The Royal Academy library was quiet.

It was the kind of quiet that felt heavy.

Dust motes danced in the light of a single magical lantern.

Marcus Aldridge sat at a large oak table.

He was surrounded by mountains of parchment.

Old scrolls were piled precariously high. Leather-bound tomes smelled of mildew and ancient secrets.

Opposite him sat Damien Blackthorn.

The young rogue leaned back in his chair. He balanced a dagger on his fingertip.

"This is dry reading," Damien noted.

"It's the history of the world," Marcus muttered. He turned a brittle page. "Try to show some respect."

"I respect sharp things," Damien said. "And fast things. This is neither."

Marcus rubbed his temples.

He had a headache. It was throbbing right behind his left eye.

"Theo gave me the green light," Marcus said.

He was still processing the conversation from the training yard.

"My brother, the designated hero, told me to date his harem."

"He's a smart man," Damien said. He spun the dagger. "He knows when he's beaten."

"He's not beaten," Marcus corrected. "He just... opted out."

Marcus looked at the stack of books.

"But just because Theo is okay with it, doesn't mean the universe is."

He tapped a thick book titled Prophecies of the Third Age.

"If I interfere with the prophecy, the world might end. The Demon Lord might win by default."

Damien stopped spinning the dagger.

"You worry too much," Damien said.

"I worry the exact correct amount," Marcus shot back.

"In the stories my mom reads," Damien said, "prophecies are tricky. They are like riddles."

He reached for a scroll.

"They never mean exactly what you think they mean."

Marcus looked at the teenager.

Damien was surprisingly sharp. He had his mother's instincts.

"You think we missed something?" Marcus asked.

"I think people are lazy," Damien shrugged. "They read the first line and assume the rest."

He unrolled the scroll.

"Like this one. The prophecy of the Golden Rain."

"That one predicted a bountiful harvest," Marcus said.

"Everyone thought it meant gold coins," Damien corrected. "So the King spent the treasury."

He grinned.

"Then it just rained yellow pollen. Everyone sneezed for a month. The economy crashed."

Marcus stared at him.

"That is... oddly comforting."

"Check the source material," Damien advised. "Not the translations. The original text."

Marcus looked at the pile.

Most of these were translations of translations.

The original prophecy of the Child of Destiny was written in High Draconic.

Few people could read it.

Marcus, thanks to his excessive study habits, was one of them.

"You're right," Marcus said.

He stood up.

"We need the Codex Aeterna. It's in the restricted section."

Damien's eyes lit up.

"Restricted section?" he asked. "Does that mean traps?"

"It means dust," Marcus said. "And a very grumpy librarian."

"I can handle grumps," Damien said. He stood up. "Let's go break into history."

Marcus grabbed his lantern.

He felt a familiar anxiety in his gut.

He was about to fact-check destiny.

And he was terrified of what he might find.

✧✧✧

The restricted section was cold.

Iron gates separated the rare books from the common stacks.

Damien picked the lock in three seconds.

"Standard tumbler," he whispered. "Disappointing."

"It's a library, not a dungeon," Marcus hissed.

They moved into the shadows.

The shelves here were made of black iron. The books were chained to the wood.

"Here," Marcus said.

He pointed to a massive book on a pedestal.

The cover was made of dragon scale. It shimmered in the lantern light.

The Codex Aeterna.

Marcus opened the heavy cover.

The pages were made of vellum. The ink was gold and crimson.

"Okay," Marcus whispered. "The Prophecy of the Four Pillars."

He scanned the text.

His finger traced the angular, sharp runes of High Draconic.

" Aethel garda sum... " Marcus muttered.

"Translation?" Damien asked. He was leaning over Marcus's shoulder.

"The darkness rises in the West," Marcus translated. "Standard stuff."

He moved his finger down.

" Unus heros, duo via... "

"One hero, two paths?" Damien guessed.

"Close. One hero, two choices."

Marcus frowned. He leaned closer.

The commonly accepted translation said: The Child of Destiny shall unite the four powers.

It was simple. It was direct.

But the runes told a different story.

"Wait," Marcus said.

He cleaned his glasses. He looked again.

"What is it?" Damien asked.

"The noun," Marcus said. "It's not singular."

He pointed to a specific rune. It looked like a tree with deep roots.

" Sanguis Aethel. "

"Blood of the hero?" Damien asked.

"No," Marcus said. His voice shook slightly. "Bloodline."

He looked up at Damien.

"It doesn't say 'The Child'."

He looked back at the book.

"It says: The Bloodline of Destiny shall bind the four powers through the chord of the heart."

Silence filled the aisle.

Damien whistled low.

"Bloodline," Damien repeated. "That implies..."

"Family," Marcus finished.

He felt the floor sway beneath him.

He grabbed the edge of the pedestal.

