The library's third floor was quiet during lunch hour. Most students preferred the bustling cafeteria, trading gossip and forming alliances over mediocre food. Elias had never been one for crowds, not in his first life and certainly not now.
He'd come here with purpose. The outline was specific: meet Lyra Ashwyn, scholarship student, brilliant but isolated. In his memories of the original timeline, she'd become a renowned researcher, published breakthrough papers in temporal magic theory that made professors jealous. But getting there had cost her. Years of isolation, poverty grinding her down, discrimination from wealthy classmates who saw scholarship students as charity cases.
This time, maybe he could ease that path. Make things... less awful.
He found her in the corner alcove, exactly where he remembered she'd spent most of freshman year. A fortress of books surrounded her—advanced magical theory texts that most freshmen wouldn't touch for another year. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she hunched over her notes with the kind of intensity that suggested the world could end and she wouldn't notice.
Elias grabbed a book on mana circulation patterns from a nearby shelf and settled into the chair across from her. Not too close. Not threatening. Just... present.
She didn't look up.
Five minutes passed. Elias actually read his book, occasionally glancing her way. She was working through something complex, her brow furrowed as she scribbled calculations in margins. The scratch of her pen was the only sound besides the distant murmur from floors below.
"You're staring," she said suddenly, not looking up.
Elias blinked. "Sorry. Just impressed. That's third-year material you're working through."
"And?" Still not looking at him. Her voice was flat, guarded.
"And nothing. It's impressive."
Now she did look up. Her eyes were a striking green, sharp and assessing. She studied him for a long moment, and Elias felt that familiar weight of being evaluated, judged, categorized. He'd forgotten how intense Lyra could be when she actually paid attention to someone.
"Elias Thorne," she said finally. It wasn't a question. "Ranked fifteenth after midterms. Predicted to be bottom tier. Either you're a late bloomer or you've been hiding."
"Can't it be both?"
The ghost of a smile touched her lips before vanishing. "Maybe. What do you want?"
Direct. He'd forgotten that too. Lyra didn't waste time on social niceties, not with people she didn't know. Growing up poor in a world that equated wealth with worth had taught her to cut through bullshit quickly.
"Nothing," Elias said honestly. "Just studying. Library's quiet up here."
"It's quiet because no one else comes here. They're all too busy networking or whatever they call gossip these days." She gestured vaguely toward the stairwell. "So why are you really here?"
Elias considered his answer carefully. In the original timeline, he'd been too intimidated to approach her. She'd seemed untouchable somehow, brilliant and fierce and completely out of his league. But now, with seven years of perspective, he could see the truth beneath: she was lonely. Defensive. Expecting rejection.
"Honestly? I got tired of people asking about the duel with Marcus. Everyone wants to know how I did it, what my secret is, whether I'll join their faction." He shrugged. "Gets old."
Something shifted in her expression. Not quite softening, but... recognition, maybe. She knew what it felt like to be singled out, talked about, reduced to a single defining characteristic.
"The duel was impressive," she said, returning to her notes. "Strategic. You fought like you knew every move he'd make before he made it."
Elias's chest tightened. Too perceptive. "Lucky reads, mostly."
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. "Lucky timing at orientation too? With the riser collapse?"
"You noticed that?"
"I notice a lot of things." She made another note, then paused. "My scholarship depends on maintaining top marks. That means paying attention to competition. You went from predicted failure to mid-tier in half a semester. Either you suddenly got good at magic, or..."
"Or?"
She met his eyes again. "Or you were never bad at it in the first place. You just got better at showing it."
He couldn't tell if she was suspicious or just curious. Maybe both. Lyra's mind worked differently than most people's—she saw patterns, connections, probabilities. It made her brilliant. It also made her dangerous to someone with secrets.
"Theory question," Elias said, pivoting. "You're working through resonance harmonics, right? Third-year material?"
"Advanced third-year, actually." Pride crept into her voice despite herself. "Professor Aldric mentioned it in lecture and I got curious. The textbook explanation seemed incomplete."
"Incomplete how?"
And just like that, she was off. Talking about magical theory with an enthusiasm that transformed her face. Her guard didn't drop completely—Lyra was too smart for that—but it lowered enough that Elias could see the person underneath. Brilliant, yes. But also excited, curious, alive when discussing magic in ways that went beyond rote memorization.
He asked questions, offered observations from his future knowledge disguised as fresh insights. Sometimes she agreed. Sometimes she challenged him, and her challenges were sharp enough that he had to actually think through his answers.
It was... nice. Different than interactions with Finn's nervous genius or Damien's competitive intensity. Lyra treated ideas like puzzles to solve together rather than battles to win.
They talked through the entire lunch period and into the start of afternoon classes. Elias's stomach growled. Lyra's did too, and she laughed—actually laughed—when they both realized they'd skipped eating.
"We should probably go," she said, gathering her books with practiced efficiency. "Can't afford to miss History of Magic. Professor Thane marks tardiness."
"Right." Elias stood, then hesitated. "This was good. The discussion, I mean. Maybe we could... I don't know, study together sometime? If you want."
She studied him again with those sharp green eyes. Weighing, calculating, deciding whether he was worth the risk of trusting even slightly.
"Maybe," she said finally. "If you can keep up."
"I'll try my best."
She smiled—a real one this time, small but genuine. "See you around, Thorne."
"Elias."
"Elias," she repeated, testing the name. Then she was gone, books balanced perfectly in her arms as she navigated the stairs with the confidence of someone who'd learned to carry her entire world on her back.
