Aslam left the guild, his footsteps echoing through the cobblestone streets. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the surrounding buildings and houses, and a cool breeze blew through the trees lining the avenue.
His new silver insignia shimmered in the light—a reminder of how far he had fallen from his ancient power. A thousand years ago, a mission so simple would have been beneath his notice. Now, perhaps, it represented a genuine challenge.
Through narrow alleys and past bustling markets, he sought an isolated place. The city's architecture had changed drastically; stone and wood had given way to materials enhanced by magic.
A small garden hidden behind an ancient temple caught his attention. Moss-covered stones formed a natural seat beneath a centuries-old oak tree, whose branches created a peaceful canopy above.
He moved toward the garden, his thoughts wandering as the surroundings shifted, the air growing cooler under the shadow of the oak.
Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses. The mana currents around him felt like small brooks compared to the rushing rivers of his past.
"Even the simplest spells would require careful consideration for modern sorcerers," he thought.
He touched his chest, feeling Kaelus's heart beat rhythmically. The young noble's death had given him this second chance, but it came with limitations he needed to understand.
The tranquility of the garden allowed him to dive deeper into meditation. He could feel the mana nodes throughout the city—organized, controlled, but somehow diminished. The world had changed in fundamental ways during his imprisonment.
Birds chirped in the branches above, undisturbed by his presence. In that moment of silence, the birds gathered calmly around him, drawn by an invisible force as he sat motionless under the ancient oak.
Although his eyes remained closed, his consciousness expanded beyond the garden's limits, feeling the subtle changes in the city's magical flow.
Mana currents, invisible to ordinary citizens, began to drift and converge. Like water reaching its level, the energy flowed toward a deep point in the heart of Eldria. The shift was imperceptible to most—like a whisper amidst thunder.
In the sanctuary of the Presidents' Guild, one of the exponents of modern sorcery interrupted her work.
Lysandra, the legendary Heroic-rank mage, lifted her head from ancient texts, her brow furrowed. Something had shifted in the familiar patterns she had studied for decades.
An elderly professor in the Arcane Division stopped mid-lecture, his chalk hovering over the board.
Back in the garden, sparrows hopped closer to Aslam's still form, tilting their heads with curiosity. A robin landed on his shoulder, fearless. The mana continued its gentle migration, drawn by something or someone deep within the city.
The movement was so delicate that even Silver and Gold-rank sorcerers continued their daily tasks, oblivious to the change. Only those who had spent years tuning into the finest threads of magical energy could detect the alteration—and even they could not identify its cause or meaning.
He had not planned or initiated the mana's response. Like an old friend recognizing a familiar face, the magical energy surged toward him with an eagerness that left him unprepared.
Currents of power converged around him in the garden, drawn by some deep resonance between his original essence and this borrowed form.
Through his meditation, he felt the mana's longing—a thousand years of separation from the first human who truly understood its nature.
The scene resembled something from an ancient tome: serene and mystical, with an inexplicable energy surrounding everything, invisible to common eyes.
A merchant pulling his cart of fabrics along the narrow path behind the temple stopped abruptly. His eyes fixed on the white-haired figure sitting under the oak.
The man's aged face contorted in concentration as he studied the familiar noble features.
— Young Master Sylvaris? — The merchant's voice wavered with uncertainty. — I thought... weren't you...?
The merchant's words trailed off as he recalled the rumors circulating through Eldria's markets—whispers about the disappearance of the youngest Sylvaris son. He had done business with the family for years, selling fine silks and brocades to their house.
The resemblance was unmistakable: the same distinct hair color, the aristocratic profile, the bearing of old nobility even at rest.
Aslam opened his eyes slowly, his meditation broken by the merchant's voice. The birds scattered in a flutter of wings, and the shimmering air stilled. The mana currents that had been gathering receded like tide waters pulling back from the shore.
— You must be mistaken — Aslam replied softly, his voice carrying enough authority to discourage further questions.
The merchant shifted uncomfortably, the cart's wheels creaking in the sudden silence. Despite the denial, his eyes insisted on returning to the unmistakable Sylvaris features.
His calloused hands gripped the handle tightly, his knuckles whitening. His gaze flickered between the white-haired figure and the garden gate, torn between propriety and curiosity.
— My apologies, young lord. It's just... the likeness is remarkable — he said, bowing slightly, his spine cracking like old wood.
Aslam rose from the stone seat with contained grace, brushing invisible dust from his cloak. The mana currents, once serene, now swirled in restless patterns, reflecting the discomfort of being recognized.
— Many people share similar features — he replied, keeping his tone light but firm.
The wheels creaked again as the merchant backed away, clearing space on the narrow path. His eyes followed the figure leaving the oak, loaded with questions he didn't dare ask.
— The white hair is quite distinct...
The man's expression brightened at the opening for conversation. He let go of the cart handle and took a step forward.
