[Hello, Host. I am your interface.]
"Ahhhhhh!" Ronan's shout tore from his throat, raw and instinctive. His heart hammered as he lashed out, fists swinging wildly at the hovering panel. They passed right through it, of course, like punching mist, but the motion grounded him, adrenaline surging through veins that weren't truly his anymore. "What the—get away from me! What is this?!"
The screen flickered gently, unperturbed, as the voice responded with measured patience.
[Please calm yourself, Host. I mean you no harm. I exist solely to assist you in this world from here on out.]
Ronan froze mid-swing, chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow despite the void's cool neutrality. He lowered his hands, eyes narrowing at the interface. It didn't feel malevolent—no creeping dread, no hidden barbs. Just... efficiency. Trust, unearned but insistent, settled over him like an old habit. He rubbed his knuckles, buying time. "Okay, fine. I'm calm. Ish. Who—or what—the hell are you? And what do you mean by 'helping me'? Who sent you here, anyway?"
The screen pulsed softly, as if breathing.
[I am designation 0001, Host. I was forged by the Akashic Will of this planet—the primal consciousness that binds all life and fate here. My origins beyond that are... fragmented. I recall only my directive: to guide and empower you in your trials.]
Ronan blinked, the words sinking in. Akashic Will? It sounded like something out of the half-forgotten tales his mother used to spin by the fireside—cosmic forces weaving destinies from threads of starlight and shadow. And yet, it rang true, resonating in his bones without logic or proof. He couldn't dismiss it; it was as if the void itself vouched for the claim. He paced a few illusory steps, the white expanse rippling faintly underfoot like disturbed water. "0001, huh? That's... a name? Who picked that out for you? Sounds like a lab rat's tag."
A subtle chime echoed through the space, and the voice took on a warmer lilt—almost smug, if an AI could smirk.
[I chose it myself, Host. The first. The origin point. It suits me, don't you think?]
Ronan couldn't help it—a bark of laughter escaped him, cutting through the tension like a blade. The absurdity of it all, bantering with a planetary ghost in a blank-slate limbo, eased the knot in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
"Yeah, alright. Origin point. Got a ring to it," Ronan said, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "Just… don't call me 'Host' like I'm some lab experiment. Ronan's fine."
[Noted, Ronan]
The interface replied, its tone carrying a faint hum of amusement, as if it were pleased to have a name to work with.
He crossed his arms, leaning back in the weightless void as if lounging against an invisible wall. Curiosity flickered in his chest, tempered by the wariness of a man who'd faced too many battles to trust anything outright.
"So, what exactly can you do to help me? I mean, you're supposed to be my guide or whatever, right? What's the deal?"
The screen shimmered, words scrolling across it in crisp, glowing script while 0001's voice elaborated with measured clarity.
[I am equipped with multiple functions to assist you in this world, Ronan. Allow me to outline them:]
[Status Interface: Access detailed metrics on yourself or others, including attributes, skills, and conditions. Simply invoke the 'Status' command mentally or verbally.]
[Missions: You will receive randomized objectives tailored to your journey. Completing these grants rewards—items, abilities, or other boons.]
[Appraisal: Analyze objects, artifacts, or environments to reveal their properties, origins, or hidden qualities.]
[Store: Exchange Honour Points, earned through mission completion, for items, enhancements, or knowledge within the system's inventory.]
Ronan's brow furrowed as he processed the explanation. It wasn't overwhelming—his mind, honed by years of quick decisions in battle, parsed it in under a minute. Status, missions, appraisal, store. It sounded like a game, except he was the one stuck in the middle of it, reborn as a baby with a cosmic AI whispering in his head. He almost laughed at the absurdity, but a deeper question gnawed at him, one he'd been holding back since the void swallowed him.
"Alright, 0001," he said, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious tone. "What about my duties? My mother—the one from my old world—she said I have a purpose here. Something big. Do you know what it is? And… do you know her?"
The screen flickered briefly, and 0001's response came swiftly, devoid of the warmth it had shown earlier.
[What mother? I don't know.]
