The scream that shattered my sleep wasn't mine.
I bolted upright in bed, sweat-soaked sheets tangling around my legs like burial shrouds. The nightmare had been different this time—not my own death, but Marcus Blackwood's. His throat opened like a second mouth, blood pooling between cobblestones while faceless figures melted back into academy shadows.
Three days. That's how long he had left in the original timeline.
"Pleasant dreams, brother?" Cedric's voice drifted through my door, honey-sweet with mock concern. "The whole corridor heard you thrashing about like a madman."
I dressed quickly, fingers trembling as I fastened my academy robes. The monitoring crystals I'd discovered last night still pulsed with subtle energy, recording every breath, every heartbeat, every moment of weakness they could use against me.
"Coming to breakfast?" Cedric called again. "Or are you too... troubled to face the day?"
The taunt hit its mark. In my previous life, I'd been proud, untouchable, convinced of my own invincibility. Now I understood that pride was just another weapon they could turn against me.
"I'll be right there," I said, keeping my voice steady.
The dining hall buzzed with nervous energy as students discussed yesterday's trials. Conversations died as I passed, replaced by whispered speculation about the northern lord's son who'd shown impossible knowledge.
I found a seat at our usual table, where the inner circle of academy nobility gathered each morning like wolves planning the day's hunt. Lysandra sat at the head, radiant in emerald silk that matched her calculating eyes. Cedric lounged beside her, every inch the confident heir apparent.
And scattered around them, the supporting cast of my destruction: minor nobles who'd eventually become informants, commoner students who'd disappear when they became inconvenient, rising stars who'd fall when their light grew too bright.
"You look terrible," Lysandra observed as I sat down. "Nightmares keeping you awake?"
"Just thinking," I replied.
"Dangerous habit." Her smile was winter moonlight on fresh snow. "Especially for someone with your... unique perspectives."
The conversation continued around me—discussions of upcoming lectures, social events, political maneuvering that would determine who rose and who fell. But I was watching Marcus Blackwood at a table across the hall, eating alone as always.
In three days, he'd ask the wrong question to the wrong person. In three days, he'd stumble across evidence of corruption that went all the way to the kingdom's heart. In three days, they'd silence him permanently.
Unless I changed the script.
"Eryndor." Lysandra's voice cut through my planning. "You seem distracted this morning. Anything you'd like to share?"
"Actually, yes." I stood abruptly, decision crystallizing like ice in my chest. "There's something I need to discuss with someone."
I walked across the dining hall under dozens of watching eyes, approaching Marcus's isolated table with the deliberate stride of a man choosing his fate.
"Mind if I sit?" I asked.
Marcus looked up from his simple breakfast, surprise flickering across his weathered features. "If you're here to gloat about yesterday's match—"
"I'm here to offer you something better than gloating," I interrupted, taking the seat across from him. "I'm here to offer you truth."
"What kind of truth?"
I leaned forward, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "The kind that gets people killed if they're not careful. The kind that explains why a blacksmith's son with your talent is eating alone while mediocrities feast at the high table."
His eyes sharpened. "I'm listening."
"Not here." I glanced meaningfully at the other tables, where too many ears strained to catch our conversation. "Tonight. The old astronomy tower, after evening lectures. Come alone."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because in three days, you're going to ask Master Helman about the discrepancies in the academy's supply ledgers." I watched his face go pale. "Because you've already noticed the patterns everyone else pretends not to see. Because you're smart enough to realize that curiosity without allies is just another word for suicide."
I stood and walked away before he could respond, feeling the weight of a dozen gazes tracking my movement. At our table, Lysandra's smile had sharpened to a blade's edge.
"Making new friends?" she asked as I reclaimed my seat.
"Hardly. Just curious about something he said yesterday."
"Curiosity." Cedric's laugh was silk over steel. "Such a wonderful quality in moderation. Such a deadly one in excess."
The warning was crystal clear. They were watching, evaluating, deciding how much rope to give me before they tightened the noose.
The morning's lectures passed in a haze of barely contained tension. Advanced Cultivation Theory with Master Veil, where we discussed the theoretical limits of human potential. Political History with Master Crane, covering the rise and fall of noble houses throughout the kingdom's history.
And through it all, the constant sensation of being observed, analyzed, judged against some invisible standard that would determine whether I lived or died.
The afternoon brought Practical Combat Applications with Master Thorne—no relation, despite the shared name. We were paired randomly for sparring exercises, though I suspected there was nothing random about my assignment.
"Lord Varien," Master Thorne announced, "you'll face Lord Thorne today."
Lysandra stepped into the practice circle, her academy sword gleaming like captured starlight. She moved with fluid grace, every gesture calculated for maximum effect.
"Ready to dance?" she asked, settling into a perfect offensive stance.
"Lead the way," I replied, though every instinct screamed warnings.
