Panic seized me in its icy grip. It was a raw, primal terror that clawed its way up my throat, choking off the scream that was building in my chest. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor, my back sliding down the cold wall beneath the mirror. I stared at my—at Lucian's—reflection, the silver-haired stranger mimicking my horrified expression perfectly.
This couldn't be real. It was a hallucination. A stress-induced dream brought on by too many late nights and a diet consisting of caffeine and regret. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my new, unfamiliar palms into them. Wake up, Aiden. Wake up. You're in your crappy apartment. The monitor is still on. You need to get ready for your morning shift.
I took a deep breath, held it for a count of ten, and opened my eyes again.
Nothing had changed. The opulent room, the golden sunlight, the silver-haired boy in the mirror—it was all still there, stubbornly, terrifyingly real. I pinched the skin on my arm, hard. A sharp sting of pain flared, real and undeniable.
Not a dream.
The implications of that simple fact crashed down on me like a tidal wave. I wasn't Aiden Verne anymore. I was Lucian Greyfall. I was inside the world of Crimson Destiny. And according to the story I had obsessively read, I was on a collision course with a short, brutal, and meaningless death.
A wave of nausea rolled through me. I was going to die. Not in some far-off, hypothetical future, but soon. Betrayed by the very person I was supposed to be loyal to. My entire existence in this world was scripted to be a tragedy.
"No," I whispered, the voice that came out smoother and more refined than my own. "No, no, no."
I scrambled to my feet, my mind racing, desperately searching for some anchor in this new reality. If this world was real, then its rules had to be real, too. Mana, affinities, Mana Cores… I needed to know where I stood. In the novel, characters could perceive their own status by looking inward, focusing their consciousness on the wellspring of their power. It wasn't a game screen, but a form of magical self-awareness.
Closing my eyes, I tried to emulate the descriptions from the novel. I focused my thoughts inward, searching for that "core" of energy that was supposed to reside within every living being. For a moment, there was nothing but the frantic beating of my heart. Then, I felt it. A faint, gentle warmth in the center of my chest, like a dormant ember.
As I concentrated on that warmth, information bloomed in my mind's eye. It wasn't text on a screen, but an innate, intuitive understanding, as if I were reading a page from my own soul.
Name: Lucian Greyfall
Age: 17
Mana Core: Awakened Core (Low-Tier)
Mana Affinity: Shadow
Innate Talent: [Undiscovered]
Skills:
Greyfall Family Swordsmanship (Basic)
Mana Control (Novice)
Shadow Veil (Novice)
The confirmation was like a death sentence carved into my very being. It was all real. I was Lucian. My Mana Core was at the "Awakened" rank, the bare minimum for any student at a prestigious academy, but nothing special. And my affinity… Shadow. A rare and often misunderstood affinity, perfect for a villain's lackey who skulks in the darkness. The skills were a pathetic testament to the original Lucian's laziness and over-reliance on his family name.
But then my eyes caught on one line: Innate Talent: [Undiscovered].
What did that mean? In Crimson Destiny, Lucian Greyfall had no special talents. He was a thoroughly mediocre wizard and an even worse swordsman. Was this something new? A change in the script because I was here? Or was it something the original Lucian had never bothered to find?
A tiny, fragile seed of hope took root in the barren wasteland of my despair. A chance. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't completely doomed.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my skull. I clutched my head, groaning as a flood of foreign memories—Lucian's memories—assaulted me. They weren't a complete life story, but disjointed fragments, colored by arrogance and insecurity.
A memory of his father, a stern, disappointed man, telling him he would never live up to the Greyfall name…
A memory of first meeting Damien Vrael, being captivated by his charm and power, feeling a desperate need for his approval…
A memory of the Aldren Royal Academy, its towering spires and floating mana-lit courtyards. The faces of other students, a mix of fear and disdain directed at him, Damien's shadow…
The influx of memories was disorienting, but it gave me context. I was currently in my dorm room at the Aldren Royal Academy. Today was just another day of classes. The plot to frame the hero hadn't begun yet. I had time. Not much, but it wasn't zero.
I pushed myself up, using a finely carved bedpost for support. My fear hadn't vanished, but it was now mingled with a desperate, burning resolve. I was not the original Lucian Greyfall. I was Aiden Verne, a reader who knew the ending. I would not walk that same pathetic path. I would not be Damien's pawn. I would not die a dog's death.
My first priority was survival. And in this world, survival meant power. I needed to get stronger. I needed to understand my own abilities, starting with that "Undiscovered" talent.
I walked over to the grand window and pushed it open. The air that flowed in was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of damp earth and something sweet, like blooming night-lilies. My breath caught in my chest. The view was breathtaking.
The academy was built on a series of floating islands, connected by bridges of shimmering, solidified light. Majestic towers of white stone reached for a sky where two moons, one silver and one a faint, ethereal blue, were just beginning to fade against the morning sun. Below, students in elegant uniforms walked through lush, green courtyards, their figures small from this height. Some practiced casting spells, creating small orbs of light or gusts of wind in their hands. The entire scene was bathed in a soft, magical glow, a world painted in mana.
It was beautiful. And it was deadly. Every single person down there was a potential threat or a future casualty in the epic, bloody tale of Crimson Destiny.
I rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window pane. For seventeen years on Earth, I had lived a life devoid of purpose, a gray, monotonous existence where I felt like a spectator. I had wished for something more, for a life that mattered.
The irony was so thick I could choke on it. I had gotten my wish. I was now a character in a grand, world-spanning epic.
The problem was, I was cast as the villain's disposable sidekick.
"I will survive," I swore to the two moons in the sky, my voice a low, determined whisper. "I don't care about the hero or the demon king. I don't care about the fate of the world. I will live. And I will do it on my own terms."
My declaration hung in the air, a silent promise to myself. In a world of heroes and villains, I would be neither. I would be a survivor. The shadow that learned to wield its own darkness.