The morning sun punched through the curtains like it had a personal vendetta against me. I blinked against the harsh light, instantly regretting ever opening my eyes.
"Good morning, Your Grace," Nurse Vivianne said quietly, standing by the bedside with her usual serene smile. She always made me feel like I was one step away from becoming a corpse in a coffin. Maybe that was her subtle way of motivating me.
"Today's the day, Noah. Headmaster Graymoor expects your punctuality at the orientation. No excuses," she said, folding her hands neatly in front of her.
I groaned internally. Orientation. Because what every dying—no, reincarnated—side character needs is a day full of reminders that he's weak and unwanted.
I sat up slowly, every muscle in protest. My body still felt like it had been run over by that proverbial "truck" (which, let's be honest, was less proverbial and more literal). The room spun briefly, and I caught the edge of the bedside table before collapsing back down.
Vivianne handed me a glass of water. "Take it slow. You're not as young as you look, and the Academy is no place for faint hearts."
"Yeah, I'm sure I'll fit right in," I muttered, forcing a weak smile.
Outside, the carriage awaited. The air was cool and smelled faintly of rain, mixed with the sharp scent of pine from the surrounding forest. The cobblestone road to Cyran Academy was uneven, and every bump in the ride sent fresh jolts through my fragile body.
The carriage ride was surprisingly silent, except for the occasional clop of hooves and the soft murmur of the driver to himself. I watched the landscape roll by, the world outside moving too fast for someone stuck in a body that felt like molasses.
Cyran Academy loomed ahead, a castle-like structure of stone and magic, with towering spires that seemed to pierce the clouds themselves. Flags bearing the sigils of noble houses fluttered in the breeze. My own house's sigil, the chained serpent, hung on a weathered banner near the entrance — a symbol I was still struggling to live up to.
The grand doors opened with a deep, echoing creak, revealing a hall filled with students in various states of anticipation, dread, and boredom. I took a deep breath and reminded myself: You're Noah Drakopoulos now. Third son of a minor noble house. Frail, sickly, and mostly irrelevant. But not this time.
Headmaster Dorian Graymoor stood near the entrance, a tall figure clad in black robes that seemed to absorb the light. His silver hair shimmered like starlight, and his piercing eyes scanned the crowd as if reading every thought.
His gaze landed on me, and I felt a chill crawl up my spine. "Noah Drakopoulos," he said, voice cold and commanding. "Your presence is expected at the orientation. Do not make me regret it."
"Yes, Headmaster," I replied, voice steadier than I felt.
The orientation hall was vast, with high vaulted ceilings painted with constellations and arcane symbols that glowed faintly in the dim light. Rows of seats filled with nobles and commoners alike made me feel small — like a speck of dust in a library filled with ancient tomes.
Professor Elira Thorne stood at the front. She wore her usual blindfold, an odd sight that still unnerved me. Her voice echoed through the hall as she began the introduction.
"Welcome to Cyran Academy, where the gifted gather to hone their magic and mastery. Here, your lineage, talent, and willpower will be tested."
She paused, as if sensing my eyes on her. "Mr. Drakopoulos, your condition is well-known. We expect you to work harder than most. Weakness is a luxury we cannot afford."
I clenched my fists under my cloak. Weakness wasn't just a luxury — it was a death sentence.
Next came the introductions from my classmates. One by one, they stood and spoke their names, houses, and specializations. My pulse quickened with every name and every proud declaration of elemental mastery.
Silas Dregan, lightning mage and the obvious heir to House Dregan's military legacy, sneered as he caught my eye. "Drakopoulos, huh? Didn't expect the third son to drag himself here."
I gave him a dry smile. "Well, the 'third son' usually gets to enjoy the perks of invisibility. I'm just here to ruin that tradition."
Lyra Windmere's bright voice was a relief. "I'm looking forward to working with everyone. Even you, Noah."
I almost choked on my tongue. Even Lyra — Aeron's best friend, no less — had to say my name with a tinge of pity.
Kara Voss was next. The northern noble's reputation preceded her — rumors of demon blood and icy magic. Her eyes skimmed the room, landing briefly on me with unreadable expression before she turned away.
Bennett Gorran, the cheerful enchantment prodigy, gave me a grin. "Hey, Drakopoulos! Heard you're the guy with the 'interesting' family curse."
"Yeah," I said, forcing a grin. "That's me. Deliverer of family disappointments since birth."
Celia Rae whispered something about forbidden books and healing magics. I was intrigued but cautious. Not everyone loved forbidden knowledge.
Ren O'Shae, the silent swordsman, just nodded once and sat down. No one knew much about him. No magic, but he moved like a shadow.
Orientation dragged on with rules, schedules, and introductions to the school's history. I tried to focus, but my body kept protesting, and my mind wandered to the growing list of problems:
How to survive this place without dying
Avoiding my family's contempt
Dodging political assassinations, because apparently, noble life doubles as a real-life game of who dies first.
Lunch was a strange affair. The great hall buzzed with chatter and clinking silverware. Long tables filled with students ate and plotted.
Silas chose to sit next to me — which felt more like an ambush.
"So, third son, what's your secret? Plan to just suck up to the right people until someone saves you?" His tone was dripping with condescension.
I bit back a snarky reply. Instead, I said, "Actually, I'm just here to get through the day without embarrassing myself."
He laughed—a sharp, unpleasant sound—and said, "Good luck with that."
Across the hall, I spotted Aeron Valestar laughing with Lyra and some others. The "Chosen Flame" already seemed like he owned the place.
The afternoon brought combat training with Master Halwin, an old war veteran whose gruff voice and sharp eyes commanded respect.
"Noah Drakopoulos, you're here to learn, not to curl up in a corner and wait for death," Halwin barked. "Stand up straight or I'll make sure you regret it."
I stood, shaking slightly but determined. He had no idea that death was already on speed dial for me.
The other students paired off for sparring, sparks flying from their weapons and magic. When my turn came, I barely managed to lift my sword. The weight felt unnatural in my hands. Silas smirked again.
A hit from his lightning-imbued blade sent a shock through my arm, and I stumbled back, tasting blood.
"Pathetic," he sneered.
But I stayed standing. Barely.
By the time evening rolled around, I was exhausted. The sickroom felt like a sanctuary as Nurse Vivianne tended to my wounds and murmured words of healing.
"You're stronger than you think, Noah. But the Academy will break you if you're not careful."
I nodded, unsure whether to feel encouraged or terrified.
As I lay in bed that night, the chained serpent sigil etched into the wall beside me caught my eye. Its cold, unyielding gaze reminded me of the burden I carried — the curse of my bloodline, the shadow of my sickness, and the knowledge of the death that awaited me if I wasn't careful.
But I had something else now. Something no one else had.
Knowledge.
The future was written in ink and shadow, but maybe I could rewrite the story.
Tomorrow, the real challenge began.
End of Chapter 2