Darkness pressed in from all sides.
There was no sound. No sensation. Only an vast, endless void where even the concept of time seemed to dissolve. I could not tell if seconds or centuries were passing.
Then—
Warmth.
It seeped into the emptiness like the first ray of dawn piercing a sealed room. My awareness stirred. Something tugged at me, dragging me upward through layers of haze.
I opened my eyes.
The world appeared in fragments—blurred colors, shifting shapes. My thoughts felt sluggish, as if wrapped in thick fog. A dull ache pulsed behind my temples.
Something was wrong.
I tried to lift my arm.
And froze.
A tiny hand drifted into view.
Small. Soft. Fragile.
It trembled slightly in the air, obeying my command with unsettling precision.
"…What?"
I turned it over slowly. The skin was smooth, untouched by scars or calluses. This was not my hand. It could not be.
Yet it moved when I willed it to.
A cold realization settled in my chest.
I died… didn't I?
The memory of my previous life lingered like a fading dream—sharp in emotion, blurred in detail. Pain. Regret. A life I had no desire to revisit.
Is this… reincarnation?
Before I could chase the thought further, two faces leaned into my field of vision.
A man and a woman.
Their expressions overflowed with relief and joy, as if witnessing a miracle. The man's tanned face was framed by short black hair curling slightly at the edges. His hands were rough and strong, yet when they cradled me, they were impossibly gentle. His steady brown eyes held a quiet warmth.
Beside him stood a woman with long dark brown hair tied back by a faded ribbon. Her hazel eyes shone with soft light. Lines of daily labor marked her hands, but her smile carried a tenderness that felt almost painful to look at.
They held me close, their voices murmuring sounds I did not yet understand.
Are these… my parents?
The word echoed in my mind.
Parents.
A faint chill crawled down my spine. Memories of my past life stirred—unwelcome, sharp-edged things I refused to examine too closely.
They looked happy. Truly happy.
But hope was a fragile thing. I buried it before it could bloom.
I won't expect anything, I told myself. It's safer that way.
Five years passed.
My new name was Cain Vorstheim.
My parents—Draven Vorstheim and Monica Nyxveil—lived a modest life on the outskirts of a city whose towering walls I could sometimes glimpse in the distance. They were ordinary people. Hardworking. Kind.
And I trusted none of it.
They cared for me with unwavering affection, yet I kept a careful distance. I obeyed. I spoke when necessary. I smiled when expected.
But a wall remained, silent and immovable.
It was the only way I knew to protect myself.
Everything changed the day I found the book.
I was cleaning my room when my fingers brushed against something hidden beneath a pile of old cloth. I pulled it free—a leather-bound volume worn smooth by time. Its cover was cracked, its pages yellowed and brittle.
Symbols filled the text. Strange diagrams. Instructions written in simple, deliberate strokes.
At first glance, it resembled a child's fantasy tale. This world had its share of such stories. I almost dismissed it.
But as I read, a quiet unease settled over me.
One passage described the awakening of magic—not as legend, but as practice. It spoke of meditation, of breathing in rhythm with the world, of sensing a current that flowed within all living things.
The words were simple.
Too simple.
"It's just a story," I muttered.
Yet the thought refused to leave me.
What if it isn't?
This was another world. I had already crossed the boundary of the impossible once. Who was I to decide what could or could not exist?
Days later, when my father was outside splitting wood and my mother's footsteps echoed faintly from the kitchen, I sat by the window and closed my eyes.
Just once.
Sunlight warmed my face. I inhaled slowly.
Exhaled.
And listened.
At first, there was nothing. Only the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.
Then—
A flicker of warmth ignited deep within my chest. Faint. Subtle. But undeniably real.
My focus sharpened. The sensation grew clearer, like a candle flame sheltered from the wind. Something flowed through me—not blood, not breath, but a presence that felt ancient and alive.
"W-whoa…"
The whisper escaped before I could stop it.
The warmth spread outward, threading through my limbs. The air around me stirred. A tingling pressure lifted my body—
The floor fell away.
I was floating.
A haze of purple light shimmered around my skin, drifting like smoke in still air. Awe and fear tangled in my chest.
Control it…
The thought surfaced instinctively.
Guide it. Shape it.
I imagined a spark gathering in my palm. The energy responded instantly, rushing toward my hand with eager intensity.
Too eager.
The pressure swelled beyond my control.
"Wait—"
The world exploded in crimson light.
A thunderous crack split the air as force hurled me backward. My body slammed into the wooden door. Pain flashed white across my vision.
And then—
Nothing.