The results were in.
A list of names, rankings, and scores had been posted on the main board outside the academy hall, drawing in a crowd of students eager to see where they stood. The morning sun cast long shadows over the courtyard as murmurs of excitement, disappointment, and disbelief rippled through the gathering.
I already knew my name would be there, near the top, according to game scenario.
Even so, I took my time weaving through the students, watching their reactions before I even looked at the board. Some were celebrating, others groaning. A few were arguing, pointing at the names with expressions of outrage.
And then, finally, I saw it.
Rank 5 – Tristan Von Altrhrone
Not bad. Better than I expected, considering I had only recently started taking things seriously. The top names is Lyria, naturally, sitting at Rank 1 in the first years, followed by a few other well-known nobles and skilled mages.
A low scoff sounded from nearby.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Damien stood just a few paces away, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at the board. His name was lower than mine—Rank 8 in the second years. Still respectable, but not enough for someone like him.
And certainly not enough for someone who hated me.
I could already see the storm brewing in his eyes.
"You must be joking"
He muttered, loud enough for the surrounding students to hear.
"Tristan? Rank five? What a farce"
I exhaled slowly, barely sparing him a glance.
"If you have a problem with the rankings, take it up with the professors"
"You must have cheated"
That got a reaction. A few students turned, whispers beginning to spread. I rolled my eyes.
"Right. Because that's the only explanation for me doing well?"
Damien's lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it.
"Everyone knows you're nothing but a disgrace to the Altrhrone name. And now, suddenly, you place this high? Please"
I tilted my head, watching him.
This wasn't just about the rankings.
This was about control. About power. About making sure no one saw me as anything more than the 'bastard' he wanted me to be.
And I wasn't playing into that.
"Believe whatever you want"
I said flatly, turning to leave.
"Doesn't change the results"
That should have been the end of it.
But of course, Damien never let things go so easily.
The rumors started later that day.
At first, it was just whispers in the hallways—casual conversations that stopped the moment I walked past. Then, the looks began. Some were skeptical, others amused, and a few outright hostile.
By evening, the accusations had taken shape.
"Tristan must have bribed an instructor"
"No way he placed that high fairly"
"I heard he used some kind of forbidden magic during the exam"
"Maybe he stole the answers beforehand?"
The nonsense spread like wildfire, and I knew exactly who was responsible.
Damien.
He wasn't stupid enough to directly accuse me in front of the professors, but he was more than capable of letting rumors do the work for him. And in a place like Vermillion Academy, where reputation was everything, the damage was already being done.
By the next morning, students I barely spoke to were watching me with suspicion. Some laughed behind my back. Others avoided me entirely.
And then, Damien made his next move.
We were in the academy's main hall, students gathered between classes, when he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.
"It's a shame, really"
He said, leaning against a marble pillar, his voice carrying over the low chatter.
"That some people feel the need to resort to underhanded tactics just to get ahead"
I sighed.
"You really don't have anything better to do, do you?"
"Just stating facts"
He smiled, all fake politeness.
"After all, if you really earned that ranking fairly, you'd have no problem proving it, right?"
The crowd hushed.
I saw where this was going.
He wanted a reaction. He wanted me to take the bait.
I didn't give it to him.
"Prove it?"
I echoed.
"What, you want me to retake the exams? Go ahead and petition the instructors if you think you can convince them"
He shook his head.
"No, no. That wouldn't be enough"
Then, he let the words fall, smooth and casual.
"A duel should settle it"
And there it was.
The real play.
A direct challenge. In public. If I refused, the rumors would only grow worse. If I accepted, I'd be walking straight into whatever trap he had planned.
He clearly just want to beat me.
The students around us exchanged glances, some whispering, some watching in anticipation.
"Unless, of course"
Damien continued, his smirk widening.
"you're afraid?"
I gave him a flat look.
"You realize how stupid this is, right?"
"Then just say no"
He taunted.
"Walk away. Let everyone believe what they want."
I exhaled through my nose.
"Fine."
The students murmured in excitement.
I met Damien's gaze, seeing the satisfaction in his eyes. He thought he'd won something here.
He hadn't.
"Name the time and place"
I said.
"I'll be there."
...
Later That Night
The chamber was cold.
Damien ran his fingers along the rough stone, tracing the ancient carvings etched into the hidden altar. The flickering candlelight made the symbols seem alive, shifting and writhing in the dim glow.
He had read about this place before—whispers in forgotten texts, buried beneath layers of censorship and superstition. A relic of an age when men sought power beyond their grasp.
And now, he was here.
He inhaled sharply, steadying himself.
This was insane.
Even standing in this place felt like crossing a line he could never return from. He knew the risks, knew the stories of those who reached for power they could not control. But the alternative?
Losing to Tristan?
No. That wasn't an option.
Not after everything.
Not after the humiliation.
His nails dug into his palm.
"Is this what it takes?"
He muttered under his breath.
"Is this really what I need to—"
"—Win?"
The voice slithered through the chamber, wrapping around him like an unseen force. Damien's breath hitched.
The shadows stirred.
Something was here.
"You seek power, child?"
The voice was a whisper, yet it echoed through the room, reverberating in his skull.
"I can feel it. The desperation. The hunger"
Damien clenched his fists.
"I don't—"
He hesitated.
"I'm not desperate"
A low chuckle.
"Lies taste bitter on the tongue, boy."
The darkness coiled around his feet, slow, patient.
"You doubt"
The voice continued.
"You fear the price. You think yourself better than those who came before. Smarter"
Damien stiffened.
"That's not—"
"You are right to hesitate"
The voice murmured.
"Many have sought power here. Most were… unworthy"
Damien swallowed, his throat dry.
