Pain.
That was the first thing Arden felt. A dull, throbbing ache running through his bones and crawling along his spine like he'd just been slammed into the earth from a two-storey fall.
Which, technically, he had.
But this pain was... different.
He opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the light filtering through trees. Trees? There was no hospital ceiling above him, no sirens or machines, just branches and leaves swaying above his head. The ground beneath him was rough and damp, and his clothes were wrong. Lighter, unfamiliar, like some kind of stitched robe, and his body-
He sat up with a groan and blinked hard, staring at his hands.
Slimmer.
Smaller.
Younger.
"What the hell...?"
His voice sounded off lighter too, and it sent a chill through him. He stood up, slowly, each movement stiff but manageable. Nearby, a stream trickled gently, and he stumbled toward it, kneeling to peer at his reflection in the water.
Emerald green eyes stared back at him, clear and sharp. A pale silver hair framed his face, falling to his shoulders, glowing faintly under the sun. His features were youthful, sharp yet elegant—a striking kind of handsome.
He blinked again.
"No way..."
The memories hit without warning.
A rush of images and feelings poured into him like a storm, leaving him clutching his head in agony, groaning as if it might split open. Flashes of sword training, whispers of shame, the cold glares of nobles, and a name being repeated over and over—his name.
Arden Caelum.
The boy he now was.
First son of the Caelum family, one of the Five Great Houses of the Kingdom of Eldros. Guardians of Caelum City, proud bloodline of elemental mages known for their control over the skies—wind, storm, lightning.
But this Arden—this boy—wasn't born to one of the King's wives. His mother was a lesser consort, a woman of humble birth, loved quietly, but never accepted.
The boy had been marked from birth.
When the day of the Rite of Veinfire came, his chance to awaken with an elemental affinity—he failed. His veins rejected Aether, which meant,
No affinity. No strength. No future.
To the Caelum family, that meant one thing—shame.
They stripped him of his name and cast him out, bundled him off to the Outlands, a wilderness crawling with magical beasts and ruins from a past age. He was only fifteen.
No weapon. No guide. No chance.
And now Arden understood why he was here.
The boy had died. Alone. Forgotten. Betrayed.
Left to rot in a world where power meant survival, where everything revolved around the strength of your Aether Vein and the elemental force you awakened with.
A world that changed years ago when a cosmic event filled the skies with falling stars and altered the very fabric of nature, birthing magical beasts and Aether energy that transformed the land—and its people. Humans had adapted.
And through rituals like the Veinfire, they awakened elemental affinities, channeling that power to protect cities, form clans, and wage war against the creatures born from the chaos.
But this boy... had nothing.
He had hoped to earn his place with effort, to one day stand tall and bring his mother into the light of the family.
But no one cared for dreams.
He was discarded before he could even begin.
Arden sat in silence, letting the memories settle, his hands curled into fists.
"That's cold," he said, his voice low. "He was just a kid."
He could feel the boy's pain lingering, his last breath taken in fear and anger, his final thoughts questioning why his family, his own blood, would throw him away.
And yet... Arden, the man who now lived in this body, didn't feel hatred. Not exactly.
"I should be pissed," he muttered, standing up and brushing dust off his clothes, "but damn it... I got what I wished for, didn't I?"
His lips curled into a crooked smile. The pain was real, but so was the rush—this world, this body, this chance.
A new life, a fresh start, and not just as anyone, but as someone whose story had barely begun.
"In my last life, I had no one. No family left. No future. Just the same desk, same streets, same empty walls," he said, more to himself than anything. "But here? They might've cast me out, but they gave me something way better."
He looked up, eyes brightening as the wind stirred his hair.
"They gave me freedom."
And though he didn't hate the Caelum family, he wasn't going to forget what they did.
"Next time we meet... I'll make sure they remember the boy they left to die."
But for now he had to move.
Even with the boy's memories still swirling in his head, one thing was clear—the Outlands were no place to daydream. This wasn't a forest from some weekend hiking trip.
This was wild land, unclaimed and untamed, a place where power ruled and weakness meant death.
And he was weak.
At least for now.
The spot he woke up in —Zone One, was supposed to be the least deadly of all the Outland zones, close to the city's borders and thinned out by routine purges.
But that didn't make it safe. Low-ranked magical beasts still roamed here, creatures drawn to aether-rich terrain, some barely above wild animals, others fast and cunning with elemental quirks that could turn a simple encounter into a last breath.
He started moving, sticking close to thick trees and shaded paths, using what little he remembered from the body's past treks.
The terrain was rocky in places, with tall grass brushing his waist and the scent of moss heavy in the air. Birds didn't chirp here. Everything was quiet in that way that only came with hidden threats.
He needed food, also a shelter—maybe even a cave to hole up in, and water, though at least he had that stream from before.
But he couldn't head back to the city, not like this. Banished and presumed dead, no affinity, no standing, no name, he'd be lucky if they didn't throw him right back out.
So he walked, slow but steady, eyes scanning the brush, his breath controlled.
Then he heard it.
A low growl. Close.
He dropped low instinctively, crouching behind a log and holding his breath. His heart pounded hard in his chest, thudding like a war drum. Just across the clearing, something large moved through the grass.
It was lean and muscular, like a wildcat, but bigger and wrong. Its fur shimmered with veins of red light, and steam curled from its mouth every time it exhaled. It sniffed the air slowly, each breath deep and focused.
It had caught his scent.
The beast snarled and stepped forward, a trail of heat following its paws, the grass beneath them blackening. Arden's eyes widened as he recognized it from the memories—
A Blazetail Lynx. Rank E. Low-tier magical beast, but still too much for someone who couldn't swing a stick properly.
"Shit."
He turned and bolted, but his body gave way after only a few steps.
His legs were already burning, his muscles weak, and the lynx was fast, way faster than he could track.
The ground shook slightly as it pounced, claws coated in searing heat swiping past his shoulder, barely missing.
He stumbled and rolled, his chest heaving as he tried to crawl backward.
"This is it?" he spat, wincing as he forced himself up to his knees, "Seriously? Not even an hour into my second life and I'm already about to be grilled cat food?"
The lynx circled him slowly, its tail flicking behind it like a whip of fire, and Arden could feel his vision spinning. He couldn't stand. Couldn't run. Could barely breathe.
But something inside him refused to quit.
He grit his teeth, chest rising and falling fast, his hands shaking but clenched into fists.
He didn't want to die. Not here. Not now.
"I've waited too long for this," he whispered, voice hoarse but steady, "This is supposed to be the part where things change... where the MC awakens... the system... the hidden power... something."
He laughed—half desperate, half defiant as the lynx growled and crouched to strike.
"Come on. I finally get my shot at adventure. Don't tell me it ends in chapter two."
And just then—
Bing—
A/N:
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