The lecture hall emptied slowly, chairs scraping against the stone floor as students drifted out in pairs and groups. Their chatter filled the air, but to Reinhardt, each word carried the weight of ghosts. He packed his notes in silence, feeling the pull of eyes that weren't really there—eyes from another lifetime.
"Not staying behind?" Alden's voice cut through, warm but careful, as though testing a fragile thread.
Reinhardt shook his head. "I've had enough for one day."
But fate, as always, had its own sense of timing.
"Elira," someone called near the doorway. She turned, her golden hair catching the afternoon light. Her laughter was light, disarming—but Reinhardt remembered another version of her, standing over his coffin, tears spilling like rain.
She caught his gaze for just a heartbeat. Confusion flickered across her features—then dismissal. She turned back to her circle of friends, a soft scoff escaping her lips. The same scoff he once endured countless times.
Reinhardt exhaled through his nose. Some things never change.
He made for the door, but a figure stepped into his path.
"Still trailing behind, Reinhardt?" The mocking voice belonged to none other than Darius. His posture radiated arrogance, one hand resting on his hip, the other clutching a polished tome. The boy's sharp eyes gleamed with the confidence of someone convinced the world would one day kneel.
Reinhardt's first instinct was silence. In his past life, he had bowed, yielded, let the words cut him until nothing was left. This time, though, he straightened his shoulders.
"Better to trail and learn," Reinhardt said evenly, "than to rush forward and fall into the same pit twice."
Darius blinked. For a moment, confusion flickered—then a cold smile spread. "So, the failure found his tongue."
Tension coiled in the air, drawing attention. Elira glanced back. Alden stood a step behind, uncertain, as though torn between stepping in or letting the scene unfold.
And then—
"That's enough."
Professor Calvus emerged from the shadows of the hall, robes flowing like a tide of authority. His eyes swept the group, lingering briefly on Reinhardt. The same eyes that once inspired him to believe in destiny… before condemning him.
"Darius, Reinhardt," Calvus said, voice firm. "If you must quarrel, do it where swords and spells have meaning, not where knowledge is meant to be shared."
Darius bowed his head, masking irritation with a smirk. Reinhardt simply inclined his head, calm.
But inside, a storm churned.
He had been given a thread—an opportunity. This confrontation could spiral into humiliation, or it could mark the first fracture in the chain of his old fate.
As they dispersed, Alden caught up with him.
"You spoke back," Alden said quietly. "That's… new."
Reinhardt allowed himself a thin smile. "Everything is new."
He glanced up at the academy's towering spires. For others, they symbolised ambition, knowledge, and a future waiting to be claimed. For him, they were reminders of a battlefield already lost once.
This time, though, he wasn't planning on losing.
The echoes of familiar voices followed him down the corridor, each one a shadow of what had been. But Reinhardt walked forward, steady, the thought pulsing in his mind:
I will not repeat the same story.