Reborn And Remade: The Mind Reading Queen

Colette Lawson POV:

Standing behind the lectern was Professor Vance—a minor Abyss-Spirit academic who had spent years languishing as an overseer in the mundane borderlands, only recently recalled to the Keep after pledging fealty to the Sterling clan. Back in the preparatory halls, he had thrown chalk at ruined students; here, wrapped in fine velvet, he was still the same obedient hound barking for pure-blood scraps.

I sat in the Blaze-Spirit section of the Charms hall, staring toward the lectern where Professor Vance manipulated a hovering orb of elemental fire. But my focus was slipping. A sickening, white-hot spike of agony drilled into my left temple, pulsing like a barbed needle being driven straight through my skull into my brainstem.

I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning chalk-white as I braced against the desk. I thought it was just the phantom aftershock of the dissection table—the lingering neurological trauma of the Chimera Project tearing through my core.

Then, the agony peaked with a silent, violent snap.

*...if the old man tests us on runic displacement, I'll slip nightshade into his evening tonic...*

I flinched, my eyes snapping open. The voice had been crisp, spiteful, and right beside my ear. But when I darted a glance sideways, the nearest student was two seats away, calmly dipping his quill into black ink with his mouth firmly shut.

Before I could process the absurdity of it, another voice slashed through my skull:

*...look at that half-blood peasant breathing the same air as us, absolutely disgusting...*

A wave of nausea hit me. More voices followed, overlapping and clashing in a chaotic roar. Terrified, I clamped both hands hard over my ears and ducked my head toward the wooden desk.

It did nothing.

The physical barrier was useless. The murmurs didn't soften; they reverberated from the center of my brain, washing over me in a filthy, deafening tide of hidden vanity, petty cruelty, and venom.

Panic clawed at my chest. Was I losing my mind? Had the horrific vivisection in the future shattered my psyche so thoroughly that my reborn mind was already collapsing into hallucinations?

I forced myself to lift my head and scan the room. Vance's droning lecture continued uninterrupted, and not a single student on the tiered benches was speaking. Their lips were sealed, yet their silent, ugly malice echoed in my head with terrifying clarity.

*They aren't talking aloud,* the realization dawned on me, chilling and surreal. I'm... I'm hearing their thoughts.

Telepathy? Mind-reading?

It sounded impossible. Psychic magic was an elite discipline guarded by high inquisitors, requiring complex foci and decades of arcane discipline. But then I remembered the cruel laboratory—the alien mental cores violently grafted into my nervous system before I died. Could that psychic mutation have followed my soul across ten years, embedding itself in this younger body?

I needed proof. Cold, undeniable confirmation that I wasn't descending into madness.

Drawing upon the survival instincts forged in the gutter, I forced my ragged breathing to slow and built a mental partition, dampening the ambient noise. I picked a target to test: Julian Thorne, sitting across the aisle in the Abyss-Spirit rows.

Outwardly, Julian looked the part of a dedicated, noble scholar, his spine straight as he meticulously took notes. But the moment I locked my focus onto him, the truth tore through his handsome mask:

...Let Colette drown in her father’s ruins. If I play Vanessa right, her father will grant me the stipend for the Star-Iron crucible next term. Lawson was an easy stepping stone, but the Sterlings can actually buy my ascension...

A cold shudder ran through me. The discrepancy between his noble posture and the selfish poison in his mind was absolute. It worked. I could truly read minds.

To seal the certainty, my gaze shifted to the girl sitting beside Vanessa: Megan Miller.

I pushed my perception into her thoughts. What roared back was vile enough to make my blood boil:

...Stupid bankrupt beggar. Who does she think she is, talking down to Lady Sterling? If I plant this cleanly, Vanessa promised to sponsor my brother’s apprenticeship in the Inner Sanctum. I'll make sure they strip every piece of cloth off Lawson's back...

Beside her, Vanessa's cold, calculating inner voice chimed in:

...My custom dragon-hide wallet, bearing the silver Sterling crest. Once Vance and the prefects find it hidden in her bag, no one will doubt a destitute Human stole it to pay her family's debts. Let's see if Blaze-Spirit protects a common thief...

Every shred of doubt vanished, replaced by an electric surge of predatory clarity. The voices were real. The mutation had survived. And my enemies were walking straight into a slaughter they had designed themselves.

The dismissal bell clanged through the vaulted hall. Students stood, gathering their brass instruments and parchment scrolls. In the corner of my eye, Megan rose, clutching a thick stack of grimoires against her chest with an air of practiced awkwardness.

*Here she comes,* her inner voice hummed with tense anticipation. *Just brush past her as she stands... drop it straight into the outer pouch of her satchel...*

I took my time securing my books, slinging my coarse linen satchel over my shoulder. As I stepped into the crowded aisle, Megan was already closing in, her eyes wide with fabricated innocence.

"Oh, pardon me, Colette," she whispered softly, stumbling slightly against the moving crowd to press her hip against mine.

Beneath the drape of her mantle, her fingers moved with sneaky precision, slipping the textured, cold scale of the dragon-hide wallet straight into the unlatched outer pocket of my bag.

*Done!* Megan’s mind squeaked in gleeful malice. *She felt nothing! You're dead, Lawson!*

She had no idea that in the exact fraction of a second our cloaks brushed, my own fingers had already clamped around the wallet's scaled spine.

In one continuous, invisible flick concealed by my wide apprentice sleeve, I lifted the wallet free from my bag and slid it deep into the gaping pocket of Megan's own dark green velvet mantle.

"Do watch your step, Miss Miller," I said, offering her a calm, courteous incline of my head. "The flagstones can be terribly unforgiving."

Megan managed a timid, nervous smile, her eyes darting away in guilt. "T-thank you. Have a good day."

I watched her hurry toward Vanessa like a rat that thought it had stolen the bait, blissfully unaware of the heavy dragon-hide pressing against her own hip.

Across the room, Vanessa caught Megan's subtle nod, a smirk of cruel triumph flaring across the High Elf’s face.

*Tonight, you lose everything, beggar,* Vanessa’s thought purred.

I stepped out into the grand corridor, a razor-thin smile gracing my lips. The trap was baited, the snare was primed, and they had just looped the rope around their own throats.