Her first attack was poetry in motion—a flowing combination that tested my defenses without committing to any single line of assault. She was probing, learning, gathering information about my capabilities.
"You've improved since yesterday," she observed, pressing her attack with increasing intensity. "Almost like you've been practicing techniques above your theoretical level."
"Natural talent runs in my family," I deflected, both her blade and her probing question.
"Does it? How interesting." Her next combination forced me to give ground, the tip of her sword coming close enough to my throat to part the fabric of my collar. "Because talent alone doesn't explain the kind of tactical awareness you demonstrated in the trials."
She was fishing for information, trying to provoke me into revealing more than I intended. But two could play that game.
"Maybe I just pay attention when others don't," I said, launching my own attack sequence.
"Attention to what, specifically?" She parried my strikes with effortless precision, turning defense into counterattack so smoothly it looked choreographed. "To patterns that haven't emerged yet? To weaknesses that shouldn't be apparent? To futures that haven't happened?"
The last question hit like a physical blow. She knew. Somehow, impossibly, she knew about my transmigration.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, but my momentary shock had thrown off my timing.
Her blade found the gap in my defenses, stopping just short of my heart.
"Victory to Lady Varien," Master Thorne announced.
"Well fought," Lysandra said, but her smile held no warmth. "Though next time, you might want to guard against overthinking. Sometimes the most dangerous enemies are the ones who know too much."
She stepped back, leaving me standing in the circle with the taste of defeat bitter on my tongue and the knowledge that she'd just delivered another warning wrapped in a compliment.
The evening lectures dragged by with agonizing slowness. Basic Magical Theory, Advanced Meditation Techniques, Historical Analysis of Failed Rebellions. Each subject seemed chosen specifically to remind students of the futility of challenging established power.
Finally, as the academy bells chimed the tenth hour, I made my way through darkened corridors toward the astronomy tower. The ancient structure stood at the academy's northern edge, its spiral staircase winding up through centuries of accumulated knowledge and neglect.
Marcus was waiting at the top, silhouetted against star-filled windows that offered panoramic views of the academy grounds.
"You came," I said.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he replied. "But satisfaction brought it back."
I moved to stand beside him at the window, noting how the positioning gave us clear sight lines to every approach. Good tactical thinking.
"Three days from now," I began, "you're going to notice discrepancies in Master Helman's supply ledgers. Numbers that don't add up, requisitions for materials that never arrive, payments to suppliers who don't exist."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you've already started noticing. Your mind works differently than the others—you see patterns where they see randomness, connections where they see coincidence."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face in the pale starlight.
"What kind of patterns?" he asked finally.
"Students who ask inconvenient questions tend to have accidents. Teachers who refuse to look the other way receive new assignments to distant postings. Supplies disappear, funds are redirected, and anyone who points out these irregularities discovers that curiosity has consequences."
"You're talking about corruption."
"I'm talking about something much worse than simple corruption." I turned to face him fully. "I'm talking about a systematic conspiracy that reaches from the academy's foundation all the way to the royal court. I'm talking about people who view students not as future leaders, but as resources to be harvested or obstacles to be eliminated."
"That's a serious accusation."
"It's a deadly truth." I pulled a folded piece of parchment from my robes, handing it to him. "These are the names of students who've died or disappeared over the past five years. Not from training accidents or cultivation failures, but from asking the wrong questions or learning the wrong answers."
He unfolded the paper, his expression growing increasingly grim as he read.
"How did you compile this list?"
"By paying attention to patterns everyone else chose to ignore." It wasn't entirely a lie—in my previous life, I'd been too arrogant to notice these connections until it was too late. "By remembering faces that others forget too quickly."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're going to die in three days if someone doesn't warn you. Because your talent is exactly the kind that threatens people who prefer their secrets buried. Because you deserve to know what you're walking into before you take that final step."
Marcus refolded the paper, his hands steady despite the magnitude of what I'd just revealed.
"Assuming you're right," he said carefully, "what would you suggest I do about it?"
"Disappear. Tonight. Pack light, leave quietly, find somewhere they can't reach you."
"Run away, you mean."
"Survive, I mean. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His laugh was bitter as winter wind. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're asking me to abandon everything I've worked for because powerful people find my existence inconvenient."
"I'm asking you to choose life over pride."
"And what about justice? What about all the other students who'll die because no one was brave enough to speak truth to power?"
The question hit me like a blade between the ribs. In my previous life, I'd chosen pride over wisdom, honor over survival. The results had been catastrophic—not just for me, but for everyone I'd claimed to protect.
"Justice is a luxury the dead can't afford," I said.
"Maybe. Or maybe justice is the only thing that makes death meaningful."
He moved to the window, staring out at the academy grounds where shadows moved between buildings like restless spirits.
