The next morning, the common room was quiet, the fire reduced to ash. Rania sat at the table, sipping tea, her golden eyes flicking up as Nagara emerged, still bleary from sleeplessness.
"You look awful," she said, her tone dry.
"Didn't sleep," Nagara muttered, dropping into a chair. "You?"
"Enough." She studied him, her calm a stark contrast to his restless energy. "You're still thinking about it."
"Aren't you?" he shot back.
She set her cup down, her gaze steady. "I am. But we can't just sit here, Nagara. If Azlin's right—if he's real—we need answers."
Nagara frowned. "Answers? From where? Azlin doesn't even remember half of what he's supposed to know."
Rania leaned forward, her voice low. "Then we find out ourselves. The Paladas Library. It's the oldest archive in Aroken. If there's anything about Saerus Magdalene, about what Azlin's chasing, it'll be there."
Nagara's eyes narrowed. "The library? You mean the restricted section? The one guarded like it's hiding the emperor's crown?"
"Exactly," Rania said, a spark of determination in her eyes. "The deepest vaults hold the forbidden texts—secrets of the world, the dark arts, histories no one's supposed to know. I heard the elders talk about it when I was a kid. If Saerus is what Azlin says, his name will be there."
Nagara hesitated. "That place is locked tighter than a dragon's hoard. Only highborns and archivists get in, and even then, they're watched. We'd be caught before we opened a single book."
"Not if we're careful," Rania said. "We play dumb. Act like we're just students researching for a project. No one knows what we saw. No one knows about Azlin."
As if summoned, Azlin's door opened. He stepped out, his robes neat but his eyes tired, like he'd been wrestling with his own fractured memories. "What are you two plotting?" he asked, his tone light but wary.
Rania didn't miss a beat. "We're going to the Paladas Library. The restricted section. If you're right about Saerus, there's got to be something there—something to fill in the gaps you can't remember."
Azlin's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and unease. "The restricted section? That's… dangerous. Those texts are guarded for a reason. Some of them are sealed with blood wards. Others…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing. "I don't know. I feel like I've been there before, but it's hazy."
Nagara leaned forward, his voice sharp. "Hazy or not, you're the one who said we're running out of time. If you can't remember, we'll find the answers ourselves. You in or not?"
Azlin hesitated, his gaze distant, as if searching for a memory just out of reach. Then he nodded. "I'm in. But we can't draw attention. The archivists aren't just librarians—they're trained to sense intent. And if Saerus has agents here, they'll be watching the library most of all."
Rania stood, her movements precise. "Then we play it safe. We're just three students looking for obscure texts for a class. No one needs to know we're hunting a world-ender."
Nagara snorted, but there was a fire in his eyes now. "Fine. Let's do it. But Azlin—if we're risking our necks, you tell us everything you do remember. No holding back."
Azlin's lips quirked, a ghost of a smile. "What I remember, you'll know. I promise."
As they gathered their cloaks and prepared to leave, the weight of their decision settled over them. They were stepping into shadows, chasing secrets that could unravel the world—or themselves. The Paladas Library loomed in their minds, its forbidden vaults holding truths that might save them or doom them.
Outside, the academy stirred, unaware of the storm brewing in its heart.
Saerus Magdalene was coming.
And three unlikely souls were about to tempt fate to stop him.
The common room of House Mennefer felt even more oppressive than usual, the flickering hearth doing little to ward off the chill that had settled in after their failed attempt at the Paladas Library. The three of them—Azlin, Rania, and Nagara—had returned under the cover of dusk, slipping through the academy's winding corridors like shadows. They'd played it casual, posing as diligent students researching an obscure assignment, but the archivists weren't fools. The blood wards hummed with suspicion, and the guards' eyes followed them too closely. When they tried to push deeper, toward the forbidden vaults, a stern warning and a swift escort out had been their only reward.
Now, back in their tower, the door locked tight, the weight of failure hung heavy in the air. Azlin paced slowly by the fire, his green eyes distant, piecing together fragments of memories that refused to solidify. Rania sat rigidly on the couch, her golden eyes flashing with frustration, while Nagara leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression a storm of barely contained anger.
"We almost had it," Nagara muttered, breaking the silence. "If that one archivist hadn't shown up—"
"It doesn't matter," Azlin said quietly, stopping his pacing to face them. "We couldn't have forced it. Those wards… they're tied to the academy's core. Pushing harder would've raised alarms we can't afford."
Rania's lips pressed into a thin line. "So what now? We just give up? Pretend we don't need those texts? Saerus isn't going to wait while we twiddle our thumbs."
Azlin shook his head, his voice steady despite the uncertainty in his gaze. "No. There's another way. One that could grant us access—not just to the restricted section, but to the deepest vaults. The ones even the archivists whisper about."
Nagara perked up, his eyes narrowing. "What way?"
"The Alpha's Champion," Azlin said, the words dropping like stones into still water.
Rania's face darkened instantly, a flicker of disgust crossing her features. "Absolutely not. That barbaric spectacle? I'd rather sneak back into the library and fight the wards myself."
Azlin held up a hand, his tone patient but firm. "Hear me out. The Alpha's Champion is the academy's most anticipated event. Each house sends their best representatives—students who compete in trials that change every year. One year it's arcane duels, the next survival in illusionary realms, or puzzles that test every lesson we've learned. It's brutal, Rania. Cruel. Life-and-death situations. Students have died in the arena, pushed beyond their limits."
