A perfect world forgets no one.
But even perfect worlds
hide their broken parts.
Aren Kael didn't expect the third day of classes to change his life.
He had just started finding rhythm in this new world—one of magical disciplines, enchanted learning spheres, and instructors who treated the students like people, not pawns.
His favorite subject so far?
"Narrative Studies," taught by none other than Lysara herself. Her lectures felt more like stories than lessons, and she always left the class with a question no textbook could answer.
Today, though, the schedule shifted.
His system pinged softly during breakfast:
System Adjustment:
You have been reassigned to: CLASS F
Title: Adaptive Restoration Unit (ARU)
Instructor: Headmistress Vale (Acting)
Location: Sub-Arena 13
Aren frowned.
He hadn't applied for reassignment.
When he arrived at Sub-Arena 13, a sprawling dome under the western cliffs, it looked... abandoned.
Cracked marble pillars surrounded the field.
Only two lights flickered.
But the moment he stepped past the threshold,
everything changed.
The space brightened. Magic crackled through the air.
Seven others stood in the circle.
All silent.
All watching him.
Seria stood at the far end, dressed not as an instructor but in battle attire.
She smiled faintly.
"Welcome to Class F. Or, as some call it, the Forgotten."
Aren glanced around.
To his left: a girl with ice-blonde hair and no shadow. Her eyes flickered constantly, like she was stuck between dreams.
To his right: a tall, dark-skinned boy with broken tattoos up and down his arms. One glowed when he moved.
Across the field: a girl with twin swords and a permanent scowl, whispering to herself.
And at the center: a quiet figure wrapped in heavy robes.
Seria gestured for him to enter fully.
"Every one of you has a timeline that fractured."
Aren blinked. "What does that mean?"
She nodded toward the silent girl.
"Her version was erased after Version 1.3. But she survived through a memory link. Now she sees echoes of things that never happened."
The girl nodded without speaking.
Seria looked to the tall boy.
"He was rewritten mid-dream. Doesn't know what part of him is real. His powers fluctuate. His identity slips."
Then to the twin-blade girl.
"She refused three separate resets. Now the system thinks she's dead."
Aren swallowed.
Seria turned to him.
"And you? You carry legacy without memory. You inherited the world without earning it. You're the most dangerous of all."
System Note:
Class F students exist outside standard narrative layering.
Traits: Hybrid Timeline / Persistent Memory / Undefined Role
"Why us?" Aren asked.
Seria walked to the center.
"Because you're the future. And if this world faces collapse again, it won't come from gods or tyrants. It'll come from what we forgot to include."
She raised a hand.
The floor transformed.
Each student stood on a glyph—glowing symbols that rotated in counter-clockwise spirals.
Aren's was different.
Not a glyph.
A question mark.
Seria noticed.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Your role hasn't anchored."
Aren nodded. "I don't even know what I'm meant to be."
"Then that's what we train for."
She snapped her fingers.
The chamber darkened.
And the first trial began.
It wasn't a fight.
Not at first.
It was a projection.
Each student saw a piece of themselves—a snapshot of the moment they broke from their original path.
Aren saw a version of himself in a black robe, writing frantically in a collapsing world. Then, that version burned into nothing.
The system chimed:
Trial One: Recognition
Stand beside your echo, or destroy it.
The others hesitated.
Aren stepped forward.
He knelt before his echo.
And whispered:
"You got me here. That matters."
His echo smiled.
And vanished into light.
One by one, the others made their choices.
Some destroyed their pasts.
Others embraced them.
Seria watched.
Judging. Measuring.
When it ended, she nodded.
"You're not fighters. Not yet. You're witnesses. Of what comes next."
Later that day, during cool-down exercises, Aren sat beside the girl with no shadow.
"What's your name?"
"Kairen," she whispered.
"Do you remember the world before this one?"
She looked up.
Her eyes shimmered.
"I remember every version."
Aren blinked. "That sounds painful."
"It is. But it also means I know which version of you I trust."
He stiffened.
"Wait—what do you mean?"
She smiled faintly.
"The one who always saves us."
Then walked away.
System Tag Earned: Class F Initiate
Your presence now influences minor narrative streams
Passive Effect: Unstable Characters Calm Near You
That night, Aren received a new message.
Unknown Sender:
You are not alone.
There are others who remember.
Meet at Reflection Hall. Midnight.
Come alone.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then closed the message.
And whispered:
"What am I becoming?"
Far across the academy, a woman with ink-stained gloves watched his file open in her private system.
She read his traits.
And frowned.
"The pen moves again. But whose hand wields it?"