The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

Vencian pushed the classroom door open and stepped inside.

The classroom fell silent almost immediately. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, leaving the air dense with attention. Students shifted, their gazes tracking him as he moved.

He walked past the first row without acknowledgment. The stillness inside was heavier than the courtyard outside. At least there he had been moving, steps carrying him away from comments before they reached him. Here he was forced to sit and listen to every hushed word.

Elías paused near the center, waiting for him to choose a seat. Vencian gave the faintest gesture with his chin. "You pick."

The prince's mouth twitched with something unreadable before he selected a pair of seats square in the middle of the rows. It left them surrounded, yet he seemed entirely unconcerned. He sat with the calmness of someone who had lived long enough in public light that it had become background noise.

Vencian took the seat beside him, keeping his face blank. His posture gave away nothing, though he was acutely aware of the scattered fragments of talk bleeding in from the rows around them. His name came up frequently. So did his family's. Words like treason, assassination, engagement spoken and broken. The rest became indistinct chatter about old gossip.

Elías shifted, leaning closer. "Ignore them. They'll lose interest sooner or later."

I doubt that would happen anytime soon.

Vencian kept silent, staring down at the wooden surface, waiting for the professor to arrive and pull attention away.

Elías tried again, his tone carrying a casual curiosity. "Have you read the Lunar Covenant Hypothesis? About the scarlet trail?"

Vencian tilted his head slightly. The name struck him as something the original Vencian would have studied in detail. But since his arrival in this body, books had rarely occupied his attention. He had no idea what Elías was referring to. Best to deflect it back. "Should I?"

Elías chuckled. "You haven't? Well, that's surprising… and not surprising at the same time."

Vencian said nothing and waited.

"The scarlet trail," Elías said, lowering his voice further, "appeared across the moon two months ago. First time in recorded history. It streaked across the surface and stayed there for minutes before fading. People say it's an omen. Some are calling it the end of the world."

Vencian's brow furrowed slightly, though he said nothing.

Elías seemed unaware of the weight in his silence. "This hypothesis doesn't stop at calling it an omen. The writer compared the trail's shape with ritual markings from an ancient culture. They used those markings in prayers to a demigod. The question raised is whether the anomaly links to something of that kind."

Vencian's lips thinned. "On what grounds do they make that link?"

"It's published formally," Elías replied. He slid a folded paper from between his notes and placed it on the desk. "See for yourself."

Vencian took in the copied lines. He skimmed past the introduction.

Lines of argument. Citations. Sketches of carved stones.

He moved past them quickly.

His gaze reached the record of observation.

It froze there.

The date.

13th Day of Month Umbra, Year 1387.

The familiarity nagged at him until the recognition hit all at once.

That night was the night he had woken in this world.

The night the scarlet trail had appeared.

Both events tied to the same date.

Coincidence?

The most possible thought bubbled in his mind.

If fate is mocking me, it is doing it well.

The sound of the instructor entering stirred the room, but Vencian stayed unmoving. His gaze fell to the end of the page, catching the author's name written in clear script.

Roselys Marendil.

— — —

Roselys walked through the corridors of Airantis Academy with a firm stride. The air carried the energy of a new term. Greetings bounced between stone walls, and the pace of footsteps quickened as students reunited. Some balanced heavy stacks of books in their arms. Others crowded into groups, their laughter carrying ahead of them. She moved through all of it untouched, intent on her destination.

She knew exactly where she was going. Professor Thalverin's office.

It had been three years since she had last approached that door. Then, it had been Danis Belwyn's office, her mentor's place. She pushed that memory aside before it could rise further.

Today she returned not as a student seeking guidance but as an assistant, ready to support another. The position was secure, but that did not mean she could afford to appear careless. She had to show herself as reliable, professional, and willing.

She stopped at the tall door, drew a steady breath, and knocked.

A calm voice replied at once, balanced between formal and casual. She opened the door and stepped inside.

The man at the desk looked up from his papers. Brown hair, streaked with gray near the temples, framed a face that was free of severity. He had the presence of someone who had experience in both academic study and working with people, and his authority was recognized without the need for assertion.

"Professor Thalverin," she said with a bow of her head.

He set aside the sheet in his hand. "Roselys Marendil. Come in." He gestured lightly to the space before his desk.

She crossed the room, maintaining proper posture. The role was hers, but first impressions still held importance.

"I read your recent work," Thalverin said, leaning back in his chair. "The Lunar Covenant Hypothesis. An ambitious attempt at linking the scarlet trail with the history of the Erythrai clan."

Roselys gave a small nod, placing her satchel neatly on the desk. "I'm honored you read it. I hoped it might point beyond the limits of the records."

"It will," he said. He rose, stacking the books on his desk into a pile. "It shows initiative. You'll find that useful in this post."

She almost smiled before catching herself. Praise carried weight, but she couldn't indulge in it. "I'll give my best in assisting your work."

"Good. Then we should get to it. The students are waiting." He gathered the books under his arm and moved toward the door.

Roselys followed him out.

In the short time she had been inside, the corridors had grown busier. Thalverin drew greetings from both students and faculty. He returned them with nods and short replies without slowing his pace. Roselys kept close, observing the natural rhythm of his presence, the way he carried authority without effort.

She kept step with him. Her own expression held a quiet attentiveness. She wanted anyone watching to see nothing but a professional assistant at the professor's side.

They turned a corner, and Thalverin glanced at her. "It must be a strange thing, returning after years away."

"Familiar, but changed," she said, her fingers grazing the fabric at her arm. "I don't think I have dwelt much on this place, but it has a way of lingering."

He gave a faint smile at that and adjusted the books in his arm. "As the saying goes. The academy doesn't change much. Only the faces do."

The words sounded simple, yet she felt the truth behind them. She had changed. Returning here meant proving herself again, in a different capacity. She couldn't fail.

When they arrived at the lecture hall, voices spilled into the hallway ahead of them. Inside, the benches were already filling. Students bent close in quick exchanges, their voices blending into the restless sound of a new term.

Thalverin stepped forward, his presence quieting the room almost instantly. Roselys followed, her eyes scanning across the chamber until they caught on a head of pale hair.

She paused a fraction too long when her eyes met his.

At first, it was the uncommon shade that slowed her gaze. Then recognition came in pieces—the sharp profile, the posture that resisted attention rather than hid from it.

It aligned with the reports she had read too many times to forget. Vencian Vicorra.

He sat toward the side, neither in the back nor the front. His hair, platinum and unmistakable, marked him further. It was the same rare shade that threaded her own, seldom seen in the Airantis Kingdom but more common in Sedron Empire.

It was impossible not to know him, or his family. Treason charges. The assassination of his father and brother. Those events had spread across the kingdom with speed.

He looked at her briefly, then turned to the professor as if the glance were accidental.

She forced her eyes away too.

Focus. Only the work matters.

She told herself firmly.

Her role was not to concern herself with individual students, no matter their name or lineage.

At the front, Thalverin placed his books on the lectern. Roselys arranged her own materials.

A year of searching had brought her here, to the very place she least wanted to be.

Ironically the simmering frustration inside her has calmed down since coming to this place.

Frustration at how little she still knew. Frustration that she had been free to wander and travel while her mentor's murderer remained unknown.

Three years ago, she would never have believed she would return here as an assistant professor. Yet here she was. Not to learn. Not to assist. But to hunt.

Danis Belwyn had been murdered. She would find who had done it. And when she did, she would kill them.