The morning air in Erondrachen carried the scent of something Arjun's memories couldn't place—like jasmine mixed with ozone, the natural signature of a world saturated with echkker. Jheran walked through the iron gates of Westmarch Academy, his uniform crisp thanks to Mira's careful attention, his posture different than it had been just yesterday.
The school was a sprawling complex of gray stone buildings, their architecture a blend of gothic spires and practical classrooms. Students milled about in clusters, their conversations punctuated by casual displays of power—a girl making her books float beside her, a boy creating small flames that danced between his fingers, showing off for his friends.
The original Jheran had learned to keep his eyes down here. To move through the crowds like a ghost, hoping not to be noticed. But this Jheran walked with his head up, taking in everything with fresh eyes that belonged to someone who'd already died once and had nothing left to fear.
Well, almost nothing.
"Well, well. Look who actually showed up."
The voice came from behind him, dripping with the particular brand of cruelty that teenagers perfected. Jheran turned slowly, his face carefully neutral.
Three boys stood there, all wearing the same uniform but somehow making it look like a statement of superiority. The one who'd spoken was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of effortless confidence that came from never being told no. Darius Halford. The original Jheran's memories supplied the name along with a cascade of humiliating encounters.
Darius's father was a governor. Wealthy, connected, powerful. And Darius himself had inherited strong echkker—telekinesis and minor elemental manipulation. He'd spent the last three years making the original Jheran's life miserable, and the school had turned a blind eye because that's what institutions did when the powerful preyed on the weak.
"I heard you'd finally given up," Darius continued, stepping closer. His two friends, Marcus and Trent, flanked him like trained dogs. "Thought maybe you'd done us all a favor and just disappeared."
The old Jheran would have looked away. Would have mumbled an excuse and tried to slip past. Arjun's instinct was to de-escalate, to survive another day. But this Jheran, this combination of two broken souls who'd found unexpected power, felt something different rising in his chest.
Not anger. Something colder.
"I've been busy," Jheran said quietly.
Darius laughed, a sound designed to draw attention. Other students were starting to notice, forming a loose circle around them. An audience. That's what bullies loved most—witnesses to their dominance. "Busy? Doing what? Reading more books about magic you'll never be able to use?"
Marcus and Trent snickered on cue.
Jheran studied them with new eyes. In his old life as Arjun, he'd worked with people like this—managers who took credit for his work, colleagues who sabotaged him behind his back, wealthy clients who treated service workers like furniture. He'd learned to read them, to understand what drove them.
Darius wasn't creative. He was predictable. And predictable people were easy to handle once you stopped being afraid.
"You know what I realized?" Jheran said, his voice still quiet but carrying clearly in the growing silence. "You talk a lot, Darius."
That got a reaction. Darius's smile faltered slightly. "What did you say?"
"You heard me." Jheran took a step forward instead of backing away. "Every day, the same routine. Find me, say something cruel, wait for me to cringe. But it's always just words, isn't it? You never actually do anything."
"I don't need to do anything to you," Darius shot back, but there was an edge in his voice now. This wasn't following the script. "You're not worth the effort."
"Right. Because your father wouldn't like it if you got in trouble for beating up the powerless kid." Jheran smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "That's what you tell yourself, anyway. But we both know the truth."
"What truth?" Darius's hands clenched into fists.
"That you're terrified."
The courtyard went very quiet. Someone gasped. Marcus and Trent exchanged uncertain glances.
Darius's face flushed red. "I'm not scared of you, you worthless—"
"Not of me," Jheran interrupted smoothly. "Of being ordinary. That's what keeps you up at night, isn't it? The fear that all your power, all your father's influence, all the advantages you've been handed—that it's still not enough. That someday someone will look at you and realize there's nothing special underneath."
He let the words hang in the air like poison. The original Jheran's memories told him he was right—Darius had an older brother who was more talented, more favored. He was the spare, desperately trying to prove he mattered.
"So you pick on the one person in school who makes you feel superior," Jheran continued. "Because if even the powerless kid is beneath you, then you must be worth something. Right?"
Darius's face had gone from red to pale. His echkker flared around him, visible as a faint distortion in the air. "Shut up."
"Make me," Jheran said softly.
It was a calculated risk. Darius was stronger, trained, and angry. But Jheran had something the bully didn't—he'd already lost everything once. Fear was a luxury he could no longer afford.
