"We should head to the Spell Weaving class," Sam said, gathering his things. "Professor Thane hates when people are late."
"Actually," Nero said, rubbing his temple, "I think that duel with Damus affected me more than I thought. I'm going to skip today, get some rest."
Sam's face immediately shifted to concern. "Where are you hurt? Should we go back to the infirmary? Did they miss something? I knew that punch looked too strong-"
"It's okay, Sam." Nero cut him off. "I just need to lie down for a bit." He paused, then added, trying to sound casual, "Actually, could you take me to our dorm first?"
"Our dorm?" Sam's brow furrowed. "Is it that bad? You can't even remember- I can stay if you need-"
"Sam," Nero said firmly. "I'm fine. Just a headache. But yes, everything's a bit... fuzzy right now."
Sam nodded, and they made their way through Xerkes' winding corridors. The academy hadn't changed much in sixty years - or wouldn't change much, depending on how you looked at it. Still, Nero was grateful for the guidance as Sam led them up three flights of stairs, down a corridor lined with enchanted paintings, and finally to a door marked "214."
Their shared room was exactly what you'd expect from two teenage boys studying magic - scrolls scattered across desks, crystal formations growing in the window, and what appeared to be a failed attempt at an automated clothing-folding spell still sparking weakly in the corner. Sam's side was meticulously organized chaos, while Nero's... well, he'd have to figure out which side was his.
Normally, Xerkes assigned three students to each dorm room - a tradition dating back to the founding fathers of the academy. But either through administrative oversight or luck, Nero and Sam had ended up without a third roommate.
The extra space had quickly been converted into an impromptu potion-making station, complete with a small ventilation charm that Sam had rigged up after their third failed attempt at brewing Clarity Extract had filled the room with purple smoke.
"We should probably put some order in here soon," Nero said, surveying the room.
Sam let out a surprised laugh. "You? The guy who thrives in chaos?"
I'm not that guy anymore, Nero thought, memories of his meticulously organized office at the Council floating through his mind. Sixty years of fastidious record-keeping had a way of changing habits.
"Thanks for showing me back," he said, starting to head toward one of the beds.
"The one on the left is yours," Sam called out, making Nero correct his course.
"Thanks again."
Sam sighed, hovering by the door. "I'll bring some snacks and ice cream when classes end." He adjusted his bag. "Stay safe, man."
"I will."
"Bye then," Sam said, lingering for a moment longer before finally heading out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Nero exhaled deeply as he lay on his bed, staring at the familiar-yet-strange ceiling. Just this morning - was it even this morning? - he'd woken up in his bunker, bones aching, joints creaking with the weight of his 79 years.
The last twenty-four hours felt surreal - from his final moments on that beach to his conversation with that mysterious woman, and now... here. Back in his twelve-year-old body. Back when the world still made sense. When his biggest worries were exam scores and whether he'd embarrass himself in front of Mia Storm.
Back when his parents were still alive...
His chest tightened at the thought. They were alive right now. Not just alive - they were probably going about their daily routines, completely unaware that their son had just lived an entire lifetime without them. He wanted, more than anything, to see them. But from this place...
He should write them a letter soon then.
The lack of long-distance communication crystals in this era meant that correspondence was still largely done the old way. The current crystals could barely manage conversations across a city block, nothing like the continent-spanning network that would revolutionize communication in a few years. For now, his parents were just a letter away - achingly close, yet frustratingly distant.
Nero's exhaled as his thoughts drifted to all the possibilities this opportunity at a second chance gave him.
Maybe this time he could actually see those places he'd only dreamed about. He could wander through elven cities, explore the depths of dwarven strongholds...
At this point in time, getting a travel permit to any non-human territory would be nearly impossible. The elves especially were notorious for turning away human visitors - something about "preserving cultural purity," though everyone knew it was more about the lingering tensions from the perpetual conflicts.
The dwarves were slightly more welcoming, if only because they enjoyed trading their metalwork. Still, they rarely allowed humans past their surface markets. The deeper halls of their cities remained a mystery to most.
An adventurer's license would help - it was one of the few documents respected across all territories. He'd seen a few lucky guild members brandish those badges like keys to the world. But getting one meant proving yourself capable of handling whatever dangers lay beyond city walls and dungeons. No small feat for a twelve-year-old, even one with sixty years of memories.
He smiled, picturing himself at some small tavern in a far-off port, trying dishes he couldn't pronounce, trading stories with travelers from across the sea. Or maybe camping under strange stars, sharing a meal with new friends around a campfire. Simple pleasures he'd never gotten to experience in his previous life.
Then, when he got tired of all the traveling, he could find a quiet place somewhere, eventually. A little home where he could grow his own herbs and vegetables, invite friends over for dinner, watch the seasons change...
"Ah, damn it."
Nero's smile faded as reality crashed back. These sorts of thoughts in his situation should not be welcome. All those dreams meant nothing if he didn't prevent what was coming. That's what the deal had really been about, hadn't it? Not a gift, but a responsibility wrapped in the illusion of choice.
The magnitude of what lay ahead of him was almost overwhelming. He had decades now - decades to prevent the catastrophes he knew were coming. The Valanya Breach. The Fall of Sundar. The Great Collapse. The World Dungeon. Among others. So many others.
All the horrors that would transform the world into the wasteland he'd just left. And he had to do it all starting as a 12-year-old boy who still had to stand on tiptoe to reach the higher shelves in the library.