The first thing I noticed wasn't the unfamiliar ceiling or the silk sheets that cost more than my monthly rent back on Earth. It wasn't even the memories flooding my skull like a broken dam, filling my head with seventeen years of someone else's life.
No, the first thing I noticed was how much I wanted to punch something.
*What the hell?*
I sat up abruptly, and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness crashed over me. The room spun like I'd been drinking cheap beer for twelve hours straight, except instead of a hangover, I had... memories. Lots of them. None of them mine.
Silas Blackthorne. Bastard son of Duke Aldric Blackthorne. Student at Vaelthorne Academy of Magic and Combat. Arrogant prick with a chip on his shoulder the size of a mountain and the magical talent to back up exactly none of his attitude.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
My voice came out wrong—deeper, with an accent I'd never had. I stumbled toward the ornate mirror hanging on the opposite wall, dreading what I'd see.
Yep. There he was. Silas Blackthorne in all his villain glory. Sharp features that would've been handsome if not for the perpetual sneer, dark hair that somehow managed to look perfectly tousled even after sleeping, and eyes the color of cold steel. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who'd pick fights he couldn't win and call it honor.
"I'm going to die in five days," I said to my reflection, and had the disturbing realization that I meant it literally.
The memories were still sorting themselves out, but the important bits were crystal clear. Today was Monday. This coming Saturday, Silas would challenge Aiden Voss—the protagonist—to a duel over some trivial slight. What started as showing off would escalate into a real fight when Silas's pride wouldn't let him back down. Aiden would reveal just a fraction of his hidden power, and Silas would end up very dead, very quickly.
Chapter five. Page forty-three. "The arrogant noble's eyes widened in shock as he realized his mistake, but it was far too late. The last thing Silas Blackthorne saw was a brilliant flash of golden light."
I'd mocked that scene in my review. Called it lazy writing, meaningless shock value, a waste of perfectly good villain potential. And now...
"The author's revenge," I muttered. "That bastard actually did it."
A knock at the door interrupted my spiral into panic. "Young Master Silas? Breakfast is ready."
Right. I was supposed to be getting ready for classes. Had to maintain the act, at least until I figured out what the hell I was going to do about my rapidly approaching death date.
"Coming," I called back, and was disturbed by how naturally the arrogant tone came out. Maybe it was the memories, or maybe dying and being reborn as a psychopath had some side effects the author hadn't mentioned in their little challenge.
I got dressed in the academy uniform—black jacket with silver trim, the Blackthorne family crest on the collar marking me as nobility even if I was the illegitimate kind. The clothes fit perfectly, which was more unsettling than it should have been. Everything about this felt too real, too detailed to be a dream or some kind of virtual reality punishment.
As I walked through the halls of the dormitory toward the dining hall, other students moved out of my way. Some with fear, others with disgust, a few with the kind of calculated interest that meant they were weighing whether sucking up to a duke's bastard was worth the social risk.
I remembered all of them. Not personally—Silas had been too arrogant to bother learning names—but I recognized the faces from the novel. Background characters, mostly, though I spotted a few who'd become important later in the story. None of them mattered right now, though. The only person I needed to worry about was—
"Well, well. If it isn't the bastard prince himself."
I turned, and there he was. Garrett Ashworth, Silas's only real friend and enabler extraordinaire. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of easy confidence that came from being the legitimate heir to a wealthy merchant family. He was grinning at me with the same expression he'd worn in chapter three when he'd convinced Silas that challenging a commoner would be "good for his reputation."
"Garrett," I said, letting Silas's natural arrogance color my voice. "You're looking particularly stupid this morning."
He laughed like I'd told the best joke in the world. "That's what I like about you, Silas. Never change." He fell into step beside me as we headed toward the dining hall. "So, ready for Thornfield's combat class today? I heard he's pairing us up for sparring matches."
Combat class. Right. Where I'd first see Aiden Voss in action, and where the original Silas had started building up the resentment that would eventually get him killed.
"Looking forward to it," I lied smoothly.
The dining hall was exactly as I'd pictured it from reading the novel—high vaulted ceilings, long tables arranged by social status, and enough ambient magical lighting to make everything look like a fantasy movie set. I grabbed a plate and loaded it with food I couldn't taste, my mind racing through possibilities.
I could avoid Aiden entirely. Skip combat class, fake an illness, anything to prevent the chain of events that led to our duel. But that would be out of character, and the last thing I needed was people asking questions about why Silas Blackthorne was suddenly acting like a coward.
I could try to befriend him instead of antagonize him. Except Silas had the social skills of a rabid wolverine, and sudden personality changes tended to make people suspicious.
Or I could go through with the original timeline and just... try not to die. Fight smarter, use the knowledge I had about his abilities, maybe reveal just enough of my own power to survive without winning.
Because I did have power. Something the original Silas never had, something that shouldn't have been possible in this world.
I flexed my hand under the table, focusing inward the way I'd been experimenting with since I woke up. Magic was external energy, drawn from the environment and shaped by will and knowledge. I could feel it all around me, the same as any other mage.
But underneath that, deeper, was something else. Something internal, warm, and entirely mine. Aura. Life energy. The domain of knights and warriors, completely separate from magic.
I should only have been able to use one or the other. The novel had been very clear about that—you were born either a mage or an aura user, never both. It was a fundamental law of this world's magic system.
Apparently, having two souls in one body bent the rules a bit.
"You're quieter than usual," Garrett observed, cutting into my thoughts. "Planning something devious?"
I looked up at him and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile—Silas didn't really have those—but it was genuine.
"You could say that," I said. "I'm thinking about making some changes around here."
The author wanted to know if I could do better as Silas Blackthorne? Challenge accepted. But I wasn't just going to survive.
I was going to win.