Rowan sat stiffly across from his father, the faint scent of brewed tea hanging between them like fragile smoke. The small kitchen felt too close, too quiet, and heavier than any room he'd known.
Aleric Keir's gaze was steady but shadowed. He had aged beyond the lines Rowan first saw after waking in this body — thinner, wearier, the fire in his eyes tempered by a burden Rowan couldn't yet fully understand. And yet, it was only his first night here.
"Rowan," Aleric began slowly, voice low with caution, "I've been thinking about… everything. About this academy. About you." He took a measured breath, as if weighing each word before releasing it. "I know you want to help. To fix what's broken."
Rowan swallowed, fighting the lump rising in his throat.
"But," Aleric continued, voice thickening, "there are forces at play here you don't see. Things that have dragged this place toward ruin for years. Things that don't just want to see the academy fall—they want to see us broken."
A cold shiver ran down Rowan's spine.
"I know you carry your mother's fire," Aleric said, eyes flickering with painful pride and regret. "But that fire alone won't be enough. Not yet."
Rowan's fingers clenched around his cup, knuckles white. "I can learn. I can be stronger."
Aleric shook his head slowly, the weight of his hope and fear etched in every line of his face. "You need to recover first. To become whole before you take up the mantle. Promise me you'll stay away from Redhollow—for now. Let me bear this burden a little longer."
Rowan's breath hitched. The unspoken truths between them hung heavy: Aleric suspected the council's shadowy reach, but wouldn't name it. He saw the dangers Rowan had yet to grasp.
"I promise," Rowan whispered, but his heart rebelled.
Because staying away meant silence. Powerlessness.
And Rowan was no stranger to fighting in the shadows.
At the end of his first full day, alone in the dim attic of the Keir home, Rowan wrestled with the promise he'd made.
His father's fears were real. The academy was fragile, under siege by forces unseen but relentless. Yet Rowan couldn't sit idly by.
If he revealed himself too soon, he risked losing everything to mysterious forces watching from the dark—even to Aleric's unknowing suspicion.
He needed a mask. A way to move unseen, to gather strength and allies.
He pulled up the system's interface, watching the familiar translucent panels hover in front of him.
He hesitated, then typed the name that had once been his own: Elias Corrin.
INBOX: New Alert"To fully establish the alias 'Elias Corrin' as a legal citizen of Shadestone, complete the following tasks in person. All progress will be tracked."
Rowan's chest tightened. The path ahead was tedious and fraught with risk. Failure to maintain this secret meant losing everything—his father's trust, the fragile peace at Redhollow, and possibly his own freedom. Yet here he was. Moving forward.
Elias Corrin. The name tasted oddly strange but powerful—a ghost from a past life, a hidden angle from which to fight.
To the world, Rowan Keir was the fragile heir to a crumbling academy. To those who watched him, Elias Corrin would be a shadow—quiet, invisible, unstoppable.
Over the next couple of days, Rowan vanished into the city's labyrinthine bureaucracy. He found a narrow, forgotten alley in the Old Quarter where the forger waited, eyes cold and calculating.
"You're early," she rasped.
Rowan placed his payment carefully—a few silver coins and a vial of harvested mana. "Elias Corrin," he said, voice low.
She nodded and began weaving a new identity: forged papers, school records, apprenticeship certificates. Each page shimmered briefly as runes sealed them into the city's magical registries.
"References?" she asked without looking up.
"I need Three," Rowan whispered, swallowing hard. "One market porter, one dockworker, one street sweeper."
She smirked. "You'll owe me a favor."
The tedious days that followed drained him. Queues at the Census Office, the Registry of Magical Affairs, the Notary Mage. Each stamp, each ritual, a step deeper into secrecy.
At the Census Office, a bored clerk barely glanced at his forged documents. "Province transfer, huh? Don't cause trouble."
Rowan nodded, swallowing doubt. A simple phrase echoed in his mind, barely audible: "Strength grows in silence."
The Registry clerk's gaze lingered longer on the glowing sigil but offered no comment. "Keep this safe. Records vanish easily."
Rowan slipped the protective rune into his pocket, feeling the weight of each small victory.
One afternoon, after swearing the citizenship oath before a silver-haired Notary Mage, Rowan left the grand stone hall with trembling hands. The mage's glowing eyes seemed to search for hidden truths, but Elias Corrin was a lie forged in truths.
He rented a small attic room above a baker's shop on Sparrow Lane, where the scent of fresh bread mingled with the lingering chill. The baker, flour-dusted and warm, handed him the key without question. "Lots of new faces these days," she said with a smile.
For the first time since waking in this strange world, Rowan allowed himself a quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—he could build a life on his own terms.
No one at home or the academy knew.
Aleric believed his son was focused on recovery, not secret wars.
Rowan's nights were sleepless, haunted by whispers of mysterious spies and veiled threats. But in Elias Corrin, he found space to breathe, to build a shield of influence no one could touch.
As he closed the chapter on the events of the week in his new leather-bound notebook, Elias Corrin's name whispered through the city's shadowy corners.
Rowan sat alone, the weight of two lives heavy on his shoulders. Only a few words from strangers in a distant world remained to comfort him.
He vowed to protect the bonds forged in love and blood.
And to fight the shadows in this life, no matter the cost.
Rowan closed his eyes, bracing himself for the challenges ahead. Elias Corrin was his shield in this war of shadows—a mask behind which he would fight.
And Rowan Keir was the legacy he would fight to save.