Morning light was thin and cold when Roman's eyes opened. For a moment, he lay still, not because the bed was comfortable — it wasn't — but because his mind had yet to reassemble the fractured edges of what had happened. The dream was still there, not in words, but in sensation. That voice. That plea.
"Save my world, King Ronald…"
It hadn't been just a dream. He knew dreams. He had lived lifetimes of them — the kind that came from exhaustion, fever, or too much blood lost on a battlefield. This… this had been something else entirely.
Roman sat up slowly. His breath was heavier than he expected; this body was weak enough that even the act of rising made his pulse stutter. He pressed his fingers into the mattress until the knuckles whitened. He would not get used to this frailty.
And then he felt it.
A pressure behind his eyes. A flicker across his skin, as if the air around him had briefly thickened.
Words drifted into his thoughts, not spoken aloud, not even written — just… there.
> [System… online.]
[Initialization incomplete.]
The voice was neither male nor female. It was not entirely sound, nor entirely thought. It slid into his mind like a whisper from behind a closed door.
Roman exhaled slowly. In his old world, power had been something you could see — armies, weapons, alliances. This was something else entirely.
"So it begins."
He dressed without calling for servants. They didn't expect much of him, and he preferred it that way. If they thought the Duke's eldest son was still the same frail disappointment, they would not watch him too closely.
The small training yard lay empty when he stepped outside. Morning frost clung to the worn practice dummies and the air smelled faintly of wet stone. Roman flexed his fingers. This body had little muscle, but it wasn't completely useless. Not anymore.
He began with slow movements — stretches, then basic strikes against the air. His breath turned ragged almost immediately, his chest tightening like a vice. He ignored it. Pain was a language he spoke fluently.
Minutes passed. Sweat cooled on his skin. He moved from shadowboxing to push-ups, then to a crude form of squats, feeling the burn gather in his thighs. By the time he reached fifty, his arms were trembling and the world swayed in the corner of his vision.
It was then that it happened.
A ripple. A prickle along the spine, sharp enough to make him freeze mid-breath. His gaze turned instinctively to the right — just as a loose brick from the crumbling outer wall slipped free and struck the ground where his head would have been.
The sound was sharp. Too close.
> [Ability acquired: Premonition — Stage 1.]
[Effect: You may sense imminent harm within a short radius.]
Roman stared at the broken brick. His heartbeat was slow, deliberate.
So the system had a sense of timing — or perhaps it responded to instinct. Either way, he filed the information away. Power was only as good as the mind using it.
He pushed harder after that. Sit-ups until his stomach cramped. More push-ups, slower this time, until his shoulders burned like fire. By the end, his hands were raw, the skin reddened and sore.
The system remained mostly silent, though once, when his vision dimmed from lack of air, he felt a faint pulse in the back of his mind:
> [Physical capacity increased by 0.2%.]
Barely anything. But it was proof. Effort would be rewarded.
Night came quietly. Roman collapsed into bed without summoning a servant for dinner. Hunger could wait; exhaustion could not.
Sleep took him quickly — but not peacefully.
This time, the goddess stood closer. Her hair was the color of moonlight on water, her eyes a deep, unbroken blue.
"You are here." Her voice was softer than before. "The threads have begun to move. My world needs—"
She faltered. Roman's attention sharpened. Something in the air shifted.
The light dimmed. Behind her, shadows swelled like ink dropped into clear water. They moved, almost alive, coiling in the edges of his vision.
"They are listening," the goddess whispered. Her hand reached toward him, fingertips trembling. "We have little time—"
The darkness surged. For a heartbeat, Roman thought he saw a shape in it — something vast, with too many eyes.
And then he woke, chest tight, the taste of cold iron in his mouth.
The room was silent. The system said nothing.
But Roman knew one thing with absolute certainty.
The goddess was not the only one waiting for him.