Six months had passed since the night Oakhaven burned.
In the original novel, this transition was a single, grim sentence: "Kael left the ashes of his home behind, carrying nothing but his father's broken sword and a heart turned to ice."
But reality had shifted. Because Hestor lived, the House of Valerius wasn't erased. Because forty-two villagers survived, the "Hero of Oakhaven" was a title shared by a noble father and his two young proteges. We weren't refugees; we were survivors summoned to the capital.
The carriage jolted as it entered the gates of Astraea Academy.
I looked out the window at the white marble spires and the floating gardens. To anyone else, it was a paradise. To me, it was a gilded cage I'd designed to be the final battleground of humanity.
"Mikhail, stop biting your nails. You're going to look like a nervous wreck in front of the instructors."
I looked across the carriage. Kael sat there, wearing a formal navy-blue tunic with the withered oak crest pinned to his chest. He looked taller, his shoulders broader from months of training. His eyes were still bright, still human—not the hollow pits of despair I'd written for him.
"I'm not nervous about the instructors, Kael," I said, leaning back. "I'm nervous about the food. I heard the capital's bread doesn't taste like sawdust. My stomach might go into shock."
Kael laughed, kicking my boot. "Always thinking about your stomach. If it weren't for you, I'd still be trying to swing a sword with my elbows. You're coming with me as my 'Primary Attendant,' but we both know you're the one who's going to be passing the theory exams for me."
"Don't get used to it," I grunted.
The carriage slowed to a halt in the Grand Plaza. This was the moment. The "First Meeting" event.
As the door opened, the sheer opulence of the Academy hit us. Thousands of students from across the Empire were gathered for the Opening Ceremony. Most were high-ranking nobles, their silks shimmering with protective enchantments.
And then, the crowd parted.
A group of priests in gold-trimmed robes walked toward the central dais. In the center of them was a girl.
My breath hitched. My pulse, which had been steady through wolf attacks and house fires, suddenly spiked so hard I felt dizzy.
She was twelve years old, but her hair was already that striking, ethereal silver I had described in my late-night writing sessions. She moved with a grace that felt practiced, almost stiff—as if she were carrying the weight of the entire world on her small shoulders.
Millica (Mila) von Astraea. The Saintess. My ex-girlfriend's face, etched into the most important character of my life's work.
"Who is that?" Kael whispered, his voice filled with boyish awe. "She looks... like she's made of moonlight."
"That's the disaster," I muttered under my breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
I watched her. In the real world, Mila used to tilt her head to the left when she was tired. I saw the Saintess do it now as she listened to a high priest. My heart twisted. I had wanted to forget her. I had wanted to survive this world and go home.
But seeing her—seeing the "Mila" I had doomed to die in the final arc—made my survival goal feel suddenly, terrifyingly complicated.
[New Main Quest: The Saintess's Shadow.]
[Objective: Prevent Millica from awakening the 'Sacrifice' attribute.]
[Reward: Hidden ending unlocked.]
[Failure: Total World Collapse.]
The system window flickered in front of my eyes, translucent and cold.
I knew it, I thought bitterly. There's no such thing as just 'surviving' in a story you wrote yourself.
Mila turned her gaze toward the crowd. For a fleeting second, her pale blue eyes met mine. There was no recognition—how could there be? To her, I was just a commoner standing in the shadow of a low-ranking noble.
But she lingered. She frowned slightly, as if she felt a strange, discordant note in the air around me. Then, her attendants ushered her toward the cathedral.
"Mikhail? You okay? You're pale," Kael said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I lied, straightening my tunic. "Just realized the tuition here is going to be a nightmare."
Kael grinned, slinging an arm over my neck. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out. Like we did with the wolves. You and me against the world, right?"
I looked at the Hero, then at the retreating back of the Saintess.
In the original book, these two were destined to be a tragic pair—the Hero who survives and the Saintess who dies for him. It was the "perfect" ending I had been so proud of.
Now, standing in the mud of my own creation, I realized how much of a bastard I had been.
"Yeah," I said, my voice hardening with a new kind of resolve. "You, me, and a whole lot of script-breaking. Let's go, Kael."
We stepped forward into the Academy, the gates closing behind us with a heavy, final thud. The prologue was over. The real story had begun.
End of Part 1: The Oakhaven Arc
* Mikhail's Status: Level 5 Author (Class: Hidden).
* Kael's Status: Level 12 Fledgling Hero (Class: Swordsman).
* World Progress: The Blight is spreading in the shadows, but the Hero is no longer alone.