The demon prince they erased

The last thing Kael Draven remembered was the sword’s edge biting down. It didn’t stab into his chest, though it drove through his hand, pinning him to the dirt. They wanted to make sure no one said the demon prince died a coward. Malakar’s soldiers circled the courtyard, torches dancing in the wind. Somewhere in the mob, Kael’s father was there, watching calmly as his son bled out. No flinch. No mercy. Kael had ended a war that nearly wiped out two kingdoms, and for that, he got chains, a blade, and a lie set to echo for three hundred years.

Someone will know the truth, he promised himself as everything went dark. Even if it takes forever.

Turns out, forever was exactly three centuries.

I shot awake, fighting for air. Always a weird feeling, coming back. Usually my memories would chop out before I’d have the pleasure of actually feeling my heart beat again.

“You’re up early,” someone said from the doorway. My fist almost went straight through the wall before my mind caught up. Not a battlefield just a dorm room, thin cot and all. Scratchy blanket. Slate light pushing through a cracked windowpane. I was sixteen now. I was Rian Ashe. An orphan.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I muttered. Understatement of both my lives.

The kid in the doorway a senior or maybe just some guy I’d never bothered to remember shrugged and walked off like my existence barely registered. Honestly, perfect. Nobody at Eclipse Academy needed to notice a scholarship orphan with nothing and no one.

I got dressed and headed for the courtyard and the Sorting Well. Like every day this week, I lied to myself: maybe today the crystal would misread me in a way I could survive.

When I made it there, the place was already jammed. Nobles everywhere, uniform collars starched so stiff they basically crackled, family crests stitched big and obvious. Subtlety clearly wasn’t on the curriculum. I slipped to the end of the line and kept my gaze low. Hiding was hard, and I was pretty bad at it. Last life, I never learned how to disappear. Now? Still learning. It felt like trying to fake a language everyone else grew up speaking.

“Ashe, Rian.” The proctor didn’t even glance up from her ledger.

I stepped up. The crystal at the Sorting Well’s center pulsed and shifted, big as a fist. For most kids, it’d just flicker, spit out a number, a rank for gossip at lunch and forgotten by dinner.

Me? It hesitated.

I felt it deep under my ribcage, tugging at something buried way below the boy I pretended to be. The light stuttered went white, then pitch-black, then a color I didn’t even have a name for. For a second, the readout screen glitched. No rank. Just six letters, gone fast as lightning, only I caught them. Not my name something older. I’d heard men shout those letters dying, and heard my own father use them like a curse.

Then, suddenly, the screen flickered again and settled.

RIAN ASHE — RANK: F

Laughter burst out from behind me. A girl hissed, “An F? How’d he even get in?” Not quietly enough.

I didn’t look back. I’d been insulted by people who mattered way more.

The proctor frowned not at the rank, but at something else, as if the numbers didn’t add up. She tapped the crystal once, like that might talk it into behaving. “Anomalous reading,” she muttered, barely audible. “Probably a recalibration error.” She scribbled something down, waved me on, and that was it.

I let go of a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I walked for the dorms, posture small and careful, pressing down every piece of me that remembered a lifetime of being watched, trying to disappear into this unwanted, ordinary boy.

Almost worked.

“You fixed the crystal’s mistake before the proctor even noticed,” someone said by my side voice low, clear, impossible to miss. No footsteps, just there all of a sudden. I knew right away who it was, even before turning.

Professor Beata Sorren stood there, arms folded. She looked at me the way hunters study tracks that don’t quite fit. Her uniform was the usual, unremarkable, but her eyes didn’t belong to a bored teacher. They saw too much. Saw right past me.

“I didn’t say anything, Professor,” I told her.

She gave a small, crooked smile. “You didn’t have to. Your face said it for you.” She held my gaze just a little too long, just enough to push that old, dangerous instinct to the surface the one that used to make kings tremble. I swallowed it down. “F-rank,” she said finally, tasting the word like she didn’t quite believe it. “Walk with me, Mr. Ashe. Seems we’ve got plenty to talk about when it comes to your records.”

Over her shoulder, through the stone arch to the relic vault, I caught a shift in the shadows. A blade one I hadn’t laid eyes on yet, but I knew its weight all the same. Like it felt me here.

That was it. Not even one morning finished, and already two people had looked at Rian Ashe and seen someone else staring back.