The dining hall of the Valerius estate was a place of imposing silence. A single, massive table made from the heartwood of an ancient ironwood tree stretched down its center, polished to a dark, glassy sheen. High above, the wrought-iron chandeliers held globes of cold, magical light that cast long, dancing shadows on the tapestries lining the walls. These tapestries were not of cheerful hunts or royal weddings; they depicted the grim history of the Valerius family—heroes cloaked in shadow and ice, standing against blizzards, battling monstrous beasts, and holding a lonely vigil over the northern border.
Dinner in this hall was rarely a relaxed affair. It was another form of duty.
Tonight, the air was even heavier than usual. It was Kaelen's last night as just a boy. Tomorrow, he would be measured, ranked, and his path in life would be set.
His father, Duke Titus Valerius, sat at the head of the table. He was a man who seemed carved from the same black stone as the castle itself. His face was a mask of stern control, but Kaelen had long ago learned to read the subtle signs of his mood. Tonight, the slight tension in his jaw spoke of a deep-seated anxiety. The future of his house, and the security of the North, rested on the strength of his children.
"Damien," the Duke's deep voice cut through the quiet clinking of silverware. "Master Valerius informed me your mana output has increased by another five percent this month. A commendable pace."
Damien, sitting opposite Kaelen, straightened up, a proud smile flashing across his face. "I've been practicing the Glacial Spike formation, Father. I can manifest twenty spears now. I'm certain I'll reach the peak of C-Rank before the year is out."
"Good," the Duke nodded, a rare flicker of approval in his dark eyes. "Power is the shield of this family. Never forget that."
Kaelen silently ate his roasted quail. He'd seen Damien's practice. Twenty spears, yes, but they were sloppy. They were full of flaws that wasted energy and sacrificed density for sheer numbers. A single, perfectly formed spear of his own—a thought he quickly suppressed—would shatter all twenty of Damien's like glass.
"Titus, please," a softer voice interjected. It was their mother, Duchess Seraphina. She was the counterpoint to her husband's harshness, a graceful woman with silver hair and eyes that held a gentle warmth. "Let us not speak of training and ranks tonight. Kaelen has his Awakening tomorrow. We should be celebrating."
She turned her warm gaze to Kaelen. "Are you nervous, my love?"
Kaelen looked up from his plate and offered her a small, reassuring smile. "A little."
It was a lie, of course. He wasn't nervous. He was a man who had already faced death once. A ceremony held no fear for him. What he felt was something closer to impatience, a deep, thrumming restlessness he'd held in check for ten long years.
Damien laughed, a loud, booming sound that was a bit too forced. "Of course he's nervous. I remember my Awakening. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. I was so worried I'd end up a D-Rank and shame the family." He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. "Don't worry, Kaelen. Even if you only get a C-Rank talent, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You can't be a genius like me, but you'll still be useful."
The Duke said nothing, his silence a tacit agreement. To them, the scale of success was already set. Damien's A-Rank was the high bar, and anything less was a disappointment to be managed. They had no framework, no possible context, for what was about to happen. They were trying to measure a tsunami with a teaspoon.
"That is enough, Damien," Seraphina chided gently. "Your brother's path will be his own. Whatever the Oracle Crystal shows tomorrow, it will not change a thing. He is our son."
She looked from Kaelen to her husband, a silent plea for him to agree. The Duke simply took a slow sip of his wine, his expression unreadable. For him, love and duty were two separate, often conflicting, things.
Kaelen finished his meal in silence, listening to his family discuss matters of state, of grain shipments for the winter, and of recent scouting reports from the Frozen Wastes. It was the world he had been born into, a world of harsh realities and constant vigilance. A world that desperately needed power.
And he, more than anyone, knew he had it. He just had to wait a few more hours.
Later that night, the castle was quiet, wrapped in the deep stillness of a cold, northern evening. Kaelen lay in his bed, staring at the canopy above. His room was sparse compared to the rest of the castle, dominated by tall bookshelves crammed with texts on history, magic theory, and geography. It was the room of a scholar, not a warrior.
A soft knock came at his door, and it opened to reveal his mother, holding a single candle. The warm, flickering light softened the angles of her face, chasing away the shadows.
"I thought you might still be awake," she said, her voice a near whisper. She glided over to his bedside and sat on the edge of the mattress.
"I was just thinking," Kaelen replied, sitting up.
"About tomorrow?" she asked, her hand coming to rest on his, her skin cool and smooth.
He nodded. "What was yours like? Your Awakening?"
A nostalgic smile touched her lips. "Terrifying. I grew up in the capital, you know. My family, the House of Morn, specializes in Light and Divination magic. Everything was about subtlety and grace. But my Awakening revealed a talent for Shadow magic. An S-Rank talent."
Kaelen's eyes widened slightly. He knew his mother was powerful, but an S-Rank talent was exceedingly rare.
"It was… scandalous," she continued with a soft laugh. "A lady of the light, blessed by shadow. Everyone was so shocked. I felt like a freak. I thought I had disappointed everyone." She squeezed his hand gently. "But your father… he was there. He was just a young man then, visiting the capital. He didn't see a freak. He saw power. He saw someone who understood that light cannot exist without shadow."
She looked at him, her eyes full of a deep, earnest love. "What I mean to say, Kaelen, is that the Oracle Crystal shows your potential, but it doesn't define your heart. Whether you are an A-Rank or an E-Rank, whether you wield ice or shadow or something else entirely, you are my son. Do you understand? I am already proud of you for the kind, intelligent boy you are. Tomorrow changes nothing of that."
Kaelen felt a genuine warmth spread through his chest. In his first life, he had loved his mother dearly. In this life, that affection was no different. Seraphina saw him, the boy, not the potential asset.
"I understand, Mother," he said, and for the first time, his voice was not just that of a calm observer, but of a son comforting his parent. "Don't worry. Everything is going to be fine."
She smiled, convinced by his childish sincerity. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day."
She took her candle and slipped out of the room, leaving him once again in the quiet darkness. He laid back down, but not to sleep.
He rose from his bed and walked to the tall arched window that overlooked the valley. The twin moons of this world were out tonight, casting a pale, ethereal glow on the endless expanse of snow-covered pines. The wind howled a low, mournful song as it swept down from the mountain peaks. This was the North. His land.
For ten years, he had been Kaelen Valerius, the quiet child, the bookish prodigy. He had worn the role like a well-fitted cloak. But it was just a role. Beneath it, the soul of Alex, the man who had died in a hospital bed, remained. And bound to that soul was the blessing—or curse—of the Akashic Records. The System of a Million Amplification.
He wasn't nervous. He wasn't afraid. He was simply… ready. The ten years of waiting had not been a prison. They had been a crucible, forging his patience, sharpening his mind, and giving him a perfect, unshakeable understanding of the world he was about to overturn.
He thought of his father's obsession with power, his brother's arrogant pride, his mother's gentle fears. They were all playing a game, unaware that a new piece was about to be placed on the board. A piece that would obey no rules but its own.
He rested his hand against the freezing glass of the window, feeling the deep, biting cold seep into his skin. It felt like a homecoming.
He closed his eyes and waited for the morning.