The cold steel of a blade once pierced his chest.
He remembered the feeling all too well—the sting of betrayal sharper than the executioner's sword, the taste of iron on his tongue, the deafening silence before the crowd roared its approval.
Nobles. Knights. Even the ones who once praised his name.
"Caelum Virellian, the Villain of the Empire—sentenced to death for crimes against the Crown."
Crimes he never committed. Or perhaps crimes he was made to commit.
He became too powerful. Too unpredictable. A threat to the Empire's balance. So they painted him as the enemy—the perfect scapegoat. The Empire's secret weapon turned traitor.
And the people cheered… because that's easier than asking why.
Then came the light—a searing white that consumed everything.
No pain.
No sound.
Just stillness.
And then…
____
A gust of wind struck his face.
His eyes snapped open.
Not to prison bars or fire… but to the gentle rustle of grass, the warmth of sunlight on skin, and birdsong in the distance.
He sat up suddenly, breath caught in his throat. His hands dug into the earth and felt the coldness and softness of it.
"…What…?"
He blinked. Once. Twice.
He wasn't dreaming. Or dead. He felt the pull in his muscles, the burn of his lungs. Everything is too… real.
But where is he?
He looked around. Trees swayed nearby. A dirt road ran along the edge of the hill. The sky was open, unmarred by towers or smoke.
No gallows. No blood. His hand went to his chest. No wound. No scar.
Is this some illusion? Am I facing a final punishment?
He stood up slowly, warily.
Then, in the distance—just over the next rise—he saw it.
A familiar silhouette cutting against the morning sun: a vast tower, rising like a black spearhead from the hills.
He knew that shape.
The Eidaleon Imperial Academy.
Caelum stared.
No… that can't be right. That place was destroyed. I-I destroyed it…
He staggered forward. The road beneath his boots was real. The grass smelled the same as it did in spring, years ago.
His pulse quickened.
A cold thought took root in his chest—heavier than fear.
If the academy is still standing…
He ran.
____
By midday, he reached the outskirts of the capital. The streets buzzed with life. Vendors shouted from behind stalls. Children darted between carriages. A bard strummed in a corner.
Too clean. Too whole.
It wasn't like this before. Not after the war. Not after the Empire fractured.
His breath caught as he passed a vendor's mirror display.
He turned back slowly. And froze.
The reflection staring back at him was a handsome boy—no more than sixteen. Smooth skin, black hair, gray eyes, leaner frame, and no battle scars.
His younger self.
This… this can't be…
He reached up, touching his face. The mirror copied the motion exactly. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
A chill ran down his spine—not from fear, but realization.
This isn't an illusion…I've gone back. Back to the year of the academy trials… Back to the time that I'm still a D-tier weakling.
____
That night, he arrived at a small inn near the academy gates. The matron eyed him with polite curiosity when he slid a few silver coins across the counter.
"Room for one?"
He nodded.
Her gaze briefly caught on the faint, faded crest sewn into the hem of his collar.
"Virellian, huh? That's an old name," she muttered. "Don't hear it much anymore."
Caelum offered a faint smile. "We've fallen quiet lately."
She raises her eyebrow but didn't press. Just handed him a key.
He climbed the stairs and entered the modest room. The room was small but clean. A single candle flickered beside the bed.
He stood at the window, looking out across the rooftops, watching the last light dip beneath the city skyline.
"Those shits, after everything... sigh."
He exhaled, long and slow to calm down his raging emotion.
"…and why now?" he murmured. "Why me?"
A silence answered.
Then he felt it—like a whisper beneath his skin. A faint hum in his veins. Dormant. Ancient.
Primal Resonance.
It was still there.
Still his.
Still waiting.
Not a blessing from the gods.
Just him. His talent.
They feared what I could become…But now, I'll show them what I was meant to be.
He closed his eyes.
This time… I won't waste it. I don't need their titles. I don't need their throne. My talent is enough.