The first morning at Aurelia Hero Academy started with the smell of burnt toast, the screech of metal trays in the cafeteria, and the quiet panic of students realizing uniforms were not optional. I sighed, leaning against the wall as the lesser mortals scrambled. Ah, modern teenage life. I ruled empires, commanded armies, and now I can't even open a cereal box without disaster looming.
Breakfast was chaos, as expected. Students bumped into one another, spilled milk, and whispered about rankings, rivals, and who had the "best Awakening potential." I observed, sipping what passed for coffee—more like bitter sludge—and let the chaos wash over me. A century of knowledge gave me a clear advantage: humans are predictable. The heroes-in-training? Fragile, ego-driven, and painfully self-important. Perfect fodder.
I scanned the room and immediately spotted Lyra. Naturally, she had claimed the best seat near the window, sunlight glinting off her golden ribbons of magic as she practiced subtly with her fingers. Still using my old spell. And she's so unaware of it… adorable, infuriating, infuriatingly adorable. My lips twitched into a smirk.
Nearby, Cain—the dark-haired rival from yesterday—sat stiffly, eyes following my every movement. He clearly hadn't decided whether to fear me, hate me, or do both at the same time. Excellent. Rivalry material. Exactly the type of irritation I enjoy cultivating.
Our first class was Magical Theory, led by a professor whose voice carried the weight of someone who'd seen the rise and fall of empires—or so he hoped. The students listened attentively, furiously scribbling notes, while I leaned back and analyzed the room. Every instinct, every expression, every subtle shift in posture. I could already predict who would excel and who would embarrass themselves catastrophically in the first practical exercise.
Step one: observation. Step two: subtle manipulation. Step three: chaos control. Step four: optional vengeance.
The professor spoke of elemental affinities, magical constructs, and the history of the Rifts. Students nodded politely, eyes wide, absorbing every word as if it were gospel. I, of course, already knew every spell, every theory, every failure humanity had inflicted upon itself.
When the lecture ended, the practical portion began. Students were to summon a small elemental creature and control it through the obstacle course. Most failed miserably. Fire fizzling, water leaking, air swirling out of control. One poor boy accidentally created a tiny tornado that sent papers flying. Delightful.
I stepped up, keeping my motions casual, almost lazy. My elemental summoned perfectly—a small, sleek phoenix shimmering with golden flames. No fanfare, no flashy display, just precise, effortless control. Students gawked. Cain's glare could have burned through steel. Lyra's gaze flickered, curiosity piqued, though she didn't approach.
Excellent. Both chaos and admiration, all in one move.
I guided the phoenix through the obstacles with deliberate imperfection, allowing it to stumble ever so slightly. Teach them to underestimate, then watch them squirm. A small, almost imperceptible grin played across my lips as I finished the course, the creature bowing in obedience. Professor Voss nodded faintly, jotting something down. Satisfied, no doubt.
After class, I lingered in the courtyard, watching students practice. Some whispered about me. Some scowled. Some—Cain—looked ready to explode. I let my mind wander to darker thoughts. If I wanted, I could obliterate half this courtyard before lunch and leave a permanent impression. But why rush? Patience is far more satisfying.
Lyra appeared again, this time practicing a defensive spell near the fountain. The sunlight caught the water in her hands, refracting into rainbows that danced across her face. I crouched slightly, hiding behind a pillar, watching her move. So graceful. So unaware. So entirely mine to observe.
I imagined, just for a moment, bending the rules. A tiny misstep here, a nudge there… make her notice me without knowing why. Test her reactions. Gauge her instincts. I suppressed a chuckle. The thrill of manipulation, even in small doses, was intoxicating.
A shadow moved across the courtyard—Cain, approaching with that predictable scowl.
"You're showing off again," he muttered, voice low but sharp. "You think you're better than everyone here, don't you?"
I raised an eyebrow, casual, amused. "Better? No. More experienced? Perhaps. But better? That depends on your definition of 'better.'"
He bristled. "You're hiding something. I know it."
I leaned back against the fountain, golden sparks of phoenix fire dancing in my palm. "Hiding? Oh, nothing at all. Just observing. Watching how easily chaos unfolds around me. You'd do well to take notes."
He clenched his fists, muttered something under his breath, and stalked off. I let him go, inwardly pleased. Rival tension established. Ego stroked. First chess piece moved.
Lyra's gaze met mine briefly. Her lips quirked, almost a smile, almost curiosity. My pulse quickened—not for any heroic reason, but for the thrill of intrigue. She's clever. Dangerous. Delightful. I'll have to keep her close, for observation… and amusement.
As the day ended, students were dismissed to their dorms. I walked along the stone pathways, Phoenix perched lightly on my shoulder, reflecting on the lessons learned:
Observe carefully.
Manipulate subtly.
Never reveal too much.
Enjoy the chaos quietly.
And perhaps most importantly… keep an eye on Lyra Dawn.
Because patience, subtlety, and a little darkness would make her—and this new world—far more entertaining than anyone imagined.
The Dark Emperor had entered the academy.
And he had every intention of leaving a mark, even if it was just in shadows.