Golden sunlight trickled through the inn's small window, casting soft patterns across the dimly lit room.
Darian lay motionless on the bed, his face shadowed by the lingering hush of dawn. His eyelids fluttered, resisting the warmth of the morning light.
With a slow, reluctant breath, he opened his eyes. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling—familiar, yet foreign. A silence settled over him as the echoes of the previous day surged back in vivid detail.
"Was it real... or just a dream?"
He whispered to himself, voice barely audible. Propping himself up, he sat on the edge of the bed, though his mind remained entangled in the surreal visions that haunted him.
And as if to answer his doubt—
"Ahhh...!"
A searing pain exploded in his skull. Darian clutched his head, gritting his teeth as the agony pierced through him like a blade.
"Dammit…!"
"Why again?!"
The pain was unlike anything he'd felt since awakening in this body. Memories—his, yet not his—flashed in chaotic bursts. Faces, places, emotions blurred together, too fleeting to grasp, too intense to ignore. It was as if his mind was being torn between two realities.
And amid the whirlwind of pain, a single truth solidified.
"So... it wasn't just a dream."
The thought faded with his consciousness as darkness once again claimed him.
---
Marie walked briskly through the quiet hallway, her footsteps light but swift. Her destination was clear—Darian's room—but her mind wandered through tangled thoughts. Last night's conversation echoed again and again.
They're rushing things.
And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Without realizing, her pace quickened until she stood before his door. She hesitated.
"He should've woken by now."
Her knuckles tapped lightly against the wood. Silence.
After a long moment with no reply, her patience gave way. She turned the handle carefully, the lock clicking open with a soft tuck.
Inside, the room was quiet—too quiet.
Her eyes scanned the interior until they landed on the bed. Darian lay there, body tense, breath shallow, his expression twisted as though battling some invisible force.
Her heart skipped. Rushing to his side, she placed a hand on his forehead.
"nothing unusual…"
Marie release a sigh of relief before removing her hand but his state doesn't seem well.
As she tried to assess him, Darian stirred. His fingers twitched, and his eyes cracked open, clouded with pain. His hand shot up to his temple, as if the agony still lingered behind his eyes.
"Marie...? Why are you here?"
She helped him sit up, keeping her tone composed. "I came to see if you needed anything. But you didn't answer... so I entered without permission."
Darian remained silent before he respond.
"…Nothing happened."
"And I don't need anything."
His voice was quiet, guarded. His eyes stayed low, avoiding hers.
Marie studied him carefully. Something about him had shifted. She couldn't name it yet—but it was there, heavy in the air between them.
"…Very well, Your Highness. If you need anything, please call me."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"…Let's leave for the academy today."
She blinked, turning back. "But Your Highness, your injuries—they haven't—"
"I've healed completely," he interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "There's no need to worry."
Marie's gaze dropped to his arm—and froze. The wounds that had torn through his flesh just yesterday… were gone. Not a scar remained.
Before she could speak—
"We're leaving today," he said again, more resolute.
His gaze met hers, unwavering.
Marie paused, then bowed her head.
"…As you wish, Your Highness. I'll make the necessary arrangements."
With that, she turned and left—her thoughts now tangled in more questions than answers.
The morning passed in a quiet rush.
Marie moved with graceful urgency through the inn, arranging supplies, settling the bill, and speaking with the stablehand to prepare the horses. Despite her usual composure, her mind was elsewhere—circling the sudden change in Darian's condition, and his insistence on departing.
By the time the sun climbed above the treetops, the carriage was waiting at the edge of the forest road.
Darian stood near it, cloaked in a deep-gray mantle without any exasperated look subtly woven into the fabric. His beige hair caught the light like threads of moonlight, but his eyes—those stormy gray eyes—looked distant. Cold. As though part of him still lingered in that painful in-between.
Marie approached, reins in hand, pausing a step away.
"Everything is ready, Your Highness."
He nodded, wordless, and climbed into the carriage. Marie followed, settling across from him.
For a long while, neither spoke.
The carriage began to roll, the wheels crunching softly over the dirt path as the trees blurred past. The kingdom of Ashthorn slowly faded into the distance, swallowed by the dense woodland road leading east—toward Virecan.
Inside the carriage, the silence was almost sacred.
Marie glanced at Darian, who had closed his eyes, resting his head back as if in thought—or recovery.
"You don't look well," she finally said, her voice low.
"I'll manage."
His response was clipped, but not unkind.
Marie hesitated, then leaned back into her seat unable to contain any longer,she voice her thoughts.
"…You changed," she said, barely louder than a whisper.
Darian opened his eyes. "Everyone changes."
"No. Not like this," she replied, meeting his gaze. "You're not the same person who collapsed in that forest a week ago."
A faint pause.
Darian exhaled. "Maybe I wasn't supposed to be."
The carriage fell into silence again, broken only by the creaking of wheels and the distant cry of birds overhead.
—
By the time they reached the hillcrest, the road opened wide—and in the distance, like a fortress nestled between forest and mountain, Virecan Academy revealed itself.
Tall spires reached skyward like the teeth of some ancient beast, their tips glowing with faint magical runes. A shimmering barrier shimmered around the walls—subtle, but powerful. The central tower, wrapped in spiraling glyphs, pulsed with raw arcane energy.
From here, the academy looked both awe-inspiring and unwelcoming.
Marie leaned forward, her voice quiet with a hint of reverence. "We're here."
Darian gazed at the towering structure ahead, his expression unreadable.
So this was the place where his future would be forged—and perhaps... where his past might finally catch up.
The carriage rolled to a halt before the towering iron gates of Virecan Academy.
They stood at least twenty feet high, forged of darksteel laced with glowing silver runes that pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm—like a heartbeat. The stone arch above the gate bore the academy's emblem: twin blades crossed over an open book, surrounded by a swirling ring of flame and stars.
Two sentries stood guard—one in enchanted plate, the other clad in the violet robes of an arcane warden. Their eyes sharpened the moment the carriage approached.
Marie stepped out first, her boots clicking softly against the paved path. She moved with practiced grace, approaching the guards and producing the sealed scroll bearing the Ashthorn royal crest.
Darian followed.
The moment his boots touched the ground, a subtle shift rippled through the air—like a string being plucked. The arcane warden narrowed his eyes, sensing it.
"State your name and purpose," the armored guard asked, firm but respectful.
Marie answered, offering the scroll. "Marie Elenora, attendant of Crown Prince Darian of Ashthorn. We were expected."
The warden took the scroll, broke the wax seal, and skimmed its contents. As he did, his gaze flickered toward Darian with visible curiosity.
"You're late," the warden finally said, then paused—his brows furrowed slightly. "But… early."
Darian stepped forward, his voice calm. "We had some complications on the road."
The warden's eyes lingered a moment longer, then handed the scroll back to Marie and gestured toward the gates. "Proceed. You'll be escorted by a representative from the Council. Wait by the inner courtyard."
With a deep hum, the runes on the gates brightened.
Clank… click…
The gates began to part, their massive weight moving with surprising smoothness. A cool gust of air swept past them, carrying with it the faint scent of parchment, polished steel, and crackling magic.
Beyond the gates, Virecan Academy sprawled in quiet majesty.
Cobbled walkways branched through open courtyards and towering buildings of blackstone and crystal glass rose like monuments to ambition. Above it all loomed the central spire—its peak lost in the clouds, pulsing faintly with runes that danced like lightning across its surface.
Darian stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over it all.
This was Virecan.
A place where legends were made.
And where his path—whatever it truly was—would begin in earnest.