The Ember Class

Pain came first.

Not the kind that made you scream. The kind that made you aware — of every nerve, every breath, every inch of skin that shouldn’t be yours.

A jarring lurch, like falling through a kaleidoscope of fractured mirrors. Then stillness. Then breath.

Slow. Controlled. Not his.

His eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling: etched stone patterned with rotating glyphs, glowing rings of arcane circuitry pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The air buzzed with residual mana—clean, potent, and almost sentient.

Then came the voice.
Cold. Mechanical. Final.

"System Sync Complete. Subject: Lucien Rennehart. Personality Suppression Protocol Engaged. System Lock Applied."

He gasped.

Or… Lucien did.

Because he wasn’t Lucien.

He had been someone else.
A reader. Just another fan who devoured Arcanum Spire, a bestselling fantasy web novel about an elite magical academy built atop a floating continent, where heroes rose and villains fell.

Lucien Rennehart had been the final boss. The "villain too powerful to be allowed mercy."

And now…

He sat inside that villain’s body.

His mind reeled. But before he could gather himself, the System spoke again:

"Sync Value: 24%. True Power Index: 99.9%. Penalty Threshold Engaged. Restricted Output: 10%."

Ten percent.

He gritted his teeth. This wasn’t just transmigration. It was imprisonment.

The System had locked away nearly all of Lucien’s true strength. A failsafe. A leash.

And it wasn’t done.

"False Villain Protocol Active. Narrative Role: Antagonist – Class C. Restrictions Applied. Unapproved Revelation of True Power Will Result in Escalating Penalties."

So that was the game.

Play the role. Act the villain. Keep the mask on.

Or suffer.

The sun cast golden light over the floating spires of Arcanum, each tower lined with levitating crystal rails and banners flapping proudly — one for each of the Eight Arcana.

Below, the wide plaza buzzed with excitement. First-years gathered in clusters, adjusting crisp uniforms. Enchanted trunks hovered behind them. Professors swept by in robes embroidered with personal sigils.

He stood among them — silent, still, and severely overdressed.

A black coat with a high collar, silver embroidery lining the cuffs, and the Rennehart sigil — a crowned serpent coiled around a sword — stitched into his chest. A fashion made for royalty.

And it drew attention.

Whispers followed him like shadows.

“Is that... Lucien Rennehart?”

“No way. Why is he here?”

“Isn’t he Crown Class? What’s he doing with… us?”

He said nothing.

Let them talk.

Let them draw conclusions from what they thought they knew — from the original Arcanum Spire, where Lucien had entered as the strongest Crown Class cadet, and left as the nightmare of the final arc.

That Lucien was gone.

Now, he was in control.

“Narrative Compliance Protocol Active. Assigned: Class C – Ember.
Any deviation will trigger sync penalties.”

He almost laughed.

Class C. Ember Class — the dumping ground for the erratic, the underpowered, and the politically inconvenient. In the novel, it had barely warranted a paragraph.

And now it was his stage.

Fine, he thought. If I have to play the villain, I’ll choose how the script ends.

The room reeked of ozone and ancient chalk. Dusty stone walls were inscribed with half-faded spell matrices. Floating desks orbited a cracked mana calibration orb, flickering dimly like it had given up on aspiring students long ago.

He stepped in.

Heads turned.

Judgmental stares. Curious glances. Fear.

One face in particular pierced the air like frost.

Seraphina Valehart.
Silver hair braided over one shoulder. Pale skin. Uniform tailored with precise edges. A pale blue ribbon tied at her collar, marked with a silver crescent — the crest of House Valehart, one of the original Six Noble Bloodlines. Her eyes, a cold glacial gray, met his briefly.

Then looked away.

Calculated. Dismissive. Icy.

She didn’t belong here.

And she knew it.

Just like him.

Near the front, a warm voice called out.

“Hey! You’re Lucien, right? I’m Mira!”

A girl with copper curls, freckles dusting her cheeks, and oversized alchemist’s gloves extending to her elbows. Her uniform jacket was half-buttoned, a faint singe mark on the hem.

He blinked. Mira wasn’t in the original novel. A deviation?

He offered a faint smile. “Lucien. Pleased to meet you.”

Her grin widened. “Cool coat. Did you kill a vampire noble for that?”

He didn’t answer. She giggled like it had been a joke anyway.

From the side, a growl cut through the air.

“You think this is funny, Rennehart?”

The speaker rose from a back-row desk — Riven Thorne. Tall, broad shoulders, coal-black hair tied into a rough knot. Thin scar across his left cheek. His mana aura — red lightning—crackled faintly around his wrists.

In the novel, Riven had been a volatile elementalist expelled in Year 2. Obsessive. Dangerous. The kind of rival who’d explode the dorm over a training result.

Lucien met his glare.

“No. Just unexpected.”

“You don’t belong here,” Riven hissed. “You think acting humble makes you less of a threat?”

Before tension could flare further, the door creaked open.

In walked a man who looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Professor Halden Kray. Mid-forties. Coffee-stained robes. Stubble like moss. A tome bound in dragonhide floated behind him, following obediently.

“Welcome,” he said dryly, “to the Ember Class. Or, as the staff affectionately call you — the Cursed Cohort.”

No one laughed.

“You’re here because you’re too strange, too stubborn, or too dangerous. Sometimes all three. And the Academy didn’t know where else to put you.”

He dropped a pile of blank parchments onto the desk. “Your first assignment: survive.”

The sky above the academy shimmered with mana constellations — glyphs of the Founders embedded into the heavens. Cool wind whispered over the spires.

Lucien sat cross-legged on the rooftop, arms on his knees. Alone.

Not because he had to be.

Because it was safer that way.

Lucien’s memories simmered in the back of his mind. The real Lucien — the boy who had been praised too early, expected too much, and feared too easily. Who had grown alone and learned to wear a crown of thorns.

“Lucien Rennehart was not evil,” the System whispered. “He was alone.”
Comprehension Sync: 3%.

He let the silence settle.

“I thought I’d be the protagonist,” he murmured.

The wind did not respond.

But the System did.

"False Villain Protocol Active. Reveal power only when unseen. Authorized Witnesses: None.
Violations will result in Immediate Penalty Escalation."

He smiled faintly.

Then so be it.

Let the story call him cursed. Let the world label him a villain.

Because when no one was watching…

That was when Lucien Rennehart would move.

And the world would never see it coming.