Waking up in another world should've felt dramatic. Trumpets. A celestial light. Maybe a god whispering forbidden secrets into my ear.
But no.
It felt like waking up hungover in a stranger's bed.
The sheets beneath me were velvet-soft, the kind you'd expect royalty to bleed on, not sleep on. The air was cold, perfumed faintly with lavender and parchment. A golden chandelier hung above, its lights swaying slightly as if the world itself had just taken a deep breath.
My fingers clutched at the sheets — the only anchor between me and the sheer absurdity of this moment. Because the body I was in? It wasn't mine.
Taller. Leaner. And lined with faint, pale scars near the ribs — the kind born from repeated failure, not glory.
A knock at the door jolted me upright.
Before I could say anything, the door creaked open. A girl stepped in — young, with ash-brown hair tied in a practical braid and a black-and-white uniform accented by a pale blue ribbon. Her eyes looked far too tired for her age.
"Young Master Edwin," she said, setting a silver tray on the side table, "your father requests your presence in the east wing. He said…" Her voice faltered for a second. "He said today is important."
My breath hitched.
Did she say Edwin?
I glanced around the room again, heart racing.
This wasn't my apartment. This wasn't even my world.
The chandelier sparkled again, catching on a painting mounted proudly across the room — a silver wolf howling at a crescent moon. I knew that crest.
House Velloran.
The memories hit not like recollection but recognition — like reading a page I'd memorized long ago.
I remembered this bedroom. I remembered Edwin Velloran.
Not from my own life — but from a novel.
"Rise of the Inhuman King."
Edwin was a minor noble. A side character introduced in Chapter 12 and killed off within ten pages. A footnote used to showcase how cruel the world could be.
And now, somehow, I was him.
The maid tilted her head. "Young master?"
I blinked. "I'll be right there."
She bowed and left.
I stumbled to the mirror in the corner. The face staring back at me was pale, fine-boned. Blue eyes. White-blond hair. Pretty in a delicate, fragile way — the kind of boy that dies first in battle and gets a statue no one visits.
This was real.
This was happening.
I whispered, "Edwin Velloran… what the hell do I do now?"
The Velloran estate was massive, but it wore its age poorly. The walls were carved with faded heraldry, and the crimson drapes looked like they hadn't been replaced since the last generation of war. Everything here was trying to remember its former glory — and failing.
As I passed through the halls, the servants barely looked up. Some nodded out of habit, others out of obligation. No one smiled. No one expected anything from me.
That told me all I needed to know.
This was not a house of power.
This was a house of dying embers.
The east wing chamber doors opened with a creak that echoed like judgment. Inside was a long hall with polished wooden pillars and glass windows stained the color of rust. At the far end stood a man in dark robes and partial armor — one leg braced, his stance stiff but proud.
Viscount Aldric Velloran.
Edwin's father.
My… father?
He turned slowly. His eyes were silver, the same color as the wolf on the family crest. His presence alone could crush a lesser man.
"You're awake."
I bowed, stiffly. "Yes, Father."
He studied me like a general appraising a broken blade. "You collapsed during sword training. Again. Your constitution remains pathetic."
I kept my head low. "It won't happen again."
He didn't respond immediately. "You will attend the Awakening Ceremony in three days. The priest arrives from Virdale tomorrow. Until then — no more excuses. Your brother carries this house on his back while you…" He gestured, vaguely. "You remain a quiet disappointment."
Ouch.
I nodded again. "Yes, Father."
"Dismissed."
As I walked out, I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into Edwin's palm.
This was his life.
A disappointment. A weakling. A shadow behind greater sons.
And I was supposed to die in three days
Back in my room, I leaned against the cold balcony rail, watching the wind stir the treetops beyond the estate walls.
Three days.
That's all I had before the Ceremony of Awakening.
I didn't need anyone to explain what that meant. I'd read about it in Rise of the Inhuman King — seen it written in grim, prophetic paragraphs that spelled the end for Edwin Velloran.
The Ceremony wasn't just tradition. It was the turning point for every noble house — a rite meant to reveal the dormant bloodline traits passed through generations. Elemental affinities. Magical resistance. Physical augmentations. Visions. Some families birthed seers. Others bred warriors who could shatter stone.
House Velloran's gift had always been strength. Not flashy magic. Not divine prophecy. Just raw, brutal power — bone-deep resilience and unrelenting will.
But Edwin? He awakened nothing.
No fire. No vision. No legacy.
He stood beneath the ceremonial pyre while others burned bright. And when the time came to test himself in battle, the world devoured him.
I gritted my teeth.
That wouldn't happen again.
Not while I was in control.
I stepped back into the room, letting the curtains fall closed behind me. The soft clink of metal from outside reminded me of the estate guards making their rounds. Polished silence, hiding all the rot beneath.
I walked past the ornate desk, dragging my fingers across the edge. The wood was smooth and cold. Unused.
There were three siblings in the Velloran line, not counting me.
Leoric — the eldest. The golden heir. Born for command. Ruthless, calculating, already shaping the court in his image. In the novel, he never bent, never broke. A perfect soldier of the old world.
Caius — the quiet one. Cold steel in human form. He trained in silence and fought like a ghost. When the Firelands war came, he led the cavalry through smoke and flame and returned with blood on his hands.
And then there was her.
Selene.
Mentioned only briefly in the early chapters — quiet, overlooked, another daughter born to a house that valued power over presence. But later, in the arc I barely remembered, she switched sides. Walked away from the family name and joined the hero's rebellion. Whatever her reasons were.
For now, I had three days. Three days until the Ceremony of Awakening. Three days to prepare, to act like I belonged, to remember everything I could about what came next.
Because this wasn't just a story anymore.And I wasn't just a reader.
I was Edwin Velloran.A name destined to be forgotten.
Unless I rewrote the ending.