She crossed her arms, her voice laced with venom. "I know what it is, Azlin. I've seen the aftermath—broken bodies carted off, families mourning in silence because the academy calls it 'honorable sacrifice.' It's a blood sport for the high houses to flaunt their power. I hate it. Everything about it."
Azlin nodded, acknowledging her words, but pressed on. "I don't like it either. But the winner… they get more than glory. The Alpha title for their house, the highest facilities, privileges that last the entire year—top training grounds, unrestricted access to resources, even private audiences with the academy's elders. And one wish. Granted by the council. Anything within their power."
Nagara's eyes widened slightly, a spark of interest igniting. "Anything?"
"Anything," Azlin confirmed. "Including entry to the forbidden sections of Paladas. We've got the worst common room in the academy because House Mennefer never participates—or when we do, we scrape the bottom. The other houses treat us like outcasts, deny us basics because we're 'unworthy.' Winning this could change that. Flip the script."
Rania stood abruptly, her voice sharp. "And the cost? You said it yourself—people die. We're not gladiators, Azlin. We're barely holding our own in classes. There has to be another way. Bribery, stealth spells, something."
Azlin's expression hardened, the ancient weight in his eyes surfacing. "There isn't. I've… glimpsed this before, in fragments of my past lives. The library's secrets are locked behind power and prestige. And Saerus? His threat is far worse than any trial the Champion could throw at us. If we don't get those texts—learn about the seals, the histories I've forgotten—we're blind. He wakes, and everything ends. This is the only path."
The room fell silent, the crackle of the fire the only sound. Nagara had been listening intently, his mind racing. Recognition. Power. The chance to prove himself, to shatter the chains that bound House Mennefer to the bottom rung. And that wish—anything he desired. It stirred something deep in him, a fire that had been smoldering since he arrived at the academy. He wasn't just a lowborn anymore. He had his Djinn, his awakening powers. And genuinely, he wanted to make the other houses regret treating them like outcasts—to see Mennefer rise, respected, feared even.
"I'm in," Nagara said suddenly, his voice resolute. He pushed off the wall, stepping forward. "We join. We win. That wish could get us into the vaults, sure, but think bigger. Recognition for our house. For us. No more scraping by in this dump. And if it means facing whatever hell they throw at us… fine. I've faced worse odds."
Rania turned to him, incredulous. "Nagara, you can't be serious. This isn't some sparring match. It's—"
"Life or death," he finished for her, his eyes burning. "Yeah, I heard. But sitting here, doing nothing? That's death too—slow and sure, when Saerus comes. Azlin's right. This is our shot. And hell, I've got something to prove. Don't you?"
She hesitated, her golden eyes searching his face, then Azlin's. The hatred for the Champion warred with the logic, the urgency. Finally, she exhaled sharply, sinking back onto the couch. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it smart. No heroics. And if it gets too bad… we pull out."
Azlin's shoulders relaxed slightly, a faint nod of gratitude. "The Champion starts next month. Applications close next week. We have limited time to prepare—train, strategize. We'll need to submit as House Mennefer's representatives. No one expects us to enter, let alone win. That could be our edge."
Nagara grinned, a fierce, determined edge to it. "Then let's make them regret underestimating us."
As the fire died down, the three of them began to plan, the weight of their choice forging a new bond. The Alpha's Champion loomed ahead, a gauntlet of brutality and cunning. But for the secrets they sought, for the storm named Saerus Magdalene gathering on the horizon, they would face it.
That night, Rania couldn't shake the unease twisting in her gut. She sat by the windowsill again, the stars indifferent overhead. The Alpha's Champion—it represented everything she despised about Aroken: the glorification of violence, the way power was won through blood and broken dreams. She'd heard stories from her family's elders, of promising heirs lost to the trials, their houses diminished forever.
Yet Azlin's words echoed: Saerus's danger is far worse. She believed him, even with his memories fractured. And Nagara's fire… it was infectious, pulling her along despite her reservations. She didn't want the glory, the privileges. But if it meant uncovering truths that could save them—save him from his endless cycle—she'd endure it.
"I hate this," she whispered to the dark, but her voice held resolve. No other way. Not now.
Nagara lay in his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, his mind alive with possibilities. The Champion wasn't just a risk—it was an opportunity. To win that wish, to claim the Alpha title for Mennefer. Recognition of his power, the kind he'd craved since stepping foot in this academy. No more being treated like scum by the high houses. He'd make them see—make them pay for every slight, every dismissal.
And deeper, a genuine spark: lifting his house from the ashes. Azlin and Rania—they were his allies now, his friends. Winning for them, too. His fists clenched under the covers. "We'll take it," he murmured. "All of it."
Azlin retreated to his chamber, the door clicking shut behind him. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples as hazy images flickered—past Champions, perhaps, in lives long gone. The brutality didn't scare him; he'd died before, in worse ways. But dragging them into it… that weighed heavy.
Still, necessity drove him. Saerus's seal was cracking; time was slipping. The library's forbidden texts might hold the keys to his lost memories, to stopping the cycle. "This is the way," he told himself, voice steady in the quiet. For them, for the world, he'd lead them through the fire.
The next morning, they would begin preparations. The Alpha's Champion awaited, a crucible that could forge them—or break them forever.