"Darian, wake up!" A distant voice called his name, muffled and distorted as if coming from underwater.

He felt hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Lad! Talk to me! What is it, what's wrong?"

"Breck?" Darian croaked, opening his eyes. "You're... you're not..."

It hit him like a thunderbolt. He was back in the inn room, Breck shaking him awake. Morning light streamed through the shutters.

The day of the exam. It hadn't happened yet. None of it.

He seized Breck's arm, sitting bolt upright. "Breck, we can't go! The bandits, on the road, they'll-"

"Whoa, easy there!" Breck pushed him back gently. "It was just a dream, lad. You're aight now."

"No, you don't understand!" Hot tears pricked Darian's eyes. "It wasn't a dream, it was real! You died, I died, it all... I watched..." A sob choked him.

Breck pulled Darian into a hug, strong arms holding onto him. "Shh, I've got you. Everything's fine, we're both fine. T'was just a nightmare, awful realistic but not real."

"You don't understand!" Darian cried. "It's going to happen; I know it will! We can’t head back after the exams!" He was shaking, his heart pounding wildly. He would never get used to the feel of death, the terrible blankness that swallowed him whole. His hands trembled at the memory.

Breck rubbed soothing circles on Darian's back. "Darian, my boy," he sighed. “We can't just stay a few more nights because of a nightmare. You need to focus on the test."

Darian wanted to argue, to make Breck see the truth. But he forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Breck was right. He had to deal with things one step at a time.

First, the exam. Then, he'd find a way to keep everyone in Arbrook for a few extra days, long enough for the bandits to give up and clear off. And after that... After that, he'd try to understand why this was happening to him. Why he kept being pulled back through time every time he died. There had to be a reason, some deeper meaning or purpose. Perhaps the Royal Academy would have answers.

The Royal Library was said to hold the knowledge that dated back a millennium. If going back in time was possible, surely someone would have written about it. Darian held onto that thought like an anchor. Answers. He would find answers, and then maybe, finally, he could understand this power and learn to control it.

With this ability, he could do so much good. He could keep his loved ones safe, could prevent disasters before they struck. Maybe it was a gift, not a curse. A way to help his family and his village in ways he never could have before.

I hope I don’t have to die to activate it, Darian shuddered at the thought.

He then took another breath and nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, you're right. The exam first. But Breck..." He caught the blacksmith's eye, his gaze intense. "Promise me we'll talk about this after. Promise me you'll hear me out. It's important."

Breck studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Aight, lad. I promise. We'll talk it through, have a proper sit down. But later. Right now, you focus on showing those city stuffed-shirts what you're made of, aye?"

Darian managed a weak smile. "Aye. I'll do my best." It would have to be enough. For now, it was the only way forward.

Breck patted his shoulder and left the room, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts.

Darian took a deep breath, trying to centre himself. He opened his books and began to read feverishly, committing every detail to memory. The dates, the names, the ancient languages - it all blurred together as he pored over the pages. His hand still trembled slightly, but he gripped his quill tighter and forced himself to focus.

As he studied, his mind kept drifting back to those strange words he'd seen in the void.

Thurae ki'voel shanduer. Naie aesthali v'dorci. They echoed in his thoughts, as vivid as when they'd appeared before him. What language was that? I've never seen anything like it...

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Maybe I just imagined it. People's minds play tricks on them when they're dying, and I... I actually died. It would make sense.

But the words felt too real to be a mere figment of his imagination. They seemed to burn with an inner fire, searing themselves into his memory.

I'll have to look into it later, he decided. If there's any information on strange languages, the Royal Library is bound to have it.

With renewed determination, Darian turned back to his books. Minutes turned to hours as he lost himself in the studying, barely noticing the passage of time. A knock at the door jolted him out of his concentration.

Darian looked up, blinking as the room came back into focus. The afternoon light came through the shutters - how long had he been at this?

The knock sounded again, more insistent this time. He stumbled to his feet, joints stiff from sitting hunched over for so long. Running a hand through his dishevelled hair, he opened the door.

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Lila stood there, her usual bright grin in place. "Morning, sleepyhead! Ready for the big day?"

