The summons came at dinner.
A Bronze section student approached Ethan's table with nervous steps. "Master Donovan requests your presence in his office. Immediately."
Chayton looked up from his stew. "What did you do now?"
"Nothing." nothing to tell Chayton at least.
Maya looked at him from across the dining hall. Her golden gaze held questions he couldn't answer. The staff fragment had changed her too. Made her sharper. More aware of the currents flowing beneath everyday life.
Ethan pushed back from the table and stood. His bowl was still half full, bread and cheese were his favorite, but appetite had fled the moment he heard Donovan's name.
The walk to the instructor's office felt long with reluctance he kept going. Stone floors echoed with his footsteps while other students who saw him gave him space without realizing why.
He knows. After what happened with Alexander during training, he has to know.
Donovan's office was at the top of the north tower. Narrow stairs wound upward through different floor corridors and led straight to his door and by the time Ethan reached the heavy oak door, sweat beaded on his forehead.
He knocked twice.
"Enter."
The office was smaller than memory suggested, but he still saw the shelves that lined the wall behind Donovan, packed with books that had seen centuries of use. Two windows were opposite each other, one of which looked out over the academy grounds and the other to the forest behind the Academy. The moonlight just gleaming across the quiet training fields.
Master Donovan sat behind a desk carved from dark wood. His gray eyes watched Ethan as he stepped inside.
"Close the door," Donovan said quietly.
The latch clicked shut as the door thumped to its frame. Ethan turned back to find the master studying him like a puzzle with missing pieces.
"Sit."
Ethan took the chair across from the desk, which was worn smooth from years of usage by countless students who entered this office. As he sat, he kept his hands folded in his lap to hide the trembling.
"In my thirty years of teaching," Donovan began, "I've never seen natural talent like yours."
The words hit like physical blows. Ethan forced his expression to remain neutral. "Thank you, Master."
"Is it natural?" Donovan leaned forward. "Because what I witnessed today defies explanation. You moved like a man with decades of experience. Used techniques that shouldn't exist in a sixteen-year-old's repertoire."
His stomach dropped. "I've always been a fast learner."
"Have you? Because the Valorian Water-Dance isn't something you learn quickly. It took me fifteen years to master that technique. You performed it like breathing."
Careful. Too much knowledge is dangerous.
"I don't know what technique you mean," Ethan said. "I just moved without thinking."
Donovan's smile was sharp as winter steel. "Without thinking. How convenient."
He stood and moved to the window. Moonlight turned his gray hair silver. For a long moment, neither spoke.
"Tell me about your training," Donovan said finally.
"My father taught me the basics. Some of the village guards showed me a few moves." The repeated lies from their first encounter rolled off his tongue. "There was a retired knight who visited when I was younger. Sir Silvus. He gave me lessons when he came to see my father on the king's business."
Donovan turned from the window. "Sir Silvus died twelve years ago. I served with him briefly. Good man. Terrible teacher."
Oh Light!
"Maybe I remembered the name wrong," Ethan said quickly. "It was years ago."
"Was it? Because you just claimed he taught you techniques that weren't developed until after his death." Donovan moved back to the desk. "The Water-Dance was created by Master Aldric five years ago. Silvius never learned it."
The walls felt like they were closing in. Each lie spawned new questions. Each answer dug his grave deeper.
"I must have picked it up somewhere else," Ethan said weakly.
"Must have." Donovan sat down and opened a drawer. From it, he pulled a practice sword unlike any Ethan had seen. The blade was inscribed with runes that extended to the tip of the blade. "Tell me, have you ever seen this technique before?"
The master stood. His movements were different now - loose. The practice sword became an extension of his arm as he flowed through a familiar series of forms,sweeping the air against the invisible attack, only one feet acting as pivot.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat.
He knew those movements. Had practiced them for years in his original life. They were part of the Eternal Void style - a technique Donovan would have developed three years from now after studying ancient texts in the Academy's deepest vaults.
