Evelyn pov
My life was simple—barely remarkable—for the daughter of a hunter. I spent my days helping Mother with her sewing or wandering into the woods with Father, listening to his lessons on tracking deer and reading the forest. It was the kind of life most children in our village lived, peaceful and small.
But everything changed when I turned ten.
On that day, my past memories awakened.
It was like a second sunrise within me, a flood of clarity crashing against the simple walls of childhood. Suddenly, I was no longer just Evelyn, daughter of Ivan the hunter and Lily the tailor. I was also… someone else. The memories of my first life—the life of the Hero—stirred and tangled with my young mind.
The sensation was impossible to describe. It wasn't as if I had stolen Evelyn's body, nor was it as if I had become two people fused together. Rather, it felt like I had finally woken up from a long slumber, as if Evelyn had always been me, but asleep. And now, at last, I had opened my eyes.
Still, Evelyn was only ten. Her experiences, her emotions, her innocence—those things remained. Even as my soul remembered who I was, her perspective lingered like a second voice inside me, soft and uncertain. I knew she was me, yet at the same time, she felt like someone else entirely.
From Evelyn's fragmented knowledge, I pieced together the passage of time. It had been at least two hundred years since the great battle between the Hero and the Vampire King—my battle. Stories of that clash had been passed down through generations, retold as myths and legends. According to the tales, the Hero's body had dissolved into countless motes of radiant light, scattering into the wind. To the world, the reason was a mystery.
But I knew the truth.
The technique I had used to suppress the Vampire King was called Radiant Light—a skill born from channeling the very essence of the sun through my body. To ordinary vampires, it was death incarnate. Against the Vampire King, it was the only weapon that leveled the battlefield. Yet such a weapon demanded a terrible price. Every ounce of lifeforce I possessed was poured into that strike. It wasn't a matter of victory or defeat—I had known from the beginning that I could not survive that battle. The only question was whether my death would mean his end as well.
It had.
And yet, here I was again.
The world had moved on in my absence. New heroes had risen, one after another, each answering the call when calamity struck. Some triumphed and were crowned kings, founding nations from the ashes of war. Others perished in battle against monsters and overlords—vampires, werewolves, undead. Each time, the cycle repeated: a new enemy, a new savior, and a world that forgot its debts too quickly.
But there was one truth the world at large had never learned. Whether victorious or slain, every Hero was granted a wish. I knew this, because it had happened to me—and to others. The difference was that I had chosen poorly.
And now… here I was, reborn as Evelyn.
This life was humbler than my first. My father, Ivan, was thirty-nine, a seasoned hunter who knew the forests better than the paved streets of a city. My mother, Lily, thirty-five, was a tailor whose skilled hands clothed half the village. My older brother, Stevan, was fifteen, strong and earnest, chosen by chance when a veteran knight passed through our town. His talent had been recognized, and he was sent to train in the city. For my parents, this was a dream come true. To become a knight was to step beyond the life of a commoner; with knighthood came nobility, however minor.
They saw a bright future for him. And I… I saw the shadow of a crueler truth.
For all its peace, this world was not safe. Monsters lurked beyond the tree line, kingdoms waged wars for power, and unseen threats brewed in silence. To live quietly was to live in ignorance, and ignorance was a luxury I no longer possessed.
I made my vow that night.
In silence, unseen by my parents' gentle eyes, I would begin to rebuild myself. I would not squander this life, nor would I allow myself to be defenseless. The mana in the atmosphere was thin—far thinner than it had been in the great eras of calamity—but even a drop could be gathered with time.
From tonight onward, I would cultivate once more. Slowly, patiently, until I reached the first stage of practice. From there, I would rise again.
Because I was Evelyn.
Because I was the Hero.
And because immortality, even in this flawed form, had chained me to this endless cycle.
I had no choice but to grow strong.