Silence.
That was the first thing Kyrillos noticed—after death. Not the screams of the gods. Not the voices of his betrayers. Not even the crackle of flames or the sound of his own breath.
Just silence.
Then—pain. Not the kind that came from wounds or chains. This pain was... existence. Rebirth. Every bone, every nerve, every cell screamed as it reformed. Fire ran through his veins like molten metal.
And then, breath.
A choking gasp tore through his lips as Kyrillos jolted upright, eyes wide, body drenched in sweat and ash. He was alive. But he wasn't in Olympus.
He lay in a dense forest, the sky above him a dull orange, the sun dimmed by heavy clouds. The air smelled of damp earth, wild herbs, and faint sulfur.
He coughed violently, sitting up on trembling arms. His body—smaller, leaner. Human? No… different. Mortal, yes, but with something flickering inside. A spark.
His hand twitched. He focused—and flames licked his fingertips.
*The Ember Soul survived.*
He fell back, laughing—hoarse, hysterical. He had died a condemned traitor and opened his eyes in another world, his core intact.
Was this reincarnation? A second chance? Or something more?
---
*A Stranger's Voice*
Just as he was catching his breath, a rustle in the brush drew his attention. Kyrillos tensed. He wasn't alone.
From the trees emerged a young woman, about his age, wearing a traveler's cloak and clutching a staff. Her eyes, sharp and amber, froze when they met his.
"You're alive?" she asked, baffled. "I thought you were a burned corpse."
Kyrillos sat up, squinting. "That... makes two of us."
She edged closer, cautious. "I felt a pulse of spiritual energy and came to investigate. There was fire—real fire, like a phoenix landing." She looked at him closely. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No," Kyrillos said simply.
She offered a flask of water. He drank greedily, ignoring his pride. It was cold and metallic, but it woke him up.
"Name's *Calliope*," she said. "Apprentice spirit-tamer."
Kyrillos blinked. "Calliope…?"
She raised a brow. "Yeah?"
The name rang in his heart. In Olympus, she had been a close friend. A warrior-poet with a silver tongue and a wild soul. But this version… this wasn't her. Or was it?
Maybe this world mirrored pieces of his past.
"I'm Kyril," he said—shortened, for now. "Thanks."
---
*The World of Thalor*
As they walked, Calliope explained the basics. This was *Thalor*, a realm of cultivation and spirit beasts, torn between warring sects and dying legends.
"You dropped near the Scorched Vale," she said. "A cursed land. No one survives out here."
Kyrillos smirked. "Guess I broke the trend."
"You're weird," she muttered. "But… interesting."
She led him to a small camp hidden in the forest. Crude but functional. Over a meal of dried meat and spirit-root soup, Kyrillos listened and observed.
There were no gods here. No Olympus. But power still flowed in bloodlines and cultivation systems. Instead of divine inheritance, strength came from *Spirit Genes*, awakened through trial and training.
Kyrillos didn't have one—yet.
But something else beat inside him. The *Erebos Gene*. Dark, silent… but not evil.
---
*Visions in the Firelight*
That night, as Calliope slept beside the fire, Kyrillos sat alone, staring into the flames.
Visions flickered—his execution, the High Oracle, Aphrodite's tears. His fists clenched.
"I'll return," he whispered. "I'll rise higher than them all."
Suddenly, the flames shifted.
A shape formed—humanoid, but hollow-eyed, cloaked in black mist.
*"You chose rebirth,"* it said.
Kyrillos didn't flinch. "Who are you?"
*"A remnant of the forgotten. The Erebos Gene is not a gift—it is a gate."*
"To where?"
*"To everything."*
The figure vanished.
Kyrillos breathed deeply. This wasn't just a second life. It was the beginning of something far greater. And far more dangerous.
---
*First Blood*
At dawn, they were ambushed.
Three *Black Fang Marauders* burst into the clearing—bandits mutated by corrupted spirit cores. Clawed, hunched, grinning.
Calliope jumped to defend. "Run!"
Kyrillos stood firm.
The first marauder lunged—Kyrillos ducked low, fist glowing, and punched upward. Flames erupted. The creature screamed.
Calliope stared. "You're… you're not untrained."
"No," Kyrillos said calmly, stepping forward. "I've fought gods."
Two more came at once. He danced between them, fire spiraling from his fists, legs sweeping, strikes clean. One exploded into embers. The other collapsed, twitching.
Breathing heavily, he turned to her. "You good?"
She blinked. "What *are* you?"
Kyrillos wiped blood from his mouth. "Someone who doesn't plan to die twice."
---