Moonlight painted the stone walls in shades of silver. The Arcanum Academy was exactly as she remembered it — the carved runes in the floor, the scent of ancient parchment, the ever-present hum of stored magic beneath the towers. But this time, everything felt colder. Sharper.
Because she wasn't a seventeen-year-old apprentice anymore.
She was a woman who had died.
Seraphina Valea leaned against her desk, the wood warm beneath her palms. It was strange, how familiar everything felt. Her fingers moved instinctively to open the hidden compartment in the drawer — and there it was. Her journal, the one she used to write spells in during her first year. It still had her messy, looping script inside. Back when she believed her future held only glory and loyalty.
How foolish she had been.
She opened it to the back and tore out three blank pages. If this second life taught her anything, it was that knowledge — especially knowledge of what was coming — was power.
She began to write.
"The Black Plague will strike Delsair in winter. Prince Alric's father will die during a royal hunting trip, but it will be murder, not accident.
The war with Cindrith will begin in two years.
The Seer's Tower will fall.
The betrayers are: Alric, Mordain, and Duchess Lira."
She paused.
Her hand trembled slightly.
Seeing their names again… it felt like opening an old wound. But she would not shy away. Not this time.
"And the first to die… will be Mordain."
---
A knock sounded at her door.
She froze.
In this time, she was just an apprentice. No one should be visiting her at midnight — unless…
"Seraphina?" came a voice. Male. Nervous.
Cassian.
She blinked. Her heart jumped slightly.
Cassian Thorne — the quiet, awkward boy who sat two rows behind her in runes class. He had once been a friend. She remembered his kindness, how he tried to warn her about court politics, about Mordain. She remembered how he died during the siege on the Academy five years later — a death she could never stop.
But now…
She opened the door.
Cassian stood there in a rumpled Academy robe, dark curls falling into his eyes, arms full of books. "You're… awake. I thought I saw your window glowing."
Seraphina stared at him. "You came because my window was glowing?"
He turned red. "Well… more because I thought you might be casting something too powerful alone, and that's dangerous, and…" He trailed off, eyes darting to her face. "Are you okay? You look—different."
She smiled faintly. "Do I?"
His brow furrowed. "You usually yell at me for knocking this late."
She studied him. Still sweet. Still hopelessly honest.
"I won't this time," she said softly. "Come in."
---
They sat beside the fire. Cassian set his books down and started talking about a rune puzzle he was trying to solve, but Seraphina only half-listened. She was watching the way his hands moved, the way his voice cracked when he got excited. He had once been an afterthought in her story.
But not this time.
This time, she would protect him.
"Cassian," she interrupted gently. "Have you ever heard of the soul-mark ritual?"
He blinked. "That's restricted magic. No one here studies that—except maybe the fifth years, and even then..."
"I'm not asking if it's allowed," she said, voice low. "I'm asking if you've read about it."
He hesitated. "A little. It's supposed to connect two mages. You can feel each other's presence, emotions… sometimes even thoughts, if the bond is strong."
She nodded slowly. "It can be used to anchor someone through death."
Cassian's mouth parted. "You're not… planning something dangerous, are you?"
"No," she said. "Not yet. But I might be one day. And I'd rather not die alone again."
His eyes widened. "Again?"
She smiled faintly. "Just a dream I had."
---
Later, after Cassian left, she stood at her window overlooking the moonlit courtyard. She watched the fountain glisten, the silver statues of old Archmages standing guard like frozen sentinels.
Ten years. She had ten years until her execution — unless she changed the course of fate.
And the first step was power.
Real power. The kind no High Seer could suppress.
In her old life, she had been cautious. Too cautious. Afraid to study forbidden knowledge, afraid to draw too much attention, afraid to outshine the prince. She would not make that mistake again.
She would rise. Quietly at first. Then brilliantly. And when the time came, she would burn the court to the ground.
---
Two Days Later
The Academy buzzed with the announcement of the year's first trial — a magical tournament for top apprentices. It was usually a showy event to let the nobility scout talent. Seraphina remembered it well.
It was the year she lost.
Not this time.
She signed up immediately.
---
In the underground sparring arena, torches blazed against stone walls etched with protective glyphs. A crowd of students and instructors gathered as names were drawn for duels.
Seraphina stepped into the ring with calm purpose.
Her opponent? Rylas Grey, a loudmouthed noble's son who barely managed a teleportation spell without vomiting.
He smirked at her. "Ready to lose, Valea?"
She didn't answer.
The match began.
Rylas conjured a blinding flash of light, then a gust of wind — both textbook beginner spells. Seraphina didn't move. She raised one hand and whispered a word in ancient tongue.
"Velth'ra."
A dark, coiling mist burst from her fingertips and wrapped around Rylas's arms, yanking him off his feet. He screamed as the mist crackled with contained lightning.
Gasps echoed through the arena.
"Yield!" he shrieked.
She let him drop. The mist vanished.
Silence fell. Even the judges looked stunned.
Where had she learned that?
None of them knew the truth — that she had studied spells lost to time, that she had died with knowledge few mortals ever touched.
They would learn.
She left the ring without waiting for applause.
Let the court whisper. Let them wonder.
Because Seraphina Valea had returned — and she would not lose again.