After wandering around the academy grounds for a while, Kael finally grew bored.
The novelty of glowing gardens and floating architecture had worn off quickly, replaced by the familiar weight of exhaustion settling back into his bones.
"So what's the point of exploring if this isn't even the real academy?" he asked, kicking a small pebble off the path. It skittered across the stone and vanished into a hedge.
"There isn't," Theo replied flatly, not even looking at him.
Kael stopped walking. "Great. I'm going back to bed."
"You can go without me," Theo said, adjusting his glasses. "I have something to do."
"Cool. Have fun with that."
Kael turned and headed back toward the dormitory, hands in his pockets, his mind already drifting toward the promise of soft blankets and unconsciousness.
◆ ◆ ◆
He made it back to his dorm and flopped face-first onto his bed, burying his head in the covers with a satisfied groan.
The medicine they'd given him at the infirmary had finally kicked in. The searing pain in his ribs was now a dull, manageable ache instead of the sharp scream it had been earlier.
His limbs still felt heavy—like someone had filled them with sand—but it was tolerable.
'Good enough.'
He lay there for a moment, staring at the stone ceiling through the gap between his pillow and the wall.
Then, with a thought, he summoned the Archive interface.
The familiar golden screen blinked into existence, hovering in the air above him, its glow soft and almost welcoming.
[◆ STATUS WINDOW ◆]
He scrolled past his stats—still unimpressive, still confusing—and navigated to the World Task tab.
The text appeared, clean and precise.
[WORLD TASK: PREVENT THE RETURN]
[TASK DESCRIPTION:]
Long ago, seven heroes sacrificed themselves to seal an enemy that threatened to devour the world. From their sacrifice, the Archive was born—a system designed to ensure humanity would never be caught unprepared again.
But the seal weakens.
The enemy stirs.
Kael read it again.
Then again.
Seven heroes.
An enemy that couldn't be killed, only sealed.
And the Archive was created from their dying breaths to prepare the world for its return.
"So," he muttered, rubbing his face. "They must've been insane powerhouses."
And yet they couldn't kill whatever they faced?
And the thing was apparently waking up?
That was the thing he was supposed to stop.
Him.
The guy who'd spent thirty years doing absolutely nothing.
He sighed, staring at the glowing text with a mixture of resignation and disbelief.
'This is way too much responsibility for someone who still isn't even sure what his class does.'
Sure, the Archive would probably give him tasks—weird, invasive, glitched tasks—and completing them would somehow make him stronger...right?
But still.
It felt too big.
Too heavy.
"Well..." he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I did promise to try."
He closed the World Task tab and returned to his Status Window, his eyes drifting over the information again.
And then he stopped.
One line caught his attention.
Age: 18
His brows furrowed.
'Eighteen.'
Theo had said people undergo their Trial of Awakening at eighteen. That's when the Archive links to their soul. That's when they ascend to Novice Sigil.
But from what he understood of the situation, he had only just formed a bond with the Archive yesterday.
Which meant this body—his body—hadn't established one before.
Which raised a more disturbing question.
'Did I even take a Trial?'
He thought back, trying to remember.
The void. The golden light. The sensation of being pulled into something vast and incomprehensible.
Was that the trial?
It hadn't felt like what Theo described—no fears, no trauma, no test of will.
Just... darkness. And light. And synchronization.
And he'd been able to see the Archive before that. Before he supposedly "ascended." Before he chose a class.
The system had appeared the moment he woke up in this world, shoving tasks at him, forcing him onto a path.
That wasn't normal right?
From everything Theo had explained, the Archive was supposed to be passive. A tool. A tracker.
Not a commander.
But Kael's was different.
Too different.
He stared at the screen, his mind churning through possibilities.
'Is it because I'm one of the seven chosen?'
'Or is there something else?'
Another thought crept in—quieter, darker.
'Whose body is this?'
The question had been lurking in the back of his mind since he woke up in this world, but he'd pushed it aside, too exhausted to care.
Now, though, it clawed its way to the surface.
In every transmigration novel he'd ever read, the protagonist took over someone's body. A noble. A prodigy. A hidden heir.
Their identity was never small.
Was that the case here?
'Is there someone out there looking for this body?'
'Who was the original owner?'
'How did they die?'
He didn't know.
But the implications gnawed at him.
If this body belonged to someone—someone with a family, a history, a life—then where were they?
Why hadn't anyone come looking?
Why was he found wandering alone in the middle of nowhere, barefoot and confused?
Had the original owner died?
Or had they been... replaced?
But then another thought followed, colder and more pragmatic.
'Does it even matter?'
If the original owner was gone—truly gone—then wasn't this body his now?
Wasn't this life his?
It's not like he wanted to be here.
He didn't have answers.
And the more he thought about it, the more questions piled up, tangled and suffocating.
'Who am I?'
'Whose body is this?'
'Why me of all people?'
'What happened to the person who lived here before?'
He closed the Status Window with a thought, the golden glow fading into darkness.
And lay there, staring at the ceiling, his mind a chaotic mess of unanswered questions and uncomfortable possibilities.
"Whatever," he muttered aloud, pulling the covers over his head. "I'll worry about it later."
Because right now, he was tired.
Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.
And if there was one thing Kael was good at, it was putting off problems until they became unavoidable.
'Future Kael can deal with it.'
'Present Kael needs sleep.'
'Good luck bro.'
And with that thought—familiar, comforting, deeply irresponsible—he let himself drift off into the kind of sleep only someone half-broken and thoroughly confused could truly enjoy.