The morning of departure came faster than I was mentally prepared for.
Not because I didn't know the date — I knew. I'd been counting down every night for the past ten days. But there's a big difference between knowing something is coming and actually being ready when it finally shows up at your door.
I stood in front of the bedroom mirror one last time before leaving, wearing the academy uniform Lisa had prepared since last night — dark blue with silver accents at the collar and cuffs, academy crest on the left chest. It fit Richard's body perfectly, which was already proportional to begin with, but it still felt foreign on skin I hadn't fully claimed as my own.
Alright.
I looked at the man in the mirror — platinum blonde hair, lavender eyes, a jaw that was too sharply cut for a sixteen-year-old.
You're walking back into the place that almost killed you. You don't know who targeted you. You don't know why. You don't know who you can trust.
I took a breath.
But you're still alive. And as long as you're alive, there's still something you can do.
That was it. No grand dramatic plan, no heroic declaration. Just one simple principle that had kept tired souls going in any world — survive first, figure out the rest later.
I picked up the sword box from the desk.
Come home first.
"Young Master."
Lisa appeared in the doorway, already in her formal maid uniform that was slightly different from usual — a more practical version, less lace on the skirt hem, shoes that were clearly chosen for function over aesthetics. On her back was a small bag I suspected was packed with far more than it looked from the outside.
The same uniform she always wore at the academy before. Familiar in the right place.
"The carriage is ready. Luggage has been loaded."
"You ready?" I asked.
Lisa blinked once — an expression on her face that felt like the equivalent of someone else raising their eyebrows to their hairline. "I was the one who prepared everything, Young Master. Of course I'm ready."
Point to her.
Duke Austin was already standing in the front courtyard when I walked out.
He wasn't checking documents, wasn't talking to staff. Just standing there, facing the carriage, hands at his sides.
Lisa held back a few steps behind me without being told.
Duke Austin looked at me briefly as I approached. Then he turned back toward the carriage, like he was thinking something over.
"Take care of yourself out there," he said. Not a commanding tone — quieter than that. "Eat properly. Get enough sleep." He paused for a moment. "And come back in the same condition you left. Better if you can manage it."
Simple words. No long speech, no heavy message that needed to be decoded.
But coming from Duke Austin — someone who was more comfortable talking about military strategy than things like this — those words felt like enough.
"Got it," I answered.
He nodded once. Then, briefly, he gave my shoulder one firm pat before stepping back.
"Go now. Don't be late for registration."
I walked to the carriage. Halfway there, I looked back once.
Duke Austin was still standing there, watching me. Not turning back inside. Not looking away at anything else.
He waited until I got in.
Weird, having a father.
But not in a bad way.
The journey to the academy took nearly half a day.
The Raybak family carriage was comfortable — velvet upholstered seats, decent suspension for cobblestone roads, and glass windows that let the view outside in without the wind bothering you.
Lisa sat across from me with her back straight and hands folded neatly in her lap.
I looked out the window.
The Maltar territory slowly left the familiar scenery behind — pine forests on hillsides starting to change color, small villages with thin smoke curling out of chimneys, stone bridges over rivers whose water was starting to run clearer as autumn approached.
Beautiful world, if you were being honest about it.
Too bad someone wants to drag this kingdom into a war.
"Lisa."
"Yes, Young Master?"
"At the academy — if you hear or see anything that feels off, tell me right away. No matter how small."
A brief silence.
"Of course, Young Master."
Her tone didn't change. Not surprised, not questioning, no request for further explanation. Just a clean confirmation from someone who clearly already understood the context without needing it spelled out.
I didn't ask more. Some things work better left unquestioned.
The Royal Academy of Alvan came into view from the top of a hill — about two hours after we left the Maltar border.
From that distance, everything looked normal. Peaceful, even.
But I knew perfectly well that somewhere inside that complex, there was a name that hadn't been found yet. A question still unanswered. Someone walking the same corridors in the same uniform, maybe even smiling the same way — and behind all of it, knowing more than they let on.
The carriage started going downhill.
I straightened up.
Alright. Let's get started.
The south gate of the academy was already packed when we arrived.
Dozens of carriages from various noble families lined up along the entrance path. Academy staff in brown uniforms stood at strategic points. And at every gate, two extra guards who hadn't been there before the incident — different uniforms, more formal, with detection artifacts hanging from their belts.
New security system.
Our carriage stopped. Lisa got out first, opened the door from outside, then stepped back one pace — the same sequence as every semester before, no instruction needed.
I got out.