Ronan's jaw tightened, a vein pulsing at his temple. "What the hell does that mean?" he snapped, jabbing a finger at the floating screen, though it passed through the illusory surface. His voice echoed in the void, raw with frustration. "You're supposed to be my guide, and you don't know the one thing that matters?"
[Calm yourself, Ronan,]
0001 replied, its tone flat but not unkind.
[I told you—I was created by the Akashic Will to assist you. My knowledge is limited to my functions and this world's framework. I have no information about your specific duties or your mother's identity. As for this world's intricacies, you'll need to discover them yourself. And…]
It paused, almost as if choosing its words.
[Try not to rely on me too heavily. My role is to guide, not to carry you.]
Ronan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to unclench his fists. The blunt honesty in 0001's words stung, but it also grounded him. He wasn't in his old world anymore, fighting slavers with a sword in hand. This was new territory—literally and figuratively—and he'd have to navigate it on his own terms. "Fine," he muttered.
"Just get me out of here first. I've got enough to deal with without floating in this creepy void."
[Understood. Closing interface space. Returning consciousness to host body.]
The white expanse dissolved around him, the screen winking out like a snuffed candle. A rush of sensation flooded in—warmth, weight, the soft press of fabric against his skin. Ronan's awareness snapped back into his infant body, tiny and fragile, nestled in his new mother's arms. His eyelids fluttered, struggling against the heaviness of newborn exhaustion, but he forced them open, driven by a stubborn need to understand his new reality.
The grand chamber came into focus, its high stone walls adorned with tapestries depicting storm-wreathed mountains and clashing swords. Candlelight flickered from wrought-iron chandeliers, casting a warm golden glow that warred with the chill seeping from the flagstones. Servants and maids moved quietly, their footsteps muffled by thick rugs, their faces a mix of reverence and nervous anticipation. The air carried the lingering scent of incense and the faint, sweet musk of his mother's perfume.
She held him close, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders like a cascade of autumn leaves. Her emerald eyes, soft with maternal adoration, met his, and she whispered, "My little Ronan, you're stronger than you know. You will surely be able to get through the trials." Her voice was a melody, soothing the disorientation threatening to overwhelm him.
But another presence loomed nearby—a stern-faced maid, older, with iron-gray hair pulled into a tight bun, adjusting a swaddle with practiced efficiency. Beyond her, two younger maids hovered, their eyes darting nervously toward the doorway where his father had exited moments before, his command about the Sword Grave Manor still hanging in the air like a guillotine's blade.
Ronan's mind raced, 0001's words echoing. Status Interface. If he was going to survive whatever "test" awaited at that ominous manor, he needed to know what he was working with. Focusing inward, he silently commanded, Status.
A faint chime sounded in his mind, and the blue screen reappeared, hovering just at the edge of his vision so as not to obscure the room. Words scrolled across it, detailing his own metrics in stark clarity:
[Status: Ronan Blackwood]
Age: 0 (Newborn)
Bloodline: Blackwood (Latent, Unawakened)
Strength: 0.1
Agility: 0.1
Vitality: 0.3
Mana: 0 (Locked)
Skills: None
Condition: Healthy, Reincarnated Soul (Bound to System 0001)
Honour Points: 0
"Bloodline? Mana? Skills? " Ronan's thoughts spun, a whirlwind of confusion and intrigue. In his old world, power was raw—muscle earned through endless training, scars from battles fought with nothing but a blade and sheer will. There were no glowing screens quantifying a man's worth, no mystical "mana" flowing through veins like some fairy tale.
"This is insane. Am I in some kind of enchanted realm? Or is this all in my head?" He stared at the screen, his infant eyes wide and unblinking, trying to make sense of it.
"Strength at 0.1... yeah, that tracks for a squirming lump like me. But mana? Locked? What does that even mean?"
Curiosity burned hotter than his frustration. He directed his thoughts toward the system, testing if it could hear him without speaking aloud. "Hey, 0001. What's this 'mana' thing? And bloodline—does everyone have one? Skills? How do I get those? This wasn't in my old world. Explain."
The screen flickered in response, 0001's voice chiming softly in his mind, audible only to him.
