Chapter 2: The New Reality
Ethan had no idea how long he spent curled up on the cold stone floor, his head buried in his hands as he desperately tried to convince himself this was all some kind of horrible coma nightmare. Because what was the alternative? That he was actually stuck inside his own damn novel?
That he was now Darius Wycliffe, the pretentious, talentless asshole he'd written to be crushed by his perfect protagonist Lucien Ashford?
No. That was insane.
But every time he opened his eyes and saw the stone walls, the medieval furniture, the weird magical symbols embroidered on his clothes, reality laughed in his face. This wasn't some VR game. This wasn't a prank. And unless his brain was on some next-level LSD trip, this was real.
"Alright. Fine. Let's say this is real," Ethan muttered, his voice sounding all wrong—soft, smooth, and slightly aristocratic. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who'd had money and power handed to them on a silver platter. The kind of voice he'd given Darius Wycliffe.
He forced himself to stand, his legs still feeling unsteady. The dark blue robes clung to his body, far too elegant and formal for his liking. And seriously, what kind of moron wore this stuff to school? This was the kind of outfit you wore to some snooty nobleman's dinner party, not to class.
Ethan's gaze landed on the wooden desk littered with parchment and ink bottles. His hands shook as he reached out and grabbed the nearest piece of parchment. The handwriting was smooth and precise, though the words themselves were more like chicken scratch to him at first.
Then he squinted, the elegant calligraphy finally making sense.
"The Arcanium. First-Year Spellcraft Examination – Darius Wycliffe."
The name hit him like a punch to the gut.
It was real.