Sebastin Knight. The name circled in my head like a whisper I couldn't escape. I leaned against the window frame, watching dawn spill across the quiet estate. The glass felt cool beneath my fingertips. My pulse had steadied, but my thoughts hadn't.
Pieces of memory — his and mine — kept bleeding into each other until I couldn't tell which belonged to whom. Bits of a story surfaced. Not a memory. A scene. From the novel.
Sebastin Knight — the proud but bitter son of one of the Four Dukes of the Aetherium Empire. A boy with every privilege and none of the love that should have come with it.
In The Rise of the Common King, he was one of the first to fall. I remembered the passage clearly. An attack on the Imperial Academy during the second semester. Demons broke through the outer barrier — chaos, fire, screams. And amid it all, Sebastin had chosen the wrong side. The book had called him "the noble who walked with shadows."
He'd betrayed humanity, sided with the demons for reasons the story never cared to explain. And in the end, he'd died by Arthur's blade — the hero's first real kill. The death that marked the start of the legend.
My fingers curled unconsciously. So that was it. This body — this name — was destined to die before the story even began. I closed my eyes. The images came sharper now, not from the novel, but from this world itself. The Aetherium Empire — vast, gleaming, and cruel. Four dukes under one Emperor: the Knight Family of the East, masters of the sword; the Ardent House, scholars of flame; the Veyne Clan, whisperers of the court; and the Dray Line, the Empire's shield. Together they ruled beneath the crown, all pretending unity while hungering for power.
The Knights… my new family. A name built on valor, discipline, and loyalty. Yet the memories that surfaced were colder than steel. A stern father who measured worth in victories. Brothers who smirked when I stumbled. A mother who smiled only for appearances. Trash of the Knight family. The words echoed again, sharp as a blade. No wonder the old Sebastin fell so easily into darkness.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, trying to steady my breath. Then another image surfaced — the one I'd seen before dying in my old world: a man standing beneath a blood-red sky, sword buried in scorched earth, one arm gone, facing a shapeless void. It flashed again, like a scar in my mind. I didn't understand what it meant, but it felt connected — like that vision had followed me here, refusing to let go.
A faint breeze drifted through the curtains, carrying the smell of ink and parchment. That's when I noticed the desk near the window. On it lay a sealed envelope, the wax pressed with a familiar crest — a sword with wings. I picked it up carefully. My hands shook a little, though I wasn't sure why.
To: Sebastin Knight
The handwriting was elegant, formal. I broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
Congratulations, Sir Sebastin Knight. You have been selected to participate in the entrance examination for the Imperial Academy. The exam will be held on the 30th of June, Aetherium Calendar. We look forward to your attendance.
I stared at the words for a long moment. So this was before his death. Before the academy, before the attack. The story hadn't started yet. I caught my reflection again in the window glass — young, unscarred, sixteen maybe. Sixteen. That was the starting age for the academy exam. That meant I had time.
Setting the letter down, I looked around the room again — its silence, its warmth, the faint hum of a life that wasn't mine. My mind kept circling one thought, over and over:
Two months. Only two months until the entrance exam. Whatever this was — rebirth, punishment, or something stranger — I didn't plan to die the same way twice.