The New Reality

Ethan had no idea how long he spent curled up on the cold stone floor, his head buried in his hands as he desperately tried to convince himself this was all some kind of horrible coma nightmare. Because what was the alternative? That he was actually stuck inside his own damn novel?

That he was now Darius Wycliffe, the pretentious, talentless asshole he'd written to be crushed by his perfect protagonist Lucien Ashford?

No. That was insane.

But every time he opened his eyes and saw the stone walls, the medieval furniture, the weird magical symbols embroidered on his clothes, reality laughed in his face. This wasn't some VR game. This wasn't a prank. And unless his brain was on some next-level LSD trip, this was real.

"Alright. Fine. Let's say this is real," Ethan muttered, his voice sounding all wrong—soft, smooth, and slightly aristocratic. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who'd had money and power handed to them on a silver platter. The kind of voice he'd given Darius Wycliffe.

He forced himself to stand, his legs still feeling unsteady. The dark blue robes clung to his body, far too elegant and formal for his liking. And seriously, what kind of moron wore this stuff to school? This was the kind of outfit you wore to some snooty nobleman's dinner party, not to class.

Ethan's gaze landed on the wooden desk littered with parchment and ink bottles. His hands shook as he reached out and grabbed the nearest piece of parchment. The handwriting was smooth and precise, though the words themselves were more like chicken scratch to him at first.

Then he squinted, the elegant calligraphy finally making sense.

"The Arcanium. First-Year Spellcraft Examination – Darius Wycliffe."

The name hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was real.

He was really here.

And he was really Darius Wycliffe.

The very character he'd written to be an obnoxious, self-entitled prick who was so hilariously outclassed by the hero that his only purpose was to make Lucien Ashford look good.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ethan groaned, slumping back onto the bed. This was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.

But if this was real—if he really was Darius—then he had some serious problems.

"Okay, let's break this down," he mumbled, rubbing his temples. "I wrote Darius as a pompous little shit with a massive ego and zero talent. His family name is the only reason he even got into The Arcanium. And then, because I was an edgy little bastard while writing this novel, I made him get publicly humiliated by Lucien during the First-Year Spellcraft Examination."

Ethan's fingers clenched around the parchment. He remembered that scene vividly. The exam was a duel. A way for new students to showcase their progress by fighting each other in front of the professors and upperclassmen. A perfect stage for Lucien Ashford to show off his overwhelming talent.

And Darius Wycliffe? His job was to make Lucien's victory look good. He was meant to be humiliated, destroyed, and discarded like trash. A living example of how talentless nobles had no place among true mages.

The worst part? The exam was supposed to take place two days from now.

"Two days," Ethan whispered, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. "I've got two days to figure out how to not get my ass handed to me by my own protagonist."

His breathing quickened, panic rising in his chest again. What the hell was he supposed to do? He was an author, not a damn wizard. He couldn't just snap his fingers and make himself powerful.

And yet... wasn't that the whole point of this place? Magic. This world was built on magic. The very thing he'd spent months writing, rewriting, and obsessing over to the point of total burnout.

Maybe... maybe he could actually make this work.

A loud knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Oi, Wycliffe!" a gruff voice shouted from the other side. "You awake in there or what?"

Ethan hesitated, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He had no idea who was on the other side, but if he remembered the story right, Darius shared his dorm room with two other students. The poor bastards unlucky enough to be stuck with him.

With a deep breath, he opened the door.

Two boys stood outside. One of them was a tall, broad-shouldered guy with short-cropped hair and the kind of scowl that looked permanently etched onto his face. The other was slimmer, sharp-eyed, and carrying a book under his arm like he was ready to smack someone upside the head with it.

"Uh... can I help you?" Ethan asked, forcing himself not to sound like a complete idiot.

The scowling guy's eyes narrowed. "You're seriously still in bed? Have you even looked outside? We've got class in less than an hour, dumbass."

Ethan blinked. Class. Right. Because of course there were classes. This was a freaking magical academy, not some generic high school.

"You're seriously going to screw around like this when the First-Year Spellcraft Examination is two days away?" the sharp-eyed one added, his tone dripping with disdain. "Let me guess. You're planning on coasting through on your family's reputation again, right?"

Ethan's mouth opened, then closed, his brain frantically trying to process the situation. These two... they had to be Gareth and Roland. Darius's roommates. And from what he remembered, they hated his guts.

"Whatever. Just don't drag us down with you," Roland said, turning on his heel. "Come on, Gareth. Let the moron fail on his own."

Gareth snorted. "Yeah. Guess we'll see you at the exam, Wycliffe. If you even bother showing up."

They left, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Ethan slowly closed the door, his fingers trembling as he locked it.

Great. So not only was he actually stuck in his own novel, but he was also playing the role of a character everyone despised.

This was just getting better and better.

Ethan dragged himself back to the bed, his legs feeling like rubber. His brain was in full-on panic mode, a dozen different scenarios playing out in his mind—each one worse than the last.

But panicking wasn't going to do him any good. If he was really stuck here, if this world was really as real as it felt, then he had to pull himself together. Fast.

He sat down on the bed and rubbed his temples, forcing himself to think. Okay. He was in his own novel, "Eidolon: The Sovereign's Path." That much was obvious.

And he was in The Arcanium, the most prestigious magic academy in the entire world of Eidolon. The place where only the most talented, ambitious, and privileged students trained to become the greatest mages alive. The absolute peak of magical education.

Which made it all the more tragic that Darius Wycliffe was a complete joke. A spoiled noble kid with barely enough magical talent to light a candle, let alone survive in a place like this. And now, Ethan was stuck in his place.

"Okay... let's not freak out. Let's just... figure this out," he muttered, staring at his hands. They were pale and slender, the hands of someone who'd never done a day of real work in his life.

He needed more information. He needed to know exactly how much of this world matched what he'd written and how much of it had been twisted by whatever cosmic joke landed him here.

Ethan's eyes wandered back to the scattered notes and textbooks on the desk. Most of it looked like basic magical theory and spellcasting instructions. The kind of stuff he'd written for world-building purposes and then immediately glossed over because it was boring as hell.

But now? Now, that boring crap was probably the only thing that could save his life.

He flipped open one of the books, his eyes scanning the pages. Symbols, mana flow diagrams, spell incantations—it was all there. And it made just about as much sense to him now as it did when he was typing it out while downing his fifteenth energy drink.

Which was to say, not much at all.

"Damn it. I wrote this stuff, and I barely understand it."

He needed a plan. Some kind of strategy. Anything that would stop him from getting annihilated in front of a crowd of people who probably already hated his guts.

"Two days..." Ethan whispered, his hands trembling. "I've got two days to figure out how to not die."

He flipped through another book. Then another. Desperation was setting in, and with it, the crushing realization that he had no idea what the hell he was doing.

And yet, buried somewhere beneath all that terror, a stubborn little spark of determination refused to die out.

"If this is real... if magic is real... then there has to be a way to make this work," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I just need to figure out how."

No way was he going to let himself get steamrolled by some self-insert protagonist. Even if Lucien Ashford was basically designed to be the perfect mage from day one.

But if Ethan was going to survive here, then the first thing he needed to do was learn some actual magic. And hope like hell that he wasn't as useless as the original Darius Wycliffe.

No pressure.