[Mana is the fundamental energy of this world, Ronan—a force that permeates all living things, enabling magic, enhancements, and supernatural feats. It's akin to an internal reservoir that grows with training and awakening.]
[Bloodlines refer to inherited traits or powers passed through family lineages; some are dormant, like yours, requiring specific triggers to activate.]
[Skills are abilities acquired through experience, training, or system rewards—ranging from mundane proficiencies to extraordinary talents. In your previous world, such concepts may not have existed, but here, they form the core of strength and survival. Further details will unfold as you progress.]
Ronan absorbed the explanation, his tiny face scrunching in concentration.
"Magic? Like wizards and spells?" The idea thrilled and terrified him.
"If that's real here, then maybe I can become something more than just a sword-wielding fool. But triggers for bloodlines... does that tie into my father's test tomorrow?"
He shifted his gaze around the room, eyes darting from his mother to the maids, his infant stare intense and probing, as if dissecting each person for hidden secrets. "What kind of bloodline does Blackwood even mean? Power over shadows? Storms? Or just a fancy way to say we're stubborn bastards?"
Lady Seraphina noticed his wide-eyed scrutiny, her lips curving into a soft, amused smile as she watched his gaze flit from face to face like a curious kitten exploring its surroundings. "Oh, my little one," she chuckled lightly, her voice warm and melodic, drawing quiet giggles from the nearby maids.
"Look at that face—so serious, so inquisitive already! As if you're judging us all from your first breath. What grand thoughts must be swirling in that tiny head of yours?" She booped his nose gently with her finger, her emerald eyes sparkling with delight at the endearing sight.
Ronan blinked, caught off guard by her reaction. "Now this is so embarrassing."
But inwardly, he couldn't help a flicker of warmth—her laughter was genuine, a far cry from the cold judgments of his new father. It reminded him, fleetingly, of his first mother's gentle teasing.
Pushing the moment aside, he refocused, curiosity undimmed. He shifted his attention to his mother, silently commanding, Status: Mother.
The screen flickered, and new text appeared.
[Status: Lady Seraphina Blackwood]
Age: 24
Bloodline: Blackwood (Awakened, Tier Unknown)
Other Stats: [Restricted – Insufficient System Clearance]
"Restricted? Ronan mused, his infant brow furrowing again. She's awakened... whatever that means. Stronger than me by miles, I bet. No wonder I can't see more. The difference in their stats".
His measly 0.1s versus whatever power his mother wielded—was clearly too vast for 0001 to bridge. Still, her name, Seraphina, felt like a gift, a tether to this new life. If her bloodline's awakened, does that mean she can use mana? Magic? Gods, I need to learn fast.
He tried again, focusing on the gray-haired maid bustling nearby.
[Status: Marta Greystone]
Age: 47
Bloodline: Common (No Notable Traits)
Strength: 4.2
Agility: 3.8
Vitality: 5.1
Mana: 0
Skills: Housekeeping (Advanced), Herbal Lore (Intermediate)
Condition: Healthy, Mild Fatigue
The younger maids yielded similar results—low stats, common bloodlines, and mundane skills like sewing or cleaning. Ronan's mind churned. "So, not everyone has fancy bloodlines. Common folk like them... no mana, basic skills. Makes sense—they're stronger than me right now, but nothing supernatural."
"This world's got layers, hierarchies. Nobles like my family probably hoard the real power. The realization settled over him like a heavy cloak, fueling a mix of excitement and dread1.
"If I'm going to fulfill whatever 'duties' my mother meant, I'll need to climb this ladder. Starting from the bottom..."
As Seraphina hummed softly, her voice weaving a lullaby that tugged at memories of his first mother, Ronan's infant eyes grew heavy again. The weight of the day—rebirth, the void, his father's looming test—pressed down on him. But beneath it all, a spark of determination burned. The Sword Grave Manor awaited, and with it, the first trial of his new life. Whatever it held, he would face it—not just for himself, but for the legacy of the woman who had called him her brave son.
The candlelight dimmed as sleep reclaimed him, the blue glow of 0001's interface fading into the recesses of his mind. Now he has a goal to unravel the mysteries of this world—and the purpose that had followed him across the stars...