By the third week, the Academy's morning bells had become background noise. Ethan sat in his usual Silver section seat, poking at his porridge. His eyes drifted to Prince Alexander three tables away in the Gold section.
The prince looked perfect. Golden hair styled just right. Violet eyes bright. Admirers hanging on his every word.
But Ethan knew better.
He'd learned to spot the signs in his old life, when it was already too late. The smile that didn't reach Alexander's eyes. The half-second pause before he laughed.
"You're doing it again," Chayton said, dropping his tray across from him. Chayton was Silver section too. A Lord's manor caretaker's son. The only one who talked to him at meals.
"Doing what?"
"Staring at the prince like you expect him to remember you from somewhere."
Ethan forced himself to focus on his food. "Just thinking about rankings."
"Right." Chayton didn't sound convinced. "Most people think about girls or exams. You think about rank politics and glare at royalty."
Before Ethan could reply, Alexander stood abruptly. His chair scraped against stone. The hall's chatter died as every gaze turned to his pale face and unfocused violet eyes.
"Your Highness?" Cassia Flameheart leaned toward him. Concern creased her brow. "Are you alright?"
Alexander blinked slowly. Eyes still not focused. "Of course. Just... a long night studying."
He sat again, but his movements were too precise. Like every action took conscious effort. Like he was afraid of what might happen if he let go.
Ethan's chest tightened. He remembered this. The flickers. The moments when Alexander shifted into something else.
Just for a second.
Exclusive combat training took place in the armory. A wide hall lined with weapon racks and chalk-marked sparring rings. The air reeked of oiled leather, sweat, and steel.
Thirtieth in rank made Ethan just eligible for this training.
Master Donovan shuffled between sparring circles. His unassuming posture hid observant eyes. Ethan kept his movements deliberately sloppy, letting his opponent land a few hits.
"Better," Donovan said as he passed. "Cole, your footwork's improving. Mind your distance."
Ethan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Every compliment felt like prodding from this man.
Across the room, Prince Alexander sparred with Raymond Blackthorn in the advanced ring. Their movements were flawless. Graceful. Controlled. Years of high-level training poured into every step.
But something was wrong again.
Each strike from Alexander carried too much weight. Aggression in the way his sword cut. Savagery. When Raymond stumbled, the prince pressed his advantage with ferocity that startled other students. His violet eyes had darkened. Almost black.
"Your Highness," the instructor called. Unease threading her voice. "Perhaps a break..."
Alexander's blade swept in a sharp arc. Nearly missing Raymond's throat. The whistle of steel sliced the air. For a heartbeat, Ethan swore he saw dark flames flicker along the edge.
It's getting worse.
"I'm fine," Alexander said. His voice was deeper. "We're just sparring."
He lowered his sword. Hand trembling. The flames were gone, but confusion remained in his eyes.
Around the ring, students whispered. Some looked excited. Others scared. None of them understood what they were really seeing.
The beginning of the end.
Ethan watched Raymond back away from the prince. Smart boy. In his old life, Raymond would become a monster. But right now, he was just a teenager who'd nearly had his throat opened by a friend.
"That's enough for today," the instructor said firmly.
Alexander nodded slowly. "Yes. Of course. Thank you."
He walked toward the weapon racks. Each step measured. Careful. The other students gave him space without realizing why.
Ethan caught Donovan watching him watch the prince. Those gray eyes missed nothing. Filed everything away for later use.
Too much interest. He's starting to see the pattern.
The training session ended with whispers and sideways glances. Students filed out in clusters, voices low. Alexander walked alone.
**********
Advanced Magical Theory was held in the Academy's tallest tower. Reserved for the top forty students. As Ethan climbed the spiral stairs, dread mixed with anticipation. Kaleb and Maya wouldn't be here. Rankings had relegated them to general theory, struggling with old books while this tower shaped the kingdom's elite.
The classroom was smaller than expected. Arranged in a half-circle around Professor Thorne's desk. Sunbeams reached through tall windows. Shelves filled with ancient tomes, their bindings cracked with age.
