Darkness.
Noctus's last memory was of his breath rattling away, his chest tightening until even air became a luxury he was denied. He remembered the cold floor beneath his body, the weight of years pressing down as if the world itself had chosen to smother him. And then—just before everything went silent—he remembered a voice. Whispering. Neither cruel nor kind, but heavy, inevitable. He could not remember the words, but they had sunk into him like hooks, dragging him down into the abyss.
When his eyes snapped open again, light flooded them.
He sat up sharply, lungs burning as though he had been drowning. The first thing he saw was a ceiling — high, gilded with silver patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim glow of chandeliers. Curtains of velvet framed tall windows, and the bed beneath him was softer than anything he had ever known. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and smoke. This wasn't the hospital room he expected. This wasn't even the same world.
His throat tightened.
Where was he? Whose voice had dragged him here?
The questions swirled, and then the pain struck.
It wasn't ordinary pain. It was as though an axe had been buried into his skull and twisted, again and again. His vision blurred, and in the blur came fragments — faces he didn't know, names that tasted bitter on his tongue, corridors filled with portraits of grim ancestors, blood on stone floors. He clutched his head, gasping, teeth grinding as a torrent of memories not his own ripped into him.
The boy whose body he now inhabited.
He saw him — the neglected son of Ignisar, pushed aside because his flame barely flickered. Born into fire, but with almost no affinity for it. While other scions burned brightly, he was an ember struggling not to fade. From the beginning, he was treated as a mistake, a blot upon the proud Ignisar lineage. Servants whispered behind his back. His siblings sneered openly. His father looked at him as if he were already dead.
And isolation birthed rebellion.
The boy fought for recognition, and when none came, he lashed out. Small cruelties at first: broken trinkets, ruined meals, petty sabotage. But it escalated. He hurt those weaker than him, desperate to feel powerful in a world that told him he was nothing. Eventually, his reputation within the manor became worse than uselessness — he was seen as dangerous, shameful.
He would be cast to the outskirts of the Ceraunos Kingdom, stripped of warmth and companionship, left to rot in silence, as the decree had already been written: on his sixteenth birthday, he would be banished entirely, his name struck from the records of Ignisar.
Noctus felt the boy's despair as though it were his own. Loneliness, bitterness, humiliation — it all clawed at him, seeping into his veins with the memories. This wasn't just knowledge. It was a wound carved into the soul.
"Ignisar…"
The word clawed its way out of his throat, unbidden.
Noctus Ignisar.
He almost laughed. His name had been Noctus before, too. That part wasn't new. Fate hadn't bothered to give him a fresh start — it had simply stapled another chain to his neck. Only the title was new. A cursed surname. A house he had no bond with, no desire for, and yet its weight settled on his shoulders as if it had been waiting for him all along.
The pain dulled, leaving him trembling and drenched in sweat. His breath echoed in the silence of the lavish chamber, but to him, it wasn't comfort — it was suffocation. The gold and velvet, the immaculate walls, the faint scent of polished wood — it all pressed down on him, mocking his confusion.
And then, another thing intruded.
A sound.
Not from the room. From inside him.
—[System Initializing…]—
Noctus froze. Words. Floating in his vision. Cold, pale light traced symbols across his mind, not spoken aloud but etched into his very thoughts.
"What… the hell…" His whisper rasped against the heavy air.
He wasn't an otaku. He hadn't wasted his old life dreaming of systems, levels, or magic. He had worked, survived, endured. But here, the unreal was clawing its way into reality, and he could not look away.
—[Initialization Complete]——[Welcome, Noctus Ignisar]—
More lines followed, deliberate, invasive.
—[Functions Unlocked: Status | Inventory | Shop (Restricted) | Quests | Identify]—
His lips parted, but no words came. He didn't understand it. Not fully. Some part of him wanted to believe this was a hallucination, a remnant of pain. But the clarity of it was undeniable. The System wasn't asking. It was simply there, as though it had been carved into his soul the moment he opened his eyes.
He tried to push it away, shake his head, close his eyes. It didn't vanish. The words lingered like a brand.
His breath slowed. Against his will, curiosity bled into the fear.
"…Identify," he muttered, almost mocking the absurdity.
His gaze fell on the nearest object — a vase, black marble, its surface veined with silver. Instantly, a flicker passed through his mind.
—[Object: Marble Vase]——[Origin: Ignisar Craft-Hall]——[Quality: Moderate]——[Special Attribute: Crest of the House — faint Aura resonance detected]—
The words seared across his mind, clinical and detached. His chest tightened. This wasn't imagination. This was real.
Slowly, he pulled his gaze to the grand crest embroidered on the far wall — a phoenix wrapped in chains, burning endlessly but never free. The moment he focused on it, the System answered again.
—[Object: Crest of House Ignisar]——[Symbolism: Flame Eternal Bound in Iron]——[Meaning: "Even fire bows to chain"]——[Warning: Further information requires higher level]—
The last line hit him harder than he expected. Higher level? This thing… it wasn't just showing him scraps of knowledge. It was measuring him, judging him, dangling truths just out of reach.
He swallowed hard, fists curling against the sheets.
"What… do you want from me?"
The System answered.
—[Quest Generated]—
His vision pulsed.
—[Quest: Survive Until the Coming of Age Ceremony]——[Failure: Death]——[Reward: Unlock Tier 1 Skill]—
His heart lurched. The words burned brighter than the chandeliers above him.
Survive? Death? What kind of system was this? Was it guiding him, or was it binding him tighter to this cursed fate?
A chill crawled down his spine. He wasn't excited. He wasn't grateful. He felt caged. Chained. The name Ignisar, the crest of fire bound in iron, the system whispering rules he never asked for — it all converged into one truth.
He had escaped death only to be shackled again.
Noctus turned his gaze toward the mirror across the room. The figure staring back was him, and yet not him. Jet black hair fell in disheveled strands across his forehead, glinting faintly in the candlelight. His eyes were like two pools of darkness, so deep and lightless they seemed to devour the world that dared to look at them.
And he was handsome. Striking, in a way that demanded notice. His features were sharp yet refined, carrying a natural nobility that made him appear untouchable, as if sculpted from the shadows themselves. Even with the faint exhaustion clinging to his face, there was a magnetic pull in his expression—a quiet, dangerous allure that no one could easily ignore.
This body was stronger, finer than his frail old one, clothed in silken night. Yet what unsettled him most wasn't the unfamiliar beauty, but the coldness in that reflection, the detached edge that seemed to mirror the fate he could not escape.
"…Noctus Ignisar."
He whispered it, not with pride, but with quiet loathing.
A cursed name. A cursed system. And now, a cursed fate.
The reflection in the mirror did not answer, but its eyes seemed to mock him, as if they too knew that escape had never been an option.