Her smile faltered as she took in the sight of him - bleary-eyed, surrounded by a whirlwind of open books and scattered parchment. "What are you doing? You know it's bad luck to study on exam day!"

Darian forced a laugh, hoping it didn't sound as brittle as it felt. "Just some last-minute revision. Want to join me?"

"Sure, why not?" Lila shrugged, stepping into the room. "Might as well cram while we can, I never believed in that luck nonsense anyway!"

As she settled cross-legged on the floor beside him, Darian felt a pang. Lila, Breck, Kara... He had to keep them safe. No matter what it took, he would not let it happen again. Not this time.

Darian subtly steering Lila towards the topics he knew would come up.

“In what year did King Aeria sign the Treat of Oaksbridge?”

“Erm…eleven-fifty-three?”

“It’s eleven-seventy-two, the year of the Great Flood,” Darian corrected her. It was one of the questions he had nearly gotten wrong in the exam.

"What about the name of the ancient language that the Code of Aethlin was originally written in?"

"Oh, I know that one! It’s Old Arathian! It's a tricky language, but it’s still used in some of our oldest laws."

They continued to quiz each other until it was time to head to the exam hall. The hall was just as intimidating as he remembered. But this time, Darian marched to his seat with confidence. He knew these questions, knew the answers like the back of his hand.

And yet, even as he began to write, memories of his previous attempt flashed through his mind. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he recalled the questions he had stumbled over, the facts he had misremembered.

But then, without warning, a different memory surged to the forefront of his thoughts. The bandit attack. The clash of steel on steel, Breck’s empty eyes. And the pain, the awful, searing agony as the bandit’s blade found its mark, slicing deep into his flesh...

Darian gasped, his quill slipping from his fingers as he clutched at his head. The room seemed to spin around him, the walls closing in as the terrible images played out behind his eyelids. He could feel the warmth of his own blood, could taste the coppery tang of it on his tongue.

For a moment, he was back there, lying in the dust of the road, his life ebbing away with every ragged breath. The terror of it, the helplessness, crashed over him like a wave, threatening to drag him under.

But then, with a burst of effort, Darian wrenched himself back to the present. His hand was shaking, his heart racing, but he was alive. He was here, in this room, with a second chance to make things right.

He took a deep breath, then another, forcing the panic to recede. Slowly, the nightmare images faded, replaced by the solid reality of the exam hall, the weight of the quill in his hand.

Darian shuddered, a chill racing down his spine despite the warmth of the room. Dying like that, alone and afraid and in agony, was not worth any score, no matter how perfect. The knowledge, the accolades, the prestige - none of it meant anything if he had to experience that again.

But he couldn't afford to dwell on it. Not now, not with so much riding on this exam. He had to focus, had to push through the fear and the trauma and give it everything he had.

With a trembling hand, Darian retrieved his quill and bent over the parchment once more. The words swam before his eyes, the ink blurring as tears threatened to fall. But he blinked them back, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to concentrate.

One question at a time. One fact, one figure, one carefully crafted sentence.

In what seemed like no time at all, he was done. Darian sat back, his hand aching from the furious scribbling, and looked over his work. Every question answered, every fact and figure laid out in neat, precise script. A perfect score, or as close to one as made no difference.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the pages, a sense of disbelief washing over him. For a village boy like him, born to a simple life of farming and hunting, such an achievement was almost unheard of. The Royal Academy was a world apart, a place where only the brightest and most privileged could hope to enter.

But Darian knew he had no choice. If he wanted to understand the strange power that had awakened within him, the Academy was his only hope.

And so, with a deep breath and a final check of his answers, Darian rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the hall. He handed his papers to the proctor, meeting the man's surprised gaze with a steady one of his own.

"Finished already, lad?" the proctor asked, eyebrows raised.

Darian nodded. "Yes, sir. I've done my best."

The proctor looked down at the sheaf of parchment, then back up at Darian, something like respect dawning in his eyes. "Well, we'll see about that. But I must say, I've never seen a candidate complete the exam so quickly. You must be either very clever or very foolish."

Darian smiled slightly. "Perhaps a bit of both, sir."

The proctor chuckled. "Indeed. Well, off with you then. And good luck to you, lad. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

With a final nod, Darian turned and walked out of the hall. He had done it. Now, if he could only convince the people to listen...