Professor Thorne stood at the front. Every inch composed. Silver hair styled precisely. Posture stiff with authority.
He watched them settle before speaking in a clear voice.
"Magic is evolution," he began. Eyes sweeping the room. "Each generation reaches farther. What your ancestors feared, you will master. What terrifies you today will be mundane for your children."
Ethan kept his face blank. His stomach turned. He'd heard this lecture before. It sounded visionary. But now, he heard the hunger underneath.
"The old ways," Thorne continued, "limit us with fear. Fear of change. Fear of power. But power is not evil. It is nature. It must be embraced. Refined."
A student raised her hand. "But some magic is forbidden because it's dangerous?"
"Dangerous to whom?" Thorne's smile was razor-sharp. "The weak? The unworthy? Power itself isn't evil. Only weak minds fear it."
Ethan's fists clenched under the desk. He wanted to shout. To warn them this was how it began. With polished words that made damnation sound like evolution. But not yet. Not without proof.
Two rows ahead, Prince Alexander sat unnaturally still. Too still. His lips moved soundlessly.
"Prince Alexander," Thorne said suddenly. "You seem deep in thought. Care to share your perspective?"
Alexander's head snapped up. For a moment, his eyes were completely black. Then they faded back to violet.
"I was just thinking about limits," he said. Voice slightly wrong. "How they hold us back."
"Excellent. And how do you propose we overcome them?"
"By accepting what we really are." Alexander's smile was cold. "By stopping the pretense that we're the same as everyone else."
Murmurs around the room. Some approving. Others uncertain.
Ethan felt sick.
After class, he lingered. Pretending to sort notes. Most students had gone when Alexander rose, still moving like a man afraid of himself.
"Your Highness," Ethan called. Voice casual. "How are you finding the lectures?"
Alexander turned. For a moment, his eyes struggled to focus. "The class?"
"Professor Thorne. His perspective is... unique."
"Yes," Alexander said. His smile was too bright. "He understands power. What it really means."
The way he said 'power' made Ethan's skin crawl. It didn't sound like Alexander at all.
"Are you sleeping well?" Ethan asked before he could stop himself.
The prince's mask slipped. Just a moment. Behind it, something vulnerable cracked through. "Sometimes I hear voices. At night. Is that... normal?"
Ethan's pulse hammered. This was it. The moment to reach him.
But how do you tell someone they're being possessed?
"That happens," Ethan said softly. "Stress. Lack of sleep. The Academy's overwhelming."
"Yes," Alexander murmured. Eyes fading again. "Overwhelming. That must be it."
He turned and left. Steps measured but unsteady. Ethan remained in the dim classroom, surrounded by silence and dust.
That's when he heard it.
A whisper.
Careful there.
Not loud. But very, very real.
He'd wanted to help. To stop this before it started. But Alexander wasn't ready.
And pushing too hard might only drive him deeper into the thing waiting to take him.
Outside the tower, evening air hit his face like a slap. Students moved between buildings, heading to dinner or study sessions. Normal Academy life continuing while something dark grew in its heart.
Ethan walked slowly back to the dormitories. His mind raced with possibilities. Plans that might work. Approaches that could reach Alexander before it was too late.
In his room, Kaleb was studying by candlelight. Simple magical theory texts spread across his desk. His face was tight with concentration.
"How was advanced class?" Kaleb asked without looking up.
"Educational," Ethan said.
"Learn anything useful?"
I learned that we're running out of time. I learned that the corruption is spreading faster than I thought. I learned that every day I wait makes it harder to save anyone.
"Always something new," Ethan said instead.
He lay on his narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. More chances to slip up. More opportunities to save people who didn't know they needed saving.
But tonight, he'd heard the enemy's voice, and he knew that time was running out faster than he'd feared.
Alexander was slipping away, day by day.
Ethan would wait and watch. But not for much longer.
Because when the prince finally fell, everyone else would follow, and this time, Ethan had to be ready.
This time, he had to win.