Chapter 6: The Weight of Power
When I returned to my dorm, my hands were still shaking.
Not from fear.
Not from exhaustion.
But from something far worse—a feeling I couldn't explain.
It wasn't just the trial. It wasn't just the fight.
It was the way I had felt in that moment.
The clarity.
The power.
I had always been on the receiving end—the weak one, the one struggling to endure. But tonight, for the first time, I had been the one standing over them. Watching them fear me.
And it had felt… right.
I should have been horrified.
But I wasn't.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring down at my hands. The sensation of impact still lingered in my knuckles, the phantom memory of bone against bone.
The book lay on the desk beside me, its inked title now visible for the first time.
"Manuscript of the Forsaken"
Forsaken.
The word rang in my skull like a whisper I couldn't silence.
This wasn't just a tool. It wasn't just a book.
It was something more. Something alive.
And I had passed its first trial.
The Next Morning
The academy halls were buzzing with tension. I could feel it the moment I stepped into the courtyard.
Whispers. Stolen glances.
Something had changed.
At first, I thought it was just paranoia, a side effect of the trial. But then, I caught the words on the lips of passing students—
"Did you hear? Someone attacked Gareth and his group last night."
I stopped.
"Attacked?" Another voice, hushed, but excited. "It wasn't just an attack. Gareth's nose was broken. Louis dislocated his arm. They're saying he didn't even see who did it."
I exhaled slowly.
So it hadn't just been a trial.
The damage I inflicted on them in that illusion—it had been real.
And they didn't know who was responsible.
I could feel it.
The shift.
They were afraid.
Not of me—not yet—but of something unknown lurking among them. The power structure, the invisible chain that dictated who ruled and who suffered—it had cracked.
I could use this.
Lecture Hall
The moment I entered, I felt the weight of eyes.
Most students barely paid attention, but some—those who followed the academy's power struggles—lingered on me just a second too long. Calculating. Observing.
And then, there was Claude Ashford.
She was seated near the front, as always, posture perfect, her silver hair catching the morning light. She wasn't looking at me.
But I knew she knew.
Claude wasn't like the others. She wouldn't believe in faceless rumors. She'd be watching—waiting for whoever had broken the cycle to slip up.
She was dangerous.
And that meant I had to be smarter.
The Library – That Night
I returned to the Restricted Archives.
I needed answers.
The Manuscript of the Forsaken had granted me power, but I didn't know its price. Nothing in this world was free.
The library's blue torches flickered faintly as I moved between the shelves, searching. If the book had a recorded history, it would be here.
Then, I found something.
A single passage, buried in an old ledger.
"There exists a tome not bound by ink, but by the echoes of those who sought to rewrite their fates. It does not grant power freely. It does not whisper without cost. The Forsaken are not chosen. They are consumed."
Consumed.
A chill crawled up my spine.
I had passed the first trial.
But I had no idea how many were left. Or what would happen if I failed.
I closed the book slowly.
I needed to be careful. I needed to move deliberately.
Because I wasn't just playing with power anymore.
I was playing with something alive.
And it was watching.