The Gauntlet didn't end when I walked out of the arena.
It just changed shape.
Now the blades were words.
And the battlefield was silence.
I couldn't take five steps in the Academy without someone stopping mid-sentence. Eyes followed me like I was both a curiosity and a warning. Not feared like a tyrant, not admired like a hero.
Something else.
Like a prophecy walking through their halls.
And I liked it.
Because they couldn't see the part of me that enjoyed this.
The part that should've died on Earth.
The one that sang to blood and silence.
The one Ravianne carved into my bones like a prayer.
⸻
I found her waiting in my chambers. Not seated. Not drinking.
Standing.
Back straight, arms folded behind her like a general before war.
The candles around her didn't flicker.
They bowed.
"You made them watch," she said.
I nodded.
"I wanted them to listen."
She walked to me.
Not like a mother.
Not like an aunt.
Like a queen inspecting her successor.
When she reached me, her hand went to my face. Fingers soft. Cold.
Like snow on fire.
"Do you know what you've done?"
"Passed their test."
"No," she whispered. "You rewrote it."
Her eyes held mine.
And I realized, for the first time, that she wasn't proud.
She was satisfied.
Like a plan had come full circle.
"I need you to understand something," she said. "Now that the blood's waking."
"What blood?"
She stepped back.
Rolled up her sleeve.
And showed me.
Her arm wasn't skin.
It was scripture.
Thousands of glyphs, etched from shoulder to wrist. Each one glowing faintly gold.
They weren't tattoos.
They were seals.
"This is what you carry," she said. "This is what I passed on."
"You?"
She nodded once.
"My mother was a Nephilim. Half-fallen. Half-mortal. Banished for loving something she shouldn't have. I was born from that mistake. Raised by a court that feared the shadow in my veins."
Her voice softened.
"They made me a villainess before I ever committed a crime."
I couldn't breathe.
Because suddenly, my dreams made sense.
The whispers. The wings in the mirror. The rage that didn't belong to me.
It was hers.
It was me.
"You said it was a legacy," I murmured. "Not a gift."
"Because it costs more than it gives."
She reached into her coat.
Pulled out a vial.
Black liquid. Not ink. Not blood.
Both.
"I used this when I awakened," she said. "You'll need it too."
I took it.
It pulsed in my hand.
Like it wanted out.
Like it remembered the blood that birthed it.
"Drink it," she said.
"And then what?"
"Then you'll understand why I made you a villain."
—
The world didn't shatter.
It split.
When the black blood touched my throat, I saw everything.
Not just images.
Memories.
A battlefield of wings, where angels screamed and bled fire. A tower above the clouds, where mortals begged to be gods. A throne with no occupant, carved from obsidian and ash, waiting for someone who wouldn't pray.
I stood in all of them.
Alive.
A child of the first rebellion.
The echo of a divine mistake.
When I came back to myself, I was kneeling.
My hands burned with sigils.
My chest glowed gold.
And behind me, in the mirror, wings stretched wide.
Not feathered.
Veined. Black as night. Edged with starlight.
They didn't flap.
They loomed.
Ravianne was still there.
But she looked different now.
Like she saw me clearly for the first time.
"You're not my heir anymore," she said.
"No?"
She smiled.
"You're my correction."
—
Word spread faster than wildfire.
Even before dawn, the Academy was crawling with speculation. The guards at the gates doubled. Some students refused to come to class. Others followed me from the shadows, hoping to catch another glimpse of what I had become.
They weren't going to.
Because I wasn't sure I knew either.
My body felt too still now. Like every movement was a ripple over deeper water. Like something ancient had coiled around my spine and whispered, "Wait. Not yet."
But it wouldn't wait long.
Not after what came next.
—
A summons.
Official. Sealed. Blood-red wax with the Academy's double crescent crest.
I knew before I opened it.
The Council had finally noticed me.
Not the Academy council.
The Empire's.
Twelve seats of divine right.
One throne of absolute judgment.
And I had been summoned before them.
"Is this a trial?" I asked Ravianne, holding the scroll.
She shook her head.
"This is curiosity pretending to be law."
"And if I refuse?"
Her smile returned.
"Then they'll know you've already outgrown them."
I didn't need her to come.
But she followed anyway.
Not as my aunt.
Not as the infamous villainess.
As my witness.
—
The imperial palace looked like it had been carved from dying stars.
White marble, so bright it hurt to look at. Gold veining every spire. And statues—everywhere—of saints with broken swords and blindfolded gods.
They brought me through sixteen gates, each guarded by spellbound knights.
No one spoke.
Until we reached the chamber of the Twelve.
The doors opened.
And I walked into judgment.
—
The room was circular.
Everything here was.
Twelve thrones formed a ring, each shaped differently, sculpted from dragon bone, frostglass, obsidian, moonstone.
In the center, no seat.
Only a circle of black.
They meant for me to stand there.
So I did.
The oldest councilor leaned forward.
A man with gold eyes, no pupils, and a crown made of flames.
"You," he said, "are the heir of Ravianne Everdusk?"
I tilted my head.
"Adopted, yes."
"Blooded now," another corrected.
An elf woman with ash-gray skin and six tiny stars orbiting her temples.
"You showed divine authority in the Crucible," said a third.
"And bore wings not known in Heaven," said a fourth.
"Do you know what you are?"
I smiled.
"Yes."
They waited.
I didn't explain.
Because you don't explain a storm.
You unleash it.
—
"Then answer this," the oldest said, voice like a church bell.
"What do you intend to do with your power?"
I stepped forward.
Close enough for them to see that I wasn't bluffing.
That I wasn't afraid.
And I said:
"Build a throne for the ones you buried."
The silence after that could've split mountains.
Then the elf spoke again.
"You'll make enemies."
I nodded.
"Good."
The man of flames smiled.
Like someone remembering a war.
And he said:
"Then let the game begin."
—
When I left that chamber, I wasn't a student.
I wasn't even an heir.
I was a threat.
And in the world I was building,
that was the first step to becoming king.