The afternoon sun blazed above the training grounds. The final group of applicants prepared for their trials.
Prince Alexander Valorian moved with grace, but there was still an edge to his movement. His violet eyes glinted as he adjusted his practice sword. At nineteen, he stood taller than most applicants, shoulders broad beneath his fine tunic.
But something was wrong.
In his old life, Prince Alexander had been hope itself. Charismatic. Kind. The sort of leader who inspired loyalty through deeds rather than birthright. That was before the corruption began.
The young man before him now wore the prince's face like an ill-fitting mask.
Alexander's left hand trembled. Barely visible unless you watched closely.
His lips moved in silent conversation with someone only he could see.
It seems the possession had begin early or was that the prince nature in this time.
"Next group, forward," Mistress Denna called.
Prince Alexander stepped into the Circle of Truth. His opponent, Garrett Holme, a merchant's son, paled when he realized who faced him. Fighting a prince was impossible to win. Victory meant disrespect. Defeat meant ostracization.
Mistress Denna raised her hand. "Standard rules apply. Two minutes to demonstrate skill and composure."
The moment her hand dropped, Alexander moved.
It wasn't the measured aggression Ethan remembered. This was something else entirely. It was cold, calculating and merciless. The prince's blade cut forward in a perfect arc, too fast for Garrett to react. The merchant's son got his weapon up, but Alexander was already around his guard.
No empathy in the prince's movements. No trace of the natural charm that had once made him beloved. Every strike was flawless in technique, yet hollow. Like someone who understood the steps but had forgotten the purpose for taking those steps.
Garrett tried a desperate counterattack. Panic pushed him forward and for a heartbeat, it looked like he might land a blow.
Until Alexander's eyes flickered with something menacing and inhuman.
The next strike came too fast. The blunted sword connected with Garrett's temple. Sharp sound that made the crowd wince. The boy dropped, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Victory to Prince Alexander," Mistress Denna announced. Unease crept into her voice. It seems she saw it too.
As Alexander stood over his fallen opponent, Ethan saw what others missed. Wisps of dark energy curled around the prince's form. Visible only to eyes that had seen corruption before. It moved like smoke, but with intent. Coiling around his sword arm. Brushing against his ear. The prince corruption had began already and very early.
The corruption wasn't complete. Not yet. But it had progressed farther than it should have. In Ethan's original life, Alexander hadn't shown signs until his twenty-second year. Three years into the Academy.
The timeline had changed and it was not in their favor.
Alexander stepped back from the circle. His violet eyes drifted across the crowd with distant interest.
His lips moved again. Words too soft to hear. But Ethan recognized the rhythm. The cadence of someone speaking to a presence no one else could see.
"Impressive technique," someone murmured nearby. "The prince has clearly been training seriously."
"Did you see how fast he moved at the end?" another voice added. "Almost inhuman."
The casual praise made Ethan's skin crawl. They were watching the early stages of demonic possession. And they were admiring it.
As the final matches wrapped up, Ethan studied the other applicants with new eyes. If Alexander's corruption had accelerated, what else had changed? What other signs had he missed?
Across the training ground, Maya caught his gaze. She stood among successful candidates, but her golden eyes were locked on the prince with the same wariness Ethan felt. Could she sense it too? Her bloodline's shadow magic might let her feel the influence others couldn't.
The thought brought dread and hope. If Maya could detect it, she might become a critical ally. But it also made her a target.
Alexander turned toward the Academy's main building. As he walked, those curling tendrils of dark energy clung to him. Unseen by the rest. Impossible for Ethan to ignore.
The Academy's bells rang. End of the trial period. Mistress Denna stepped forward, expression steady but clouded.
"Candidates, you have demonstrated varying degrees of aptitude. Results will be posted at sunset. Those accepted will begin classes in two days. Dismissed."
The crowd scattered. Ethan still stayed back in the shade near the edge of the grounds. What he had seen wasn't just alarming. It was disastrous.
If Alexander's corruption had begun early, then the entire future was unstable. Every plan Ethan had relied on, every advantage from remembering the past, might already be slipping away.
The demons weren't following the same script. They were adapting. Moving faster.
Maybe even aware of him.
The idea sent a chill through him.
Whoever had sent him back in time, it seemed the enemy had ways of their own. The only question now was whether Ethan's knowledge could still make a difference against a future already being rewritten.
As the sun dipped lower, Ethan walked toward the Academy courtyard where results would be posted. But his thoughts weren't on rankings or exams.
They were on a single, bitter truth.
The war had already started.
And this time, the enemy had changed the rules.
Somewhere behind him, in the distance, he thought he heard soft laughter. Not loud. Not human.
But very, very real.