The morning after the storm smelled of wet stone and iron.Mist coiled around the courtyard of Vale Manor, softening its broken statues and cracked pillars. It was the kind of quiet that always came before trouble.
I waited beneath the old oak tree, watching droplets fall from its leaves. Reiss had gone to fetch the mage I'd requested—the same woman who, in the novel, betrayed Lucien for a sack of gold and a promise of safety.
If the story was still following its script, then Sera Wynne would arrive today.
I didn't have to wait long. The gates creaked, and a hooded figure stepped through—slender, carrying a staff too tall for her frame. When she lowered her hood, sunlight caught her hair: pale silver, streaked with blue. Her eyes, sharp and wary, scanned me like a hawk sizing up prey.
"Lord Lucien Vale," she said, voice cool and precise. "I was told you required a mage."
Her tone was calm, but her aura trembled—fear disguised as professionalism. In the novel, Lucien had killed her teacher. She had every reason to hate me.
"I require someone who won't flinch at cursed mana," I replied. "Can you handle that, Miss Wynne?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "If it pays enough, I can handle anything."
A perfect answer.
We moved to the inner courtyard, where broken marble columns lay half-buried in moss. I raised my hand; black mist unfurled like smoke. The cursed mana whispered in my head, a thousand voices clawing for release.
Sera didn't move, though her fingers tightened around her staff. "Your control is weak," she said. "The mana isn't obeying you—it's feeding on you."
I smirked. "You make it sound like it's alive."
"It is," she said. "And it hates you."
That part, I already knew.
I focused, trying to shape the dark energy into something solid. It twisted violently, then exploded outward, cracking the stone beneath my feet. The backlash threw me to one knee. Sera snapped her staff down, drawing a glowing rune that absorbed the stray energy before it could hit her.
When the air cleared, she was standing beside me, hand outstretched. "You'll destroy yourself if you keep forcing it."
I stared at her hand for a moment, then took it. "Destroying myself seems to be what I'm best at."
She didn't laugh. "You're different than they said."
"Who's 'they'?"
"The council," she replied. "They call you the monster who killed his own men."
I met her eyes. "Do you believe them?"
Her silence was answer enough. I let out a slow breath. "Then I'll have to change your mind."
The hours passed in grueling repetition. She instructed, I failed; she corrected, I failed again. But each time the black mana surged, I learned a little more—its rhythm, its hunger, its pain. It wasn't evil. It was just broken, like its master.
By sunset, sweat soaked through my shirt and the courtyard was littered with shattered runes.
"You're reckless," she said finally, sitting on the stone steps. "But you learn fast."
"Recklessness is what got me here," I said, sitting beside her. "Might as well make use of it."
She studied me for a moment. "You really don't remember anything from before the capital, do you?"
I hesitated. "Let's just say I'm not the same man who died there."
Her brows knit slightly, but she didn't push. "Then maybe there's hope for you yet, Lord Vale."
It was the first time she'd said my name without flinching.For a moment, the air between us felt less heavy.
As night fell, Reiss appeared with grim news. "The council's spies have been seen near the northern border. Someone's looking for confirmation that you live."
I rose, brushing dust from my coat. "Then let them find me—but on my terms."
Sera stood as well, gripping her staff. "If they discover you training with me, they'll call it treason."
"Then we'll train in secret," I said. "In the one place no one dares to go."
Her eyes widened. "The ruins of Ardenth?"
I nodded. "If I'm to master cursed mana, I'll need to face where it was born."
As Reiss left to prepare supplies, Sera looked at me again—uncertain, but curious. "You're not like the man they described."
I gave her a faint smile. "That's because I'm not him."
She tilted her head, studying me as if trying to decide whether to believe that. "Then who are you, really?"
The truth pressed against my tongue—a college student who died reading your story—but I swallowed it.
"Someone rewriting his ending," I said instead.
The moon rose over Vale Manor, washing the cracked stones in silver. For the first time since awakening in this world, the future didn't feel like a cage—it felt like a battlefield waiting for me to step forward.