Darius raised his hand, and a visible force rippled through the air toward Jheran. Telekinesis, meant to shove him backward, to humiliate him in front of everyone.
Jheran didn't move.
The force hit something invisible a foot in front of him and dispersed like water against stone. Jheran had erected a barrier without gesture or word, pure instinct guided by the echkker flowing through him.
The courtyard erupted in whispers.
Darius stared, his hand still raised, shock written across his face. "You... you can't..."
"Can't what?" Jheran asked. He didn't drop the barrier. Instead, he expanded it slowly, deliberately, pushing outward. Darius stumbled backward, his own echkker crumbling before Jheran's advance. "Can't use echkker? Is that what you were going to say?"
"This isn't possible," Marcus whispered.
Jheran turned his attention to all three of them now. He let his power flow outward, not attacking, just present—a pressure in the air that made it harder to breathe, that made the hair on their arms stand up. It was raw, unrefined, but overwhelming in its intensity.
"Here's what's going to happen," Jheran said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. "You're going to walk away. You're going to leave me alone. And you're never going to speak to me again unless I speak to you first."
"Or what?" Darius tried to sound defiant, but his voice shook.
Jheran smiled, and this time he let them see something in his eyes—something dark that belonged to a soul that had already embraced the void. "Or I'll show you what it feels like to have everything you rely on stripped away. Your power. Your reputation. Your father's protection. I'll take it piece by piece until you're standing where I stood, and then you'll understand what you really are without all your advantages."
He took a step closer, and the three boys flinched backward.
"Ordinary," Jheran whispered.
The echkker around him pulsed once, hard enough that several nearby students stumbled. Windows in the surrounding buildings rattled. And for just a moment, Jheran let them feel what he felt—the vast, untapped ocean of power that shouldn't exist in someone who'd been tested as powerless.
Then he pulled it all back, the pressure vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
"We're done here," he said casually, as if nothing had happened. He walked past Darius, whose face had gone the color of ash, past Marcus and Trent who scrambled to get out of his way.
The crowd parted before him like water.
Jheran could feel their eyes on his back—shocked, confused, afraid. Good. Fear was respect's ugly cousin, and he'd take either one over pity.
He'd just reached the main building's entrance when a hand grabbed his arm. He turned, ready to demonstrate his point again, but stopped when he saw who it was.
A girl, maybe his age, with sharp green eyes and dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She wore the same uniform as everyone else, but something about her posture spoke of confidence without arrogance. The original Jheran's memories supplied a name: Keira Thorne.
They'd been in the same class since first year, but had barely spoken. She kept to herself mostly, neither popular nor outcast. Competent but not flashy.
"That was either very brave or very stupid," she said quietly, releasing his arm.
"Maybe both," Jheran admitted.
"Darius's father is Governor Halford. He has connections. This isn't over."
"I know."
Keira studied him with those sharp eyes, seeing past the uniform to something underneath. "You really couldn't use echkker before, could you? The tests weren't wrong?"
"Does it matter what I could do before?" Jheran countered. "Only matters what I can do now."
"That's not how people will see it. They'll want to know what changed. They'll ask questions."
"Let them."
She shook her head slowly, something like concern crossing her face. "You don't understand how this world works. When something impossible happens, people don't just accept it. They investigate. They test. They take you apart to figure out what makes you different."
Jheran felt a chill despite the morning warmth. She was right, of course. The original Jheran's memories confirmed it—Wardens who displayed unusual abilities were studied, recruited, or in rare cases, disappeared. The power structure of Erondrachen was built on understanding and controlling echkker. An anomaly like him would draw attention.
Dangerous attention.
"Why are you warning me?" he asked.
Keira shrugged. "Because I know what it's like to want to be invisible, and you just painted a target on your back the size of this courtyard. Whatever you think you're doing, be careful."
She walked away before he could respond, leaving Jheran standing in the doorway with the whispers of dozens of students swirling around him like wind.
Inside, where no one could see, his hands were shaking slightly. Not from fear—from exhilaration. For the first time in either of his lives, he'd stood his ground against people who'd tried to crush him.
And he'd won.
But as he climbed the stairs to his first class, Keira's words echoed in his mind. Questions would come. His family would hear about this—the family that had exiled him to that lonely mansion precisely because he was an embarrassment to the Kingsley name.