Argus still half expected to wake up.

  The stone beneath him, the chill air clinging to his skin, the weight in his chest that refused to fade. The evening air clung to his skin, damp and heavy, and the weight in his chest refused to fade no matter how deeply he inhaled. Every sensation felt too sharp, too precise to be a dream, yet too absurd to be anything else. A voice in his head.

  A voice in his head.

  A demon king claiming to share his soul.

  The sky falling away beneath his feet as he was lifted upward, the world shrinking until buildings looked like toys and people like scattered dots.

  He swallowed hard.

  No matter how many times he replayed it, logic refused to settle the matter.

  You are breathing too shallowly.

  Argus stiffened, his shoulders tensing instinctively.

  “I am fine,” he muttered under his breath, aware of how thin the lie sounded even to himself.

  No, you are not. Your shoulders are hunched. Your spine curves forward. Your chin is down as if you expect the world to strike you at any moment.

  Argus exhaled slowly, forcing the breath to steady. “You said you would not interfere unless necessary.”

  I said I would not take control. Instruction does not count.

  That was somehow worse.

  Dravien’s presence lingered at the edge of his thoughts. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just constant. Like standing beside someone far taller than you, aware of their shadow even when they did nothing at all.

  Our training begins now.

  “Training,” Argus repeated. “Right now?”

  You are alive. You have a body. There is no better time.

  Argus hesitated, then straightened a little, self-conscious even though no one was watching. His shoulders pulled back, though tension crept into his muscles almost immediately, a dull ache forming between his shoulder blades.

  Higher. Lift your chin. Do not bare your throat, but do not hide it either. Stand as though you expect the ground itself to obey you.

  “That sounds ridiculous.”

  It sounds correct.

  Argus adjusted again. The posture felt unnatural, forced, like he was wearing someone else’s skin. His balance shifted, weight redistributing across his feet in a way he wasn’t used to. His back protested, unused muscles tightening in quiet rebellion.

  And stop that.

  “Stop what?”

  Your knee.

  Only then did Argus realize his right leg was bouncing against the stone, a restless rhythm he hadn’t even noticed. He forced it still, the sudden stillness feeling almost uncomfortable.

  You do that constantly. It is irritating.

  Argus frowned. “It helps me think.”

  It makes you look like prey.

  The words landed harder than he expected. Heat crept up his neck, irritation mixing with something unpleasantly close to shame.

  “We are leaving. Classes ended some time ago. That is why the courtyard is devoid of students,” Argus said, more to anchor himself than anything else.

  Only a handful of students lingered near the far walkways, their voices hushed, their figures half-lost in the lengthening shadows. Most had already returned to their dormitories or gone home, eager to escape another day of lectures and whispered comparisons.

  Yes, Dravien replied. We should go.

  The walk toward the academy gates felt different than usual. Every step was measured. Every movement scrutinized. Each time his posture slipped, he felt Dravien’s displeasure like a faint pressure in his skull, not pain, but awareness.

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  When they reached the waiting carriage, the driver stepped down and bowed.

  “Young master,” the man said respectfully, though his eyes flicked over Argus with practiced neutrality, lingering just long enough to measure him.

  Argus returned the greeting and climbed inside.

  The door shut with a muted thud.

  This structure is… impressive.

  Argus glanced back through the carriage window as it began to roll, the academy rising behind them. White stone towers gleamed faintly in the dying light, runes etched into their surfaces catching the last glow of dusk.

  “It is divided into four wings,” he said, the explanation coming automatically. “The first is for lectures and theory. All years attend classes there. The second is the combat wing. Training grounds. Dueling halls. The third is for healers. The fourth handles potions, runes, and enchantments.”

  It is efficient and orderly. And distinctly human.

  The carriage rolled forward, leaving the academy behind. Open green fields stretched outward, dotted with stone paths and ornamental trees trimmed to pleasing symmetry. Slowly, the scenery shifted. Fields gave way to clustered buildings, narrow streets, voices layering over one another in chaotic harmony.

  The city.

  Merchants shouted over one another. Children darted between stalls, laughter ringing out as they vanished into the crowd. Mana lamps flickered to life as dusk deepened, their pale glow casting long shadows across cobblestone streets.

