Would he be tomorrow's byline?
His mind conjured headlines—Son of Arcane co-founder Magnus Knight cheats death via digital immortality. Another rich man dodging the reaper's scythe.
Tremors seized him. The dome hissed closed, metal sealing out the world. He fought to keep his eyes open, pupils blown wide against the rising light. A cough tore through him—wet, metallic. Pain cracked down his ribs like a fault line. He could feel his pulse stutter, the rhythm slipping out of sync.
His own obituary ticked behind his eyelids—Kieran Knight, nineteen. Complications of a long illness. Survived by no one who mattered. Remembered by no one for long. A headline written before he'd even stopped breathing.
He hated it.
And yet, as the capsule fogged with his breath, it was all he could think about. Perhaps everyone measured their last moments in this way—by what others printed or recalled...
The machine hummed. Glass arched above him, coffin-smooth. Light crawled across its veins, chasing each other in nervous pulses. Tubes sighed. Fluid whispered. Each sound was a verdict. His chest heaved.
Not the sickness this time—the clock.
Every beat felt borrowed. Rita's face blurred into view, haloed by the glow. Her palm pressed flat against the glass, smearing the condensation. Her eyes were wide, frantic—the same eyes that had once watched him collapse in a hospital hallway.
"Kieran," she breathed, fogging the seal. Her voice a distorted echo. "Stay with me. Don't let go yet."
He tried.
His arm shook, nerves misfiring, but he reached until his fingers met hers through the barrier.
"Doc…"
A slam down the corridor—voices, sharp, furious. Gerard. Rage carried even through steel. Rita flinched; the sound seemed to bruise her shoulders. She leaned close, hair clinging to the glass.
Her voice cracked. "Don't listen. You're not him… not your father. You're mine. Stay."
The words hit harder than the pain. He wanted to answer—to tell her it was all right, that he was ready, but the truth strangled him.
Some part of him would never be ready…
Valhalla—for gamers. Eternity built of code and regret. The hum deepened into a bone-shaking drone. Rita's hand blurred. Her face dissolved into light, and then —
Rain.
The droplets were a hard patter, as if against the roof of a tent. His fingers flexed through the warm gel. He clawed upward, breaking through into cold air. Rain lashed his skin, stealing what little warmth remained. Into the night, he emerged. Thick fluid forced itself from his lungs as he lurched into the grass.
His lungs hurt as they breathed for the first time. His hands quickly inventoried himself. A young man. He was lean, almost too lean—but every muscle obeyed him. His head arched back in relief. He made it. The upload was complete. He was inside the game, and it honestly felt more real than his old life.
When he commanded his body to move, it did. For the first time in more than a decade, he felt no illness, dysphoria, and muscles responded at the slightest thought. The surrounding night called, cold and mysterious. Where was he? Sentinels larger than redwoods, towered around him. The wet moss beneath his feet slushed with water as he walked.
Kieran's teeth chattered as he walked. He wrapped his arms around his ribs, nakedness forgotten, desperate to hold on to the last of his warmth. Sharp cries split the night—some distant, others alarmingly near. He stumbled forward, slipped, and crashed into the clay. Mud clung to his bare skin as he rolled, fingers clawing through pine needles and damp loam. The air stank of wet earth, ozone, and rotted forest debris.
He pushed himself to his feet. Branches clawed at his shoulders, leaving red lines across olive skin. The scrapes bled lightly, but he had more pressing concerns—shelter and warmth.
His legs wobbled, clumsy as a newborn fawn. "Hello?" His voice rasped, and the trees instantly swallowed it.
The forest answered. A scream split the dark—not bird, nor beast, but something between, shrill enough to rattle his skull. Shadows bled together as something darted between the trees in his wake.
Something crawled into the clearing. It moved low, sniffing, ears twitching. It rose—too tall, too long—unfolding onto its hind legs. Its fur gleamed like flayed muscle. Membranes stretched between ribs and arms, rain slicking across them. Black claws dripped ink that hissed where it struck the mud. Bone-pale teeth gnashed in a mouth far too wide. Kieran staggered back, clutching his ears as the scream knifed through his skull again.
A flash tore the night.
