Just as my resolve began to solidify, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed from the heavy oak door of my room.
Knock. Knock.
My blood ran cold. The fragmented memories supplied the context: only one person ever knocked on Lucian's door with that kind of impatient arrogance.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I wasn't ready. I hadn't prepared a script, hadn't practiced the sneer or the subservient posture of the original Lucian. I was just Aiden, a scared kid in a stolen body.
"Lucian, are you awake? Stop dawdling. We'll be late for Mana Control."
The voice that filtered through the door was smooth as polished obsidian, laced with an undercurrent of cold command. It was a voice I had imagined a thousand times while reading, and hearing it in person sent a shiver down my spine.
Damien Vrael. The novel's main villain. My future murderer.
I had to answer. Silence would be suspicious. I cleared my throat, trying to pitch my voice to match the haughty tone from the memories. "Coming," I managed to croak out. The word sounded weak, pathetic.
Frantically, I looked around the room. The academy uniform was laid out neatly on a chair—a tailored black jacket with silver embroidery, gray trousers, and a crisp white shirt. I scrambled to pull it on, my fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar clasps and buttons. The material was of a far higher quality than anything I had ever worn. It felt like wearing a costume, a lie.
With the uniform on, I took one last look in the mirror. The silver-haired aristocrat staring back still felt like a stranger, but now he was dressed for the part. I tried to school my features into a neutral expression, burying the panic deep inside. Act natural. Be the Lucian he expects.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I walked to the door and pulled it open.
Damien Vrael stood in the hallway, the epitome of a noble prodigy. He was taller than me by a few inches, with hair as black as a starless night and eyes the color of molten gold. His features were perfectly sculpted, handsome enough to charm any maiden in the kingdom, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. Those golden eyes held a chilling emptiness, a calculating intelligence that saw people not as living beings, but as pieces on a chessboard. He was leaning casually against the opposite wall, one arm crossed over his chest, a picture of relaxed confidence.
He looked me up and down, a flicker of something—annoyance? curiosity?—in his gaze. "You look pale, Lucian. Another late night reading those foolish histories?"
His question was a test. The original Lucian was lazy, but he put on a front of being a diligent student, even if he spent his nights doing nothing of importance. My mind raced, grabbing at a memory fragment.
"Just reviewing some theory on mana circulation," I replied, the lie feeling surprisingly natural on my tongue. I kept my gaze slightly averted, a habit of subservience the original Lucian had perfected.
Damien let out a soft, condescending chuckle. "Of course. Come, Professor Elara will not appreciate our tardiness. Your performance in her class is already abysmal; there is no need to draw more of her ire."
He turned and began walking down the corridor without a backward glance, fully expecting me to follow. And I did, falling into step a pace behind him, just as his shadow was supposed to. The hallways of the academy dorms were grand, with high, vaulted ceilings and tapestries depicting legendary battles between ancient heroes and mythical beasts. Mana lamps floated near the ceiling, casting a warm, steady light on the polished stone floors.
As I walked behind him, a strange sensation tickled at the edge of my perception. It was a faint buzzing, a subtle energy emanating from Damien. It wasn't his mana—that was calm and contained, like a sleeping volcano. This was something else. It felt… cold. A profound, emotional coldness wrapped in a layer of charming warmth. It was the feeling of his intent.
Soul Resonance.
My undiscovered talent. It wasn't an active skill I could control; it was a passive sense, like a sixth sense for the soul. I could feel the emotional echo and mana intent of others. Right now, I could feel the dismissive, utilitarian nature Damien directed at me. To him, I was a tool, a familiar and convenient object. There was no friendship, no loyalty. Just utility. The novel was right. Reading about it was one thing, but feeling the chilling truth of it was another. It solidified my resolve into tempered steel.
"Did you hear about Leonidas?" Damien asked suddenly, his tone casual, but my newfound sense tingled with a sharp spike of interest from him. He was probing.
Leonidas. The hero of Crimson Destiny. My heart skipped a beat.
"The commoner with the Light affinity?" I responded, dredging up another of Lucian's memories. "What about him?"
"He bested Marcus Thorne in a practice duel yesterday," Damien said, his voice laced with amusement. "Broke the young master's prized mana-forged sword and his pride along with it. It seems we have a new celebrity at the academy."
I knew this scene. This was the event that first put Leonidas on Damien's radar as a potential nuisance. In the novel, Lucian had scoffed, calling Leonidas a lucky upstart and promising to put him in his place, an offer Damien had casually accepted. It was the first of many confrontations that escalated the conflict between the hero and villain.
This was my first chance to change the script.
I couldn't refuse to engage. That would be out of character. I had to play the part, but subtly shift the outcome.
"Hmph," I snorted, mimicking Lucian's arrogance. "He must have gotten lucky. Marcus is all bluster and no substance. Beating him is hardly a great achievement." I intentionally downplayed the hero's victory, framing it as the opponent's weakness rather than Leonidas's strength.
Damien glanced back at me, one perfect eyebrow raised. "Is that so? I thought you'd be eager to challenge him yourself. To defend the honor of the nobility."
Here it was. The hook. The old Lucian would have jumped at the chance.
"Why would I waste my time on a commoner?" I said, injecting as much disdain into my voice as I could muster. "Let him have his moment in the sun. The brighter he shines, the more satisfying it will be when he inevitably falls. My focus is on my own training, Damien. I intend to be of actual use to you, not get distracted by every piece of stray gutter-rat that learns a new trick."
I had turned his bait around. I reaffirmed my loyalty and usefulness to him, while simultaneously dismissing the hero as a momentary distraction unworthy of my—and by extension, his—attention.
Damien was silent for a long moment. I could feel his golden eyes studying me, the cold, calculating intent washing over me. I focused on keeping my breathing even, my posture subservient. My life could very well depend on this conversation.
Finally, he gave a slow, approving nod. "A surprisingly pragmatic view, Lucian. Perhaps Professor Elara's lessons are not entirely wasted on you after all. You are right. Let the flies buzz. We have more important matters to attend to."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I had done it. I had navigated the first deviation from the plot. It was a tiny change, a pebble tossed into a vast ocean, but it was a start.
We arrived at the training hall, a massive amphitheater where students were already gathered. In the center stood Professor Elara, a stern-looking elven woman with silver hair braided into a severe crown. Her presence commanded respect, her own Mana Core radiating a pressure that made the air feel thick.
As we took our places among the other students, my eyes scanned the crowd. And then I saw him. Standing on the far side of the hall, among a group of commoner students, was a young man with unruly bronze-colored hair and earnest brown eyes. He was laughing with a friend, his expression open and honest. He practically radiated a warm, brilliant energy.
Leonidas val Aris. The hero.
Our eyes met for a fleeting second across the hall. His expression was neutral, curious. But in that moment, I wasn't just Aiden the reader looking at a protagonist. I was Lucian Greyfall, the villain's sidekick, looking at the man whose destiny was intertwined with my own, whose rise was predicated on my fall.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that avoiding him wouldn't be enough. To survive, I would have to become strong enough to shatter the destiny that bound us both.