The small attic room, serving as Elara Vane's dormitory quarters at the humble Silverstream Academy, swam into sharper focus. Kael'thas, or rather, the dominant consciousness now inhabiting Elara's frail skull, cataloged his surroundings with the same ruthless efficiency he once used to assess enemy fortifications.
Condition Report (Host Body: Elara Vane):
Strength: Negligible. A pathetic lack of muscle mass. Lifting a heavy textbook required conscious effort. Disgusting.
Magic Reserves (Mana): Near-zero. A dried-up pond where a fiery lake should be. The ambient mana of the world seemed weak, or perhaps the host body was simply too fine a sieve.
Physical Limitations: Myopia. The world was fuzzy until he found the wretched, delicate spectacles resting on a worn wooden desk. Putting them on felt like admitting defeat.
Memories: A horrifying, constant deluge. Elara's timid existence, her deep-seated fear of public speaking, her meticulous notes on botanical classification, her unrequited crush on a fourth-year student named Marcus. They were intrusive, illogical, and weakening.
He slid off the narrow cot, his limbs moving with an unfamiliar, almost graceful lightness. The sensation was maddening. He, the Arch-Fiend whose shadow could break the morale of a legion, now felt like a puff of wind.
Stop.
The internal voice—a low, resonant snarl that only he could hear—commanded silence. He needed to establish control. He crossed the room—all four paces of it—to a cracked washbasin and stared at the reflected image.
Elara Vane. Bright, unnervingly large green eyes behind round wire frames. Hair the color of dry straw, hastily tied back. A dusting of freckles across a high forehead. A face built for study, not for conquest.
"Pathetic," he whispered, the sound a thin, reedy squeak that made his essence cringe.
He focused on the core of his being, the burning shard of Arch-Fiend essence that had been successfully transplanted. He sought the power, the ambient dread that usually clung to him like a second skin.
He found nothing. No infernal aura. No ability to reshape the air or summon a minor imp. The body rejected it like a bad meal. His power was not gone; it was sealed. Trapped behind the fragile, human shell.
The first task is not war, Kael'thas realized, adapting instantly. The first task is survival and acquisition. I need a key to unlock this prison. And in this age of weaklings, the key must be knowledge.
He turned his attention fully to Elara's memories, sorting them with brutal, demonic efficiency. Silverstream Academy was a third-rate preparatory school for minor noble children and exceptionally smart commoners. Its curriculum, however, included a foundational course in Aetheric Theory and Lesser Arcana.
He scoffed at the term "Lesser Arcana." In his day, these spells were practiced by goblins.
But the memories also contained crucial information about the intervening centuries. The Hero Faction had established the Aetherium University—a centralized, worldwide hub of magical and historical research. They had not just defeated him; they had sanitized the entire known history, burying all trace of the true Demon Lord-era High Magic as 'Forbidden Chaos.'
They built a cage of ignorance for the world, he concluded. And the only way to escape a cage is to understand its lock.
A sudden, sharp headache pulled him from his dark thoughts. It was the memory of a looming deadline.
"Elara, are you up yet? You'll be late for Professor Hemlock's lecture!" a chipper voice called through the thin wooden door.
It was Mina, Elara's roommate and the kind of overly bright, genuinely benevolent person Kael'thas would have incinerated on sight. He took a slow, deep breath, tasting dust and fear. He had to act the part. He had to be Elara Vane.
He opened the door, managing a passable imitation of Elara's customary nervousness. "Good morning, Mina. I… I was just reviewing my notes for Aetheric Structures."
Mina blinked, a cheerful smudge of confusion on her face. "Really? You look… different. More… focused. Did you actually sleep this time?"
Kael'thas (as Elara) gave a small, forced smile. "I had a very vivid dream, Mina. It gave me a new perspective on the concept of 'forceful acquisition.'"
Mina just laughed, oblivious. "That sounds like a nightmare! Come on, let's go. We have a grueling day of trying to identify the correct shade of Azure used on the King's Seal in 4E 123!"
Kael'thas felt the demonic fury coil in his chest. Identifying royal colors. This was his existence now. He was a scholar of trivia in a third-rate school.
But as he followed Mina down the creaking wooden stairs, his mind was already racing, analyzing the structural weaknesses of the academy's antiquated architecture and mentally charting the most efficient path to the Library—the real heart of his new, academic dominion.
He walked past a mirror in the hallway, catching his own reflection. The young, fragile face of Elara Vane looked back, but the Arch-Fiend's eyes, usually a flat, terrified green, now held a terrifying, calculating depth.
Fine, Kael'thas decided, a cold resolution settling in his new, smaller bones. I will become the greatest scholar the world has ever known. I will master their weak, diluted magic. I will learn everything they stole from me. And then... I will begin my return.