Elias watched her go, System interface flickering to life in his peripheral vision:
[RELATIONSHIP ESTABLISHED: LYRA ASHWYN]
[CURRENT STATUS: NEUTRAL (CAUTIOUSLY INTERESTED)]
[POTENTIAL: SIGNIFICANT]
[NOTE: SUBJECT DEMONSTRATES HIGH PATTERN RECOGNITION. RECOMMEND CAREFUL INTERACTION.]
The last line made him pause. System warning about Lyra's perceptiveness. She'd already noticed too much—the riser save, the duel, his rapid improvement. If anyone could piece together that something was wrong with Elias Thorne's timeline, it would be her.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe having someone who could understand, eventually, wouldn't be the worst thing.
He dismissed the interface and headed for History of Magic, arriving with thirty seconds to spare. Professor Thane gave him a look that suggested thirty seconds wasn't enough, but marked him present anyway.
Elias barely heard the lecture. His mind kept drifting back to the library, to Lyra's fierce intelligence and guarded smile. In the original timeline, she'd suffered alone. Discrimination, poverty, the crushing weight of being brilliant but broke in a world designed for the wealthy.
This time, she wouldn't have to be alone. Not if he could help it.
The System had marked her potential as significant. But Elias didn't need a notification to tell him that. He'd known for seven years that Lyra Ashwyn was significant. She'd proven it through sheer determination and brilliance despite every obstacle the world threw at her.
Now, maybe, with his help, she wouldn't need to fight quite so hard.
He just had to be careful. Lyra was too smart to fool for long. Too perceptive to miss the inconsistencies that even his best acting couldn't hide. Eventually, she'd ask questions he couldn't answer without lying or revealing everything.
What would he do then?
He didn't know. But that was a problem for future-Elias. Present-Elias had just made a connection with someone who, in another life, had been important. Who could be important again, differently this time.
That felt like progress.
After class, he found Finn in their usual spot near the workshop, tinkering with some enchantment project. His friend looked up with a grin that was still slightly nervous despite months of friendship.
"How was lunch?" Finn asked. "Saw you weren't in the cafeteria."
"Library. Met someone. Lyra Ashwyn?"
Finn's eyes widened. "The scholarship genius? Everyone talks about her—brilliant but kind of scary. They say she made Professor Rendell look stupid during Elemental Theory."
"She's intense," Elias admitted. "But not scary. Just... focused."
"Did you actually have a conversation with her? People say she doesn't talk to anyone."
"We talked about magical theory. She's working through third-year material already."
Finn whistled low. "Wow. And she didn't bite your head off?"
"Why would she?"
"I don't know, she just seems like she doesn't have patience for people who aren't as smart as her. Which is basically everyone."
Elias frowned. That wasn't fair to Lyra, but he understood where the perception came from. She didn't suffer fools, and most students probably approached her with either mockery or fake friendship designed to use her intelligence for their own gain.
"She's just guarded," Elias said. "Can't blame her. Scholarship students don't get treated well here."
"True." Finn looked uncomfortable. His own family wasn't wealthy either, though not quite scholarship-level poor. "I heard some seniors making fun of her clothes last week. She acted like she didn't care, but..."
"But she did."
"Yeah."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Finn's hands working automatically on his enchantment while Elias processed the day. First real conversation with Lyra: success. Connection made: tentative but real. Suspicion level: manageable but present.
Timeline changes accumulating: Marcus expelled (major deviation), festival disaster prevented (massive deviation), social dynamics shifted (moderate deviation), now Lyra interaction starting months earlier than original timeline (minor but significant).
System warning still echoed in his mind: timeline stability at 92%. Better than before but still precarious. Every change rippled outward, creating new possibilities and new problems.
Was befriending Lyra earlier the right move? Would it help her avoid some suffering, or just create different problems?
No way to know. He could only move forward, try to do more good than harm, and hope that was enough.
"Earth to Elias?" Finn waved a hand in front of his face. "You zoned out there."
"Sorry. Just thinking."
"About Lyra Ashwyn?" Finn's grin turned teasing. "She is pretty, in that intimidating genius way."
"It's not like that."
"Sure it's not." Finn laughed. "Whatever you say, man. Just don't let Damien hear you've been networking without him. He takes this stuff seriously."
Right. Damien. The life debt. The growing alliance. Another complication to manage.
But also another connection. Another person who might help when the next disaster came. Because there would be more disasters. The Dungeon Collapse in 134 days. Whatever came after that. An endless parade of catastrophes he'd have to prevent or manage or survive.
He couldn't do it alone. He'd tried that in the original timeline and failed spectacularly.
This time, he had allies. Finn. Damien. And now, maybe, Lyra.
If he didn't screw it up by being too obvious, too different, too suspiciously competent for someone who was supposed to be a bottom-tier failure.
Walking that line—being good enough to matter but not so good it raised questions—was exhausting. But necessary. At least for now.
At least until he figured out what to do about Lyra's sharp eyes and sharper mind, both now focused on the mystery of Elias Thorne's sudden transformation.
He'd have to be more careful around her. And yet, paradoxically, more genuine. Lyra could spot lies like a wolf scenting blood. If he tried to manipulate her, she'd know. If he hid too much, she'd dig.
The only path forward was careful honesty. Not the whole truth—never that—but enough truth that the lies mixed in would pass her scrutiny.
A dangerous game. But then again, everything about this second life was dangerous.
At least with Lyra, the danger came with the possibility of genuine friendship. Maybe more, eventually.
That was worth the risk.
Probably.