"But you"
The voice continued, smooth as silk
"You are different. Aren't you?"
The air grew heavier.
Damien forced himself to stand his ground.
"What do you want?"
Another chuckle.
"Shouldn't I be the one to say that? What do you want?"
Damien exhaled sharply.
"I want to prove myself."
"Ah"
The voice sighed.
"To whom? Your father? Your family?"
A pause.
"Or is it… him?"
Damien's jaw tightened.
"Tristan"
The voice practically purred the name.
"That thing wearing the name of your family. That fraud standing where you should stand."
A slow, twisting heat curled in Damien's chest.
"He's nothing"
Damien muttered.
"Just a mistake."
"And yet"
The voice murmured
"He stands above you."
Damien's breath came quicker.
"I won't let that continue."
"Then why hesitate?"
The voice whispered.
"Power is within your grasp. All you must do… is take it."
Damien didn't answer.
This was wrong. He knew it was wrong.
But the voice didn't push. It didn't demand. It simply waited.
And then—
A sudden surge.
Darkness slithered from the altar, wrapping around his arm like a living thing. Cold at first—then warm, then electric.
Power flooded into him.
Not much. Just a taste. A fraction. A whisper of what lay beyond.
His vision sharpened. The air around him pulsed with unseen force. His skin tingled with raw energy, his heartbeat quickening as if his body suddenly knew what it was like to be more.
He could feel everything.
The weight of the air. The shifting of the shadows. The faintest stirrings of power running beneath the academy's very foundations.
It was intoxicating.
It was—
Addicting.
Damien exhaled, his hands trembling.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
The voice was pleased.
"Just a taste. A mere fragment. And yet, already, you see the truth"
Damien clenched his fists.
He had never felt like this before. Never felt so aware of his own potential. His own lack of potential.
This power was real.
And for the first time, he realized how much he had been lacking.
The voice coiled around him like a serpent.
"This is what awaits you, Damien Altrhrone"
It murmured.
"Take my hand. Accept my gift. And you will never be beneath him again"
Damien's breathing was uneven. His thoughts clashed in his mind.
This was insane.
This was wrong.
And yet—
The power still crackled at his fingertips, whispering promises he couldn't ignore.
His heart pounded.
"Choose, child"
The voice whispered.
"Do you walk away, forever less? Or do you rise?"
Damien stared at his hands.
The choice was already made.
He exhaled slowly.
"...What do I have to do?"
Damien forced himself to steady his breath. The lingering sensation of power in his veins was… tempting. Too tempting. But something deep inside him screamed that this was wrong.
His hands curled into fists.
"No. I don't need this"
He said, voice firm despite the doubt clawing at him.
"I can beat Tristan on my own"
The voice sighed, a whisper of amusement laced with disappointment.
"Such a stubborn child."
The shadows around him shifted, growing denser, pressing in.
"You claim you don't need my power, yet you stand here, seeking more. Why?"
The voice was softer now, almost gentle.
"You know the truth, don't you?"
Damien clenched his jaw.
"You were never meant to be the heir"
His breath hitched.
"Shut up."
"Your father never saw you as worthy"
"Shut. Up"
"He always favored him—"
"Shut up!"
His voice cracked, his pulse hammering.
The laughter returned, low and knowing.
"Ah. I see now. You don't need power. You need proof"
Before he could react, the darkness surged.
A rush of unfamiliar sensations slammed into him—images, emotions, whispers of a past that felt distant yet too real to be a lie.
—His father, eyes filled with disappointment.
"Tristan is more talented than you'll ever be"
—His mother, looking away as if ashamed.
"You should accept it, Damien. You will never surpass him"
—Tristan, smirking, victorious.
"You were never competition to begin with"
The words cut deep, sharper than any blade.
Damien staggered back, breath ragged.
"No…"
He gritted his teeth, shaking his head.
"No, that's not—"
"Not real?"
The voice finished smoothly.
"Then why does it hurt?"
Damien's hands trembled. The memories felt real. The emotions, the pain, the resentment—all of it burned like something buried deep, something he had refused to acknowledge.
He swallowed hard.
His father never looked at him the same way he looked at Tristan.
He was always second. Always lesser.
"You have always been denied what is rightfully yours"
The voice whispered, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace.
"But I can change that"
Damien's breath was unsteady.
He wanted to refuse. He wanted to tell himself that this was all a trick.
But the memories lingered. The anger was real.
And if this power could change everything—if it could finally make him more than Tristan's shadow…
Damien exhaled slowly.
"...What do I have to do?"
The shadows stirred, a quiet hum of satisfaction rippling through the chamber.
"Good"
Damien took a slow breath, his pulse still uneven. His fingers twitched at his sides, lingering hesitation creeping in—was this really the right choice?
But the memories wouldn't fade. The words wouldn't stop echoing in his head.
"You will never surpass him"
"You were never competition to begin with"
His fists clenched. No. He wouldn't accept that. Not anymore.
"Tell me what I need to do"
He said, voice steadier this time.
The voice chuckled—pleased, triumphant.
"You have already done it"
Dark tendrils rose, slithering toward him, coiling around his wrists and arms. A searing heat lanced through his skin, burning like something alive.
Damien gritted his teeth—the pain was unbearable, yet he refused to scream. He could feel something pushing into him, flooding his veins, embedding itself deep in his very being.
It was power.
Dark and raw, pulsing with an unnatural energy.
His breath came in sharp gasps as the sensation finally settled. He lifted his hands, watching the faint traces of darkness flicker along his fingertips before fading into his skin.
Something inside him had changed.
Something deeper than magic—stronger than anything he had ever known.
The voice curled around him one last time.
"Now, go. Prove them wrong."
Damien exhaled, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips.
"Oh, I will"