Chapter 1: Rain and Rebirth
The rain had been his last companion.
Cold droplets sliding down cracked glass, the hollow drip of water through a leaky ceiling. His final sight had not been of family, or friends, or even strangers—only the gray veil of a storm. His body had been frail, his dreams buried under years of failure. He remembered closing his eyes with one thought: so this is how it ends, alone.
But the end was not the end.
Aric opened his eyes to warmth.
Golden sunlight streamed through high windows, falling on polished floors and carved pillars. The air smelled faintly of incense and polished wood, clean and foreign. Soft silk pressed against his skin. He shot upright, breath ragged, his heart thundering in his chest.
This wasn't his room. This wasn't his life.
Aric stumbled toward a mirror framed in gold. A face he didn't know stared back. Black hair spilled messily to his shoulders, his cheekbones sharp, his lips firm, and his eyes—deep sapphire, calm yet unreadable. His hand shook as he touched the reflection.
This isn't me.
And yet, memories rushed in. Voices, names, duties. The Delsar family. A noble house in a vast kingdom. A son of privilege. His son.
His palms grew clammy. What am I supposed to do now?
A knock jolted him.
"Your Highness, breakfast is prepared," a maid's voice called softly.
Your Highness. The words pressed on him like chains. He swallowed, forcing his breath to steady. He couldn't falter. Not now. If he moved wrongly, if he spoke wrongly, they would notice. He would be exposed.
He forced composure onto his face. "I'll be there."
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The hallways stretched long and grand, lined with banners bearing a silver hawk crest. Servants bowed as he passed. He nodded faintly, mimicking what he thought a noble son might do. Each step felt like walking on a stage, every glance an audience.
The dining hall opened before him, its vaulted ceiling hung with chandeliers. At the long table sat his family:
Lord Arion Delsar, his father, stern, broad-shouldered, with eyes that seemed to weigh every word.
Lady Selene, his mother, elegant, her smile gentle but edged with concern.
Lyra, his elder sister, sharp-eyed, her gaze too knowing for comfort.
Kael, the youngest, barely ten, watching Aric with unguarded admiration.
"Good morning," Aric said, carefully. His voice held steadiness, though his palms were damp.
They studied him as he sat. His mother's smile softened. Kael leaned closer, whispering something to Lyra that made her narrow her eyes. His father remained unreadable, eating with the calm of a man who expected perfection at his table.
Conversation flowed around him—duties, training, expectations of their house. Aric listened more than he spoke, answering in short, cautious phrases. His mind raced: Watch. Learn. Don't slip.
But part of him felt a strange pull. He wasn't trembling anymore. Beneath the unease, there was something else—a current running through his veins. Energy. Strength. A body without the fragility of his past life.
After breakfast, he excused himself and found his way to the training yard.
The sun hung bright above, shining on rows of wooden dummies and racks of weapons. He stared at his hands for a long moment. They looked ordinary. But inside…
He struck the dummy.
The wood groaned, splintering under the force. He staggered back, staring at his fist. No pain. No bruising. Only power. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and a strange excitement coiled in his gut.
He struck again. Harder. Splinters flew. The sound echoed across the yard.
From the balcony, he felt eyes upon him. His father's sharp gaze. Lyra's suspicion. His mother's faintly trembling smile. Kael's wide, glowing admiration.
Aric's breath slowed. He clenched his fist again, hiding the smile tugging at his lips.
So this is the body I've been given…
Not weakness. Not failure. But something else. Something that could grow.
For now, he would watch, learn, and play the role expected of him. But deep inside, a fire stirred—quiet, patient, waiting.
The rain had once been his end.
Now, the sun marked his beginning.