The darkness of regression lifted, and Kaelith opened his eyes to the world of flesh once more.
He awoke beneath the vaulted ceiling of a golden chamber, the scent of incense thick in the air, silk sheets heavy upon his body. Around him, the walls shimmered with runes of protection — the mark of a bloodline born of divinity.
The House of Aurelius.
In this cycle, fate had placed him in the body of a seventeen-year-old boy: Kaelith Aurelius, youngest son of one of the richest and most powerful demi-god clans. To the world, the Aurelius family was untouchable, their bloodline said to descend from the ancient gods of war themselves.
Yet for Kaelith, the irony cut deep.
This body — though draped in wealth, though protected by legacy — was the weakest of them all. Fragile veins, shallow spirit, muscles no stronger than common mortals. He was known within the clan as "the Withered Branch," an eternal disgrace beside siblings who burned with power.
The voices of memory surged in his mind as he tested his limbs. Yes. He remembered this cycle. He had lived it before. He had been this weak child, humiliated before peers, overlooked by masters, abandoned even by his own blood. This life had ended in misery the first time.
But this time… this time was different.
Because though his body was frail, his soul was Kaelith Varion — the sinner, the regressor, the rebel who had defied the gods themselves. He carried countless lifetimes of knowledge, forged through hatred and fire.
He sat up slowly, flexing fingers that trembled with weakness. A servant rushed forward, bowing low.
"Young Master Kaelith, your father has summoned the family to the Hall. The Academies' Selection is upon us."
Kaelith smiled faintly. So it begins.
---
The Hall of Aurelius was a cathedral of arrogance. Columns of marble carved into the likeness of gods loomed above. At its center, upon a throne of blackstone, sat Lord Varian Aurelius, patriarch of the clan, his eyes glowing faintly with divine radiance.
And before him stood Kaelith's siblings.
Draven Aurelius, the firstborn, stood like a war god incarnate. His frame was carved from battle, his aura thick with martial power that bent the air. At only twenty-three, he had already shattered the limits of mortal cultivation, his name feared across provinces.
Beside him, Selene Aurelius, the second, radiated a different strength. Graceful, beautiful, and merciless, her spirit energy shimmered like moonlight sharpened into blades. She was already spoken of as a future matriarch, her strategies as deadly as her fists.
When Kaelith entered, both turned their gazes upon him.
"Still alive, little branch?" Draven sneered, arms folded. His voice carried the weight of disdain only an heir could wield.
Selene's smile was colder. "How amusing. The weakest of us dares to stand in the same hall. Father must enjoy keeping pets."
Kaelith met their scorn with silence. Once, such words would have broken him. But not now. Now, he looked at them not as tormentors, but as stepping stones.
Lord Varian's voice boomed, cutting the air. "The Selection for the Academy of Martial Ascension begins tomorrow. Draven, Selene, your names are already etched in victory. And you, Kaelith…"
The patriarch's gaze hardened. "…you will attend, though none expect you to rise."
Laughter rippled among gathered retainers and elders. To them, Kaelith's participation was a formality, a joke.
But Kaelith only bowed. "As you command, Father."
Inside, his soul roared.
They call me weak. They see only the shell of a broken child. But I am Kaelith Varion. I carry the fire of rebellion, the hatred of gods, the wisdom of countless lifetimes. This cycle, I will not crawl. I will ascend.
And in the depths of his being, something stirred — faint, hidden, yet undeniable. A flicker of power the boy Kaelith Aurelius had never touched before, but Kaelith Varion knew well. The seed of a domain, waiting to be born.
Tomorrow, the Academy would open its gates.