The dormitory list hung crooked on the wall. Someone had posted it in a hurry. Ethan found his name buried in the middle under General Housing – East Wing.
He'd expected it. His father served the crown as royal executioner, but that didn't grant noble status. It just made them necessary. The Academy didn't let anyone forget the difference.
Getting to the East Wing took longer than it should have. Twisting corridors narrowed with every turn. The stonework grew older. Hangings on the walls looked threadbare. Even the scent shifted from perfumed oils to damp linen and sharp soap.
His room was modest. Two beds. Two desks. One narrow window facing the kitchens. Built for commoners.
His roommate was already unpacking. Hunched over a worn satchel that had seen more years than the boy using it.
"You're Ethan, right?" The boy turned with a quick grin. Brown hair tousled. Frame stretched out like he'd hit a growth spurt and his limbs hadn't caught up. "I'm Kaleb Dal."
Ethan took his hand. Rough grip. Solid. Farm work. "Glad to meet you, Kaleb."
He studied Kaleb for a moment. This nervous boy had become one of the realm's fiercest soldiers. A man who'd lead when others broke. But today and his present life, he was just a farm kid far from home, trying not to look scared.
"You'll settle in fast," Ethan said, sitting on the nearest bed. "Once training begins, it all clicks."
"You sure?" Hope slipped through before Kaleb could hide it.
"Yeah. I'm sure."
Down the hallway, voices rang out in laughter. Sharp and loud.
"So this is where the commoners sleep. Let's see how much dirt they brought in."
More laughter. Boots approaching.
Kaleb's expression tightened. "Should we..."
"Don't react," Ethan muttered. "That's all they want."
Three boys stopped in the doorway. One was Marcus Tidecaller, son of the Duke of Tidehaven. Ethan remembered Marcus mellowing out over time. That would come later, after the Academy knocked him around.
But the one in front wasn't Marcus.
He looked older. Nineteen, maybe. Everything about him screamed perfection. Perfect posture. Perfect jawline. Finely tailored coat that fit just right. The kind of person who believed the world revolved around him and had never been proven wrong.
"Well, isn't this quaint," he said, eyeing their room like it was a museum exhibit.
"Something we can help you with?" Ethan asked. Calm and steady.
"Just paying our respects." The boy smiled smoothly. "Name's Raymond Blackthorn. My father's the Duke of Stoneheart."
Ethan went still. In his old life, he hadn't met Raymond until after the Academy. The heir to House Blackthorn. Future host of a demon. Now here he was, untouched. At least for now.
"This is Kaleb Dal," Ethan said. "I'm Ethan Cole."
Raymond paused on his name. "Cole, right. I've heard about you."
"You have?"
Thin smile. "Your father's work has its place. Gruesome, but necessary. I wonder if that particular skill runs in the blood."
Kaleb flinched. Marcus looked away like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"I wouldn't know," Ethan replied. Cool as winter. "Haven't had to find out."
Raymond's gaze flicked to Kaleb. "And you? Where's home?"
"Up north, sir. My family farms."
"A true tale." Raymond reached for one of Kaleb's books. Leafed through it like it might be infected. "Hope you're ready for a different standard here."
"I'll manage," Kaleb murmured.
Raymond let the book fall shut. Sharp clap. "Well. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other. It's not a big place."
They left as smoothly as they'd arrived. Laughter trailing behind them like perfume.
Kaleb collapsed onto his mattress. "That was..."
"Expected," Ethan finished. "They want to see what rattles you."
"How'd I do?"
"You stayed upright. That's what counts."
But Ethan's mind had already drifted. To Raymond. To the polished menace behind his words. To the shadow he would become. The real question wasn't whether Raymond would fall.
It was whether anything inside him was worth saving.
Kaleb unpacked in silence. His belongings filled half a shelf. Worn books. Mended clothes. A wooden carving of a horse that looked handmade.
"My sister made that," Kaleb said, noticing Ethan's gaze. "Before I left."
"She's got skill."
"Yeah." Kaleb's voice went soft. "She wanted to come with me. To the capital. See the Academy."
"Maybe next year. For the public tours."
Kaleb nodded, but they both knew better. Farm families didn't take trips to the capital, because they couldn't afford to.
The silence stretched. Outside their window, kitchen staff prepared for evening meal. Clatter of pots. Voices calling orders. The Academy's activities on the roll.
"You nervous?" Kaleb asked suddenly.
Ethan looked at him. Really looked. Saw the fear Kaleb was trying to hide. The way his hands trembled when he thought no one was watching.
"Everyone's nervous," Ethan said. "The trick is controlling it."
"How?"
"Fear keeps you sharp and makes you pay attention. The ones who aren't scared are the ones who get hurt."
Kaleb considered this. "You don't seem scared."
I'm terrified of failing again and watching everyone die.
"I hide it better," Ethan said.
**********
Later that night, after the halls went quiet, Ethan slipped out.
The training grounds under moonlight looked different. Smaller. The Circle of Truth, where he'd fought earlier, now seemed small in the night light.
He'd borrowed a training blade from the equipment shed. Simple blunted steel. Balanced well enough and familiar in his grip.
He started slow. Coaxing old instincts into a body that didn't quite match them yet. The basics first. Stances. Footwork. Sequences his father had taught him. Then the ones from later years. The complex ones. The ones that weren't supposed to be taught yet.
Captain Ethan Cole had known all these forms. Before he was executed for treason. Before he'd died trying to warn a kingdom too blind to listen.
That man was gone.
The boy left behind needed to become something else.
He moved faster. Blade slicing through air. These weren't beginner drills. These were real techniques. The ones you didn't learn until blood had been spilled and your hands stopped shaking.
The sword grew heavier as the routine went on. Or maybe that was just the weight of everything pressing down.
The Academy slept while he moved. But he could feel its pulse. Somewhere in those walls were future leaders of the realm and the monsters wearing their faces.
Master Donovan was probably still awake. Staring at the ceiling. Turning Ethan's name over in his head.
Maya was probably having nightmares about shadows that moved wrong.
Raymond was probably planning his next casual cruelty.
Prince Alexander was probably talking to voices no one else could hear.
All of them spinning toward futures they couldn't see.
Eventually, Ethan stopped. The blade lowered as his chest heaved.
He had a job to do. Prevent the corruption from taking root. Stop the kingdom's descent before it began. It would start here. At this school. With these people.
Beating it would mean becoming part of it. Learning the system. Hiding in plain sight. Pretending.
Again.
He should have been exhausted.
Instead, he felt more awake than ever.
Captain Cole had died. Someone else needed to take his place.
But who?
The question followed him back to his room. Kaleb was asleep, breathing steady and deep. Farm boy dreams, probably. Dreams of home, of family and of a future that made sense.
Ethan lay on his narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. In the distance, the Academy's bells chimed midnight. First day was over.
Tomorrow, classes would begin, the training and the chances to slip up and reveal too much.
Real chances to save everyone.
Or watch them all fall again.
His eyes finally closed as exhaustion took hold. But even in sleep, questions chased him.
How do you save people who don't know they need saving?
How do you fight an enemy that hides behind friendly faces?
How do you become the hero when you're already the villain in someone else story?
The answers, if they existed, would have to wait for morning.
For now, Ethan Cole slept the uneasy sleep of someone carrying too many secrets.
And in the darkness, time moved forward toward a future only he could see coming.