After entering, Sion could feel their gazes piercing through him, same reaction as the ones in the throne room had given him when he had first shown up, though despite that, he did not let it bother him; he was not going to cower or be a pushover. He raised his head, chin held high as he walked past some who were whispering about him.
Some in curiosity, while others in disdain, hatred and all sorts of different emotions flashing across their faces, even though he had never done anything to them, they were already showing such hostility, then again that was to be expected.
He ignored those who were glaring at him, as his eyes scanned the surroundings, students practicing spells in the air, others dueling with shadow magic in barrier domes. A giant mural across one of the inner halls depicted former students, some crossing through realms, others sitting atop thrones, while some… dead.
He passed a statue of a faceless woman with wings spread wide; fingers held to her lips in a gesture of silence. Below it, a plaque read:
"Knowledge is power. Power is dangerous. So be dangerous wisely."
It sent a chill down his spine, that alone confirmed that here, just like back home, power was everything and he did not like it one bit. Someone could have the most power and expensive things thrown at him, yet he would not be satisfied; he would want more eventually, because those things do not last forever or bring stability and hope.
'Welcome to hell in silk robes, Sion. I wonder what kind of trashing probably awaits me after this,' he thought grimly as he followed the instructions that were given to him in order for him to find the room that was being assigned to him.
"Follow me, I will take you to the room you have been assigned to," One of the workers there said as he approached Sion, who nodded.
The hallway stretched long and silent, lined with portraits of former prodigies whose eyes followed Sion as he walked. The servant in a simple navy uniform led the way without a word, his boots echoing against the polished obsidian tiles.
Sion barely took in the grandeur, the floating lamps, the etched runes in the walls, the faint vibration of mana in the air. His focus was dulled, his thoughts heavy.
His body still felt foreign once again like it had before and those feeling kept on getting stronger. He had no idea what was happening, but one thing he did know was that he had to make it stop.
Every step was slightly off. Every breath carried the faint weight of something that wasn't quite his. And the mark on his back…
Sion's brows furrowed when he felt it started to hurt again and he gritted his teeth, wondering what was going on, however he could not do anything about it, since he was not alone and he did not want anyone to see if or it would only make life much harder.
He took a deep breath and tried to realize the best he could, it was not a heat that could be soothed that easily; it felt like someone had lit it. This was alive. A crawling, pulsing sensation—like something slithering beneath the skin, trying to unfurl.
He clenched his jaw, forcing his steps to be steady.
Finally, the servant stopped in front of a large wooden door etched with the number 17. He opened it without speaking, gave Sion a short nod, and walked away.
The room was… minimal. Stone walls. A small yet comfy bed. A desk bolted into the ground. An arched window letting in pale evening light. It wasn't cold, but it felt empty even though there were quite a few things in there with him, things he thought he would not have, but he also understood it was just another way to keep him under control.
Sion shut the door behind him and leaned on it for a breath. He took a shaky seat at the edge of the bed and slowly pulled off his shirt.
The mirror across the room showed him the mark.
Sprawled across the back of his shoulder and down to the left side of his spine—veins of deep red and dark violet, intertwined like a blooming curse. In the center was the same eye that he saw earlier, ringed with jagged edges. It pulsed once, slow and deliberate, just like the first time.
Then pain hit.
He collapsed forward with a gasp, one hand gripping the desk as he bit down a scream. Something did not feel right; it felt as though his body was changing, something in him was being torn apart.
The mark twisted, throbbed, as if reacting to the energy around him, or something within. His vision blurred. For a second, the room flickered in light, but in reality. The walls breathed. The floor seemed to shift.
He was not alone in his own skin or at least that was what it felt like at the moment.
'What the hell is happening to me? What is with this mark and why is my body reacting this way? Is it some kind of curse?' He thought, his mind racing to come up with a plausible answer for what he was feeling.
"Damn it... please stop... what is happening to me..." He muttered in pain.
The pain ebbed just as quickly as it came, leaving a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He remained still for a long moment, only the sound of his shallow breaths breaking the quiet.
He glanced back at the mirror. The mark had stilled, but it looked even more vivid now.
"No one can see this," he muttered under his breath.
He lay back on the bed eventually, shirt still off, breathing slowed but shallow. Night fell outside; time had gone by so fast he had not realized he had spent hours just to get here. Moonlight spilled through the window in pale streaks.
But Sion didn't sleep immediately.
He stared at the ceiling.
Wondering what he was now.
Why the king was playing this game.
What the mark meant.
And whether this "Academy" was salvation… or a cage built just for him.
The throbbing returned faintly.
And in the stillness of the room, beneath the hum of the magic-bound lamps, he heard something. Not a voice. Not yet.
Just a breath.
A faint exhale.
But not his.