"No, you wouldn't. Not yet." The satyr returned his token. "General collections are through the arch of knowing. Take nothing that glows, speaks, or attempts to read you in return. First-level materials only—your aura isn't stabilized enough for deeper works."
"Thank you for the warning," Alexios replied sincerely. Divine libraries were notorious for their defensive mechanisms against improper access.
"One more thing," the satyr called as Alexios turned toward the indicated archway. "Time has strange currents around you. Be wary of historical works—they might recognize you before you're ready to be recognized."
The cryptic statement sent a chill down Alexios's spine. Did the ancient librarian somehow sense his temporal displacement? Or was this merely the typical obscure warning mystics loved to dispense?
Either way, the advice merited caution. He would avoid historical chronicles for now, focusing instead on practical knowledge for his immediate needs.
The general collection proved expansive enough despite its "basic" designation. Texts on fundamental divine theory—how godly essence interacted with physical reality, the mechanics of supernatural manifestation, the taxonomies of power that separated various classes of immortals.
Reference materials on protocol and precedence—vital information for one attempting to navigate Academy society from an outsider's position.
Most valuable were the training manuals—basic techniques for channeling divine energy regardless of specific heritage. While higher-status students would receive specialized instruction tailored to their particular divine parentage, these fundamental approaches provided universal building blocks applicable to any supernatural ability.
"Perfect," Alexios murmured, selecting several volumes on energy manipulation, combat applications, and accelerated physical development. "The foundations I need without drawing undue attention."
He established himself at a reading desk in a quiet corner, absorbing information with the efficiency of one who had once mastered these concepts in another lifetime. Occasionally, he'd test a simple technique—subtle enough to avoid notice, significant enough to confirm the knowledge transferred properly to practical application.
A small lightning dancing briefly above his palm. A whispered word that momentarily altered the weight of objects on his desk. The briefest shimmer of his true appearance bleeding through his illusory disguise before being carefully contained once more.
"Controlled progress," he reminded himself. "Power without control is merely disaster awaiting opportunity."
As afternoon faded toward evening, he gathered his selections and approached the satyr librarian. "May I borrow these for personal study?"
The ancient being ran his hands over the stack, nodding slightly at each title. "Foundational. Practical. Ambitious yet not suspicious. A careful selection, Alexios."
"You know my name?" Alexios asked, surprised.
"I know many names—including those not yet earned and those long forgotten." The satyr stamped each volume with a symbol that matched Alexios's token. "Return them when their knowledge resides in you rather than on these pages. The library will know."
"Thank you, Elder."
The satyr's milky eyes seemed to peer beyond physical form. "Interesting days ahead, Alexios-who-was-Donatos-who-was-Alexios. The wheel turns, but the spoke remembers each revolution."
Alexios froze momentarily before carefully controlling his reaction. "I'm afraid I don't follow your meaning."
"No matter," the satyr replied with an enigmatic smile. "Understanding follows experience, rarely precedes it. Go now—night approaches, and you have much to accomplish before true darkness falls."
*
The second day brought deeper exploration—both of the Academy grounds and his own developing abilities. With basic reconnaissance complete, Alexios focused on identifying potential training locations where he could exercise his growing powers away from observation.
He found the perfect spot behind the western storage facilities—a small clearing shielded by ancient olive trees whose natural energy masked minor divine manifestations. Close enough to his quarters for convenient access, remote enough to ensure privacy.
"This will do nicely," he decided, testing the area with a small burst of his signature pink lightning. The energy dissipated harmlessly into the ground, absorbed by roots that had grown in divine soil for centuries.
He spent hours in focused practice, carefully balancing progress against prudence. Too little development would waste precious opportunity; too much risked detection by the Academy's many sentinels, both seen and unseen.
With methodical discipline, he worked through fundamental exercises gleaned from his library selections—channeling divine essence through progressively complex patterns, harmonizing his energy signature with his physical movements, strengthening the connections between intention and manifestation.
"Balance," he murmured, standing on one finger atop a slender rock, his entire body perfectly controlled despite the impossible position.
"Focus." A sphere of concentrated energy formed above his free hand, pulsing with restrained power. "Control." The sphere contracted to pinpoint brilliance before dissolving without sound or disruption.