"Tell me something," he said without turning around. "If you knew all this, if you understood the danger, why didn't you run? Why are you still here, playing their games, pretending to be just another noble brat who cares more about status than substance?"
The question struck at the heart of everything I'd been trying to avoid. Why was I still here? Why hadn't I taken my own advice and disappeared into the night?
"Because running away doesn't solve the problem," I admitted. "It just postpones the reckoning."
"So you're planning to fight them."
"I'm planning to destroy them."
The words hung in the air between us like a drawn blade. Marcus turned from the window, studying my face with new intensity.
"That's a tall order for a fifteen-year-old noble with more money than sense."
"Age is just a number. Nobility is just a title. But sense..." I smiled, and felt something cold and predatory creep into the expression. "Sense is something I've acquired through hard experience."
"What kind of experience?"
"The kind that teaches you the difference between enemies and allies. The kind that shows you how power really works in this kingdom. The kind that reveals which masks people wear and what faces they hide underneath."
"You talk like someone who's seen the worst of human nature."
"I have. More than you might imagine."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment, weighing my words against whatever instincts had kept him alive in a world that wanted him dead.
"If I stay," he said finally, "if I help you with whatever you're planning, what guarantee do I have that you won't just use me as a convenient scapegoat when things go wrong?"
"None. But I can give you something better than guarantees."
"What's that?"
"Revenge. Against everyone who's ever looked at you and seen a disposable tool instead of a human being. Against the system that measures worth by bloodline rather than merit. Against the people who think your life is theirs to dispose of when it becomes inconvenient."
His eyes brightened with something that might have been hope or hunger—sometimes the difference was academic.
"Tell me about this plan of yours," he said.
"First, we keep you alive past the three-day deadline. That means avoiding Master Helman's office, staying away from isolated areas, and making sure you're never alone after dark."
"And then?"
"Then we start gathering evidence that even Lord Marvyn can't ignore or suppress. Documents, witness testimony, financial records that prove the conspiracy exists."
"Evidence has a way of disappearing when it threatens the wrong people."
"Not if we make copies. Not if we spread the information to enough people that silencing everyone becomes impossible."
"They'll know it was us."
"They already suspect. The question is whether we give them proof or plausible deniability."
Marcus nodded slowly, the pieces of our alliance falling into place like locks tumbling in a complex mechanism.
"There's something else," I said. "Something you should know before you commit to this path."
"What?"
"They know about you. About your investigation, your questions, your talent for seeing connections others miss. They've been watching you, evaluating whether you're worth recruiting or whether you need to be eliminated."
"How do you know that?"
"Because they're watching me too. Because everyone in this academy who shows real potential becomes a subject of interest to people who prefer their tools sharp and their threats eliminated."
"Then we're both already dead."
"No. We're both already chosen. The only question is whether we die as victims or as warriors."
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the tower stairs. Multiple sets, moving with the careful precision of people trying not to be heard.
"Company," Marcus whispered.
"Expected," I replied, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "They've been monitoring this tower for weeks."
"You knew they'd follow us here?"
"I counted on it. Sometimes the best way to hide truth is to let people think they've discovered it."
The footsteps reached the tower's upper level, pausing just outside the door to our chamber. I could hear whispered voices, though not the words themselves.
"What now?" Marcus asked.
"Now we give them something to report," I said, raising my voice to carry through the wooden door. "Refusing your offer was the right choice, Marcus. Some lines shouldn't be crossed."
"Lines?" Marcus caught on quickly, playing his part perfectly. "You call exposing corruption crossing lines?"
"I call it suicide. And I've got too much to live for to throw my life away on idealistic crusades."
The footsteps retreated, descending the tower stairs with carefully measured steps. Our watchers had heard what they expected to hear—the northern lord's son rejecting an alliance with the troublesome commoner.
"Clever," Marcus said once the sounds faded. "But they'll be watching both of us even more closely now."
"Good. Let them watch. Let them think they understand what we're planning."
"And what are we planning?"
I moved to the window, looking out at the academy grounds where shadows danced between moonbeams and secrets.
"We're going to give them exactly what they want," I said. "A reason to move against us. A justification for the actions they were planning to take anyway."
"That sounds like suicide."
"It sounds like strategy. They're most vulnerable when they think they're winning. Most careless when they believe their enemies are neutralized."
"And most dangerous when they're cornered."
"True. But cornered animals make predictable choices. And predictable enemies are enemies you can outmaneuver."
Marcus joined me at the window, both of us staring out at the institution that had shaped and would destroy so many lives.
"When do we start?" he asked.
"We already have. The moment you agreed to this conversation, the moment they realized we were talking, the moment they decided whether to recruit or eliminate us."
"So what's our next move?"
I smiled, feeling something cold and calculating settle into place behind my eyes.
"Tomorrow, you're going to ask Master Helman about those supply ledgers. You're going to be obvious about it, persistent, impossible to ignore."
