Choose Wisely

'So it begins.'

That was the thought that crossed my mind as I leaned back in my seat. I eyed the arrangement of cadets with something between resignation and amusement. 

The rows of students with some stiff with anticipation and others doing their best to feign boredom, stretched across the room in a semi-circle. 

I was really in Class Alpha.

It was so surreal.

I twirled a pen between my fingers. Absent-mindedly. Naturally. My wrist rolled just right, the pen spinning over my knuckles in a slow and practised rhythm.

It took me a second to realize I was doing it. 

Old habits, I guess. 

From a life that didn't belong to this world.

See, when I first read Ashes of the Accursed, the name Varek Aligheri meant nothing to me. 

I devoured every page of the novel back then, religiously even. 

I knew the arcs, the power system, the betrayals, the side character deaths that meant more than the main ones. 

But Varek? Nothing.

Not a single damn mention.

When I woke up in this world, in this body, the name hit me like a blank page. Varek Aligheri, some commoner delinquent who barely passed the entrance test. 

A low-ranked nobody with a bloodline no one remembered. It made no sense, I wasn't even a side character. 

I was just... extra furniture.

I've wondered about that a lot.

Did the plot change when I transmigrated?

Or did I end up in a version that never got published? A path untaken? A subplot the author scrapped in their notes?

And more importantly, were there other changes coming?

The pen twirled again. Around and again. 

"Click."

You'd think I'd switch to glyph pads like the rest of the smart ones here. But no, I still chose to use an actual pen. 

Something about inking onto a page through human effort amused me, it also reminded me of Earth, of home.

Maybe I liked the illusion of control or maybe I just liked the scratch of ink on paper.

Before I could dwell too long on that, the room quieted.

A man walked in causing instant silence.

I looked up and I recognized him instantly. Not by face, no, but by memory.

I remembered this scene, from the book.

Kaelen Duskbane.

A name that should've meant salvation but instead signalled rot. He was supposed to walk in now, just as he did. His robes, dark and flowing and his expression, emotionless.

In the story, he was the mysterious, powerful instructor who guided the cadets toward greatness.

'What a load of crap.'

I knew the truth. Kaelen Duskbane was a wretch.

He worked with the demons, a corrupted knight draped in honour while selling the Academy piece by piece from within. 

He was one of the reasons, the reason, the demon incursion would eventually reach Forge. 

He was a rot masquerading as structure.

And right on cue...

A knock.

I didn't have to turn, I already knew who it was.

The other piece of scum.

Ronan Fitzroy.

I don't know what it was, maybe it was the body I inhabited or maybe it was residual hatred baked into this flesh. 

But when I saw him, I wanted to gag. An ungodly amount of disgust surged up my throat like bile.

Had the original Varek met Ronan before?

Maybe, maybe not. 

He walked in with a cold expression, that fake mask of indifference.

Kaelen called him late, of course, he did.

Ronan didn't even blink, he just slithered into a seat a few rows behind mine. 

It didn't matter, I felt his eyes on my back like a rusted knife scraping bone.

Kaelen continued, "As I was saying, my name is Kaelen Duskbane. I will be your Homeroom Instructor. You will address me as Instructor Duskbane, and nothing else. I will oversee your progress in study, combat and cultivation. Failure in any of those areas will reflect accordingly."

'Cultivation.'

Great.

I barely suppressed the urge to scoff. I had only just managed to get my hands on that Starroot Cultivation Manual. The thing was more than extraordinary, but even then, I hadn't had the damn time to sit down and work through it. 

Between planning for my journey to Forge and trying not to die, I was still stuck at First Star Rank.

'Even worse than that scum Ronan,' 

Kaelen stood tall at the front of the class, hands behind his back, aura radiating that Moon-Rank pressure like it was perfume.

I stared hard at him.

A certified Moon Rank Expert, that meant the gap between me and him wasn't just steep, it was a chasm. 

A cosmic joke.

I was in the First Star of the Star Rank and to reach Moon Rank, I needed to complete eight more Star levels. Nine in total with each one harder than the last.

And then maybe I could reach the Moon, which was still far from where Kaelan was, mid Moon rank.

Beyond that?

The Sun Rank. The realm where monsters lived. Where legends were forged, where Kaelen's real masters; the demons; hid in plain sight.

Kaelen's voice dragged me out of my spiral.

"You will receive your base credits after the first week, from that point forward, your life at Forge will be dictated by them. Meals, dorm conditions, class access, sparring schedules, everything is paid for in credits."

'Right, Credits.'

The currency of survival. And once again, I had to thank whatever twisted fate brought me here that I ranked higher than Ronan. I glanced at him again.

He was still as stone with his expression unreadable. But I knew that behind the mask he was boiling. He hated this, hated being low-ranked, he hated being looked down on. 

Kaelen moved a step closer to the edge of the platform.

"The first order of business for today," he said, "is your weapon selection."

'There it is,'

The first domino.

Weapons dictated training paths, training paths dictated combat growth and combat growth? 

That dictated whether you lived to see the next semester.

Kaelen clapped once.

"Follow the east corridor to the armoury. There, you will each select your Primary Weapon. Choose wisely as your selection today determines your weapon combat class for the next six months and Changes are... discouraged."

He looked right at us.