsidian-black furniture that gleamed under warm alchemical light or shifted its hue depending on mood.
An open bath chamber shimmered with mist and enchantment sigils, and there was a view—the kind you only saw in luxury ads or the lives of people who'd sold their souls and still won.
It was a palace posing as a dorm.
Apparently, only the top Ten to fifty from the Battle Royale got these.
Which meant me and all most of the main characters, now owned a piece of absurd real estate that was probably worth more than some minor kingdoms.
I let my gaze roam.
"And to think, all I had to do was nearly get beheaded three times, lose half my blood, and almost get stabbed in the back by a cursed dagger to earn it."
The day before had been chaos.
Velaria had accompanied me across campus to the AHOD—the Academical
Hazard Oversight Division.
The place where cursed artifacts went to hiss and hum and sometimes explode.
I delivered the Manila folder Miris gave me, the one that felt like it had eyes stitched into the paper.
While on my way out, a cursed blade tried to gut me.
Reflexes—plus Echo—saved me from getting turned into an afterschool horror story.
Then back to Miris, who had the nerve to smile sweetly and claim she'd fixed the non-existent glitch that caused her not seeing my name earlier.
Handed me my room key card like she hadn't lied through her perfect teeth.
And here I was.
In a place that made no sense.
With memories that made even less.
With a voice in my head that didn't sleep.
And somewhere out there... something watched. Cloaked in smoke.
Marked in symbols. Speaking in the language of the damned.
I didn't know what it all meant.
And frankly, I was too hungry to care right now.
"Well… enough with all this shit," I muttered, running a hand down my face.
"I need to find something to eat."
A low growl echoed from my stomach like a warhorn sounding across the battlefield. It was loud. Disrespectfully so.
I rubbed my eyes, sat up, and blinked at the ceiling. But just as I swung my legs off the bed, I paused.
Wait.
Wasn't I… forgetting something?
Something important.
"Echo…?" I asked slowly, warily, like I was addressing a particularly snarky demon.
{Yes, Snowflakes, you forgot something. Again. You really need to get a phone or a planner or a memory-boosting magical parasite. Something}
"What are you even talking about?" I frowned. "What did I forget?"
{Mmhm. And that's exactly why you need a phone}
She went silent.
That was it. That was all she gave me.
I stared into space for a second, trying to figure out what she meant, but eventually sighed and gave up.
Probably just her being cryptic again.
Whatever. If it was important, it would probably try to kill me later. Everything else had.
I grabbed a towel and trudged into the bathroom.
---
Now, I don't usually pay attention to bathrooms, okay I did pay attention to mine back home.
But normally you go in, you come out cleaner, hopefully with the same number of organs.
But this one? This one was something else.
The moment I stepped in, I was hit with a soft scent—something between fresh pine and peppermint.
The air was slightly cool, but not uncomfortably so.
The tiles underfoot were obsidian black, polished to a glassy shine, and when I walked across them, I could see my faint reflection staring back up at me—equally tired and equally annoyed.
The mirror over the sink was rimmed in some silvery vine pattern that pulsed faintly with light runes, adjusting the brightness automatically as I stepped closer. Fancy.
There was a rainfall showerhead embedded into the ceiling like a luxury hotel, and beside it hung a tiny floating screen with temperature controls, magical timers, and—get this—an ambient music setting.
I could literally bathe to the sound of thunderstorms or ancient elven flutes if I wanted to.
"Huh," I muttered. "I feel like I just stepped into the bathroom of a rich elf influencer."
{Just wait till you find the talking toilet} Echo chimed.
{Spoiler: it judges you}
I chuckled despite myself and set the water. Warm, but not hot.
I wasn't about to boil my skin off just to feel something.
As I stepped under the water, it fell like silk—smooth, even, with just the right pressure.
I let it run down my shoulders, soaking my hair, and for a moment, everything felt... distant. Almost peaceful.
And that's when it happened.
I caught myself describing things again.
I frowned at myself.
Why was I narrating my shower like some tragic antihero in a drama? Was this who I was now?
{Yup} Echo said helpfully.
{You're evolving.
Soon you'll be lighting candles and staring into puddles, whispering cryptic things like
'It's not the water that's cold, it's the world.'}
"Shut up."
{Make me}
"Remind me to uninstall you."
{Bold of you to assume you could.}
I ignored her and focused on scrubbing myself.
I reached for a bottle of soap. It was labeled "Frostpine Ember Extract", whatever that meant.
It smelled like expensive regret.
"Am I supposed to feel majestic now?"
***
After stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and leaving a faint trail of steam behind me,
I crossed over to the left corner of the room—where the full-body mirror was set into the wall like some kind of portal to self-judgment.
It was rimmed in silver, etched with tiny rune patterns that pulsed gently whenever it sensed movement.
Honestly, I wasn't sure if it was a mirror or a surveillance device with self-esteem issues.
I stood there, water still dripping from my hair, staring at myself.
And then I paused.
My hair… had changed.
Still snow white—but now, at the ends… there was a faint blue tint.
Barely there. Subtle. But unmistakable.
