Death had not been what he expected.
One moment, Adrian was leaning against the velvet armrest of a bar in the city, a drink in hand and a smile tugging at his lips. He lived with one undeniable talent—an effortless charm that made doors open and hearts surrender. He wasn't rich, nor strong, nor particularly ambitious. He didn't need to be. The world bent when he smiled.
Then headlights. Screeching tires. Pain, sudden and merciless.
When Adrian opened his eyes again, the bar and the city were gone.
He stood beneath a sky with two moons. Their pale glow painted silver across marble columns rising from the ground like the skeletons of forgotten gods. Strange sigils burned faintly across the stone floor, pulsing in rhythm with his own heartbeat. His lungs filled, steady and sure. Alive again.
And then, a voice—silken and cold—slipped into his mind.
"You are chosen. Your tongue shall be your sword, your hunger your shield. In this world, power is taken not by strength of arms, but by the hearts you bind."
Adrian's lips curled into a grin. Even fate itself recognized his gift.
The first city he reached shimmered with impossible beauty. Spires of black crystal clawed at the heavens, while streets glowed with floating lanterns that pulsed like captive stars. People moved in silks and leathers, their fashion balanced precariously between elegance and danger.
He tested his gift almost without meaning to. His eyes caught the gaze of a passing noblewoman—her gown cut daringly low, jeweled chains glittering against pale skin. She faltered. Her breath caught. And for a fleeting instant, her eyes softened with raw, unguarded want.
Adrian knew that look. He had seen it hundreds of times in his old world. But here, it was different. Stronger. His charm no longer whispered—it commanded.
He chuckled to himself. So that's the power I've been given. Not fire, not lightning, not a sword… desire.
By nightfall, Adrian found himself at a gathering of merchants and aristocrats. Wine flowed freely, laughter echoed against polished stone, and the air smelled of spiced meat and intrigue. Nobles clustered in corners, whispering of alliances and betrayals.
He slid into the scene as if he belonged. His steps carried a confidence that made people part without realizing. When he spoke, heads tilted closer to catch every word. Every brush of his hand lingered too long to be polite, and every glance of his eyes carried a weight that made lips tremble.
When he leaned close to whisper into the ear of a married lady, her husband just steps away, her cheeks flushed crimson. She didn't move away. Her lips parted as though answering a question he hadn't even asked.
So this is my weapon here… desire itself.
Adrian sipped his wine, his eyes glinting. He could feel it—an invisible thread connecting him to every hungry look in the room.
And in this new world, where blades were sharp, thrones precarious, and magic whispered from every corner, Adrian realized something delicious.
He wouldn't need to fight monsters or cast spells.
He would climb higher, faster, and farther than any warrior—by binding the powerful through their own wants.