The autumn air greeted me — slightly colder than Maltar, carrying the smell of wet earth and leaves starting to decay at the edges.
"Richard!"
Glen Farland was already half-jogging toward me from his carriage that had just stopped, brown hair messier than his mother probably would've liked. Behind him, with a much more relaxed pace, Eric Vargas.
"Two months," said Glen, straight up, no opener. "Two months you're out cold and I have to sit at home listening to Dad lecture me about family responsibility. You owe me a long explanation."
"I was in a coma," I said. "That's generally considered a pretty valid excuse."
"For other people, maybe." Glen looked me up and down without hiding it at all. "You look paler. Have you been eating properly?"
"Glen." Eric finally caught up, hands in his pockets. "Let him breathe before you start interrogating him."
"This isn't interrogating, this is caring."
"Your caring sounds like interrogating."
"Because I care efficiently—"
"Eric. Glen." I cut in before the debate went somewhere unnecessary. "I'm fine. Really."
Glen stared at me one more second — the kind of look I suspected he'd been practicing since childhood to detect lies — then nodded. "Okay. But we're talking later. A lot."
"Yeah," I said. "Later."
Eric gave me one nod — short, not much to it — but there was something in the gesture that felt more like I hear you than just a regular greeting.
Then Glen's eyes shifted to behind me.
"Lisa." His tone changed — more relaxed, more familiar, the tone you use with someone you've known long enough. "Finally. This semester would've been a mess without you."
Lisa gave a short bow that felt more like a greeting between acquaintances than formal maid-to-guest protocol. "Master Glen. Master Eric. Good to be back."
"Same," said Glen, genuinely enough for his standards.
Eric gave Lisa one nod — brief but not cold.
"Young Master." Lisa appeared at my right elbow. "Registration reopens at the administration building in ten minutes."
"Let's go," I said to Glen and Eric.
The administration building was already pretty packed when we got there.
I stood in line, Lisa half a step behind me — same position as every semester before — and started observing the people around me more systematically.
Faces from Richard's memories started appearing one by one — some staring, some nodding, some deliberately looking away. That last reaction was the most interesting to watch.
Then, from the direction of the entrance — a presence that was different from the others.
Grey eyes. Dark brown hair. Uniform worn the way someone wears it when they're used to it but don't have to think about it.
Crown Prince Aldric vas Alvan.
He walked in like it was nothing, talked to the staff near the door — then his gaze swept the room and stopped on me.
One second. Two seconds.
A small nod — brief, barely visible, but clear enough for someone who was paying attention.
My name is on the same list as his.
"Young Master." Lisa, quietly. "The line has moved up."
I stepped forward.
Registration was done in about twenty minutes.
Room placement hadn't changed — third floor of the west dormitory building, corner room. Lisa in the adjoining companion room next door, same as before. A stack of additional forms about new security regulations that were noticeably thicker than anything from previous semesters.
An academy that learned from experience.
Richard's room was exactly like the memory, but with a few small things different — the book arrangement on the shelf slightly off, the desk shifted a few inches from where it should be, a small rug by the door that looked new.
This room was entered while I was gone.
Reasonable for security checks, maybe. But I noted it anyway.
I put the sword box on the desk, opened the window slightly, then sat on the edge of the bed.
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
Glen, already changed into casual clothes. His expression was different from earlier — calmer, more serious. He closed the door and got straight to it.
"You doing okay?" he asked. "For real. Not the version for public consumption."
"Not fully," I answered honestly. "But good enough to be here."
Glen nodded. Didn't push further — also very Glen. He could be blunt to the point of rudeness, but he knew when not to push.
"There's something you should know," he said, his voice dropping one level. He walked to the window, looked out for a moment, then turned back. "Before that party, before all of this — there was friction already building between some groups at the academy. I didn't pay much attention to it at the time because it felt like the usual stuff." He stopped. "Now, with everything that happened, that friction feels a lot heavier."
"Friction between who?"
"Groups close to families with government positions, versus groups that are more... militaristic, let's say. Families with interests along the border."
Families that benefit from a war — or at least don't lose from one.
"Your own observation?"
"Partly." Glen shrugged. "Partly from my dad before I left. He said be careful about who I hang around with this semester. Didn't say specifically why. But my dad never says something without a reason."
If Count Farland was worried enough to warn his son — the situation is more complicated than it looks on the surface.
"Thanks," I said.
Glen nodded. "Dinner tonight? West dining room, usual time."
"Yeah."
He left without any extra small talk.