Almost the exact same icy blue as—
"Mom…"
For a moment, my chest clenched.
I tilted my head slightly, watching how the color caught in the shifting rune-light.
It was faint, like frost catching moonlight.
The resemblance was uncanny. Too uncanny.
"Echo…"
{I see it.}
"What the hell's going on?"
"Check your status screen."
"Why do I feel like you could've just told me—"
{Check. Your. Stats.}
With a sigh, I waved my hand, and the familiar translucent panel blinked into existence in front of me.
---
[Name: Eden Prairie/ Mack Thorne (Synchronising) 48%]
Level: 6
Age: 17
Race: Human
HP (Health Points): 300/300
MP (Mana Points): 773/800
Charm: 23% (+10% persuasion chance, +5% NPC favorability)
Luck: -20% (you're fucked)
Class: None
Bloodline: Eyes of Horus (Level 2)
Effects:
- Gain a 4-second glimpse of the immediate future, revealing:
- Shadows of impending doom, foreshadowing imminent threats
- Echoes of forgotten memories, hinting at secrets yet unknown
- Whispers of forsaken souls, warning of dangers lurking in the abyss
- Glimpses of shattered timelines, revealing the devastating consequences of failure
- Teleportation: "Beyond the Veil of Reality" - Instantly transport yourself up to 200 kilometers, leaving behind a trail of distorted reality.
Attributes:
- Strength: 16 (+5 melee damage)
- Agility: 19 (+8 dodge chance, +5 movement speed)
- Intelligence: 18 (+6 spellcasting ability)
- Wisdom: 22 (+2 perception, +4 insight)
• Dexterity: 28 (+6 accuracy, +9 mobility)
Skills:
- Acrobatics: Lv4 (expertise in tumbling, flipping, and dodging)
- Persuasion: Lv2 (charisma and negotiation skills)
- Arcana: Lv3 (basic knowledge of magic and spellcasting)
- Shadow Weaving: Lv1 (ability to manipulate shadows for stealth, deception, and movement) (MP Cost: 500)
- Death's Door: (ability to cheat death, but at a terrible cost) (MP Cost: 10,000)
• Noble's Grace:[Passive] ( clear minded even when faced with death)
Equipment:
- Worn: White Towel
Lightweight. Standard issue. Hides nothing. Dignity not included.
- Inventory: None
Currency: 2500 Aether Coins (AC)
Quests:
- Current: Attend Orientation
- Completed: "Place Top 10 in the Battle Royale"
Artifact Acquired – Ring of the Oathbound King
---
My eyes narrowed. No change in my class, stats, or HP. No new gear. But the Synchronising percentage had jumped up.
By 13%.
"Wait... So, the more of Eden's memories I recover, the more changes apply to me?"
{Possibly.}
"Possibly?"
{I'm not a licensed soul surgeon, Eden. I'm just the cryptic voice in your head.}
I groaned, closing the screen with a flick of my hand.
The mirror was still there. Still reflecting the same half-dressed, towel-wrapped mess of a human being back at me.
But even so, I had to admit… I looked—
No. Come on. Don't say it.
I looked…
—devilishly handsome.
There. I said it.
Sharp jawline. Eyes just a bit too calm and bored for someone my age.
Pale skin like moonlight. That streak of blue in the hair? It was unfair.
I looked like someone who'd just escaped from a tragic royal prophecy.
I tilted my head. Smirked slightly. Damn.
{Narcissist.}
"Shut up."
{Say it louder. Maybe the mirror didn't hear you.}
I rolled my eyes and looked myself in the mirror again
My reflection in the mirror stared back.
Tired eyes. Still a little hollow.
But alive.
And apparently, still forgetting something.
I shrugged, then walked over to the wardrobe.
Time to find something that didn't scream "I just crawled out of the underworld and need a croissant."
I pulled open the doors—and froze.
There it was.
The uniform.
Midnight black, with high-collared structure, silver buttons shaped like crescent runes, a deep navy trim folded neatly over the shoulders, and a crest embroidered over the chest:
A silver mist curling through a broken crown.
The official Silver Mist Academy uniform.
And it was mine.
Which meant—
"Shit."
That's what I was forgetting.
Today was Orientation.
"GOD DAMN IT!!"
I slammed the wardrobe door, the sound echoing off the dorm walls like a thunderclap of idiocy.
How the hell had I forgotten that?
Today was the day we were supposed to report, be introduced to the core faculty, probably sit through a two-hour speech filled with vague threats and condescending advice—
And here I was. Towel. Wet hair. No plan. No idea what time it was.
{Honestly} Echo muttered, {I should start charging rent for the amount of space disorganization takes up in your brain.}
"Why didn't you remind me earlier!?"
{I did. I told you to get a phone. You just thought I was being cute.}
"You're never cute."
{And you're never on time.}
I looked at the clock on the wall—blinking in glowing runes above the door. 08:42 AM.
Orientation began at 09:00.
Which gave me exactly eighteen minutes to get dressed, eat, navigate a campus the size of New York city, and look like I hadn't just survived a dream-induced existential breakdown in the shower.
"I hate this school."
"And yet… they haven't expelled you."