  As the carriage moved deeper, the streets widened. Wood gave way to stone. Banners hung from balconies. Guards stood watch at intersections, armor polished, expressions bored but alert.

  Wealth announced itself without needing words.

  So this is where nobles gather, Dravien said. Argus remained silent.

  Ahead, a hill rose above the surrounding buildings, crowned with spires and walls that caught the fading sunlight like a blade catching fire.

  Argus felt Dravien’s attention sharpen.

  Is that the royal castle?

  “Yes,” Argus replied. “It has stood for centuries.”

  I am not surprised.

  There was something distant in Dravien’s tone.

  I once attempted to seize it. One of my twelve Rakshasa generals led the expedition himself. The defenses were… formidable. All of them died. I lost far more than I anticipated.

  Argus’s throat tightened.

  The words carried no pride. No bitterness. They were spoken the way one might recall a failed experiment.

  So he said nothing.

  Your posture is slipping again.

  Argus straightened instinctively. His knee tapped once before he caught himself.

  If you continue that habit, I will correct it personally.

  “You said you would not take control,” Argus said quickly.

  I said unless necessary.

  Argus swallowed. “I will stop.”

  Good.

  Silence stretched as the carriage climbed toward the noble district.

  After a while, Dravien spoke again.

  Why were those boys attacking you?

  Argus’s fingers curled against his knee. “They are in my year. They started speaking poorly of me. Of my family. I responded. It escalated.”

  You were beaten.

  “Yes.”

  Why did you not run, it was apparent you couldn’t win.

  Argus stared out the window at the passing estates. “Because I am tired of running.”

  The words surprised him with their honesty.

  “They cornered me,” he continued quietly. “I kicked the leader where it hurt most. I punched the other two. It did not help much, but the alternative was to stand still and let them hit me.”

  If you are tired of running, why not become strong?

  Argus let out a humorless breath. “Because I cannot.”

  Dravien waited.

  “I was born with low mana output,” Argus said. “My reserves are closer to a commoner’s than a noble’s. I lack elemental affinity. I cannot wield a blade well either.”

  Then why are you not practicing without rest?

  “It does nothing,” Argus replied. “No matter how much I train, my mana remains weak. My control does not improve. Physical training helps slightly, but for a mage, physique is secondary.”

  That is what they teach you?

  “Yes.”

  Then they are fools.

  Argus blinked. “What?”

  A strong body is the foundation of spellwork. Breath. Posture. Circulation. Magic flows through flesh. It does not exist apart from it.

  “That is not what we are taught.”

  Then you are taught wrong.

  Uncertainty crept in, tangled with something dangerous. Hope.

  Are mages even able to draw power from the environment anymore? Dravien asked.

  Only Legendary tier mages can do that, Argus replied quickly. “At least that is what we are told.”

  That is disappointing. In my era, even the weakest demon could do so if taught correctly.

  “What?” Argus gasped. The teachers at the academy had spoken of that ability with reverence, as though it were a myth rather than a spell.

  The peak of modern magecraft, they had called it. Something discussed in lecture halls but never demonstrated. Something he would never reach.

  He still remembered the looks. The polite smiles. The way their voices softened when they spoke to him, already resigned to his failure.

  Every capable being could. Your generation lacks technique, not potential.

  Argus’s heart began to race. “You are saying you can teach me?”

  Of course. From now on, our fates are intertwined.

  If the former Demon Lord truly intended to teach it to him—

  His fingers curled unconsciously.

  Finn’s face surfaced in his mind, that familiar smirk twisting as it always did when he got insulted for his magical output and control. His sneer when praise was given to others and not to him. Just imagining the moment when that expression cracked sent a quiet, dangerous satisfaction through his chest.

  And for reasons he couldn’t explain, deeper than logic or proof, he knew this would be different.

  He would learn it.

  The carriage slowed as iron gates came into view.

  All the horror and disbelief faded, replaced by something bright and unfamiliar. Excitement bubbled inside him, sharp and intoxicating.

  They passed through the gates of the Thunderbloom estate, the manor rising ahead in pale stone and quiet dignity.

  Argus felt something shift inside him.

  For not the first time in years, the path ahead felt uncertain.

  But unlike the fear of failure he had known before, this uncertainty was sharp, intoxicating, and… promising