A few minutes after Glen left, a different knock at the door — lighter, neater.
"Come in."
Lisa from the next room. She sat in the chair near the desk, same straight posture as always, but her eyes were on me with full attention.
"At this academy," I started slowly, "you're familiar with the layout, the people, the routines. More than I am for certain things." I paused. "Use that. If anything feels different from how it usually is — no matter how small — I want to know."
Lisa looked at me. Then — "There are a few things I've already noticed since we arrived, Young Master."
I waited.
"Three staff members who normally work in the administration building weren't there today. New faces have replaced their positions." Her tone was the same flat delivery she used to announce meal schedules. "Two of the extra guards in the corridor leading to the main hall aren't from the academy's regular forces — their uniforms are similar but the cut is different. And the registration desk for second-year students has been moved from its usual spot."
I stared at her.
She noticed all of that in the first twenty minutes of arriving.
"You sure about the staff being replaced?"
"I've been accompanying Young Master here for two years. I know which faces are supposed to be where." Her eyes didn't waver. "The new staff are faces I've never seen before."
Could be routine turnover. Could be something else.
"Alright," I said. "Keep watching. And don't tell anyone else except me."
"Of course, Young Master." She stood up, then paused briefly at the door. "And Young Master — welcome back to the academy."
Said in the same flat tone as everything else she said. But somehow it felt like more than just pleasantries.
The west dining room on the first dinner night of the new semester was half full.
Glen was already at the usual table — corner near the window, four seats, view of the training field that was already dark. Eric next to him, cutting bread the way someone does when they're more interested in their food than the conversation around them.
I sat across from them. Lisa took her spot at the servant's table near the wall — the same distance and position as every previous dinner.
"Finally," said Glen. "I've been hungry for half an hour."
"You could've ordered without me," I said.
"That's rude."
"Since when do you care about rude?"
"Since just now."
Eric put down his knife. "How are you doing? For real."
"Good enough. Magic still needs time. Physically almost back to normal."
Eric nodded. "Sparring this week?"
"Too soon."
"Next week?"
"Maybe."
He nodded again, seemed satisfied with that.
We ordered food. Conversation drifted to lighter things — the new semester schedule that was apparently more packed than before, new subjects that got added, instructor changes in some classes.
Normal. Ordinary.
But underneath all of it — I noticed how Eric would briefly scan the room before returning to the conversation. How Glen lowered his voice slightly for certain names. How neither of them mentioned Harlen Voss once the entire dinner.
Not mentioning something is also a way of saying something.
"Oh." Glen sat up slightly. "Diana's here."
At the entrance to the west dining room, Diana Rhiannon stood for a moment — scanning the room with practiced ease before her eyes found our table. She said something brief to two people behind her then walked toward us.
Golden brown hair braided neatly, a few strands loose around her face from a long day. Clear blue eyes — not pale blue, a deeper blue that always felt like it was evaluating something even when her expression looked relaxed. Academy uniform worn the way someone wears it when they don't need to think about it.
She glanced toward the servant's table in the corner, found Lisa, gave a small nod that Lisa returned with one of her own — a quick greeting between two people who'd known each other long enough.
Then she pulled out the fourth chair and sat down without waiting to be invited.
"Richard." Her eyes went straight to me. "You look better than I expected."
"Low expectations," I said.
Something at the corner of her mouth moved — almost a smile but not quite. "Realistic." Her blue eyes held on me for a moment in a way that felt like she was checking something. "Eat first. Talk later."
"Talk about what?" asked Glen.
"A lot of things," said Diana. "But not tonight." Her eyes moved to Glen, Eric, then back to me. "Tonight just eat and don't pass out from travel exhaustion."
"I'm not going to pass out," I said.
"You just got out of a two-month coma and did half a day of travel," she said flatly. "I'm just being realistic for the second time."
Glen laughed quietly. Eric made a sound that was probably the equivalent of a smile on his face.
I looked at Diana for a moment.
The letter she wrote. The decisions she didn't agree with. Two weeks keeping the council running on her own.
A lot I wanted to ask.
But she was right — not tonight.
Tonight was just dinner. Just sitting at the same table as people who felt at least familiar, even if that familiarity mostly came from memories that weren't originally mine.
Just breathe and remember that surviving starts with small things like this.
One night done. Then the next.
I thought about the brief tap on my shoulder this morning and the simple words that came with it.
Come back in the same condition you left. Better if you can manage it.
Come home first, said the engraving on the sword blade.
Yeah, I thought. One day at a time.