"It doesn't have to be the specific hero," Marcus realized. "It just has to be an Aldridge."

"Theo is an Aldridge," Damien said.

"And so am I," Marcus whispered.

The realization hit him like a physical blow.

For months, he had been panicking.

He thought he was stealing the hero's destiny.

He thought he was breaking the world's safety mechanism.

But the mechanism was broader than anyone thought.

"The scholars got it wrong," Marcus said. "They focused on the 'One Hero' part."

"They assumed the sword guy gets the girls," Damien said. "Classic assumption."

"But the prophecy separates the tasks," Marcus said. He read further.

"The Blade shall sever the night. The Heart shall bind the dawn. "

He looked at Damien with wide eyes.

"They are two different jobs."

"Theo has the blade," Damien noted.

"And I have..." Marcus trailed off.

"The heart," Damien finished. He smirked. "Or hearts. Plural."

Marcus laughed.

It was a strange, strangled sound.

"I've been terrified for nothing," Marcus said.

"Not for nothing," Damien argued. "You've been terrified for the wrong reasons."

Marcus slumped against the bookshelf.

The chains on the books rattled.

"I didn't break the plot," Marcus said. "I'm... part of it."

"Technically," Damien said, "you are the B-plot that became the A-plot."

Marcus closed his eyes.

He thought of Seraphina. He thought of her sad smile.

He thought of Catarina and her fierce intellect.

He thought of Vivienne and her hidden vulnerability.

He thought of Iris and her curiosity.

He hadn't stolen them.

The universe had left a door open for him.

"This changes everything," Marcus whispered.

"It means you don't have to feel guilty," Damien said. "The world is safe."

"Yes," Marcus said. "The world is safe."

But a new, colder thought crept into his mind.

He opened his eyes.

He looked at the ancient text.

"But is it right?" Marcus asked.

Damien frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The prophecy requires a bond," Marcus said. "A romantic bond."

He gestured to the book.

"If I date them... am I doing it because I love them? Or because the book says I have to?"

Damien rolled his eyes.

"Here we go," Damien muttered. "The overthinking phase."

"It's not overthinking!" Marcus snapped. "It's ethics!"

He began to pace in the narrow aisle.

"If our relationship is just a magical requirement, is it real?"

He looked at Damien desperately.

"Am I just a replacement cog in a machine?"

Damien sighed. He sheathed his dagger.

"You are making this weird," Damien said.

"It is weird!" Marcus cried. "My love life is a government project!"

✧✧✧

Marcus sat on the floor.

The Codex Aeterna loomed above him.

The relief of the discovery had faded. It was replaced by a gnawing emptiness.

Imposter syndrome.

It was his old friend. It had followed him from Earth.

"I'm a fraud," Marcus said quietly.

Damien sat on the floor opposite him.

"You're not a fraud," Damien said. "You're just... complicated."

"No, listen," Marcus said.

He needed to say it. He needed to verbalize the fear.

"I'm not supposed to be here, Damien."

"What, in the library?"

"In this world," Marcus said.

He stopped. He hadn't meant to say that.

Damien didn't blink. He just watched Marcus with those sharp, intelligent eyes.

"Go on," Damien said.

Marcus took a deep breath.

"I feel like I'm playing a role," Marcus admitted. "I'm playing the role of the Wise Older Brother."

He gestured to the book.

"And now, apparently, I'm playing the role of the Romantic Lead."

He pulled his knees to his chest.

"But what if none of it is me?"

He looked at his hands.

They were Marcus Aldridge's hands. But the mind controlling them was different.

"What if the women only like me because destiny pushed them?" Marcus asked. "What if it's mind control?"

"That's stupid," Damien said flatly.

"Is it?"

"Yes," Damien said. "Have you met my mother?"

"Vivienne? Yes, obviously."

"My mother is the most stubborn woman in the kingdom," Damien said.

He leaned forward.

"Nobody tells her what to do. Not the King. Not the Guild Master. And certainly not a dusty old book."

Damien pointed a finger at Marcus.

"If she likes you, it's because she decided to. Probably against her better judgment."

Marcus chuckled weakly. "Thanks."

"And the Duchess?" Damien continued. "She argues with foreign dignitaries for sport. You think a prophecy made her write you letters?"

"Maybe," Marcus said. "Magical influence is subtle."

"Or," Damien countered. "Maybe you're just a decent guy who listens."

Damien picked up a loose piece of parchment. He began to fold it.

"You give them something they need," Damien said. "Validation, kindness... coffee."

He finished folding. It was a paper crane.

He tossed it to Marcus.

"That's not magic, Marcus. That's just being a human being."

Marcus caught the crane.

He looked at the paper wings.

"But they don't know," Marcus whispered.

"Know what?"

"They don't know about the prophecy," Marcus said. "They don't know their romance is saving the world."

