Ashriel froze before the mirror.
The reflection staring back was not his own. Pale, sharp-featured, almost painfully handsome. Dark hair fell in slightly messy strands, framing his face. His eyes, darker than night, held a faint streak of violet hidden deep within the iris. For a moment, he studied it, mesmerized by the subtle glow.
Panic surged in his chest, yet his expression refused to betray him. Lips unmoving. Eyes steady. The stoicism of this body—a mask it had worn long before—kept his inner chaos in check.
Why does my mind race while my face remains calm?
He forced a measured breath. Clarity. Information. The first step.
"Status," he whispered.
The air shimmered. A translucent panel appeared before him, glowing with neat lines of text.
---
Status
Name: Ashriel Vael / ???
Age: 17
Class: Knight / ???
Affinity: Dark / Lightning / ???
Rank: Tier 2
Traits: Stoic / Obsessive (inactive) / Schemer / Prodigy / ??? / ???
Skills: Body Strengthening / Vael Aura Circulation / Vael Aura Body Arts / Vael Sword Art / ???
---
The panel confirmed what he suspected: the system belonged to the World Spirit, neutral and omniscient. It recorded everything. The "???" marks glared at him like questions, confirming that his body and soul were unusual. Yet, he felt calm. If the world spirit acknowledged him, then he truly existed.
His eyes flicked back to the mirror. The violet streak in his eyes shimmered faintly, a subtle pulse of energy. The obsessive hunger that defined Ashriel in the novel was inactive. It did not matter. He would define himself now.
He sank into the desk chair. Parchment spread before him, quill in hand. The scratches of ink echoed in the quiet room as he began to write everything he remembered—continents, rulers, factions. Even a mundane geography lesson held value here.
The world was divided into five continents:
East: his home, ruled by the Crown of the Lost Emperor and the Four Dukes, including his father. Everyone knew the main cities, trade routes, and provinces. But Ashriel's memory gave him more: hidden mineral veins, abandoned fortresses holding rare artifacts, natural resources untouched by commoners, secret alliances between minor nobles, and locations powerful families tried to keep undiscovered. Recording this information ensured he wouldn't forget, and one day, it could be far more valuable than armies or treasures.
West: home of the elves, druids, fairies, and elemental giants, overseen by the will of the World Tree and its appointed saint. Unlike humans, the elves lived in immaculate, technologically advanced cities, blending nature and innovation seamlessly. Giants, fairies, and other races mingled freely among them, sharing knowledge and resources. To most commoners, this continent was invisible. Only the upper echelons of human society even knew the approximate location, and even then, the routes were guarded secrets. The elves themselves intervened only when the World Tree directed, offering aid in subtle, purposeful ways. Ashriel noted all of it—the city layouts, hidden paths, and unique resources that the average traveler could never access.
South: home to demons, dragons, and beastkin, ruled by the Demon Dragon Athakos un Xaereth. Their society was a strict meritocracy based solely on strength. Democratic processes, morality, or justice were irrelevant. Those who were stronger led; those who were weaker obeyed. No one challenged Athakos, for none possessed strength greater than his. Ashriel cataloged not just the geography, but the hidden training grounds, duel arenas, and natural arenas that tested and strengthened individuals—knowledge others might dismiss but which could be critical for survival or gaining influence.
North: the sealed Holy Continent, forbidden, shrouded in myths of gods and ruins that no mortal dared explore. Even fragments of the northern terrain were unknown to most scholars. He sketched rivers and mountain ranges with shaky certainty, labeling them "unverified," noting they might not survive a closer look.
Center: the Free Continent, neutral ground where powers converged, a crossroads of trade, politics, and clandestine dealings. Even here, the routes between factions were rarely mapped clearly; each city-state jealously guarded its maps.
In addition, there were minute factions, scattered across continents, almost irrelevant in the grand scheme, yet worth noting: river spirits maintaining hidden springs, small wandering beastkin mercenary bands, obscure scholar guilds trafficking in arcane relics, secretive northern cults obsessed with rituals long forgotten. For now, these notes were placeholders; he did not need to focus on them yet.
Rather than a rigid list, his next steps unfolded naturally in his mind. He would explore this room fully, testing every corner, every hidden space, to understand the vessel he now inhabited. He would test his body and skills to feel the limits of this form. Then, he would catalog everything he knew—geography, factions, rare resources, secrets, power hierarchies—so nothing slipped from memory. Later, he would investigate the Negative Zone and other anomalies, gathering knowledge, power, and leverage to carve a path that was entirely his own.
Ashriel flexed his muscles, focusing on the flow of energy in his veins. A faint aura emanated from his core, manifesting around his hands as a subtle shimmer. Small sparks of lightning danced across his fingers, harmless yet electrifying. He smiled. The system worked as expected.
The quill scratched again as he mapped the continents, noting rulers, factions, mountains, rivers, forests, and tiered threats. Margins were filled with annotations: resource-rich areas untouched by commoners, routes safer than official roads, minor factions, and locations where secret knowledge or magical anomalies might exist.
Earth had been mundane. Here, effort equaled power. Struggle was real. The thought of striving for something, of earning what he wanted, thrilled him in a way he had never known. Even the act of writing—recording the world as he truly knew it—brought a sense of authority he had never felt.
Ashriel leaned back in the chair, reading over the notes. For the first time, he realized he could shape the story himself. The disappointing ending of the novel no longer mattered.
He would create his own.
Not as a pawn. Not as a minor villain. Not as a side character constrained by the author's pen.
But as Ashriel Vael, architect of his own destiny.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of calm. The faint violet streak in his eyes pulsed once more, a reminder that this body, this life, and this world responded to him—and only him.
For now, he would take the first steps: understanding, planning, testing, observing. Everything else would follow.
The quill lay in his hand again. The room was quiet, but it no longer felt threatening. With every stroke of ink, every note about lands unseen and powers untapped, Ashriel understood a truth that no one in this world seemed to grasp: knowledge was power. And he had it in abundance.
Even seemingly mundane geography—routes, cities, resources, secret strongholds—was priceless in the wrong hands. And he possessed all of it.
He smiled faintly. For the first time, he felt anticipation—not for survival, not for victory, but for creation. The story was no longer bound by another's hand. It was his to shape, carve, and command.
And so, in the quiet room with ink-stained fingers, Ashriel Vael continued