The sun hung low over Veylin Academy, casting golden light over the sprawling training grounds. Rows of students, dressed in crisp academy robes, stood in anticipation. Today was the first-year Weapon Selection Ceremony, where every new student would choose the weapon they would train with for the rest of their lives.
I stood among them, gripping the fabric of my sleeve. It still felt surreal—being inside my own book, wearing Kael's face. But the weight of reality settled in when I glanced at the other students.
I recognized them.
Reynard Vale, the noble's son, already poised with his hand hovering over a sleek silver sword. Ilya Ferros, the calm and calculating archer, inspecting a finely crafted longbow. Dain Ashford, the hammer-wielding brute who would later become a war hero.
Every name, every face—I had written them.
And now, I was standing among them.
"Step forward and choose your weapon."
Headmaster Aldric's voice echoed across the field. One by one, the students approached the grand weapon racks lined before us.
Predictably, the swords were the first to go. Sleek rapiers, broadswords, and enchanted blades were claimed with eager hands. The archers selected their bows, some opting for crossbows. Others picked spears, axes, or twin daggers, their grips already familiar with the weight of combat.
And then, it was my turn.
I stepped forward, my gaze scanning the weapons before me. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
I already knew what was expected of me.
Kael—the original Kael—was never meant to be anything special. He would have chosen a dagger, something small and unremarkable. He would have faded into the background like he was supposed to.
But I wasn't Kael.
I was Elias Vayne, and if this was my story, I was going to change it.
Then, my eyes landed on something out of place.
A long, polished case rested at the very end of the weapon rack, almost forgotten. Its black leather exterior was worn, the latches rusted. No student had even glanced at it.
My fingers traced the edges before I unlatched it and opened the case.
Inside, resting on deep velvet lining, was a gun.
Sleek. Dark steel. Twin barrels engraved with arcane runes.
Murmurs rippled through the students as they noticed what I was holding.
"A gun?" someone scoffed. "Is that even allowed?"
"Why would he choose that?" another whispered.
Guns were rare in this world. Outdated. Considered unreliable against magic-wielders. Any weapon imbued with mana—a sword, a spear, even an arrow—could cut through a bullet's force.
And yet, I felt something click inside me the moment I held it.
This weapon didn't belong in my original story. Which meant… it was never meant for Kael.
It was meant for me.
I looked up to see Headmaster Aldric's gaze fixed on me. His sharp, gray eyes held no emotion—only cold calculation.
Finally, he spoke.
"A unique choice."
His voice betrayed nothing.
"Very well. Kael, you will wield the gun."
And just like that, the whispers turned to laughter. Some amused, some pitying.
But I ignored them.
Because this was no longer their story.
This was mine.