Storm-colored eyes. Feathers flared. The creature struck like lightning. Wings tore through the canopy as it slammed into the fox, driving both into the mud. The forest exploded—branches snapping, earth flying. They rolled, snarling, tearing—beak raking, talons carving. The fox shrieked, sinew snapping taut as it twisted free, hurling its attacker aside. Rain hissed against the membranes that shivered along its sides as it reared, jaws yawning for the kill.
"No!"
Kieran hurled himself forward, fists pounding against its ribs. Flesh like stone—useless. Panic burned hotter than sense. He struck again, and again—until light ripped free.
Color screamed from his palm, jagged and raw. It punched into the fox's chest and detonated in a thunderclap of force.
The creature reeled, shrieking.
[Arcane System Online]
Name: Aurelian Darkfall | Level: 1
HP: 25/25 | MP: 50/50
STR: 5 | DEX: 6 | CON: 4 | INT: 12 | WIS: 8 | CHA: 6
The bitter words burned across his vision, searing into his mind. He gasped—the avian beast screeched, bloodied wings flaring, not yet finished.
The fox lunged. Fayte—the name bloomed in his head like a chord plucked from a harp—met it midair. Claws slashed. Beak tore. Rain slicked feathers with blood.
Kieran staggered upright, vision swimming. Mud clung to his knees. He thrust his hand out again. Color flared—raw, unstable—and struck true. The fox convulsed, shrieked once more, then turned its fury on him.
Instinct roared through his limbs. Time to run.
"Fayte, with me!" He didn't know why he said it, only that something unseen tethered him to the strange avian.
His body obeyed like it never had in his old life—thin, lithe, fluid. He leapt over roots and fallen logs, ducked beneath dripping branches. A glance over his shoulder confirmed the creature followed close behind.
So did the fox-beast, crashing through the underbrush in pursuit. The burn of motion warmed him, urging him faster. A pond opened ahead, slick and dark under the rain. He skidded to a stop—Fayte slammed into him, wings and feathers tangling as they hit the mud.
Fayte shook himself like a great hound, scattering droplets, then pressed upright. He stepped between Aurelian and the beast, feathers slick against his frame. His body lowered, limbs coiled. A roar split the night—thunder more than sound. The message was unmistakable: come through me if you dare.
The fox snarled and charged.
Steam rolled from Fayte's feathers as they hardened, shining like molten gold. A tremor of sound rippled through him—an echo, half scream, half song. The fox kept coming. Fayte blazed white, the light so fierce Aurelian threw up an arm to shield his eyes. In the next heartbeat he was fire and motion, a golden-white comet. Claws flashed, and a pure, ringing note filled the clearing as flame erupted from his beak, bathing the beast in brilliance.
Something heavy dropped into the muck. The gem pulsed faintly in the dirt. Kieran blinked, vision splitting as jagged symbols burned across his sight. They were words maybe—runes—but not in any language he knew. Artistic curves, flowing lines, all flashing too fast to grasp.
He staggered and fell back into the mud. The world reeled, senses tearing open and folding in again. The storm, the smell of blood, the weight of the System text—it was too much.
Dust filled the air where their attacker had been. Fayte fell to earth, a comet that had lost its light. Aurelian crawled to him. The avian's song dwindled, its final notes breaking into a cry of ending that hollowed the air.
Tears blurred his vision. He gathered the dying creature into his arms. It had saved him. The strange being reminded him of the griffins from old stories, yet it was something other, something greater. Fayte's eyes rolled, the stormlight fading from within.
"Fayte—" The scream tore through the night. "Don't leave me! You saved me." He rocked in the mud, clutching the still body, humming the ghost of its song. In this new world, the first thing he'd connected to had died to save him.
[First Rebirth—Arch-Ardentis: Fayte]
The body in his arms turned to ash. From the gray drift, something stirred. He reached into it and lifted the slight form that rose there. Fayte blinked up at him with storm-colored eyes as the rain washed the ash away.
How was this possible? The creature was smaller now, fragile but whole—no larger than a young lynx. Had he not been six times that size? His golden feathers radiated warmth. Aurelian pressed him to his chest, shielding him beneath his arms.
System panes flared bright, then collapsed. As darkness closed over him, one thought remained: even if he died to the storm, at least the Ardentis that saved him would live.