I don't wait until morning.
If there's one thing my past life taught me, it's that hesitation kills more opportunities than mistakes ever do.
The graveyard sits on the outskirts of town, quiet in the way only old places can be—peaceful on the surface, heavy underneath. I arrive just before dawn, coat pulled tight around me, boots crunching softly over gravel paths worn down by decades of footsteps and neglect.
No ominous chanting. No dramatic thunder.
Just stone, earth, and something old pressing faintly against my senses.
I move with purpose. I already know where to go.
There's a particular corner of the graveyard most people avoid—not because it's cursed, but because it's boring. No famous names. No polished headstones. Just weathered markers and sunken ground, as if the earth itself has been slowly exhaling for centuries.
I kneel and press my palm to the soil.
There it is.
Not power exactly—more like a residue. A lingering echo. Titan blood doesn't scream its presence. It waits.
Carefully, I begin digging.
I don't rush. Every movement is deliberate, methodical. When my shovel strikes something solid, I stop immediately and switch to my hands. Beneath the dirt lies a fragment of stone veined with something faintly luminous—dark, viscous traces trapped inside like amber.
Titan blood.
Not much. Barely enough to be dangerous if mishandled.
Perfect.
I seal it away in a reinforced vial I prepared days ago, etched with symbols that shouldn't mean anything yet—but intent matters more than accuracy at this stage. The glow dims slightly once contained, as if disappointed.
"Sorry," I murmur. "You'll get your moment."
By the time I leave the graveyard, the sun is rising. No alarms. No watchers. Just me, my secret, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing I've just taken my first real step toward magic.
Backupsmore University greets me with brick buildings, trimmed lawns, and an overwhelming sense of adequacy.
It isn't prestigious. It isn't cutting-edge. No one here is rewriting the laws of physics.
Which suits me just fine.
I'm smart—comfortably above average. Not a super genius, not some once-in-a-generation prodigy. But I learn quickly, connect ideas well, and most importantly… I know what I need to learn.
Science. Physics. Chemistry. Biology. Engineering principles. Even philosophy and linguistics.
Magic doesn't exist in isolation.
Glyphs aren't spells—they're systems. Logic layered over power. Symbols that respond to understanding as much as intent.
If I want to survive in the Boiling Isles—if I want to thrive—I need knowledge. Real knowledge. The kind that lets me adapt when things go wrong.
And they will go wrong.
I unpack my things in a modest dorm room and sit on the edge of the bed, letting it all sink in.
University.
A fresh start. A quiet place to grow sharper while the world outside inches closer to its canon events, completely unaware of me.
I smile.
"I'm ready," I whisper to myself.
Ready to learn.Ready to prepare.Ready to take on a future that doesn't know I exist yet.
The Boiling Isles can wait.
When I finally step into that world of magic and monsters, I won't be chasing power blindly.
I'll be armed with knowledge, patience, and a vial of Titan blood hidden carefully away—proof that this life, unlike my last, is one I intend to master.