"That's the exact thing you told me would get me killed."
"It is. But now they'll be expecting it. They'll have countermeasures prepared, explanations ready, ways to make your questions seem paranoid or malicious."
"And that helps us how?"
"Because while they're focused on discrediting your questions, they won't notice the real investigation happening elsewhere."
"What real investigation?"
"The one I've been conducting for weeks. The one that focuses not on financial irregularities, but on the people who benefit from them. The one that traces connections between academy corruption and certain members of the royal court."
Marcus's eyes widened as the implications sank in.
"You're not just going after the academy. You're going after Lord Marvyn himself."
"I'm going after everyone who thinks my life is theirs to control. Everyone who believes power gives them the right to dispose of inconvenient people. Everyone who's forgotten that wolves travel in packs and hunt strategically."
"That's not just dangerous. That's—"
"Necessary. Because the alternative is watching them pick us off one by one until there's no one left to remember why we fought in the first place."
The tower fell silent except for the wind whistling through ancient stones and the distant sounds of academy life continuing below. We stood there for a long moment, two young men who'd chosen to challenge forces that could crush them without effort or conscience.
"I need to ask you something," Marcus said finally. "And I want the truth."
"Ask."
"How do you really know all this? The patterns, the timeline, the specific details about what I was going to do? No one's that good at reading the future unless they've lived it before."
The question I'd been dreading since this all began. The one that could shatter the alliance I needed to survive.
"Would you believe me if I told you the truth?" I asked.
"Try me."
I took a deep breath, weighing the risks of honesty against the dangers of deception.
"I've lived this before," I said. "Not this exact conversation, but this situation. These people, these threats, these choices. I know what's going to happen because I've seen it happen."
"That's impossible."
"Is it? In a world where people can move mountains with cultivation techniques and reshape reality with magical formations, is the idea of someone glimpsing the future really so far-fetched?"
Marcus studied my face in the starlight, looking for signs of deception or madness.
"You're serious," he said finally. "You actually believe you've seen the future."
"I've lived it. There's a difference."
"Show me."
"What?"
"Prove it. Tell me something specific that's going to happen. Something I can verify."
I considered the request, weighing what I could reveal without compromising everything.
"Tomorrow morning," I said, "Lysandra Varien will receive a letter from her father. It will contain news about a marriage alliance being negotiated with House Dracon. She'll react by throwing her breakfast plate against the dining hall wall, then storming out while claiming she has a headache."
"That's very specific."
"Because it's very true. She does it every time, in exactly the same way."
"Every time?"
I'd said too much, revealed more than I intended. But Marcus deserved to understand what he was allying himself with.
"Every time I've tried to change things," I said. "Every variation I've attempted. Some events seem fixed, inevitable, immune to interference."
"And others?"
"Others can be changed. With the right knowledge, the right timing, the right alliances."
Marcus nodded slowly, pieces of a impossible puzzle clicking into place in his mind.
"That's why you knew about the three-day deadline. That's why you understand their strategies so well. That's why you're confident we can outmaneuver them."
"It's why I know we have to try. Because I've seen what happens if we don't."
"What happens?"
I turned from the window, meeting his eyes with the full weight of knowledge I'd been carrying.
"Everyone dies. Everyone who matters, everyone who could have made a difference, everyone who posed a threat to their perfect order. They die slowly, painfully, watching everything they loved burn before their eyes finally close forever."
"Including you?"
"Especially me. Because I was the biggest threat of all, and they saved the worst punishment for last."
The tower fell silent again, but this time it was the silence of understanding rather than uncertainty. Marcus had the information he needed to make his choice.
"All right," he said finally. "I'm in. Not because I believe you've seen the future, but because I believe you've seen enough of the present to understand how dangerous our enemies really are."
"That's enough. Belief can come later, after we've proven that the impossible is just another word for difficult."
"What's our next step?"
"We wait. We watch. We let them make the first move while we prepare countermoves they'll never see coming."
"And then?"
"Then we remind them why cornering a wolf is never as safe as it appears."
As we descended the tower stairs, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched from shadows we couldn't see. The sensation of invisible eyes tracking our movements, recording our words, reporting our plans to masters who pulled strings from positions of absolute power.
But for the first time since my transmigration began, I wasn't afraid of their surveillance. Let them watch. Let them think they understood what we were planning.
Because the greatest advantage of having lived the future was knowing which battles were worth fighting and which were merely distractions from the real war.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new tests, new opportunities for them to tighten their grip around our throats. But tonight, for the first time in either lifetime, I had an ally who understood the stakes.
Marcus Blackwood would live past his three-day deadline. Not because I'd changed the future, but because I'd finally learned to use the past as a weapon.
The Uncrowned Prince was ready to begin his real campaign.
And this time, when the board was flipped, I would be the one left standing.