The dream came in fragments.
Flickering city lights. Cold rain pooling on pavement. The rhythmic sway of a train. A cracked phone screen buzzing with missed calls. A voice—distant, familiar—calling a name that didn't belong in this world.
He didn't remember what the voice said. Just the feeling it left behind.
Lonely. Tired. Something unresolved.
Kael Vire awoke with his heart pounding and the taste of smog in his mouth, like a memory from another life had slipped through the cracks and settled behind his teeth.
The room was still. Dim light filtered in through the high windows of his quarters, casting long shadows across stone walls etched in sigils. For a brief moment, he couldn't tell whether he was in a palace or a prison.
It wasn't the first time he'd woken like this. It probably wouldn't be the last.
He sat up slowly, stretching each limb like it didn't belong to him—which, to be fair, it technically didn't. The body was lean, stronger than his old one. Better. It moved with inherited grace, but it wasn't built for comfort. Just power.
House Vire didn't raise comfort.
He wandered toward the bathroom, brushing his teeth with a mint-frosted spellcube and staring into the mirror like it might answer something. It didn't. His reflection looked pristine, as always—sharp gray eyes, disheveled dark hair, and the kind of face that looked like it could deliver a threat while sipping wine.
There were bags under his eyes, though. That was new.
The drone arrived while he was rinsing.
It zipped through the enchantment-locked door like it had clearance to assassinate him, hovered at eye-level, and projected a sigil onto the mirror in sharp, military red.
[VIRE MANDATE – DUEL ATTENDANCE CONFIRMED – 16:00 AST – NO EXCEPTIONS]
Kael spat into the sink and squinted at the glowing message.
"You know," he said to the drone, "some people send breakfast with their orders."
The drone beeped once in what he chose to interpret as disdain, then zipped away.
[Reminder: Skipping today's duel will be seen as House dereliction.][Reminder: Dereliction leads to consequences.]
The System chimed in as he pulled on his uniform.
"Thanks," Kael muttered, "but I already have a dad."
[Your father has filed five formal concerns about your behavior this semester. One referred to you as a 'statistical anomaly in progress.']
"Aw," he said, buttoning the crimson trim of his collar. "He does care."
By the time he arrived at the arena, the crowd was already there.
House Vire's private dueling platform jutted out from the side of Tower Ring 4, surrounded by crimson banners and cold metal seats arranged in arcs, like a Roman coliseum had fallen in love with a circuit board.
Students lined the perimeter—half in uniforms, half in armor, most looking bored. But not uninterested.
Kael was early. He hated being early.
He let his footsteps echo.
They noticed him immediately. Of course they did.
A few turned to whisper. Others glanced up from their data-slates. One instructor raised an eyebrow and made a note.
Kael gave them a lazy, two-finger salute and strolled to his place at the center of the ring. He could feel the tension rise like heat from the floor.
His opponent was already there.
Icarus Renn.
Technically a Vire, but lower-blooded—born from a politically unfortunate branch. A good fighter, sharp with his words, always looking for cracks in the structure.
And right now, Icarus looked like a man handed the chance of a lifetime.
He bowed stiffly. "My lord."
Kael smiled pleasantly. "Let's not get formal. We're just here to hurt each other."
The proctor, a floating orb inscribed with surveillance runes, hovered forward.
"Begin when ready," it intoned, and the aether-barrier shimmered into place—cutting off sound, magic interference, and all escape.
Kael rolled his shoulders. "Alright," he said, mostly to himself, "let's not rewrite history too much."
The first time Kael fought Icarus—in the original storyline—he'd gone in hard, made an example of him, and walked away with blood on his boots and a smug grin. It had been the beginning of the end: the moment the other Houses decided he was too cruel to keep around.
Not this time.
Kael ducked the first swing. Parried the second. Let the third glance off his bracer with a flourish.
Icarus came in fast—he was better than Kael remembered. Or maybe Kael had just gotten rusty pretending to be harmless.
But speed was never the issue.
Perception was.
So Kael made sure everyone watching saw exactly what they were supposed to: a distracted heir, slightly off his rhythm, barely deflecting.
The fourth strike grazed his side.
The fifth, he didn't dodge at all.
He hit the floor with a controlled stumble, rolled once, and stayed down long enough for the silence to set in.
Then he lifted his hand and called it.
"I yield."
The proctor scanned for signs of deceit, found none, and ended the duel.
A single chime echoed as the barrier fell.
No one clapped.
Icarus lowered his weapon slowly, unsure of what had just happened.
Kael stood with a slight wince and gave him a two-second nod—respectful, not submissive. Enough to make people question what they'd seen. Not enough to give anything away.
"You've improved," Kael said under his breath as he passed.
"I didn't hit you that hard," Icarus muttered back.
Kael smiled. "And I didn't fight back."
He left Icarus blinking in confusion and strode out of the ring.
The crowd didn't know what to do.
Kael Vire, former apex predator of House Vire, had just… yielded.
Veyra Myrrh was waiting outside the exit like she'd known exactly when he'd show up.
He didn't slow.
"You looked bored in there," she said, matching his pace with practiced indifference.
"I was trying something new," Kael said, flexing his fingers. "It's called humility. Comes in limited quantities."
"People are going to talk."
"They already are."
"You handed a win to a lesser-blooded student in front of half the house."
"Consider it a gift to House morale."
She grabbed his arm—not hard, but enough to stop him.
"You're drawing attention, Kael."
"I used to love attention."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
He met her eyes. Cool silver, no warmth, but something like concern buried under three layers of disapproval.
He softened just a little. "Relax. I'm not broken. I'm just… sidestepping fate."
"You don't believe in fate."
"I didn't," he said. "Then I started dreaming about rain and trains and dying on a Tuesday."
She let go of his arm.
"Don't get soft."
"I'm not soft," he said. "I'm slippery."
Later that night, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the strip of gauze across his ribs. It wasn't necessary—he'd had the healer runes patch him up before leaving the arena—but it helped sell the image.
In the mirror, he looked half-destroyed.
Good.
He liked the idea that someone might look at him now and wonder if they'd missed something. If the cracks were always there. If the heir of House Vire had simply… worn thin.
[Plot Deviation Detected – Event Outcome: Subverted][Status: Moderate Divergence]
The System finally broke its silence.
"Bit late," Kael muttered.
[You're becoming hard to predict.]
"Flattered."
[Your father sent an updated status request to the Family Nexus. Shall I forge your recovery logs?]
"You forge things?"
[I've adapted.]
Kael paused.
"That makes one of us."
He stepped out onto his balcony, letting the cool sky-wind bite through his shirt. Far below, Astralis shimmered with artificial starlight and energy conduits that pulsed like blood through veins of stone.
This world was alive.
And the story—whatever this thing was he'd fallen into—was watching.
[Name Recognition Error: --REDACTED-- has been detected.]
The glitch text flickered again. Just like last time.
Kael's jaw tightened.
"Don't," he said aloud, voice low. "Don't call me that."
The System paused.
[Acknowledged.]
Kael leaned on the railing, eyes fixed on the glowing ring of towers in the distance.
"I used to be no one," he said quietly. "Now I'm someone. And everyone wants that someone to break."
He didn't know who brought him here. Or why.
But this time, he wasn't going to be the one who broke first.