Cael woke to silence.
Not the comfortable silence of a room at rest...but the kind that pressed against the ears, heavy and wrong, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Stone chilled his back. The scent of ash and old blood clung to the air.
He didn't move immediately.
Years of training overrode panic. He slowed his breathing, counted heartbeats, cataloged sensations. Pain: moderate, spread across his chest and limbs. No restraints. No immediate threats within arm's reach. The silence wasn't empty...it was aftermath.
When he opened his eyes, the ceiling above him was fractured stone veined with faintly glowing runes, most of them cracked or burned black. Dust drifted down in lazy spirals, catching dim light from somewhere far above.
This wasn't a hospital.
And it sure as hell wasn't the place he died.
His last memory came back in fragments...muffled gunfire, the pressure shock of an explosion, the ground rushing up far too fast. There had been no heroics. No final stand. Just orders that made no sense, and silence afterward.
Cael exhaled slowly.
So this is what comes after.
He pushed himself up...and froze.
The body moved wrong.
Stronger than it should be, even injured. Lighter. His hands were unfamiliar...longer fingers, faint scars he didn't remember earning. His chest rose and fell beneath cloth that felt… expensive. Too expensive.
He looked down.
Dark fabric embroidered with faded gold thread covered him, torn at the chest, burned through in places. At its center was a symbol...half-destroyed by something that had punched straight through flesh and bone.
A crown encircled by fractured lines.
Cael frowned.
Royal insignia.
Before he could process that, something twisted inside him.
Pain...sharp and immediate...lanced through his chest, deeper than muscle. He gasped and instinctively reached inward, the way he'd been trained to check adrenaline response, circulation, nerve function.
What he touched instead was… emptiness.
Not absence. Scar.
Channels...dozens of them...ran through this body, burned into flesh and bone like dried riverbeds. They were supposed to carry something. Energy. Power. Whatever this world used instead of bullets and blood pressure.
They were sealed shut.
A low sound escaped his throat...not fear, not panic. Recognition.
This body was powerful.
Once.
Footsteps echoed above.
Cael rolled off the stone slab just as voices filtered down through the broken ceiling.
"…confirm the remains are intact."
"They should be. The seal consumed everything else."
"His Highness ensured it. Even demons can't survive that ritual."
Cael pressed himself into shadow, instincts snapping into place. He moved silently despite the pain, body responding as if it had practiced this a thousand times.
His Highness.
Ritual.
Demons.
This wasn't coincidence. This wasn't a random body.
A memory...not his...burst behind his eyes.
Fire.
A vast circle carved into the earth, glowing with layered sigils. The roar of something vast and furious pressing against invisible walls. Blood soaking into stone as hands...these hands...pressed down, holding the seal together through sheer will.
A voice, calm and resolute:
"If I stop, it breaks. If I die… it holds."
Cael's jaw tightened.
You idiot.
The memory faded, leaving behind a weight that had nothing to do with the injured body.
The voices above drew closer.
"…no Pulse activity detected?"
"Nothing. The channels are burned out. He's truly dead."
A pause.
"Good. A hero like that returning would be… inconvenient."
Cael's eyes sharpened.
So that was it.
He was wearing the corpse of a hero.
Worse...someone important. Someone dangerous to bring back.
He waited until the footsteps moved away, until the silence returned. Only then did he allow himself to breathe fully.
Alright, he thought. Let's assess.
No power. No Pulse. Whatever this world's cultivation system was, the previous owner had been at the peak...and paid for it with everything.
That meant enemies. Political ones. Fanatics. Whatever remained of the thing he'd sealed.
And Cael?
He was just a soldier who had already learned one important lesson:
Heroes die first.
He tested his body again, standing slowly this time. The pain was real, but manageable. The scars inside him burned faintly, like old wounds reacting to weather.
On instinct, he reached for a Pulse that wasn't there.
Nothing answered.
No surge. No warmth. No strength beyond muscle and bone.
Cael didn't curse.
He nodded once.
Then we start with what works.
He scanned the chamber properly now. Broken pillars. A shattered altar. Weapons...most ruined, but one blade lay half-buried beneath rubble. He crossed the room, retrieved it, tested the balance.
Good steel. Old. Cared for.
A hero's weapon.
Cael adjusted his grip.
"Sorry," he murmured, not sure who he was speaking to. "I'm borrowing this."
As if in response, the air shifted.
A pressure settled over the chamber...subtle, but unmistakable. The scars inside his body throbbed, and for a brief, terrifying moment, something else stirred beneath them.
Something vast.
Something sealed.
Cael's expression hardened.
So you're still there.
Footsteps echoed again...closer this time. More of them. He caught the glint of torchlight above.
Whatever this kingdom thought they had buried…
They were wrong.
Cael stepped back into the shadows, blade steady in his hand, eyes cold and focused.
He wasn't a hero.
He wasn't a prince.
But he was alive.
And that was enough...for now.