Consciousness returned like a slap to the face.
Lukas jerked upright, gasping, his hands instinctively reaching for wounds that were no longer there. No blood. No pain. No battlefield. Instead, he found himself in a bed that was far too soft, in a room that reeked of privilege and poor decisions.
Silk curtains. Mahogany furniture. Books scattered across an ornate desk—most of them appearing to be romance novels rather than anything useful. The morning sun streamed through tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny spirits.
*Lukas Vain's room.*
The memories hit him then, not his own but belonging to the body he now inhabited. A spoiled brat of sixteen who'd never worked a day in his life. The third son of House Vain, a minor noble family that controlled a small mining town on the edge of the Thornwick Kingdom. Arrogant, lazy, and utterly without any magical talent whatsoever.
Not yet, anyway. In this world, most nobles awakened their magical abilities around sixteen or seventeen. Lukas Vain was already considered a late bloomer, and whispers had begun that he might be one of the unfortunate few born without any magical potential at all.
*A dud. A failure. A disappointment.*
"Young Master?" A timid voice called from beyond the door, followed by hesitant knocking. "Young Master Lukas, your father wishes to see you in his study."
*Father.* Baron Aldric Vain. A man who'd grown increasingly frustrated with his youngest son's complete lack of promise. In the original story, Lukas would eventually awaken a pathetically weak earth magic affinity, just barely enough to qualify for the Royal Academy where he'd meet the protagonist and die for his arrogance.
"I'm coming," Lukas called back, surprised by how different his voice sounded. Higher pitched than his old one, the crack of adolescence still evident. The voice of someone who'd never had to scream orders over artillery fire.
He swung his legs out of bed and caught sight of himself in a mirror across the room. Sixteen years old, pale skin that had never seen real hardship, soft brown hair that fell in waves he'd never bothered to properly style. Still growing into his features, with the awkward proportions of youth and weak eyes that had never learned to assess real threats.
*This* was what he had to work with.
Standing up felt strange—this body was gangly, uncoordinated, none of the muscle memory of years of training. When he tried to fall into a ready stance, his legs wobbled pathetically. No magic coursed through his veins. No power hummed beneath his skin.
He was, by every measure that mattered in this world, completely ordinary.
"Pathetic," he muttered, and meant it.
But even as frustration built in his chest, something nagged at him. That strange moment during his awakening—the word that had echoed in his dying mind. *PLUNDER.* But when he reached for it now, searching within himself, he found... nothing. Just the empty vessel of a talentless noble's son.
Maybe it had been a dying hallucination after all.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. "Young Master, your father grows impatient!"
"Fine!" Lukas snapped, then caught himself. He needed to be careful. The original Lukas might have been arrogant, but he'd also been predictable. If he acted too differently too quickly, people would notice.
He dressed quickly in clothes that cost more than most people saw in a year but felt flimsy compared to military fatigues. The mirror showed him exactly what he expected—a pampered noble's son with no prospects and no power.
*Perfect.*
Let them see what they expected to see. Let them underestimate him while he figured out how to survive in this world.
The walk to his father's study took him through corridors lined with portraits of ancestors who seemed to stare down at him with disappointment. House Vain had once been more important, apparently. The paintings grew more modest as they moved closer to the present, reflecting the family's declining fortunes.
He found Baron Aldric Vain exactly where the memories said he'd be—behind a desk covered in ledgers and documents, looking like a man who'd aged poorly under the weight of responsibility. Gray hair, tired eyes, and the permanent frown of someone dealing with problems he couldn't solve.
"Ah, Lukas." The Baron didn't look up from his papers. "Finally decided to grace us with your presence, I see."
"Father." Lukas gave a shallow bow, matching the original's typical level of respect—which was to say, barely any at all.
"Sit." It wasn't a request.
Lukas took the chair across from the desk, noting how his father's eyes lingered on him with something that might have been regret. Or disappointment. Hard to tell the difference at this point.
"The Awakening Ceremony is in two weeks," Baron Aldric said without preamble. "Master Thorne will be conducting the ritual personally."
*The Awakening Ceremony.* Where young nobles would place their hands on a crystal orb and discover what magical affinity they possessed—if any. In the original story, Lukas barely managed to produce a few sparks of earth magic, just enough to avoid being declared completely talentless.
Just enough to qualify for the Royal Academy where he'd meet his doom.
"I understand, Father."
"Do you?" The Baron finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "Because if you fail to awaken any magical ability whatsoever, you'll bring shame upon our house. The other noble families are already whispering about the Vain boy who might be a dud."
Lukas forced himself to look appropriately nervous. "I'm sure everything will be fine."
"Are you?" Baron Aldric's voice carried a dangerous edge. "Because I'm not. Your brothers showed promise from an early age. Small displays of power, instinctive magic use. You've shown nothing but an aptitude for wasting time and money."
*Harsh but fair,* Lukas thought. The original Lukas had been spectacularly useless.
"The ceremony will determine your future," the Baron continued. "Awaken with decent potential, and you'll go to the Royal Academy to make something of yourself. Fail..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication hung in the air like a sword.
"I won't fail," Lukas said, putting just enough desperation in his voice to sound believable.
Baron Aldric studied him for a long moment. "See that you don't. Dismissed."
As Lukas walked back to his room, his mind churned with possibilities and problems. Two weeks until his fate was decided. Two weeks to figure out why he felt so empty inside, why that strange power he'd sensed during his transmigration seemed to have vanished completely.
Two weeks to prepare for a ceremony that would either give him the tools he needed to survive this world, or damn him to irrelevance.
Back in his room, he stared at his reflection again. A sixteen-year-old nobody with no magic, no talent, and no prospects. In two weeks, he'd stand before that crystal and find out if this new life was worth living.
The original Lukas Vain had been weak and doomed to die.
But this Lukas had learned that weakness was just another obstacle to overcome. He'd survived betrayal, death, and transmigration itself.
He could survive a little magical aptitude test.
Even if he had to figure out how to cheat at it.
*Two weeks,* he told himself. *Two weeks to find a way to awaken something—anything—that would keep me alive long enough to matter.*
His reflection stared back, young and uncertain and utterly ordinary.
For now.