The training yard hadn't changed.
Yegr stood at the edge of the sun-drenched courtyard, the rhythmic clang of steel on steel echoing through the open air. Young initiates practiced sword forms in staggered lines, their movements jerky and unsure. The scent of sweat, chalk, and dry earth mixed with the faint tang of ozone—residue from failed spell-forms cast too close to steel.
His fingers twitched.
It had been eight years since he'd stood here last—eight years of war, loss, and blood-soaked triumphs. But now, the sounds of drills felt distant, like echoes from a life already lived.
"Focus, Yegr," he whispered to himself. "This time, it starts here."
"YEGR!"
The bellow came from across the yard, thick with impatience.
Master Rolen. Still as broad-shouldered and sharp-tongued as Yegr remembered. The training master strode toward him, wearing a black gambeson and a glare that could crack stone.
"You're late, you're out of uniform, and you look like you saw a ghost. Give me one reason not to assign you latrine duty for a week."
Yegr straightened, instinct taking over. He dropped his gaze and bowed—not out of fear, but respect. Rolen had died defending the capital's outer walls. Alone. Without honors.
"I'm sorry, Master Rolen," Yegr said calmly. "It won't happen again."
Rolen narrowed his eyes. "Hmph. You used to argue. You sick or just suddenly wise?"
"I'm learning," Yegr replied. "Faster than before."
The man snorted and tossed him a practice blade. Yegr caught it one-handed, but the balance surprised him. Light. Too light. Like a toy compared to the Arcblade.
"Get in line, boy. Let's see if you've remembered anything."
Yegr took his place among the other students. They all looked so young now—so fragile. He recognized some of them. Not just their names, but how they would die, how they would live. There was Sila, cocky and graceful. Elen, quiet, always watching. And Hadran—Yegr's future commander, once. Now just another student adjusting his footing and fumbling his grip.
"Form One," Rolen barked. "Slow. Focus. Breathe."
The class moved as one, raising blades, shifting weight, stepping through the familiar motions.
But Yegr's blade moved differently.
He didn't just know the form—he embodied it. Every pivot, every angle, every breath was carved into his muscle memory from real battle. He flowed through the routine like water around stone, fluid and unbroken.
When the class finished, silence followed. All eyes turned to him.
Even Rolen hesitated, arms crossed.
"…Show-off," someone muttered.
Yegr didn't respond.
"Yegr," Rolen said slowly, walking over. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"
Yegr turned his eyes to the master. He wanted to say it—to confess everything. But no one would believe it yet. Maybe Darin, maybe not even him anymore. So instead, he gave a half-smile.
"I guess I've just… been paying more attention lately."
---
Later that evening, Yegr sat in the academy library.
Ancient scrolls lay unrolled before him, pages glowing in the amber lamplight. He traced diagrams of magical wards, military formations, and something more obscure—early references to the Shadowed Path, the cult that had awakened Jojk.
It was all here. Hints. Foreshadowing. In plain sight.
And no one had seen it.
"You're not studying for the exams," a voice said behind him.
Darin.
He walked over, quieter now. He sat down across from Yegr, arms resting on the table, the usual apple missing from his hand for once.
"I looked up that siege. Vardun. It doesn't exist in any map or archive. No mention of Jojk either. Just empty parchment."
Yegr nodded. "Because it hasn't happened yet."
Darin leaned in. "And if it does? What are we supposed to do? Warn the king? Raise the army?"
"No," Yegr said. "We're not ready. If I tell the wrong people too soon, they'll laugh. Or worse — they'll investigate and drive the cult into hiding. I need time. To learn who's already been turned. To understand why I was sent back."
Darin blinked. "You think someone sent you?"
Yegr nodded slowly.
"I asked for five months of rest," he said. "But I got eight years back. That's not a coincidence. It's a command."
Darin leaned back, expression caught between fear and awe.
"So what now?" he asked.
Yegr rolled up the scroll, his expression sharpening.
"Now," he said, "I find them. The Shadowed Path. Before they find each other."
Outside the window, the last light of day faded behind the towers of the Academy.
In the distance, a storm gathered—still far, but growing.