I made it back to my room without collapsing, which felt like a minor victory. Joseph had hovered anxiously as I'd walked through the corridors, clearly expecting me to keel over at any moment. I couldn't blame him—apparently Julius's body was still recovering from whatever had happened in the Darkwood Forest.
Once alone, I sat heavily in the ornate chair by the window and stared out at the Vaelorian estate grounds. Manicured gardens stretched toward distant walls, beyond which lay the capital city of Levncia—named after that final, decisive battle where humanity had claimed dominion over Elysia.
Levncia. Even the name carried weight in this world, though most people had forgotten why.
The history books taught in the academies would tell you that the continent of Elysia had always been humanity's rightful domain. They'd speak of the First Great Holy War as a "liberation" of the land from monster races who'd grown "too comfortable" with their magic. Three hundred million lives reduced to a footnote about necessary sacrifice for the greater good.
The same books would tell you about the Second Great Holy War—the Demon War—with reverence and pride. How the great Demon King Malphas had torn rifts in reality itself, bringing forth legions of demons to consume everything in their path. How the three great heroes—Harald Belmont, Merlin of Albion, and Athelstan of Rurnatia—had united the fractured kingdoms and races in one desperate stand against annihilation.
The scholars would tell you that these three heroes, working together, had defeated Malphas and sealed the Abyssal Gates forever. Statues of them stood in every major city. Their names were invoked in prayers. Children grew up believing that heroism meant standing together against the darkness.
But I knew better. Because I'd written the truth, even if I'd never published it.
The real hero of the Demon War hadn't been three people—it had been one. A Chosen One whose name had been systematically erased from every record, every monument, every prayer. He'd been the one to face Malphas in single combat while the three "heroes" held the line against the demon legions. He'd been the one to sacrifice his life to permanently seal the gates, pouring his very soul into the barrier that kept the Abyss at bay.
And when he died, that soul had been reincarnated into Alex Clay, the commoner boy who would grow up to become the protagonist of my novel. The boy who would eventually awaken the same power that had once saved the world, because that power was literally his birthright from a previous life.
Of course, Alex didn't know any of this. Neither did anyone else in the world, except for a few ancient entities who'd agreed to keep the secret. The three kings had decided that having one person receive all the credit for salvation might create dangerous precedents. Better to share the glory and let people believe that cooperation and unity had won the day.
But here's what even those ancient entities didn't know: Elysia itself was Earth. The far, far distant future of Earth, after an apocalyptic event so complete that it had erased not just civilization, but the very memory of what humanity had once been. The survivors had evolved, changed, become the elves and dwarves and beastfolk that now called this continent home. Magic had emerged from the ashes of technology, and the world had rebuilt itself on entirely different foundations.
Most of the old world had been lost forever. But not all of it.
Some artifacts remained, buried so deep that even the demon wars hadn't disturbed them. Sleeping giants from an age when humanity had reached for the stars instead of cowering beneath them.
Orion was one such relic.
I stood up abruptly, my mind racing. Two weeks until academy. Six months until Mathias came for revenge. I'd been thinking I needed to grow stronger first, to train and prepare and become worthy of legendary power.
But that was loser thinking. Protagonist thinking. The kind of gradual character development that worked fine for heroes who had plot armor and destiny on their side.
I was a villain. Villains didn't train for months to become worthy of power—they seized it by any means necessary.
And Julius Vaelorian had one advantage that Alex Clay would never possess: money. Ridiculous, obscene, generational wealth that could buy almost anything.
I walked to the ornate wardrobe and pulled open the bottom drawer, revealing Julius's "emergency fund"—a collection of platinum coins, gems, and credit notes that represented more wealth than Kim Jiwon had seen in his entire life. Julius had kept it for buying his way out of scandals or funding particularly expensive debauchery.
Time to put it to better use.
"Joseph!" I called.
He appeared so quickly that he must have been waiting outside my door. "Yes, Young Master?"
"I need you to arrange several purchases immediately. Money is no object." I began pacing, my mind cataloging everything I'd need for a journey to the Whispering Wastes. "First, I need the best travel gear available in the capital. Desert survival equipment, specifically. Clothing designed for extreme heat, portable shelter, water purification crystals—the premium versions of everything."
Joseph's eyebrows rose. "Are you planning a journey, sir?"
"Yes. Second, I need supplies for an extended expedition. Preserved food that won't spoil in heat, medical supplies, emergency equipment. Whatever the royal military uses for their desert campaigns." I paused, calculating distances. "How long would it take to reach the Whispering Wastes from here?"
"The Whispering Wastes?" Joseph looked alarmed. "Young Master, that's nearly a week's hard travel through dangerous territory. The desert itself is largely unexplored, and the few expeditions that have ventured deep into it have never returned."