Aslam's green eyes shone with genuine interest.
— You seem to know the family well.
— For twenty years, I provided the finest silks from the eastern lands to House Sylvaris — pride surfaced naturally in his voice.
— They always valued excellence. My encounters with young Kaelus were few, but enough to notice the courtesy that set him apart from other aristocrats. He had a sincere interest in merchant routes and stories of distant ports.
The words painted a portrait of the life Kaelus had led—every detail was valuable for understanding the body he now inhabited.
— Tell me more about them — he said, indicating a nearby bench.
The merchant hesitated, cast a glance at his cart, and then turned back to him. The deliveries could wait a few minutes.
He sat down carefully, his calloused hands resting on his knees. Although the youth before him shared Kaelus's striking features, something there was profoundly different.
The posture, the silent authority in the voice, the depth of that gaze—they belonged to someone who had lived much longer than eighteen years.
— The young master had a rare kindness — he murmured, his gaze lost in the memory.
A slight smile touched Aslam's lips. The merchant was more observant than he appeared.
Even knowing this wasn't truly Kaelus, the merchant felt drawn to the conversation. Perhaps it was the familiar face, perhaps the enigmatic air surrounding this stranger. Regardless, the memories of the young noble pressed upon his heart, demanding to be shared.
— Even if you aren't him, talking about Kaelus keeps his memory alive — his voice softened.
— He was different from other nobles... always curious about distant lands, about the life of the common people.
The merchant's eyes sparkled at the demonstrated interest, his hands beginning to gesture with more animation.
— The Sylvaris are north of Luminah, nestled in the ancient forests. Their lands stretch for miles, protected by ancestral magic and even older trees.
— Everyone in the family belongs to imposing and respected lineages in the kingdom, easily recognizable by their striking height and distinct appearance.
— The hair, always white as snow, is the house's mark, contrasting with intense blue eyes, as deep as a clear sky. Elena and her daughter Cordelia, however, possess the rare violet eyes—a trait inherited by the young girl.
He nodded in silence, storing every detail. Through Kaelus's memories, he could see the faces of the family members, but their personalities remained shrouded in mist.
— Lady Elena is the heart of the house — the merchant continued, his voice warmed by the memory.
— Hair white as moonlight, rare violet eyes. She treats everyone with respect, from nobles to servants.
The image of Elena's gentle smile emerged among the borrowed memories.
— The eldest twins, Marcus and Cordelia, share the leadership. Marcus commands the military forces, while Cordelia handles magical affairs. Both are thirty now.
The merchant counted on his fingers.
— Then there is Nathalia, the diplomat, always traveling between kingdoms.
— Dominic spends his days in the library, and Valerie serves as a court sorceress.
The information fit piece by piece, names being associated with the faces stored in someone else's memory.
— And Lord Aldrich...
The merchant's expression became more restrained.
— A stern man, but fair. He leads the house with traditional values. Since... Kaelus's disappearance.
— The family has become more reclusive. They rarely attend court events now.
He leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice.
Through the fragmented memories of the body's former owner, wide corridors and chambers flooded with sunlight appeared, though daily life remained distant.
— Three months have passed since the young master vanished. Guards found signs of a struggle in the forest, blood on fallen leaves. — His fingers interlaced in his lap.
— Search parties combed the woods for weeks. Lady Elena fell ill from grief.
The borrowed heart tightened at the pain reflected in the merchant's aged face.
— After the first month, they held a memorial service. Even the elves from the ancient forests attended, honoring the alliance with House Sylvaris.
The man wiped his eyes with his rough sleeve.
Something didn't fit.
There were signs of a struggle. There was blood. But no body had been found. And the body in which he had awakened was intact—no fatal wounds, no signs of decomposition.
His mind raced through the implications. Whoever had attacked Kaelus had taken care to preserve the body, or at least prevent its discovery.
His fingers unconsciously slid across the borrowed chest. No serious wound. No mark of a final blow. Not even the clothes were damaged.
Someone went to the trouble of hiding what really happened.
It also couldn't be a coincidence—awakening in that form, at that specific moment. The pieces were there, but the complete picture still escaped him.
His green eyes narrowed slightly. The incident was much more complex than a simple forest ambush.
— Still... some hold onto hope. Lost bodies in those woods have been found before.
The merchant stood up, gripping the cart handles again.
— My deliveries won't make themselves. Thank you for listening to an old man's ramblings.
Aslam watched the man move away down the narrow path, the creaking of the wheels slowly fading.
When the cart disappeared around the corner, his stomach growled, reminding him that this body needed food.
"First, food and new clothes. Then, I must think about how to approach the family."
Walking through the winding streets of Eldria, he pondered his options. The Sylvaris' grief was still fresh—appearing as the son presumed dead could shatter the fragile peace they had rebuilt. But hiding the truth also felt wrong.