The night pressed down on Arin like a suffocating blanket.
He lay sprawled on his narrow bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling of his family's modest home. The echoes of laughter and celebration from the city streets outside only made the silence in his room heavier. Families rejoiced tonight, celebrating their children's awakenings. Banners would be raised, feasts would be held, and futures would be forged.
But not his.
Arin turned on his side, pressing a hand against his face. His body still remembered the cold rejection of the awakening stone, the way the crystal had gone dim beneath his palm, as though mocking him. The words of the priest replayed in his mind, sharp and final.
Zero affinity.
His chest tightened. He had imagined this moment so many times growing up—dreamt of feeling light explode from the stone, of people gasping in awe at his potential. Instead, all he had been given was silence and scorn.
Worthless. Trash. Failure.
His hands clenched in the sheets. He wanted to scream, to rage, to demand an answer from the heavens, but he lacked the strength. His will, once so full of hope, now felt like an empty shell.
Slowly, exhaustion overtook him. His eyes grew heavy, his mind slipping away despite his resistance. Darkness swallowed his thoughts.
And then—
Light.
He opened his eyes to find himself standing in an endless hall of obsidian stone. Enormous windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing a burning horizon. The sky outside bled red, rivers of molten fire cutting across a shattered land.
Arin stumbled forward, confusion clawing at his thoughts. "What is this…?" His voice sounded different, deeper, stronger. He looked down at his hands—no longer thin and trembling, but firm, calloused, glowing faintly with runes etched into the skin.
A staff rested in his grip. Tall, black as midnight, its head crowned with a crystal swirling with stormlight. Just touching it filled him with energy—vast, overwhelming, infinite.
Power.
It coursed through him like a second heartbeat, begging to be unleashed. He could feel it in the air, in the ground, in the sky itself. He could bend it, command it. The world was his to shape.
Memories not his own flooded in. Armies kneeling before him. Nations whispering his name in fear. His hand raising, and mountains crumbling beneath the force of his magic. He was not a boy anymore. He was something greater. Something terrifying.
A voice echoed behind him.
"Archmage. The enemy approaches."
He turned, and a soldier in blackened armor knelt before him, blood staining his face but eyes burning with devotion. Arin blinked, startled. Archmage? He wanted to deny it, but the title rang through his bones, familiar and undeniable.
The world outside the windows shook. He strode forward, staff in hand, and with each step the floor rippled with lines of glowing runes. Magic spells formed in his mind effortlessly, like recalling the alphabet.
He lifted the staff.
And the sky itself bent to his will.
Lightning fell in endless torrents, rivers of flame erupted across the battlefield below, and the air filled with the screams of monsters as they burned beneath his wrath. His power was absolute, infinite. His enemies were nothing before him.
The soldiers below cheered, their faith in him unshakable. "Archmage! Archmage! Archmage!"
But the battle was not yet won.
From the depths of the burning plain, a beast emerged. Towering, colossal, its body was forged of shadow and molten stone. Its eyes glowed like suns, and with every step it took, the ground quaked and split apart. Even the bravest soldiers faltered before its presence.
Arin—no, the Archmage he once was—stepped forward without hesitation. His staff pulsed with power, the crystal blazing with an inner sun. He raised his free hand, and the air twisted violently as thousands of glowing runes burst into existence around him.
"By flame, by storm, by the authority of my will," he chanted, his voice thundering across the battlefield, "I bind thee to oblivion!"
The sky cracked open.
A storm unlike anything Arin had ever imagined tore through the heavens. Blades of lightning, rivers of fire, torrents of ice and stone—all of it converged upon the monstrous beast. The world shook as the spell descended, swallowing the creature in an apocalyptic torrent of destruction.
The soldiers cheered louder, their morale soaring to the heavens. Hope blazed in their eyes. With him here, victory was certain.
And for a moment, the Archmage believed it too.
But then—
The shadows twisted.
From within the storm, the beast roared, unscathed. The ground split open, and more horrors crawled forth—abominations of flesh and darkness, their very existence a blight on the world. The Archmage's heart sank.
He pushed his power further, the runes around him burning hotter, brighter, until the stone floor cracked beneath the force. But deep down, he knew.
This was the end.
The enemy was endless, unyielding. His soldiers, though brave, could not hold forever. He had delayed the inevitable long enough.
The Archmage looked to the horizon, to the shattered land he had sworn to protect. Memories of allies lost, of kingdoms fallen, of promises unfulfilled pressed on him. He had borne this burden for too long.
There was only one choice left.
He raised his staff high. The crystal at its head flared brighter than the sun, threatening to shatter. His body burned with pain as his life force poured into the spell, but his voice remained steady.
"For this world… I give everything."
The soldiers froze, realization dawning in their eyes. "My lord—!"
But it was too late.
Light engulfed everything.
A sun bloomed upon the battlefield, so bright and furious it devoured the shadows themselves. The world screamed as the explosion tore across the land, erasing the monsters, the beast.
It should have been his end, but he was still alive, barely. His body was battered and his magic core was shattered.
He felt someone approaching him from behind. When he turned to see who it was, his lips curled up and a faint smile appeared. It was his most trusted man and his beat friend- Victor Hall, who was a step away from being a archmage.
"You survived" he spoke.
"Indeed, even though I shouldn't have" I said.
He looked at me for moment and a distorted smile appeared in his face.
"You're right, you should have died. It took a lot of resources to awaken that beast."
My heart sank hearing his words. It was then I realised what happened and wanted to curse, kill the man I thought was my best friend. But all that came out of my lips were-
"Why?"
"Why?, isn't it obvious. I want what you have. I want everything that you have. But that won't be possible as long as you are alive. So be a good friend and die….." he lunged forward with a knife and stabbed my heart.
Pain soured through and his evil smile was the last thing I saw before my consciousness faded away. He made a promise to himself that if I ever get a chance to come back to life, I will rip him apart.
And then—silence.
—
Arin awoke with a gasp. His body was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as though he had truly fought a battle. His hands unconsciously thouched his heart. But he didn't feel any pain. He realised that he really came back to reality. His hand ached to hold the staff again.
But there was nothing.
Only the cold darkness of his room, the silence pressing against him like a coffin.
He buried his face in his hands, his breath ragged. The dream had felt so real, so vivid. He could still hear the roar of soldiers, still feel the rush of magic tearing through his veins, still see the light of his final sacrifice and the betrayal of his best friend. A life that was not his… and yet, somehow, it was.
It was then he remembered the promise the archmage made and realised that he has been reborn. This memory was of his past life. And his enemy was still alive as the king of the Arcana Kingdom.
Hope stirred in his chest. Hope that he can finally get his revenge.
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
He was still Arin Valen.
Still the boy who failed.
Still nothing.
But he was also the archmage of the past.
The night stretched on, the silence suffocating.
And as sleep slowly reclaimed him, he whispered to himself—
"I will have my revenge."