By evening, sweat gleamed on his brow—not from physical exertion but from the intense concentration required to develop power while simultaneously constraining its expression. Like a master musician practicing with a muted instrument, he progressed in technique without advertising his growing virtuosity.
As twilight deepened into true night, he returned to his quarters, carefully reviewing the Academy protocols for his third objective—social reconnaissance.
*
The third day brought the first trickle of arriving students—minor demigods and lesser immortals whose status didn't warrant ceremonial entrance but whose divine heritage nonetheless placed them well above Alexios's official standing.
Perfect subjects for his final preparation phase.
He positioned himself strategically in common areas—sometimes reading in the small campus grove, sometimes examining training equipment with scholarly interest, sometimes simply sitting quietly in the Great Hall as early arrivals wandered through to inspect their assigned tables.
His gray attire and unassuming demeanor rendered him nearly invisible against more colorful divine offspring. Yet he observed everything—alliances and rivalries already forming, power demonstrated through casual displays, hierarchies establishing themselves before classes even began.
"Did you see the son of Demeter?" whispered one young satyr to another as they passed Alexios's reading spot. "They say he can grow forests with a thought."
"Nothing compared to Apollo's twins," his companion replied. "Golden arrows that never miss, voices that can charm stone into dancing."
Alexios absorbed these snippets with keen interest, building mental profiles of key players in the upcoming term. Knowledge was power—particularly when others underestimated how much you possessed.
Occasionally, someone would notice him—his deliberately bland appearance drawing curiosity precisely because it lacked divine ostentation.
"You're not wearing house colors," observed a young demigod who approached his solitary lunch table. The boy's sea-green eyes and slightly webbed fingers marked him as likely Poseidon's offspring. "New student?"
"Alexios," he introduced himself simply. "Recently elevated from service status. Hence the gray."
The demigod's expression shifted through surprise, confusion, and finally uncomfortable politeness. "Oh. That's... unusual. I'm Triton, son of Poseidon. Well, one of his many third sons," he clarified quickly, divine ranking apparently important even among siblings.
"An honor to meet you," Alexios replied with perfect protocol—respectful without being obsequious. "This is my first term. Any advice for a newcomer?"
The simple question—and the opportunity to demonstrate superior knowledge—overcame the demigod's initial discomfort. For the next hour, young Triton expounded on Academy culture, professors to impress, rivals to avoid, and opportunities that even an unusual case like Alexios might leverage to improve his standing.
"Combat demonstrations are where reputations are really made," Triton explained, warming to his role as experienced guide. "Achilles runs the combat program this term—he's tough but fair. Recognize talent regardless of lineage."
"Good to know," Alexios nodded thoughtfully. "Though I imagine my training will be quite basic compared to yours."
"Well, yes," Triton acknowledged with poorly disguised pride. "I've been wielding trident and controlling currents since I could walk. But even minor talents can find their place with proper application."
"I'll keep that in mind," Alexios replied, his humble smile concealing thoughts that would have terrified the young demigod had they been voiced aloud.
Similar exchanges throughout the day yielded valuable intelligence—which instructors might be more receptive to an unusual student, which divine offspring might prove useful allies, which areas of Academy life offered the greatest opportunities for advancement.
By evening, as he returned to his quarters to prepare for the official opening ceremonies the following day, Alexios had compiled a comprehensive mental catalog of the Academy's power structure—both official and unofficial.
"Knowledge, foundation, opportunity," he summarized, reviewing his three days of preparation. "The pieces are in position. Now the true game begins."
He stood before his small mirror, briefly dropping the illusion that concealed his true appearance. The face that gazed back—divine beauty enhanced by determined purpose—would have been unrecognizable to those who knew only the humble servant Donatos or the newly christened student Alexios.
"Tomorrow," he promised his reflection, "the son of Aphrodite takes his first official step toward reclaiming his destiny."
Behind him, the Academy grounds quieted as night fell. Tomorrow would bring pomp and ceremony, divine displays and immortal grandstanding, as the full complement of godlings arrived to begin their education.
Among them, unrecognized and underestimated, walked one whose education had begun centuries ago in another timeline—one whose purpose transcended mere learning to embrace vengeance itself.
Alexios smiled—a predator's expression of patient anticipation.
"Let the games begin."