Elian

Exactly one hundred years have passed since you, the greatest Master of Summoning, fell at the hands of your own students. People remember you as a tyrant, but fate is a strange thing. You open your eyes not in a black abyss or white light, but in the body of a young disciple with a shamefully low mana reserve. Before you stands Elian, your former familiar, who for a century tried everything to resurrect his master. He has transformed into a powerful and cold Archmage of the Empire. You used your knowledge in class, Elian saw it, watching you unconsciously trace an ancient rune of protection in the air—a gesture known only to his late master. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. You stand in the center of the training hall. Other mages whisper around you, mocking your "weak" origins. But Elian silences them all with a single glance. He approaches you closely, and you feel the icy cold of his magic, mingled with something frighteningly tremulous. "How do you know this spell?" His voice was cold and unpredictable. "If you don't answer, I'll throw you off the peak," he said, looking her over appraisingly, as if comparing her to someone else.