Movements that didn't exist yet until now.
"Interesting," Donovan observed, completing the sequence. "You recognize it."
"No," Ethan said quickly. "I've never…"
"Your eyes widened at the third form. Your breathing changed when I executed the void-step transition." Donovan set the sword on his desk. "You know this style. Which is impossible, because I invented it yesterday."
The silence stretched between them like a taut rope. Ethan's mind raced through explanations, excuses, anything that might preserve his cover.
Nothing came.
"Who are you?" Donovan asked quietly.
"I'm Ethan Cole. Son of Elkar, the royal executioner."
"Are you? Because the boy I remember was competent but unremarkable. Showed promise, but nothing extraordinary." Donovan leaned back in his chair. "This boy sitting before me fights like a master. Knows techniques that don't exist. Ages overnight without explanation."
The fragment against Ethan's ribs pulsed with warmth. He could feel its hunger. Its desire to be used. One touch and he could show Donovan exactly what power looked like.
But the cost would be years of his life and time was already running short.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Ethan said finally.
"The truth would be refreshing." Donovan picked up the rune designed sword again. "But I understand if you're not ready for that conversation."
He moved to a bookshelf and pulled out a leather-bound journal. Its pages were yellow with age. Ancient binding creaked as he opened it.
"This belonged to my great -great-grandfather," Donovan said. "He served as court mage during the demon wars, hundred years ago. Fascinating reading, if you enjoy accounts of impossible things."
Ethan said nothing.
"There's a passage here about temporal displacement. Warriors who appeared with knowledge of future events. Soldiers who fought with weapons that hadn't been forged yet." Donovan's gray eyes found Ethan's face. "My great-grandfather called them anomalies."
The word hit, a surprise, something that yet again confirms the perilous situation Is he in.
He knows. He knows everything.
"That's an interesting story," Ethan managed.
"Isn't it? Because according to this journal, these anomalies appeared when the world was in danger. When catastrophic events threatened to destroy everything." Donovan closed the book gently. "They came back to change the future."
Ethan's hands were shaking now. No amount of willpower could stop them.
"My great-grandfather wrote that these anomalies were humanity's last hope. That they sacrificed everything to save a world that would never know their names." Donovan set the journal aside. "Heroes, he called them."
The silence returned. Heavier now. Weighted with truths that couldn't be spoken.
"I don't know what you want from me," Ethan said.
"I want to help." Donovan's voice was gentle. "Whatever you're here to change, whatever catastrophe you're trying to prevent - you don't have to face it alone."
The words struck deep. For weeks, Ethan had carried the weight of future knowledge by himself. Every choice. Every sacrifice. Every lie told to people he cared about.
"I can't…"
"You can't tell me. I understand." Donovan nodded. "But know this - whoever you really are, whatever brought you here, you have an ally. Someone who believes in what you're doing."
Ethan looked into those gray eyes and saw something unexpected. Acceptance. Trust. The same expression he'd seen in his original life when Donovan had offered him a place in the resistance.
Some things never change.
"What if I told you," Ethan said carefully, "that everything we think we know about the Academy is wrong? That the people we trust are working for something terrible?"
"I'd say that matches what I've observed over the years." Donovan's expression didn't change. "Still, I'd ask what you need from me."
The fragment pulsed against Ethan's ribs. For the first time since his return, he felt something like hope.
"Time," Ethan said. "I need time to gather allies. To prepare for what's coming."
"Then you'll have it." Donovan stood and moved to the door. "But be careful, Ethan Cole. Whatever game you're playing, others are playing too. And some of them have been at it much longer than you think."
As Ethan walked back down the tower stairs, one thought echoed in his mind.
I'm not alone anymore.
It was a dangerous thought. Hope was a luxury he couldn't afford. But as he made his way through empty corridors toward his dormitory, Ethan allowed himself to believe that maybe - just maybe - he had a chance.
The war was coming. But this time, he wouldn't fight it alone.