"NO!"
Rowan's scream tore through the silence like a blade through flesh, his body jolting upright as phantom flames licked at his skin. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing the war drums that had haunted his final moments. The acrid taste of smoke and blood flooded his mouth—memories of a kingdom burning, of friends dying, of his own sword shattering against scales blacker than the void itself.
But there was no smoke. No blood. No demon lord's triumphant roar.
Sunlight streamed through familiar wooden shutters, casting golden bars across a room he hadn't seen in over a decade. The scent of his mother's morning bread wafted up from below, a smell so painfully nostalgic that it nearly broke him all over again.
"What the hell?" Rowan's voice cracked like a teenager's, though the words carried the weight of a man who had witnessed the end of everything.
His hands—young hands, unmarked by the countless battles that had carved scars into his flesh—trembled as they explored his body. No missing fingers from the Goblin King's bite. No jagged scar across his chest where Prince Julian's poisoned blade had found its mark. No burns from the dragon fire that had claimed half his face in the final siege.
This was his body at seventeen. His room at the Knight Academy. His...
Past.
The realization hit him like a cavalry charge. Rowan stumbled from the narrow cot, nearly collapsing as his legs—legs that remembered carrying the weight of full plate armor for years—struggled to support him. His reflection in the cracked mirror by the window confirmed what his body already knew.
Seventeen years old. Three days before the Tournament of Blades. Two weeks before Thom would die in the goblin raid on Brookhaven—a raid Rowan had been too proud, too stupid, too fucking young to prevent the first time around.
"This can't be real," he whispered, but even as the words left his lips, a translucent blue window materialized in his vision.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
Welcome, Rowan AshfordClass: KnightLevel: 1Title: None
Primary Quest Activated: Change Your Fate!The threads of destiny have unraveled. Rewrite the future and save those you failed to protect.Reward: ???Failure: Total Annihilation
Rowan stared at the floating interface, his mind reeling. In his original timeline, no such system had existed. He'd been just another knight—talented, perhaps, but bound by the limits of mortal flesh and steel. Now, somehow, impossibly, he had been given not just a second chance, but the tools to make it count.
A knock at his door shattered his contemplation.
"Rowan! You're going to be late for morning drills!" The voice belonged to Marcus, his old roommate—a decent fighter who would die with a demon's claws in his throat during the academy's fall. "Sir Alden's already threatening to make latecomers run laps until they puke!"
Sir Alden. His mentor. The man who had trained him, guided him, and ultimately died protecting the academy's evacuation. Alive. Here. Now.
"Coming!" Rowan called back, his voice stronger now. He grabbed his practice sword from the weapon rack—a blade that felt absurdly light compared to the legendary weapons he'd wielded in his final battles.
But as he reached for the door handle, another system window appeared.
[DAILY QUEST AVAILABLE]
Morning Training ExcellenceDemonstrate superior combat skills during trainingObjective: Score 3 consecutive hits on Sir Alden during sparringReward: +1 Strength, +1 Agility, Basic Skill: Enhanced ReflexesTime Limit: 2 hours
Rowan's lips curved into a grim smile. Three hits on Sir Alden? In his original timeline, he'd been lucky to land one clean blow in an entire month. But that was before he'd learned the Seven Stances of the Crimson Order. Before he'd mastered the breathing techniques of the Wind Dancers. Before he'd dueled demon generals and lived to tell about it.
The old Rowan had been a promising student.
This Rowan was a weapon forged in the fires of apocalypse.
"Time to see what this system can really do," he muttered, checking his stats one more time.
[CHARACTER STATUS]Name: Rowan Ashford
Level: 1
Class: Knight
HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
Strength: 12
Agility: 10
Constitution: 13
Intelligence: 11
Wisdom: 8
Charisma: 9
The stats were pathetic compared to what he'd achieved by the end, but they were a foundation. And unlike his first life, this time he knew exactly how to build upon it.
As Rowan stepped into the hallway, Marcus was waiting with his usual gap-toothed grin. "About time! I thought you were going to sleep through the best part of the day."
"Just gathering my thoughts," Rowan replied, studying his roommate's face. Marcus looked so young, so alive, so blissfully unaware that in another timeline, he'd die screaming his sister's name as hell itself poured through the academy gates.
Not this time. This time, Rowan would be ready.
This time, he would save them all.
The two young men jogged through the academy's stone corridors, their footsteps echoing off walls that Rowan remembered painted with blood and shadow. But those memories belonged to a future that would never come to pass—not if he had anything to say about it.
As they emerged into the training yard, Rowan caught sight of Sir Alden directing a group of first-years through basic sword forms. The veteran knight stood tall and proud, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed, his practice armor gleaming in the morning sun. No gray pallor of poison. No weight of impending doom on his shoulders.
Just a man doing his job, training the next generation of knights.
A man who, in three hours' time, would be very surprised to discover that one of his students had somehow learned to fight like a demon.
[QUEST REMINDER: Morning Training Excellence]Time Remaining: 1 hour, 47 minutes
Rowan's hand tightened on his practice sword's grip.
Let the games begin.