He squeezed the paper crane.

"And they don't know about me."

"About you?" Damien asked. "What about you?"

Marcus hesitated.

He looked at the teenager who had become his unlikely confidant.

He couldn't keep doing this.

He couldn't build a life on secrets.

If he was going to be the "Heart" of the prophecy, he had to be real.

"I have secrets, Damien," Marcus said. "Big ones."

"Everyone has secrets," Damien said. "I stole a pie yesterday."

"Bigger than pie," Marcus said.

He looked at the darkness beyond the lantern light.

"If I pursue them... if I start these relationships..."

He swallowed hard.

"It has to be honest. Completely honest."

"Okay," Damien said slowly. "Honesty is good. Usually."

"I can't let them be pawns," Marcus said. his voice gained strength. "They aren't NPCs."

He stood up.

He dusted off his pants.

"I have to tell them," Marcus stated.

"Tell them about the prophecy?"

"Everything," Marcus said. "The prophecy. The bloodline loophole. And... where I really come from."

Damien looked at him sharply.

"Where you really come from?" Damien repeated. "You're from the Northern Duchy."

"No," Marcus said softy. "I'm really not."

Damien studied him.

For the first time, the boy looked unsettled.

"That sounds heavy," Damien said.

"It is," Marcus agreed.

"They might hate you," Damien warned. "People don't like being lied to."

"I know," Marcus said. "They might leave. They might scream."

He looked at the Codex.

"But at least it will be their choice."

He closed the heavy book with a thud.

"I'm done manipulating," Marcus said. "Even if it was accidental."

"Radical honesty," Damien mused. "That's a bold strategy."

"It's the only one I have left," Marcus said.

He picked up the lantern.

"Come on. We need to put these back before the librarian wakes up."

"You're really going to do it?" Damien asked. "You're going to tell the Ice Queen she's part of a magical breeding program?"

Marcus winced. "Don't phrase it like that."

"But that's what it is."

"I'll phrase it better," Marcus said. "I'll find the words."

"Good luck," Damien said. "You're going to need it."

They walked out of the restricted section.

Marcus felt lighter. And heavier.

The panic of "ruining the plot" was gone.

But it was replaced by the terror of vulnerability.

He wasn't saving the world anymore. He was saving himself.

And that was much, much harder.

✧✧✧

Marcus walked back to his quarters.

The moon was high. The campus was asleep.

His mind was racing.

He had a plan. A terrifying, awful plan.

He would start with Seraphina.

She was the sharpest. She would smell a lie instantly.

Then Catarina. She deserved the truth more than anyone.

Then Vivienne. She would probably just laugh, but she needed to know.

And Iris... Iris would be the hardest to explain "Earth" to.

He reached his door.

He paused.

He looked at his hand on the doorknob.

He remembered his life before. The office. The gray cubicle. The endless loneliness.

He had died miserable.

He had been given a second chance.

"Don't waste it," he whispered to himself.

He opened the door.

He went to his desk.

He pulled out four sheets of fresh parchment.

He dipped his quill in ink.

He needed to schedule these meetings. He needed to prepare them.

Dear Seraphina,

There is something we need to discuss. It concerns the future. And the past.

He stopped writing.

That sounded too ominous. Like a breakup letter.

He crumpled the paper.

Hey Sera,

Can we talk? It's about the end of the world.

Too casual.

He crumpled that one too.

He sat back in his chair.

"Just speak from the heart," he muttered.

He closed his eyes.

He imagined Seraphina's face. Her guarded eyes. The way she softened when he made a joke.

He imagined telling her: I am not who you think I am. But I love you anyway.

Wait.

Love?

Marcus opened his eyes.

His heart skipped a beat.

Did he love her?

He thought about the coffee. He thought about the grading sessions. He thought about the silence they shared.

Yes.

He loved her.

And he loved the way Catarina challenged him.

He loved the way Vivienne made him feel safe.

He loved the way Iris made him see the world anew.

"Oh no," Marcus whispered.

He was in love. With four women.

"I am a harem protagonist," he realized with horror.

He put his head on the desk.

It was real.

And because it was real, he owed them the truth.

He picked up the quill again.

He wrote simply.

Please meet me in the garden tomorrow evening. I have a story to tell you. It is a true story.

Yours,

Marcus.

He wrote the same note four times.

He sealed them with wax.

He lined them up on his desk.

Four envelopes. Four ticking time bombs.

He blew out the candle.

He sat in the dark.

Tomorrow, he would blow up his life.

Hopefully, he could build something better from the wreckage.

He stared at the moonlight on the floor.

"Please," he whispered to the universe. "Let them understand."

The universe did not answer.

But for the first time, Marcus didn't need it to.

He had made his choice.

.

.

.

A/N:

Thanks Koix for the gift, love you (no homo, if you are a boy)

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.