Ethan Carter woke up to the sound of chalk snapping in half.
Not the sharp crack of steel against steel.
Not the echo of a gavel striking marble in a court of nobles.
Just a dry, pathetic snap followed by the collective inhale of at least thirty people.
"Fantastic," a woman's voice said.
Ethan opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was flat. White. Covered in long fluorescent lights that hummed faintly, like insects trapped inside glass.
No arches.
No banners.
No stained glass depicting heroic ancestors glaring down in judgment.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he shot upright.
The movement sent his chair screeching backward. A few students flinched. One girl dropped her pen. Someone in the back muttered, "Bro finally respawned."
Ethan ignored all of them, heart pounding as his eyes swept the room.
Desks.
Windows.
A board at the front covered in writing he didn't recognize immediately numbers, symbols, and diagrams that looked suspiciously useless for warfare.
This was not his study.
This was not any room he had ever ruled from.
At the front stood a woman holding half a piece of chalk. She looked tired. The dangerous kind of tired that came from dealing with people who did not fear her enough.
"Mr. Carter," she said calmly, which was somehow worse than yelling. "Would you care to explain why you were asleep during my lesson?"
Mr. Carter?
Ethan looked down.
His hands were smaller than he remembered. Cleaner. No calluses from sword practice. His sleeves were dark blue, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar. A tie sat tight around his neck like a poorly disguised assassination attempt.
This body was wrong.
No ,that thought was wrong.
The body moved when he moved. His breath filled his lungs. His heart beat steadily. It was his body… yet it felt like a downgraded version. Like someone had taken a perfectly functional duke and reduced him to a civilian model.
"I—" He paused, searching for the correct response.
Apologies were currency in court. Used sparingly. Strategically.
"I accept responsibility," he said finally. "It will not occur again."
The room went silent.
The woman stared at him.
A boy near the window whispered, "Why does he talk like that?"
Ethan realized too late that his spine was straight, shoulders back, chin slightly raised. The posture of command. The posture drilled into him since childhood.
"Sit properly," the teacher said slowly. "And stop… whatever that is."
Ethan sat.
He did so with dignity.
That did not help.
A snort escaped from someone behind him. The sound irritated him more than it should have. His fingers twitched, instincts screaming to silence the disruption.
No, he told himself sharply.
This was not a court. These were not nobles.
These were… children?
The girl beside him leaned over, eyes bright with curiosity. "You okay? You looked like you got possessed."
Possessed.
Interesting word.
"I am well," Ethan replied.
She frowned. "Yeah, you're definitely not."
The teacher cleared her throat. "If you're done performing, Mr. Carter, perhaps you'd like to tell us the answer to the problem on the board."
Ethan followed her gaze.
Numbers stared back at him.
An enemy he did not recognize.
"…I regret to inform you," he said carefully, "that I am unfamiliar with this particular system."
The class erupted.
"What system??"
"Is he serious?"
"Bro thinks he's in a fantasy novel."
The teacher pinched the bridge of her nose. "Go wash your face. You're clearly not awake."
Ethan rose instantly. "Your mercy is appreciated."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Again.
Laughter exploded behind him as he walked out. Someone applauded. Another shouted, "All hail Lord Carter!"
The hallway swallowed him in brightness and noise. Lockers lined the walls like metallic soldiers standing at attention. Students flowed around him in chaotic patterns, laughing, shouting, arguing.
And beneath it all
A hum.
Faint. Subtle. But unmistakable.
Ethan stopped.
The air felt… charged. Not with danger, but with potential. Like magic stretched thin and woven into everything, diluted yet everywhere.
His pulse quickened.
Magic existed here.
Not openly. Not proudly. But quietly—like a secret everyone pretended not to see.
He approached a mirror mounted near the restroom and stared at his reflection.
Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Younger face. Softer lines.
But the gaze?
That gaze had judged traitors.
That gaze had commanded armies.
That gaze had never begged.
His hand brushed something cold.
A ring.
Silver. Old. Engraved with a lion rampant.
His breath caught.
"…So you followed me," he murmured.
The ring did not respond.
He wasn't sure why he'd expected it to.
Footsteps approached. Ethan straightened instantly.
A tall boy with messy hair stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. "You good, man? Ms. Hale almost had a stroke back there."
"I survived worse interrogations," Ethan replied automatically.
The boy blinked. "Cool. Love that for you."
He walked away shaking his head.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
He didn't remember arriving here. There was no clear beginning just the certainty that before had existed, and now had replaced it.
Fragments hovered at the edge of his thoughts: stone halls, whispered plots, the weight of responsibility pressing down like a crown forged from iron.
He knew things.
How to read people.
How to command silence.
How to bend a room without raising his voice.
Those instincts had not left him.
If anything, they felt sharper.
A bell rang suddenly, loud and shrill. Ethan flinched despite himself. Students surged into motion, flowing toward classrooms with practiced ease.
A girl bumped into him and muttered an apology without meeting his eyes.
No presence, he noted absently. Low confidence.
He frowned.
Analyzing people like this felt natural. Comfortable.
Dangerous.
He followed the crowd outside.
The school grounds stretched wide, modern buildings rising alongside old stone structures etched with symbols that shimmered when the light hit them just right. Wards. Hidden in plain sight.
So this place acknowledged magic just not openly.
Ethan adjusted his blazer.
High school.
An academy.
A battlefield of a different kind.
He didn't know the rules yet. Didn't know the power structure. Didn't know who held authority and who merely pretended to.
But he would learn.
Because whether this world liked it or not
A duke had awakened within it.
And Ethan Carter had never been good at staying insignificant.