The morning sun bled crimson over Ashborn Academy's towering spires, staining the cobblestone path beneath my boots like a fresh battlefield. I inhaled deeply—the scent of iron from the wrought-iron gates, the crisp autumn air, and beneath it all, the faint ozone tang of magic. My magic.
A guard in gilded armor stepped forward, his breastplate polished to a mirror shine. The insignia of some minor noble house gleamed above his heart. Expendable.
"You're an hour late, sir," he declared, voice cracking on the last word. "Academy regulations prohibit—"
I didn't let him finish.
"Look at me." My voice was a velvet-wrapped blade. "Really look. Do I seem like someone who cares about regulations?"
His eyes darted to the Crimson insignia still emblazoned on my cloak—the snarling wolf with shadowed eyes, a mark I'd been ordered to remove but wore anyway like a brand.
"B-But Lord Crimson," he stammered, "your disownment—"
I closed the distance between us in one smooth stride. Close enough to smell the sour fear on his breath. Close enough that he could see the abyss in my gaze.
"Let me educate you." I tapped the hilt of my shadow-bound dagger, watching his pupils dilate. "The Crimson family doesn't disown weapons. We shelve them. Until we need to cut someone's throat." A slow, venomous smile. "Now ask yourself—are you truly willing to die on this hill?"
He stumbled back so fast his helmet slipped sideways. "P-Please proceed! My deepest apologies!"
I strode past him, my cloak whispering against the cobblestones.
[System: That was unnecessarily cruel. I love it.]
"The world bows," I mused, "all it needs is someone who can make it bow."
[System: Original Ashen was a raging wildfire. You? You're a scalpel dipped in neurotoxin.]
The Grand Hall loomed ahead, its massive oak doors carved with scenes of legendary battles—heroes frozen mid-swing, mouths open in silent screams. The wood groaned as I pushed them open.
Silence.
Every head turned. Every eye burned into me—disgust, curiosity, fear. The weight of their stares was a familiar cloak, one I wore with pride.
At the podium stood Headmaster Evelyn, her silver hair braided so tight it pulled at the corners of her eyes. The 3rd Ranked in the world. The Lightning Tyrant. Her violet gaze locked onto mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw it—not disdain, but appraisal. The look a general gives a new weapon being tested.
Damn it. I needed her to train me eventually. Now? That bridge was doused in oil, waiting for a spark.
So I smirked, slow and deliberate, and sauntered down the center aisle like I owned the damn hall. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Their judgment was fertilizer for what I would become.
Then I smelled it—moonflower and cold steel.
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
Seraphina Loire stood in my path, her elven ears flushed crimson with rage. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, painting her silver-blonde hair in fractured colors. The ceremonial dagger at her hip—a gift from her goddess—was already half-drawn.
"You," she hissed, the single word dripping with venom.
I stopped just shy of touching distance, taking my time to drink in the sight of her trembling fury. The way her delicate fingers clenched around the dagger's hilt. The way her violet eyes burned with enough hatred to melt stone.
"Me," I agreed, leaning back on my heels. "Missed me, Princess?"
Her dagger was at my throat before the crowd could gasp. The blade bit into my skin, drawing a thin line of blood that dripped onto my collar.
"You dare show your face here after what you did?" Her voice shook with barely contained rage. "You humiliated me in the trials! You—"
I didn't move. Didn't blink. Just let the blade press deeper as I smiled.
"Correction," I purred. "I broke you. There's a difference." My tongue darted out to catch the blood trickling down my neck.
Her breath hitched. The dagger trembled—
CRACK.
Lightning split the air between us, close enough to singe the hairs on my arms. The scent of ozone burned my nostrils.
Headmaster Evelyn stood at the podium, one hand outstretched, arcs of blue-white energy dancing between her fingers.
"Enough." Her voice was soft. Deadly. "Seraphina. Sit. Ashen… welcome to Ashborn."
The unspoken threat hung in the air like a guillotine's blade: One wrong move, and I'll reduce you to a smoking crater.
I licked the blood from my neck and gave a mocking half-bow. "Thrilled to be here."
The ceremony dragged on—speeches about honor, tradition, the sacred duty of mages. Empty words for empty minds. I tuned it out, focusing instead on the chessboard before me.
Seraphina sat rigid three rows ahead, her shoulders so tense they could've shattered diamond. Every few minutes, she'd glance back, her gaze promising murder.
Headmaster Evelyn's eyes flicked to me whenever she thought I wasn't looking, her fingers tracing the lightning-shaped scar on her wrist.
And the others—the lesser players—watched me like rabbits watching a wolf. The noble heirs with their bloodline magic. The scholarship students with their desperation. The future heroes and villains alike, all sensing the predator in their midst.
[System: You've made quite the impression.]
"The first move is always the most important," I replied silently. "Let them fear. Let them wonder. The game has only just begun."
[Emergency Quest: Survive Evelyn's Wrath]
Objective: Avoid being vaporized by the 3rd Ranked for 24 hours
Reward: Lightning Resistance (D-Rank → B-Rank)
Failure: Your skeleton will become the academy's new chandelier
I grinned, sharp as a guillotine's edge.
Challenge accepted.