The two Aden's stared at each other, a perfect mirror separated by a chasm of years and regret.
Young Aden finally found his voice, a shaky whisper. "How… what is this?"
"A workaround," the older one said, his voice a rougher, weathered version of Aden's own.
"I made a mess of our life... A real, catastrophic mess."
A shadow of profound grief passed over his face.
"I spent years looking for a way back. I tried everything, forbidden rituals, bargaining with powers I shouldn't have touched. I wanted to go back. To fix it all myself. To stand where you are and make the right choices this time."
He looked at the Entity, a gesture of grim respect.
"And I learned the first and last rule of the universe the hard way. Time does not work that way. Time is a divine constant. It cannot be stopped, slowed, or reversed. It simply is. Trying to force it… it doesn't just break you. It begins to break reality itself. Cracks appear in the world. Things… bleed through."
The Entity gave a single, slow nod of its faceless head, a silent confirmation of this cosmic law.
"So you can't save me," young Aden concluded, the hope that had sparked moments ago turning to ash.
"Listen to me," older Aden said, his intensity flaring.
"I can't send my consciousness back. I can't just be you. If two sets of our complete memories tried to exist in one mind, in one timeline, it would create a paradox the universe couldn't tolerate. It would be like trying to force two rivers to flow in the same bed, it would destroy the banks."
He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. "But I found a loophole. I can't send the whole river. But I can send you a cup of water from it. Fragments. Pocket memories. Just the crucial moments, the key betrayals, the faces of the people we should never have trusted, the one, critical decision that starts the war. It's not a second chance. It's a field manual from a war we already lost. It's subtle enough that the flow of Time remains intact."
Young Aden looked from his older self's desperate face to the silent Entity. "Why?" he asked. "If time is so sacred, why allow even this?"
The Entity spoke, its tone unchanging.
"A whisper is not a shout. A single cup does not change the river's course. The integrity of the flow is maintained. This is the only exception. The only one"
Older Aden's voice softened, filled with a raw, painful honesty.
"If I could, I would go back and fix my faults myself. I would carry this burden for you. But that path is closed to me. So I am doing the only thing I can."
He met his younger self's gaze, a look of absolute, final trust. "I am trusting you to do it for me."
He looked at the Entity. "I'm ready."
The Entity raised its hands. From the nothingness between them, light coalesced, stretching and sharpening until it formed a blade of pure, condensed temporal energy. It hummed with a sound that felt like the beginning and end of all things.
Young Aden's eyes widened. "What is that?"
"The key," the Entity said.
Before Aden could react, his older self stepped forward and embraced him. It was not an act of affection, but of purpose. Older Aden held him tightly, their hearts aligned.
"Remember," older Aden whispered directly into his ear, his voice fierce and final.
"Remember it all."
In one fluid, brutal motion, the Entity drove the glowing sword through both of them at once.
There was no pain. There was… everything.
A torrent of memory fragments that were not his own exploded behind his eyes. The scent of ironwood burning as a banner fell. The cold smile of a friend he hadn't met yet. The feel of a different castle's stones crumbling. Years of war and a single, devastating betrayal, all compressed into a single, shattering instant.
His mind fractured. His sense of self dissolved into the cascade.
The last thing he knew was the sensation of falling, back towards the cold, bloody stones of the real world, armed with the ghosts of a future that must never be.
Then Aden woke up to witness a scene he never wanted to be in.
"Aden Vasco, you are hereby found guilty of first-degree murder."
The words sank in deep.
But now he noticed some changes within him, his senses had become more sharper, his gaze more stronger.
All eyes weren't on Aden. They were on the man in the guest of honor's seat.
Duke Ed Vasco. His name alone was a statement of power. He didn't need to speak; his presence dictated the room's temperature.
He was the only reason the Committee hadn't voted for a public execution. The entire trial had been a single, held breath, waiting for him to move, to speak, to act.
The moment the sentence was declared, the Duke stood.
He adjusted his dark coat, draping it over his shoulders with a slow, deliberate motion. Then, without a single glance toward his condemned son, he turned and walked toward the exit.
His footsteps echoed in the dead silence.
The collective exhale from the Disciplinary Committee was almost a wind.
The storm had passed. The Duke would not interfere.
Aden watched him go. No protest. No final look. Just… nothing. The dismissal was more brutal than any verdict.
The sound of heavy, armored boots shattered the quiet. A squad of Imperial Knights, their armor gleaming under the chamber's lights, moved in with chilling efficiency.
The one in front was a grizzled veteran, a scar carving a path down his left cheek. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as his eyes, hard as flint, locked onto Aden.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty," the knight's voice was flat, devoid of emotion,
"you are to be taken into custody. Immediately."
He gave a sharp nod to his men. "Take him."
The enchanted cuffs were cinched tighter, biting into Aden's wrists, a cold nullification of his mana. Yet, as they pulled him forward, his body moved with an instinctual, predatory grace. His senses were hyper-alert, his posture straight despite the chains.
A low, oppressive energy bled from him, a pure, unrefined bloodlust that thickened the air.
A professor took an involuntary step back. The Headmistress didn't meet his eyes. Even the knights, for just a second, hesitated.
He was in chains, condemned, and utterly fallen. But in that moment, Aden Vasco didn't look like a prisoner. He looked like a predator they'd temporarily leashed.
Students and faculty stood frozen as he was marched past, their faces a mosaic of awe and sheer terror.
Despite his restraints, despite his fall from grace,
Aden Vasco still radiated the presence of a predator.
For them, this was not the fall of a man. It was the march of a monster.
As they crossed the courtyard, Aden turned his head for a final look at Walpurgis Academy's towering spires. The sky above churned with bruised, grey clouds, a perfect mirror of the storm inside him.
This was not his crime.
Their game had rules. Their justice had a script.
Execution was not an option. Revenge was not a priority.
Survival was the mission.