Eryndor followed the servant boy down the long corridors of the Vaelith estate. The walls were lined with portraits of stern ancestors and shelves of leather-bound tomes. Every step echoed in the high ceilings, a reminder of the weight this family carried.
When they arrived at the study, the air felt thick, charged. His father, Lord Vaelith, remained seated behind an enormous desk, papers neatly stacked as if the room itself feared disorder.
"You've awakened sooner than expected," Lord Vaelith said without looking up. "It seems… fortunate for you." His words were casual, but there was steel beneath them.
Eryndor inclined his head slightly. "Fortunate, perhaps," he said, his voice calm. Or maybe not so fortunate for those who underestimate me.
Lord Vaelith's eyes finally met his. Cold, piercing, and calculating. "The previous heir… his death leaves many loose ends. Our family… is not forgiving of weakness. You will need to learn quickly, if you intend to survive."
Eryndor's smirk was subtle. Weakness… that's a word I know well. "Understood. I don't intend to be weak," he replied, letting his tone carry a quiet confidence that seemed to rattle even his father.
Lord Vaelith's gaze narrowed, studying him. "Good. Then let us begin. Your training must continue. You will not only learn the Vaelith martial techniques, but also the magical arts our family has cultivated for generations. Strength here… is not optional."
Eryndor felt a familiar thrill—a challenge. Martial arts on Earth had taught him discipline and patience, but magic? That was an entirely new layer. And the body he now inhabited had potential far beyond his own.
"I will learn," he said, meeting his father's eyes without flinching. And then surpass anyone who dares challenge me.
His father finally inclined his head. "See that you do. A demonstration of skill will be expected soon. Allies, rivals, even enemies—your life will be measured by what you can do before they even speak to you."
The servant boy stepped forward. "Master, shall I prepare the training hall?"
"Yes," Eryndor said. He moved toward the door, every step deliberate, controlled. Time to see what this body—and this world—can really do.
The training hall was vast, sunlight streaming through tall windows, illuminating polished wood floors marked with intricate runes. Eryndor's senses sharpened immediately. He felt the residual magic in the room—a faint hum under the air, subtle enough that only those with proper awareness would notice.
He assumed a stance, breathing deep, letting every movement flow naturally. Even though this body was new, the instincts of his old life remained. Footwork, balance, precision—everything was ingrained.
"Very well," Lord Vaelith said, stepping back. "Show me what you've learned."
Eryndor moved. His body became a blur, hands striking with precision, feet pivoting like wind across the polished floor. Each strike carried the weight of martial technique, each movement calculated. Even as he flowed through the motions, he felt a subtle pulse of magic answering to his presence.
By the time he finished, a faint circle of energy shimmered where his strikes had passed—proof of potential waiting to be unlocked.
Lord Vaelith's expression was unreadable. "Not bad," he said finally. "Not bad at all… for a start."
Eryndor allowed himself a small, controlled smile. A start? Then the world hasn't even begun to see me yet.
And so, with the first taste of power in his new life, Eryndor's path was clear: mastery of both martial arts and magic, navigating deadly family intrigue, and rising above anyone who thought they could control him.