'Kyros! Kyros!' The sharp voice of Instructor Darius.

Are you sleeping again?

Kyros woke up, blinking rapidly as the sunlight streaming through the tall windows momentarily blinded him. He sat upright, his pale face flushed as whispers filled the room. The other students smirked or exchanged amused glances, all too familiar with this scene.

Huh? Kyros muttered. He rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of where he was. His surroundings felt oddly surreal—rows of wooden desks, students in polished academy uniforms, and a chalkboard inscribed with magical runes. It wasn't the battlefield he'd last seen. 

What happened? I thought I died.

The room went silent. The instructor's glare sharpened as he strode toward Kyros, his boots clicking against the stone floor.

'Do you think this is a place to nap and spout nonsense? You may find yourself kicked out from the Olympian Sanctum Academy sooner than you think!'

Kyros blinked again, his memories confused. He remembered the clash of swords, the roar of gods, and the searing pain as a Titan's weapon struck him down. But this… this was different. His hands instinctively moved to his chest, feeling a slim, fragile body. This wasn't his body—not the muscular form of the general who once served Ares.

'I… I apologize, Instructor Darius,' Kyros said, his voice steadying. 'It won't happen again.'

Kyros blinked, trying to piece together the fragments of memory flooding his mind. This wasn't the battlefield he had fallen on. The clash of weapons and divine screams were replaced by the dull whisper of a classroom, the weight of the past replaced by the frailty of a body that wasn't his own.

Ahhh, this body belongs to Kyros, he realized, the name a curious coincidence. 

What were the odds? Was it a divine jest, or perhaps something more? His thoughts raced as he sat in the classroom, blending his past memories with the present.

The instructor's voice droned on in the background, explaining the ancient "Battle of the Gods," a historical event of mythic proportions. The details caught Kyros' attention like a flame in the dark. It was a tale he knew all too well—he had lived through it.

"…and the war ended a thousand years ago," the instructor said, pacing the front of the classroom. "Today, we commemorate the events that reshaped our world. As of this year, 2090, our traditions honor the gods who triumphed and the sacrifices made in their names."

Kyros stiffened, the weight of those words sinking in. A thousand years? He bit his lip to suppress his shock. The realization sent a chill down his spine, but he didn't dare let it show. Instead, he clenched his fists under the desk, his mind racing.

So, it's true. A millennium has passed since I fell.

Later that day, The Academy's courtyard was full of energy as students practiced magic and trained together. Kyros stood alone, leaning on a pillar, watching them. His body hurt from the tough morning training, and even small movements felt painful. How could he regain the strength he used to have with this weak body?

'You're Kyros, right?' a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Kyros turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered boy with fiery red hair and a cocky grin. Beside him stood two others, their smug expressions mirroring their leader's.

'Yes,' Kyros replied evenly, sizing them up. 'And you are?'

'Lykos,' the red-haired boy said, puffing out his chest. 

'Second-year. I've heard about you—the pale little ghost who keeps falling asleep in class. Thought I'd see for myself if the rumors are true.'

Kyros' lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. 

And? He said.

Lykos' grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. 

You've got guts, I'll give you that. But don't get cocky. This isn't a place for weaklings.

Kyros straightened, meeting Lykos' gaze head-on. 

'Weaklings don't last long anywhere. Fortunately, I have no intention of being one.'

The air between them grew tense, but Lykos eventually chuckled and stepped back. 

We'll see about that. Try not to embarrass yourself out there, kid. With that, he and his lackeys walked away, leaving Kyros alone once more.

Idiots, Kyros muttered, shaking his head. But their words stung more than he cared to admit. He had to get stronger, and fast.

At night, the dormitory was quiet because most students were asleep. But Kyros sat on the floor with a candle lighting up an old book on his lap. He had taken it from the Academy's restricted section, and it was full of strange symbols and old spells.

'Magic today is a shadow of what it once was,' Kyros muttered, his fingers tracing the faded text. In his previous life, he'd seen sorcery that could level mountains and shatter armies. Now, these spells felt like children's toys.

He closed his eyes and focused, drawing mana from the core of his being. It was faint, but it was there. He carefully channeled it into his palm, shaping it into a small, glowing orb. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the strain mounted, but he held on.

The orb grew brighter, its warmth spreading through his veins. A surge of triumph filled him—until the mana destabilized. The orb exploded with a soft pop, sending a gust of wind through the room. Kyros let out a frustrated sigh.

'Still not enough,' he muttered, wiping his brow. But he wouldn't give up. He'd rebuild himself, piece by piece, until he was stronger than ever.

'No, I need to surpass my past self.'

From the hallway's shadows, Alethea Astera, the top first-year student, watched the soft light coming from Kyros' room.

'I hadn't spoken to him much, but lately, something about him caught my attention.'

The frail, often-overlooked student was quieter than usual tonight—no loud snores, no signs of his usual absent-mindedness.

'Odd,' she murmured, her silver eyes narrowing slightly.

'I'm not the type to get curious about people, especially someone so insignificant to the Academy's reputation. And yet, something about him made me pause. My instincts told me he was worth watching.'

She lingered a moment longer, then shook her head, berating herself for wasting time. Whatever strange air surrounded Kyros, it wasn't her concern.

The next morning, Kyros showed up at the training grounds early, ready to push himself. He hadn't slept much, his body sore from testing magic the night before. But the determination in his chest was stronger than ever.

'You're up early,' a familiar voice said.

Kyros turned and saw Alethea nearby. Her face was hard to read. She wore the Academy's combat uniform, her golden hair in a braid. She looked confident, the kind of person who commanded respect without trying.

'Couldn't sleep,' Kyros said. 'Thought I'd make the most of it.'

Alethea looked him over and nodded. 'Good. Let's see what you've got.'

'What?' Kyros asked, raising an eyebrow.

'A sparring match,' she said, stepping onto the field. 

'Unless you're scared.'

Kyros grinned, suddenly forgetting his exhaustion. 'Scared? Not a chance.' He followed her, his heart racing. This was his moment to prove something—to her, the Academy, and himself.

As they squared off, a crowd gathered, curious about the duel between the top student and the Academy's underdog. Alethea stood steady and controlled, while Kyros' stance was loose and natural.

'Begin!' someone shouted.

Alethea moved first, quick and sharp. Kyros dodged, his reflexes sharp from years of past battles. He struck back, making her block and adjust.

They moved fast, their practice weapons clashing. Alethea was skilled, but Kyros' unpredictability kept her guessing. The crowd watched in awe as the duel dragged on, neither of them backing down.

At last, Alethea landed a clean strike, her weapon stopping just short of Kyros' neck. He froze, panting as their eyes met.

'Not bad,' she said, lowering her blade. 'But you've got a lot to learn.'

Kyros gave a small, crooked smile. 'I'll take that as a compliment.'

As the crowd wandered off, murmurs of amazement filled the air. Kyros had gone toe-to-toe with one of the Academy's best, and his performance left many impressed. 

He had held his own against one of the top students. It wasn't much, but it was a start—and he'd keep building on it, step by step.