There were exactly three things Sylas Vermund feared:
1.Public speaking.
2.Cats that stared too long without blinking.
3.And Vivienne when she said, "We need to talk."
Especially when she said it like that—flat tone, arms crossed, posture stiff enough to impale a lesser man.
Sylas considered his options:
Run.
Pretend he was someone else.
Actually listen like a responsible adult.
He sighed.
"Fine. Let's talk," he said, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. "But if this is about me allegedly blowing up my desk—again—I swear I was set up. By the ring. And mana."
Vivienne didn't laugh.
She turned, striding toward a quieter hallway off the main corridor. Sylas followed, dragging his feet like a child headed to detention.
When they were far enough from eavesdroppers, she spun on her heel.
"What happened to you?"
Sylas blinked. "You'll have to be more specific. I've had a long week."
"You've been acting weird," she snapped. "You used to be—well—mean. Controlled. Arrogant. And now you're..."
"Charming?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"I was going to say 'unhinged.' But sure. Let's pretend you're a delight."
Sylas gave her a two-finger salute. "My charm is a slow-burn. Like cursed incense."
"Cut the act, Sylas. You're not the same."
The hallway felt suddenly colder.
He considered gaslighting her for the fun of it. Pretend she was imagining things. Play it off.
But this was Vivienne.
He could dodge professors, flirt through lectures, and lie through exams—but Vivienne always saw straight through him like glass.
"I'm serious," she said softer now. "You walk differently. You talk like you've forgotten how you're supposed to sound. You look at people like you're seeing them for the first time."
Sylas tried to speak. Didn't.
She leaned closer. "Who are you?"
His heart actually skipped.
Could she tell? Did she really know?
Or was it just paranoia and excellent intuition on her part?
He forced a crooked smile. "Okay, you caught me. I'm an alien. I possess bodies. Earth was too boring so I picked the guy with the most punchable face."
She didn't laugh.
His smile dimmed.
"I'm still me," he said, more quietly. "Just... re-evaluating my priorities."
Vivienne folded her arms again, expression unreadable.
Then she said, "When you were twelve, you pushed me into a fountain because I beat you in spell theory."
Sylas flinched. "...Okay, that does sound like me."
"And I still have the boots I wore that day. Still water-stained."
"I'll buy you new ones."
She stared
Sylas stared back.
After a moment, she exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll play along. For now. But if you do one more weird thing—like adopting a kitten or, I don't know, helping an old lady cross the street—I'm dragging you to the Inquisition myself."
"Noted."
She turned and walked away, muttering something about "the world ending" and "personality theft."
Sylas leaned against the wall.
She was too close to the truth. Way too close.
He'd gotten sloppy.
He needed to play the old Sylas better. Be a little more insufferable. A little more smug. Sprinkle in some villain energy again.
Because if Vivienne could see through the cracks…
How long until the rest of this world did?
That night, as Sylas sat on his bed flipping through his student spellbook (and trying not to set it on fire), a system window pinged into existence again.
[SYSTEM: New Skill Unlocked – Adaptive Persona]
You're officially a lying legend. Keep up the good work, faker.
Sylas raised a brow.
"Okay," he muttered, "now that's freaky."