One week. Much better than the month I'd been dreading. "Perfect. Third, I need the fastest horse in the kingdom. Not the prettiest or most prestigious—the fastest and most enduring. I don't care if it's a former war horse or racing stock."
"Sir, might I ask what has prompted this sudden interest in desert exploration?"
I stopped pacing and looked at him directly. Joseph had been loyal to the Vaelorian family for over twenty years. He'd served Julius since childhood, endured his cruelties, and still shown concern for his welfare. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
"I'm going to find something," I said carefully. "Something that will change everything."
"Then I'll accompany you," Joseph said immediately. "The wastes are no place for a lone traveler, Young Master. I may be past my prime, but I still remember my military training."
"No."
The word came out sharper than I'd intended. Joseph's face fell, and I realized how it must have sounded—like the old Julius dismissing a servant's concerns.
"It's not about your abilities, Joseph," I said more gently. "Where I'm going… it can only be accessed by one person. The defenses won't allow anyone else to enter."
"What kind of place has such restrictions?"
I smiled grimly. "The kind that was built by people who understood that power corrupts, and that some weapons are too dangerous to be shared."
"Young Master, with respect, you're speaking in riddles. What exactly are you planning to retrieve from the Whispering Wastes?"
I considered telling him everything. About Orion, about the truth of this world's history, about my real identity as the failed author who'd created this entire reality. But some truths were too large for preparation. Joseph would need to see Orion to believe it existed.
"A weapon," I said instead. "Something that can protect me from the enemies I've made and the ones I'll make in the future."
"What kind of weapon requires a journey to the most dangerous desert on the continent?"
"The kind that can end wars before they begin."
Joseph was quiet for a long moment, studying my face with the intensity of someone trying to read an unfamiliar language. "You're different," he said finally. "Since your accident in the forest, you've been… focused. Driven. The old Julius never planned beyond the next day's entertainment."
"Maybe nearly dying puts things in perspective."
"Perhaps." He straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. "Very well, Young Master. I'll make the arrangements you've requested. When do you plan to depart?"
I did quick mental calculations. Time to acquire supplies, plan the route, and prepare for the journey. "Three days from now. And Joseph? I need this to be discreet. My father shouldn't know about any of this until after I've left."
"Of course, sir. Though… might I suggest informing him that you're undertaking a spiritual retreat? Young nobles often seek solitude in remote locations after traumatic experiences. It would explain your absence without raising suspicions about your true destination."
Smart. That was why Joseph had survived decades in noble service—he understood how to manage information and expectations.
"Perfect. Tell him I'm seeking clarity in the wilderness, that I need to confront my failures before facing the academy." It was even partially true.
"And if he asks why you're taking extensive desert survival gear on a spiritual retreat?"
"Tell him I've decided to challenge myself against the harshest conditions available. That I need to prove I'm not the weak boy he thinks I am." Also partially true, just not in the way he'd assume.
Joseph nodded slowly. "I'll begin making arrangements immediately. The capital's premier adventure outfitters should have everything you need, though acquiring the best equipment in three days will be expensive."
I gestured at the drawer full of platinum coins. "Price is irrelevant. Speed and quality are everything."
"Understood." He paused at the door. "Young Master? For what it's worth, I hope you find what you're looking for out there."
After he left, I returned to the window and stared out at the horizon. Somewhere beyond those distant mountains lay the Whispering Wastes, and beneath them, a sleeping god of metal and starlight.
I'd written Orion to be the ultimate reveal of my world's true nature. A fusion of magic and technology so advanced that it would seem like pure fantasy to anyone who didn't understand its origins. The ship's AI was designed to be curious, analytical, and utterly loyal to anyone it deemed worthy of partnership. Its weapons could level castles, its shields could deflect dragon fire, and its sensors could detect threats from hundreds of miles away.
More importantly, it was mobile. While legendary swords and magical crowns were powerful, they were still just tools. Orion was a fortress, a weapons platform, and a means of escape all in one. With it, I wouldn't just be strong enough to survive Mathias Windrider's revenge—I'd be strong enough to rewrite the entire story.
The original plot had Alex Clay slowly discovering his power, gathering allies, and eventually confronting the corrupt system that kept the world in chains. It was supposed to take years of character development and dozens of dramatic battles.
But what if someone with overwhelming technological superiority simply fixed the problems directly? What if Julius Vaelorian—the symbol of aristocratic corruption—became the one to tear down the very system he'd been born to represent?
The irony was delicious. Readers had wanted Julius to be more complex, more interesting than the simple villain I'd written. Well, they'd get their wish.
I sat down and began writing a more detailed plan. Supply lists, route maps, timeline calculations. For the first time since waking up in this impossible situation, I felt like I was in control of something.