The sky above the capital was gray and silent as Kaelen Ashborne knelt at the center of the execution ground. Heavy chains wrapped around his arms and neck, carved with runes meant to suppress power. Blood stained the stone beneath him, not from wounds, but from the countless battles that had led him here.
Once, he had been praised as a genius. Once, elders whispered that his talent surpassed even the royal heirs. Yet here he was, kneeling like a criminal, condemned by the very family that bore his name.
The noble lords stood in a circle, their robes clean, their expressions calm. None of them met his eyes. To them, Kaelen was already dead.
He laughed softly.
Not in madness, but in understanding.
So this was the end they had chosen for him.
His younger brother stepped forward, holding the execution decree. The words were spoken clearly for all to hear. Treason. Disobedience. Threat to noble order. Each accusation was false, yet every noble present nodded in agreement.
Kaelen lifted his head and looked at the faces around him. He memorized them. The uncle who smiled behind his sleeve. The cousin who avoided his gaze. The family head who watched with cold relief.
Power ruled this world. Not truth. Not justice.
And despite being the strongest among them, he had still lost.
A horn sounded. The executioner raised his blade, its edge glowing with magical light.
At that moment, memories flooded Kaelen's mind. Secret techniques he had mastered. Battles he had won. The future war that would destroy the kingdom. The enemies who would rise after his death, unchecked and unstoppable.
If only he had more time.
If only he had crushed them sooner.
The blade fell.
Pain lasted only a heartbeat.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
Yet instead of fading away, Kaelen felt something impossible. His consciousness remained. Time twisted. Space collapsed. A burning sensation spread through his soul, dragging him backward.
A voice echoed, distant and ancient, as if laughing at fate itself.
The world shattered.
Kaelen gasped and opened his eyes.
Soft bedding replaced cold stone. Morning light streamed through familiar curtains. His body felt young. Weak. Untouched by years of battle.
He stared at his hands, trembling.
This room.
This time.
Ten years ago.
A slow smile spread across his face, sharp and filled with promise.
This time, he would not kneel.
This time, the world would kneel to him.