[System Name: Origin System]
[Status: Active]
[Bloodline Holder: Nerion Valdegar (Noah)]
[Origin Bloodline Purity: 40% (Can be increased)]
Ding!
[Please open the Host's Status Window to view your progress.]
...
Nerion's eyes snapped open.
The carriage rocked gently over uneven stones, the distant sound of market bells and the scent of rain-drenched grass filtered through the air…
His breath caught in his throat.
A rush. A current of something... primal.
'That feeling... I'm finally sensing it—my body.'
A jolt of realization surged through him, followed by a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. It was more than just sensation; it was awareness, creeping back into nerves that had long been silenced.
The system... it was working.
Warmth erupted from his core. Not just heat—fire. His heart throbbed like a war drum, each beat pumping searing vitality into frozen veins. His skin flushed, his eyes burned with a stinging heat—as if they were shifting, evolving.
'What is this feeling, system?' he demanded, mentally bracing for the unknown.
[This is a natural process, Host. The sensation of transformation—the return to your original form, stolen in your former life. Now, with willpower energy and proper materials present, the process has begun.]
Nerion inhaled sharply.
'It feels... incredible.'
Like a firestorm awakening inside him, the blood—his true blood—came alive, reclaiming the vessel that had once betrayed it.
Two more days.
Just two more days until the first chain broke.
'And then the next nightmare begins...' he thought, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips.
He opened his eyes further—intending to assess their location—but something soft arrested his attention. A warmth... not internal. External.
...Something was holding him.
'Oh no.'
He froze. It was unmistakable. Silken warmth, steady breath brushing his chest, arms curled tightly around him.
No. No no no.
'Dammit!'
His eyes flared open.
And there she was.
Mia.
Her arms wrapped around him like ivy clinging to a crumbling statue, her head resting gently against his hand, her entire body molded to his in a way that was far too intimate—far too... intentional.
He didn't need to ask how this happened.
He'd seen the signs.
Still, he'd hoped she wouldn't cross this line.
"Mia," he said—his voice ice-cold, sharp enough to cut.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes flickering like butterflies waking from a dream. A soft smile graced her lips—peaceful, too peaceful, as if this embrace had been the culmination of a thousand fantasies.
Her joy stabbed at him. Not because he hated her—far from it. But it made what he needed to do even harder.
'Three hours. I was out for *three* hours and she did this? If I'd slept longer, would I have woken up married?!'
Mia blinked up at him, her expression innocent—fragile.
"Is something wrong, dear Nerion? Are you uncomfortable and wish to move?"
Her voice was gentle, laced with genuine warmth. Her cheeks still glowed, either from a dream... or the thrill of holding him so close.
Nerion sighed, long and slow, suppressing the frustration knotting in his chest.
No point in lashing out. Not now.
"Mia. How much longer until we arrive?"
She lit up—his lack of rejection fed the fire in her heart.
She clutched him tighter.
'Shit...'
If only Nerion had realized sooner: silence was not a neutral choice—it was permission.
"We're already here, Nerion. You've been asleep for nearly five hours," she said, her voice honey-sweet, her smile unshakable.
He blinked.
'Five? That's... wrong. The system said three hours max.'
His gut tensed.
'System. You said the merging would last about three hours. Why was I unconscious for five?'
[Correct, Host. Integration was completed in exactly three hours. Circulation of Origin Blood began as planned.]
[However, your body required two additional hours for adaptation. Waking early would have disrupted the process.]
Nerion let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
'So it wasn't an error. Just... my body adjusting.'
Good. That meant the system was still reliable.
Next time, inform me. I don't like surprises.
[Understood, Host. Would you like to view your current status and progress path?]
Tempting. Very tempting.
But not here.
'Not now. Wait until we reach a residence—or somewhere private.'
[As you wish, Host.]
Nerion's eyes cleared. He glanced down—
Mia was still latched onto him like a panda to bamboo. In fact, she was *closer* now, somehow. How was that even physically possible?
"Mia. I think that's enough hugging for now. Let's find somewhere more comfortable."
She hesitated.
Her arms twitched, as if reluctant to let go.
But eventually, she released him—with a wistful sigh and a hopeful glance.
She'd be patient. She'd wait.
Nerion noticed it all.
The flicker of longing.
The stubborn spark of hope.
And he realized something:
'If I don't handle this right... She'll never let me go.'
He needed to act soon. Not out of cruelty—but necessity.
Because despite her kindness...
Mia was a chain.
A well-meaning, beautiful, terrifying chain.
And Nerion needed to be free.
Not because he hated her. But because she would never understand the road he had to walk.
He wasn't just paralyzed in body.
He was bound.
By weakness. By the limits of being human. By the haunting memories of a world where power ruled and the weak wept.
Even on Earth, he'd died chasing freedom.
Freedom from silence. From helplessness. From hearing—
"There's nothing you can do."
Nerion had seen nations wiped out.
He had seen mothers mourning the deaths of their children… wives crumbling over the corpses of their husbands… and fathers collapsing beside their lifeless sons, looking into their empty eyes as if silently asking:
"What could I have done for you, my child?"
He had witnessed it all—with his own eyes.
And the ones who caused those horrors? They lived happily, guiltless, as if they hadn't just shattered the lives of hundreds.
Some even *justified* it. Spoke about it like it was their *right.*
Nerion was never directly one of the victims.
But watching it all unfold made his heart burn with a pain he couldn't ignore.
He only wanted one thing:
"I never want that to happen to me."
Ever.
People watched such tragedies and treated them like distant stories. They sympathized—cried for a while—and moved on.
They didn't realize something terrifying:
They could be next.
Nothing great lasts forever. Every empire, every nation that once rose and ruled… eventually fell.
Time passed. Power changed hands. And life kept spinning.
It's the cycle of the world.
And it never stops.
Not for you.
Not for anyone.
The only question is:
When will it be *your* turn?
That's why Nerion knew:
He had to be ready—for when his time came.
He couldn't afford to be weak anymore.
If someone had taken his mother?
His sister?
He would've become something... unrecognizable.
And if he allowed himself to care too deeply now—if he let Mia inside...
He'd only lose more later.
He studied ancient legends, not for stories, but for tools.
Anything to prevent that helplessness.
Just enough power to protect what mattered.
Was that too much to ask?
The world turns a blind eye to injustice every day. People suffered while onlookers tweeted condolences and moved on.
No.
Not him.
He wouldn't forget.
He wouldn't accept.
Even if it meant breaking hearts.
Even if it meant walking alone.
Even if he had to bleed for it again.
He would walk this path.
He had died once for it.
And he would finish it.
"Mia," he said, offering a faint smile to soften the storm in his voice, "Can we go now?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Of course, my love!" she said, taking his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But she didn't know.
She couldn't see the war behind his calm expression.
Nerion was walking a thorned path.
And he swore—no matter how long it stretched, no matter how much it hurt—
He would never stop.